Two months later

It was a cold Sunday morning when John Watson was knocking on the door of Greg Lestrade's flat. The DI opened the door, wearing a maroon sweater, grey sweatpants and woollen socks. If he was surprised by John's visit, he didn't let on. Hanging John's jacket and scarf on the rack in the hallway, he ushered the man into the kitchen where the table was laid out for breakfast for two.

Knowing John never refused a good cuppa, Greg poured tea for him from a white bone china teapot into a matching cup.

"Here you go. Have a seat."

"I always considered you to be more of a ceramic type than porcelain," John quipped while sitting down.

"And you are right," Mycroft said while he was walking into the kitchen and sitting down across from the surprised doctor. "Good morning, John. I contributed the teapot and cups to this kitchen."

John stared at the government official who, as far as John could see, was wearing nothing but an elegant dressing-gown. The man's hair was still damp from a shower, he smelled of an expensive aftershave and the open neck of the dressing-gown displayed a generous amount of ginger chest-hair.

"I apologize," John spoke up, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I should have called instead of coming over unannounced." He began to rise from his chair but the DI's strong hand stopped him.

"Stay, John, it's all right," he said, sitting down at the table and pouring tea for Mycroft and himself. "It's certainly important or you wouldn't have come."

"Well," John took a sip from his cup and hummed appreciatively. "I received this letter." He laid an envelope on the table.

Mycroft, who recognized the expensive paper as well as the seal, smiled. "Considering that you saved the life of a member of the royal family, that was quite expected. You'll been granted knighthood, I presume."

Greg's face lit up with a smile when John nodded. "That's fantastic. Congratulations, mate." The DI slapped his friend's shoulder. "God, I like to see that."

John winced visibly and looked down at his cup. "That's... that's what I'm here to talk about." He downed the rest of his tea before he continued. "You see," he shot both Mycroft and Greg an uncertain look and swallowed, "I'm allowed to bring only three people. Naturally there's Sherlock but I know Mrs. Hudson would be over the moon to be part of that and then there's Mike Stamford..." He trailed off to let the other men do the maths.

"If you want Gregory to be there as well I can certainly make the necessary arrangements," Mycroft said, understanding John Watson's dilemma.

"That would be really great," John replied, "but I want both of you there." Upon seeing Mycroft's surprised expression he laughed. "Of course, I do. We might not be the closest friends but you brought me home from Afghanistan, Greg probably wouldn't come unless you went too and through Sherlock you are family for me as well."

"Your tongue is quite beautiful, my love, but you might want to close your mouth again," Greg said with a smile and put a gentle hand under the elder Holmes' dropped jaw. Mycroft closed his mouth with a snap.

Obviously moved by the gesture, John Watson's, not his partners, Mycroft took a sip from his cup and cleared his throat.

"Thank you. If you want us, naturally we're both going to be there."

Greg looked back and forth between Mycroft and John. "Yes, we'll clear our schedules and afterwards we're all going out for dinner."

Mycroft nodded. "As we're all fond of Indian cuisine I'll book a table at the Amaya in Belgravia. And don't worry, John, I'll pay for it," he added.

"Thank you," John said again, and his tone of voice revealed that it was heartfelt. The doctor stood up and Greg followed him to the door.

"What does Sherlock say?" the DI asked, while John closed his jacket. "I bet he is very proud."

John was swaying his head from left to right. "I don't think so. When I showed him the letter he read it, made a rude noise and disappeared into the kitchen to finish some of his obscure experiments."

Slapping John's shoulder again before holding the door for him, the DI nodded. "Well, wait until the ceremony and we'll see."

"He probably thinks it's silly, especially since I'm the one receiving the honour, not him, the master consulting detective," John replied and left.

oOo

John Hamish Watson was one-hundred per cent certain that he couldn't be more nervous if this had been his wedding day. Although the ceremony would take place in the ballroom in Buckingham Palace in the afternoon, he woke up at five thirty in the morning and was unable to go asleep again.

What if he did something wrong? What if his suit looked shabbier than the suits of the other guests? What if he stumbled? What if Sherlock was identified as the man who once stole an ashtray and John was accused of being his accomplice? Oh god!

John got up, showered, shaved, drank a cup of tea and ate a slice of toast. At six fifteen he was sitting in his armchair, wearing his dressing-gown and staring at the clock on the mantelpiece.

At seven John began to pace, at eight twenty he had another shower and at nine Sherlock finally had enough. He dragged John back to the bedroom and distracted him by doing things to him that were too filthy to describe but suitable for taking the doctor's mind of anything but mind-blowing pleasure.

Somehow the hours passed and after another shower John and Sherlock were finally dressed and ready to go. At the designated time a limousine picked up both men and their rather exited landlady. The car rolled through a cold but sunny London, stopped to pick up Mike Stamford and then brought them to Buckingham Palace.

John had been there before but today it was different. He had an invitation, he would be granted knighthood and, oh god, he was nervous. Sherlock, who sat next to him, took his hand and began to rub gently at his wrist. The doctor tried to ignore the smiling faces of both his friend Mike Stamford and Mrs. Hudson and all of a sudden the tension was lifted from his shoulders. He first smiled and then laughed before taking Sherlock's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

They were led though the decorated hall and up the stairs to first attend a briefing by the Lord Chamberlain's office. It was there that they met with Mycroft and Greg, both looking very handsome in matching dark suits, undoubtedly provided by a tailor in Savile Row.

After the briefing they all walked through the picture gallery as well as the east gallery to the back of the ball room and from there to an annex that ran alongside that room. From there they came to a doorway through which they entered the ballroom.

Usually the awards were given on the advice by the Prime Minister's office but John's was an exception. After Prince Harry had returned from Afghanistan he himself had told his grandmother that he thought that the honour of knighthood should be bestowed upon the man who had saved his life.

John felt goosebumps raising all over his body when the national anthem was played. Then the first name was called and the ceremony began. One by one the recipients entered the room to receive their awards and finally John's name was called.

"Sir John Watson, for services to the royal family!"

He stepped forward and walked into the room to kneel in front of Her Royal Majesty herself.

The blade of a sword was touched to both his shoulders, first the right shoulder, then his left. He got up as he had been instructed and bowed his head so the Queen could put the ribbon with his award around his neck.

"You are known by many in this house for your blogs," the Queen told him, "but you will always be remembered for the service you did for us by saving my grandson Henry's life."

"It's been my privilege, ma'am" John replied and shook the Queen's hand.

He turned to walk out of the room when his gaze fell upon his friends who sat in the small audience that was gathered to watch the ceremony. Mike Stamford, Greg Lestrade and even Mycroft Holmes were sporting broad smiles. Mrs Hudson was smiling too but she was so very moved that she had to dab her eyes with a handkerchief. Outshining all the others though was Sherlock. Although it was a clear breach of ceremony the self-acclaimed sociopath had risen to his feet and was looking at him tenderly. A smile played around the man's lips and the love that shone in his eyes made it clear to everybody that Sherlock Holmes couldn't be more proud of the achievements of his friend and partner, Sir John Watson.

At the birthday auction for Rubert Graves I bought the artwork for this story from Notluvulongtime who tailored it specifically for this story. I think she did a fantastic job.

In case the image for the story is too small for you, check out my profile on Tumblr or AO3: Copgirl1964. You'll find the cover there too.

I want to thank again johnsarmylady and jack63kids for their help beta-ing the story.

For the perhaps slightly disappointed Mystrade fans who had hoped for more interaction between Greg and Mycroft perhaps I will write a short ficlet about the bath and Gregory's reaction to Mycroft wearing the anti-g suit.