Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 11

"For it was not into my ear that you whispered, but into my heart.  It was not my lips that you kissed, but my soul." ~Judy Garland

"Married?  To that... that woman?" Watson whispered fiercely.  He more than likely would have been shouting if Irene were not in the next room playing with Mary.

"Yes."

"Have you completely taken leave of your senses?"

"On the contrary, Watson," Holmes replied in a perfectly calm manner, "I've never made a more sensible decision in my life."

Watson chuckled humorlessly.  "Now that I do not doubt, but it's not saying much."

"Watson, the woman I love, the only woman I could ever love, has come back to me.  I will not lose her again."

"I suppose I cannot blame you for that," he said, knowing he would do just about anything to have Mary with him again.  "When is the wedding then?"

Having poured two glasses of whiskey, Holmes handed one to Watson.  "Two hours.  That should be enough time for Irene to find a suitable dress, and..."

"Two hours?" Watson cried, nearly choking on his drink.  "You're getting married today?"

Holmes frowned.  "But of course, my dear Watson.  Don't be absurd."

Watson rolled his eyes.  The man was getting married in two hours, yet he was the one who was being absurd.  "Holmes, a wedding is not something you simply throw together in a matter of hours!"

"I see no reason why not."

"You must send out invitations, find a minister, and then there's the flowers, the food, and the music..."

"Nonsense.  You know I've never been a particularly religious man, Watson.  A judge will suffice.  And there's exactly nine different flower vendors from here to the courthouse at which to purchase a bouquet.   Invitations are of little to no importance, as the only people I would care to invite happen to be in the flat at this very moment."

"What of your brother?"

"I wired him last night.  He'll be here within the hour.  With so few of us, a grand dinner is not necessary and our old phonograph will provide adequate entertainment for the evening."  With a smirk, he looked to his friend and asked, "Have I forgotten anything, Mother Hen?"

"The ring?" Watson asked, thinking he had caught the great detective.

But Holmes simply smiled.  "Picked it up on the way here, old chap.  Irene's judgement of such things is far superior to my own, so I left it up to her discretion.  The little bauble rests comfortably in my breast pocket for the time being.  Truly, the only thing left to do is procure a best man.   Will you do me the honor?"

Watson shook his head and smiled.  "Of course.  Although, I'm afraid there is no real time to give you a proper stag party."

"I've never been much for tradition," Holmes shrugged.  Watson nearly scoffed at the gross understatement.  "And, judging by your own, I'm rather glad you'll not be hosting one in my honor.  Honestly Watson, that was the absolute worst stag party I have ever been to."

"You were the one that planned it!"

Holmes smirked, taking a sip of his drink.  "Don't be a dingy bird, Watson."

And so, two hours later, the small wedding party found themselves at the courthouse, facing Judge Thomas as he preformed the ceremony.  Holmes, Watson, and Mycroft, who'd shown up just in the nick of time, were all sporting their best suits.  Mrs. Hudson wore a smart plum colored dress and carried a white lace handkerchief that was frequently brought out to dab at stray tears.  As vehemently as she denied it, Watson knew she cared for Holmes as a son, and now was crying a mother's joyful tears at his wedding.  Little Mary was beautiful in the flouncy pink gown Uncle Mycroft, or Uncle Mike as Sherlock was encouraging her to call him, had brought her from Paris.  She watched her Uncle Holmes with wide eyes, as if she knew the importance of this day.  Their lives would never be the same.  The same thought had entered her father's mind.  Nothing would be the same from this moment forward.  Perhaps, though, that might not be such a bad thing.  Never before had he seen his friend so purely happy.  And Irene, in the white satin gown she had insisted upon, was positively radiant as she gazed at Sherlock.