Epilogue: Something New

It was incredibly fascinating to the detective, the fact that he had come to be in his current situation. He would have never imagined that after all the enemies and perils he had faced, someday he would be standing in front of the mirror of a hotel room, putting on a certain special bespoke suit; one that held a plum, wine and cream boutonnière.

He tugged the sleeves of his soft ivory shirt in anxiousness. The sleeves may be too long, and the buttons were not right. He was ignorant in why he was only noticing those details then; he picked that shirt, he had revised the measurements with the tailor thirty two times. Still, the shirt wasn't of the right proportions. For him, this was cause of anguish; this day should be perfect, as does everything about it; so he found this shirt lacking.

He was still tugging and readjusting when he heard a knock on the door. He knew exactly who that was, and he supposed it would be completely contradictory if he were to deny entry now to his designated Best Man, no matter how annoying he may be. He answered with an affirmative grunt and the other man entered slowly. Looking poised and pristine, the umbrella at his hand a much more fitting accessory than the matching small floral decoration on his lapel.

"It's almost time." He commented dully, and of course the boffin knew it was almost time; he had planned the whole thing -John being a bit useless at the so called 'wedding preparations'. He tilted his head in contemplation, eyeing himself on the mirror and finding at least four distinct unwanted flaws.

Sherlock grimaced and turned around to face his brother. "What do you think of this suit?" He asked in uncharacteristic vulnerability. Not entirely sure of why he would ask for Mycroft's opinion. He liked the wine-coloured two piece ensemble that matched perfectly with John's black one. Even his tailor and said tailor's best client had said he looked rather dashing in it; although he failed to know how much credibility he could attribute to a conclusion coming from a man who wore a blue tie with ducks in it.

"You chose it." The ginger man commented, not at all answering what the sleuth wanted to know. Why was it so damned difficult for his brother not to be perpetually cryptic? He stared at his covered limbs in confusion, and sighed.

"I did." He finally replied, not really knowing what could be the point of this conversation. He was about to go out there, in front of a big number of attendants and get married, of all things, he did not need Mycroft to be getting on his already frayed nerves. The younger man frowned properly at his brother and waited for him to say his big revelation.

The government official returned the look but with as much smugness as it was possible, as if he were several steps ahead of the detective and were waiting for his little brother to catch up. "Why?" He asked, taking a seat on the small couch near the window.

Sherlock eyed him in meditation. "Why what?" He queried back, as he fidgeted with his cufflinks. He smoothed out the non-existing wrinkles on his jacket and turned around to face the speculum once more. Meeting his own face in the reflection: a man incredibly happy and equally scared because of that.

"Why did you choose it?" The older man elaborated, waving a hand in refined aloofness. "Why this particular suit?" His blue eyes meeting the detective's in the mirror. The curly-haired man knew what he was asking now: 'what is so special about this one and not others?' The question threw him off track a bit, not really sure of how to even phrase something like that. Anyone asking you whether or not you like something is common enough; but a person demanding an explanation of the reason why you liked it is rare indeed.

He fumbled with his reply. Making a few aborted attempts of starting but never getting through actually making a sound. At the end he sighed, exasperated at himself for avoiding the easy route -as usual- and not giving the simple truth right away. That sometimes could be a problem with him, he regularly over-complicated things. Yet another strange amalgamation of both the cause and the effect of why he was nervous that evening. "Because it makes me feel like I could be something special." He said in a whisper. Completely aware that they were not talking about the sartorial choices he had made anymore. "Like it is okay to be different." The genius explained.

He sometimes felt like he was coming short on a lot of the things at which normal couples should be natural. He was completely sure of his feelings for the blogger, and he had never been as happy as he had been this past year; but he was a bit dubious on how it could be any where near just to John. He deserved the moon and beyond, and Sherlock still struggled with simple things. However, that's how his doctor made him feel, like all his shortcomings didn't matter, like they were not there to begin with. He felt comfort, and acceptance, and what is more: appreciation from his lover.

"Exactly." Replied Mycroft, swiftly taking him out of his musings. The detective turned his head around and nodded, silently acknowledging the simple assistance he had lend him and saying nothing of the cleverness and efficiency that his words had on calming down his insecurities. "Well, the moment is almost before us." The ginger man stood up from his seat and straighten up his clothes. "I do hope you won't be late to your own wedding, Sherlock." He said, as much in warning as in encouragement. He clearly believed there was not a single valid reason to hesitate and, much as he would loathe to admit it, that did make him feel better.

"Myc?" The younger man asked in a bout of compulsiveness. He understood the logic behind it, his mind already operating on the right track again, yet his emotions seemed to be a bit more hesitant about surrendering his precious John to a lifetime living with someone who was not completely flawless. "Is this enough?" He asked his big brother, gesturing to himself and the other gave him a very rare, but much appreciated, smile.

"It is." He assured, as if he were proud in some way that the boffin had not time to decipher right then. "It suits you." The british government commented, completely amazed of finding that to be completely true. Sherlock looked down at himself in his wedding attire and conceded. Maybe he could do this, he would not be alone after all, and John always made everything better. In fact, he was certain that if his blogger were here, he wouldn't have had those doubts at all.

"I'll wait for you outside." Mycroft said as he turned the knob on the door. "And I wish you and John a lifetime of happiness. You both deserve it, little brother." He added before disappearing into the world at the other side of the fragile and small door against the magnitude of it all.

Sherlock did his bowtie and turned back to the looking glass. That taunting reflector that always enjoyed highlighting defects in whoever happened to look at themselves in it. He was ready, and he couldn't believe that there had ever been a doubt about it. John had always been like a balm to his battered soul, whereas Sherlock was a shot of adrenaline to the army doctor's dulled out life. They complemented each other in unimaginable ways, made the most out of whatever quirks and perks they each could posses.

If you had told little Sherlock at the age of seven, crying over the bullies at his school messing up yet another one of his experiments, that one day he would have a best friend to rely on he would have never believed it. If you had informed to the lanky, clearly overdosed twenty-two year old that someday he would be cherished, and accepted and thriving, he would have laughed at your face. And if you had insisted to the man that he used to be, that he was when he sat down in that stool at Saint Bart's that 29th of January morning that that very day he would meet the love of his life and proceed to pine for him until it ended up with them getting married and being wholly and irretrievably happy, he would have probably called out on your evident idiocy. Even when they had already met, and chased criminals through the streets, and gotten take away late at night, he could never have envisioned his blogger may feel the same way, that he could feel this way about someone else.

But now that he was there, staring at his wine wedding suit in that fateful hotel-room mirror, he found that surprisingly, it was a perfect fit.

-o-0-o-

Author's note: I want to thank everyone that took the time to read and comment for this. I really hope you enjoyed the ride.

PS: Yes, every main character off HIMYM makes a tiny cameo in this story. (They live in London now, for some reason, and are either victims or culprits of various crimes. Except Barney since he was the one with this brilliant idea.)

PS2: And yes, this means Sherlock goes to the same tailor as Barney.

So what did you think of the story? Did it tied up nicely?

If you liked it go read my other stories.