So, I'm attempting to write a chapter story without the option of abandoning it for the first time in two years. I hope I don't regret it.

Enjoy!~

"But it isn't fair!" John protested for the sixth time. "How could you do this to me?!"

"John," Mr. Watson frowned, "you're overreacting."

"'Overreacting'?" he stared at his father incredulously. "You're marrying me off to some bloke I don't know. How am I 'overreacting'?!"

"You might like this boy," his mother supplied unhelpfully.

John could not believe this was happening to him. He woke up that morning in a good mood, ready to start the day with a smile on his face, when his parents said they had an important announcement. They told John that he would be marrying some man (was Holmes his name? John couldn't remember or care) with such excitement as if it were good news. They seemed honestly surprised that John had a problem with marrying a stranger.

John was so outraged he thought he might vomit. "How could you do this to me?" he asked again, but quieter this time.

"Your marriage will benefit our entire family," Mrs. Watson said. "The Holmeses are aristocrats. They're a family of geniuses, from what I understand."

"So that's it, hm? You're marrying me off to raise your social class." John never felt more disgusted with his parents in his whole life. He knew they were shallow, but he never thought they would stoop this low.

"And this will benefit the Holmes family," Mr. Watson said. "They're having financial troubles. We made them a deal: if their son marries you, we help them out a bit. It works out for everyone."

"Except me!" he threw his hands in the air. "And I'm sure that Holmes guy doesn't want a part of this, either!"

"Now, that's enough!" Mrs. Watson snapped. "You are marrying Sherlock Holmes or you won't show your face to this family again!"

Sherlock. So that was his name.

"Do you honestly think I care?" John smiled tightly. "I'm 24 years-old; I'm an adult and I can do what I want."

"We'll cut you off from family funds. How will you live?"

"I'll join the army."

"You'll do no such thing!" Mr. Watson yelled.

John clenched his hands into fists. His blood was boiling in his veins and he suddenly had no qualms with the idea of punching his parents in their arrogant faces. "You're taking my whole life away."

Mrs. Watson rolled her eyes. "Now, don't be so dramatic. Marriage doesn't mean the end of everything. I'm sure Sherlock will allow you to be with whomever you please. After all, this is only a marriage of convenience."

That didn't make John feel any better. In fact, he felt like his heart was being twisted and doused in ice. He inhaled slowly and released his breath in a sigh. "When am I meeting him?"

"Tomorrow," said Mr. Watson, "at noon. We'll be going over their house to settle everything."

John nodded and went upstairs to his room without another word. His argument with his parents lasted for an hour and it resolved nothing. There was no use in trying. He hated his parents for making him feel so helpless. It was a feeling he had experienced since his childhood. They always made decisions for him. In the end, it really wasn't surprising that they decided who he was going to marry, though it was no less infuriating. Once on his bed, he clutched a pillow to his chest and started to shake.

John was a romantic and had always dreamed of marrying someone he loved—his soul mate, even. He hadn't dated as many girls as his classmates liked to think, but he took each relationship seriously. Now, his all of his dreams of love and finding his soul mate were wiped away within a single morning.

The army doesn't sound too bad compared to this, he thought bitterly as tears his hit pillow.

Sherlock scoffed. "Are we really that desperate that you've resorting to marrying me off to the nouveau riche?"

Mrs. Holmes frowned, her arms tightening around her youngest boy. "I am sorry, Sherly, but it is for the best. They're successful business people!"

"But he's going to be so dull!" Sherlock whined and wiggled out of his mother's embrace. "They always are, those business types." Sherlock honestly didn't care that he was being married off; it's not as if he planned to find love (he cringed at the thought) and get married on his own, anyway. But his fiancé sounded so dull.

"Even his name sounds boring," Sherlock pouted. "John Watson. How average."

"It is average," Mr. Holmes indulged him with a small smile, "but they have money—money that we need."

"Why must I suffer for this? I didn't blow all of our money away."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes frowned.

It was a low blow and Sherlock knew it.

