Our love-lines grew hopelessly tangled

[acclimatized]

WHO: John Watson, Mary Morstan, Sherlock Holmes, April Ludgate and Grey
WHERE: The Watson household, Heropa
WHEN: April 12th
WHAT: Fed up with organising a wedding, John and Mary decide to get the whole thing over and done with in their backyard. Yes, really. How white trash can you get?
WARNINGS: None predicted!

In a quiet cul-de-sac in one of Heropa's residential areas, there is a flurry of activity in one of the backyards. Curtains in nearby houses twitch curiously and people happening across the property at the time stop to see what is happening, as chairs are dragged out of the house and the garden is set-up to look at least a bit more presentable. People begin arriving – well, two people, unless others decide to drop in unexpectedly on its occupants and attend a spontaneous wedding ceremony.

Ordaining the service (and looking incredibly bored) is a man in tailored black suit and piercing eyes. He intones the vows that the couple in turn recite, the two of them looking each other in the eye and suppressing the urge to giggle, because this is all mad. Utterly mad. The ceremony ends abruptly when they exchange rings and Sherlock Holmes waves his hand in the air, declaring they can now kiss and get this whole ridiculous affair over and done with.

Leaning in, the couple shares their first kiss. It's a simple brush of the lips and then another firmer one, brimming with affection and love. John Watson and Mary Morstan are finally married.

Comments

[kinesia]

[ Grey has a large tray of cupcakes in his hands. They're fluffy, all topped with the kind of colourful creamy concoction that he knows would make his stomach hurt, so he doesn't plan on eating them. He's assuming they're for any number of unspecified guests, but he hadn't actually tried to ask April how many people were coming. Honestly, he hadn't known weddings were supposed to be this big.

He sets the tray down on the single part of the table where there's a space for it, and then steps back. It doesn't look too bad. Actually, his growling stomach would like to eat some now, but he ignores it, and focuses on Mary instead. Leaving the cupcakes where the are, he goes over to her, and from his pocket draws a large white daisy, freshly cut from Will's garden. He holds it out to her, his eyebrows raised hopefully.

She's the bride, and his understanding is that brides should have flowers. His understanding is about as vague as it\'s possible to be, honestly. ]

[sizetwelve]

[ The addition of more cupcakes is certainly not going to be turned away on a day like this, but in truth a lot is probably going to become leftovers, as the guest list today includes April and Grey and that's about it. As Sherlock is officiating, is he really a guest? He's always present in their lives, at any rate, even when he's off teetering just on the edge, but she knows he's not prone to eating much at public events, at least not if he can help it. Mary and John's diet is probably going out the window, but it's the day to relish, isn't it?

Mary has her own garden, but she's never going to say no to more flowers, especially when she recognizes the attempt being made on her special day. Though she didn't know Grey before today, she's interested in whoever April might consider a friend. He may awkward, but Mary doesn't seem troubled by it, rewarding his effort with a bright smile while she twirls it between her fingers for a good look. ]

Oh, thank you! It's lovely. What do you think, in a vase or in my hair?

[kinesia]

[ She's been kind to welcome him here, even though she doesn't know him. Grey would think well of anyone that April recommended, honestly, but already he thinks Mary is kind. His expression turns eager, and he gestures to her hair.

He hadn't expected her to put it there, but it would look good. He turns his arm, finding a tattoo that says 'Nice', and showing it to her. Maybe her new husband will think so too. ]

[sizetwelve]

[ Well that's one way to communicate, and the exaggerated purse of her lips is actually more appreciative than judgemental. A proverbial tip of her hat while she nods along. Hopefully he can communicate with more than tattoos, though. ]

Well I ought to have something now that I've set aside the veil, you're right. Mind helping?

[ The flower's held back out to him before she turns and promptly sits in the nearest chair, ankles hooked and tucked daintily beneath her while she waits. Make her pretty, Grey! It should be easy with how her hair is arranged, the sparkling hair pins providing an easy anchor. ]

[kinesia]

[ He doesn't mind helping. Grey never minds helping, and his nod and tiny smile are evidence of that.

Behind them, though, there's something of alarm in his expression. He doesn't know what to do with women's hair. Even so, he obediently moves behind her, and takes the flower again. She'll feel his hands, gentle but careful, while they move over the pins to see how they're arranged. He slides one out and tucks the flower into place, threading it through, and then pinning the whole thing again. Will that hold? It's holding, he thinks.

He steps back, eyeing it, and then nods. Brides should have flowers. He holds his hands up, sweeping them to either side to tell her he's done. Then one hand is extended, palm up, and he nods to it. It's clear of any kind of tattoo, at first, but if she watches, one will slowly appear there.

He had never needed to ask about weddings, on the Train, so there had been no need to mark himself with those words. Now that he's here, his power can do it for him. ]

What was the veil for ?

[ The sentence appears, lasts for a couple of seconds, and then fades again. ]


Seeing your face is better.

[ He imagined her groom would think so too. ]

[sizetwelve]

Cheers.

[ He does it with such care! She appreciates it, though rather than blindly trust his judgement, she'll be glancing what she can of her reflection in the kitchen window just beside them. Even in her peripheral, it looks adorable, but of course it does!

Looking to his hand at the motion, both eyebrows furrow as she watches the letters appear. Oh! Well. That's a thing that is happening right now. N i c e. But how does he not know this? ]

Oh, you're such a darling. It's merely tradition. The details vary in different cultures, but...here it's a symbol of a new beginning. How do the brides dress where you're from?

