Sherlock x Reader

What a beautiful wedding.

"______? Are you alright?"

You looked up in disbelief at the kind face, creased with worry, that addressed those gentle words to you. You looked back down at the piece of paper in your hand. A smile - a genuine smile - appeared on your face and you opened your mouth to say something, but you hesitated.

You'd barely gotten to know Mary, and now she was inviting you to her wedding. Her wedding, for christ's sake. Happiest day of her life and all that. And she thought to invite you. Gratitude overwhelmed you, and the lump in your throat stopped any attempt to overcome the hesitation and regain your voice. You heard her sigh and take a sip of her tea. All the noise from the cafe faded into the background and all you could focus on was the invitation in your hands, your own breathing, the thoughts rushing through your head.

"I'll understand if you don't want to go, I know we aren't too close but I just thought-"

"Mary, I'd love to go, I'm honoured for even getting an invitation but I'm just so... confused about why you'd think about inviting me, why you'd want me there-"

"Can I just stop you there? Did I hear that correctly? You'd "love" to go?" Mary put down her tea to face you, grinning from ear to ear. You couldn't help smiling back. And just as you were about to admit that yes, you'd love to go, you were interrupted by a ringing. An incessant ringing. You closed your eyes in silent fury, desperate for it to be another's phone, almost praying that it would stop. But of course it didn't. It rang on. Until you were forced to turn your phone over and feel that familiar guilt at hanging up on a call from him.

The therapist.

Lately, you'd been less and less willing to take his calls and he seemed to be picking up on that. Well, what else could you expect from a man of his profession? He was probably thinking of a way to gently break his new diagnosis of you on your next pre-planned date. If you could even be bothered going. The unwillingness to pick up your phone had extended to you going out with him. No wonder he was calling more often now.

"Are you sure you don't need to get that?"
Eyebrows raised yet slightly knitted together. Mary was a natural mother, always worried about everyone and always making sure everyone was gently encouraged - or discouraged. Assuring her that it was no one important, you took a sip of your tea, trying to hide from Mary's doubtful look. But after a few minutes of silence and that same, piercing look, you gave up and told her who it was that had called you. The doubtful look turned first into one of disappointment, then guarded curiosity. Again, her calculated silence led you to explain your current situation with a man who'd once made you so... So content. Yes, that was it. Content. And talking about him, before all the craziness happened, made you realise that maybe you missed him. Maybe the path to your salvation lay in-

"I might not be an expert, but I really think you need to let him go, ______. For both your sakes. I've seen the way you look at Sherlock and how he looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. You probably think it to be indifference but it's obvious, or at least it is to me, that he still feels something for you. So tell him, ______, tell this therapist. Before he finds out through less desirable methods. I'm sure he would understand."

"But Mary-"

"No ifs or buts. What were you going to say? That you'd feel guilty at letting him go? That maybe it could still work out? I know this is hard to hear, but you need to face reality. As long as Sherlock's around, there'll never be anyone else. You know that, ______."