The cause of their troubles was this: Mr. Holmes was a kind man who loved his wife and sons dearly. He also loved gambling very dearly. He went to therapy and worked through his addiction, but not without leading his family to bankruptcy first. Sherlock, who had always loved his father (even if he was a bit slow), was extremely disappointed in him.

Mr. Holmes was hurt by his son's comment and Mrs. Holmes looked murderous, so Sherlock muttered, "Sorry."

"The Watsons are coming over here tomorrow to work out all the details," Mrs. Holmes told him. "Please don't write John off right away. Who knows, you might like him!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh yes, because that's highly probable. Why not marry off Mycroft?"

"John is closer to your age than Mycroft's," Mrs. Holmes said.

"So?"

"Well, the Watsons agreed that John would get along better with someone close to his age."

"This isn't a play-date, Mummy, it's marriage."

"I'm aware."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms. "Will I have to live with him?"

"Yes."

"Will I have to spend time with him? Actually talk to him?"

Mrs. Holmes smiled. "Once you two are married, you can do whatever you please."

Sherlock considered this. Living with John didn't necessarily mean he had to interact with him. After all, Sherlock lived with Mycroft for years (before he went to uni) and weeks went by without the two of them even looking at each other. John might not want to talk to Sherlock. They didn't have to kiss or do couple-y stuff. Sherlock would just have to inform John that he had no desire for a relationship of any sort. Problem solved.

It would be like living with a flatmate.

Sherlock's lip twitched into a grin. "I accept the arrangement."

John was filled with dread on the way to meet his future husband. A shudder ran through his bones. Husband.

Harry, for once, understood his anger. "It's absolute shit, Johnny," she agreed. "I wish I could help you in some way. I really do. But you know Mom and Dad; there's no stopping them once they've got an idea in their head."

Mrs. Watson kept fussing with John's hair, "I told you to put gel in you hair."

"Didn't care enough," he muttered. He wasn't even trying to put on a happy face for his parents. They could go to hell, as far as he was concerned.

Their car pulled up in the driveway to the Holmes' house and John's heart thudded painfully.

He was too caught up in self-pity to notice that he was standing on the porch with his parents until someone answered the door.

A woman with warm blue eyes and a soft smile stood in the threshold. "Welcome, welcome!" She stuck out her hand, "You must be John. I'm Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock's mother."

John had the politeness to force a smile. "Yes, hello," he shook her hand.

"Oh, you're a handsome boy. Come in, everyone, come in."

The inside of the house was a nice size and had a warm, cozy feel to it. John saw an older man that he assumed was Sherlock's father. He, too, wore a warm smile.

"Hello, there. Shall we discuss everything in the sitting room? I've made tea."

"Yes," Mr. Watson said, "that sounds lovely. John, why don't you go and talk to Sherlock?"

"Yes, that's a good idea," said Mrs. Holmes. "He should be upstairs in his room. It's two doors to the left."

"Um, okay. Sure."

John had no desire to meet his future husband. John had no desire to be in this house.

The Holmeses and Watsons disappeared into the sitting room, leaving John alone in the unfamiliar house.

John briefly wondered how the hell his parents even met these people when music started to float down the stairs. It sounded like violin music. Curious, John walked up the stairs and followed the sound. The melody was soothing, but had a melancholy undertone. John didn't recognize it, but he was never one for classical music. John's feet carried him to a door that was slightly ajar.

He looked inside to see a man, perhaps a couple years or so younger than he, playing a violin. The man's eyes were closed and he was slightly swaying his narrow hips to the music. The only light in the room was coming in from the window highlighted the man's mess of curly hair, the tips appearing light brown. The man's face was partially hidden in the darkness, but he looked peaceful.

John didn't know how long he stared at the stranger and let himself be absorbed in the music. There was something hypnotizing about the scene.

The last note faded into the air. John breathed out, "Amazing."

The man's light eyes opened in surprise, and it finally occurred to John that he was staring at his fiancé.

Should I continue?