[kinesia]

[ Tradition. This is tradition, so he needs to remember it for the next time he's at something like this. He nods, taking it in, but when she asks about his traditions, he blinks. There's a moment where he just looks embarrassed, and then he quickly shakes his head.

How does he explain?

People didn't have special clothes. People had what they had, and if they needed something else, they took it from the dead before anyone else could. But more importantly: ]

There were no brides .

[ Again, the words appear on his hand, staying for as long as he could hold them. ]

There were not many women .

[ That's an afterthought, but just as true, and very likely one of the main reasons for the first thing. Grey smiles at her, then. ]

This is new . I am glad to learn .

[sizetwelve]

[ This is just too curious. Mary would like to tell him that there was very little about this wedding that's actually traditional, but she's far too caught up in what he's trying to tell her. Genuine interest from her! No wonder he's a friend of April's. ]

Well perhaps we can have a learning exchange, then. I'm curious, myself. Mind if I ask, then, if you had any social customs similar to a wedding? A promise between two people to remain together? Men and women? [ If there weren't a lot of women... ] Men and men?

[ She'd ask about a harem situation... But before traumatizing him with those questions, Mary will pat the seat next to her. Sit, sit! If you dare. ]

[kinesia]

[ Rituals. Grey’s head gives a minute shake, but he’s frowning. It had all been so insular. What would they have committed to? Everyone was always together. At her question, though, his hand raises, and brushes lightly against his chest, just over his heart. There are scars there, but there’s also a tattoo – a large one, in flamboyant script. Gilliam is what it says.

There had been no ritual except that one. A name that meant everything.

He seems to realise what he’s doing, and stops to hold out his hand again. ]

We made promises . We stayed together .

I was Gilliam’s but there was no ritual . Not like today

Not with flowers .

[ He smiles, just a little bit, and gestures at the one in her hair. ]

[sizetwelve]

[ Mary finds rituals important for her own reasons, which can starkly contrast just how spontaneous and quirky her habits can be. The rituals, to her, are necessary to live the kind of life she wants. An ideal that she wants to achieve, but then what sort of ideal would it be? ]

Ah, yes, well... If you want a truly traditional wedding, it would be different. We had planned this for May, and the guest list was going to be much larger. There would have been a full bridal party, a band, and the wedding would have been in a church. We would have taken the reception elsewhere, perhaps to the beach.

This was rather...spontaneous. Was it spontaneous with Gilliam, or planned?

[kinesia]

[ They would have gone to the beach. Grey perks up at this, because the beach means beside the water, and he likes that. Has liked it, ever since Will took him out on it. That would have been nice, he thinks.

Why did they change it?

Then she asks about Gilliam again, and he looks down. Spontaneous or planned? Everything was planned with Gilliam, he thinks. He was the man with all of the plans, the leader that all of them had looked to. ]

we were never married

[ Just in case she had the wrong idea. ]

but we fit together . everything was always planned

why didnt you go to the beach ?

[sizetwelve]

[ It's almost like pulling teeth with how short his responses are, but it doesn't feel like an unpleasant situation. It's more like a puzzle, a gentle one that takes a subtle hand. ]

Why not? Well, I suppose we were sad that so many friends were leaving...and felt that if we waited until the planned date, it would have been quite a lot of time, money, and effort put into an event that might have ended up with nobody else around. So we thought, why not now, with as little effort as possible? The vows are what truly matter.

[ Even saying that, Mary had really hoped for something more traditional, but she understood this was actually a second wedding for Sherlock and John. The effort put into it had only been for her sake...and on this, given certain open curtains, she had deferred. ]

I wonder, and don't take this poorly... I'm only curious. Do you understand any form of sign language?

[ Even as she says the words, Mary lifts her hands and signs her inquiry in American Sign Language, but she waits poised to switch to something else. She knows a couple of variations. ]

[kinesia]

[ Yes, the vows. The vows had been strange. They had promised that they would stay together, only together, for as long as they were both alive. Grey would have promised that to Gilliam, easily. In fact he wouldn’t have needed to; he would have just done it, and kept doing it, for as long as he could.

He would have been there to save him, if Gilliam hadn’t sent him away. Or maybe he would have died with him. It doesn’t really matter now, because Grey had died anyway. But now he’s come back and he’s here, and Gilliam is still dead and not here, and he wishes he didn’t think about it so much.

His eyes flicker over her face, and his expression changes as she talks – from sad and almost mournful as she talks about vows, to confusion and then recognition at sign language. David had shown him once, and Abigail. Neither of them are here anymore.

Grey quickly shakes his head – no, he doesn’t know it, doesn’t speak with it. But then he lifts a finger, telling her to wait, and he lifts up his palm. Lettering appears to spell Abigail’s name, and then he mimics the gestures she’d taught him – the signs for hello, and OK. He smiles, remembering her, and then some of the sadness returns. Abigail Hobbs. Another one who’s gone. Text follows, spilling across his open hands. ]

she showed me those . on the train i didnt need signs

everyone knew me there . i only needed these

[ And the words stop, and he points to his static tattoos. Individual words and phrases. After a moment, he opens the top few buttons of his shirt, and pushes it aside. There are two scars close to his heart. One is a reminder of the wound that killed him; the other is older. But he points to neither of them, and instead runs his hand across the tattoo that spells out ‘Gilliam’, written over his heart. It looks like someone’s signature. Grey holds out one palm, and ink flows up to make the words that explain. ]

this was my vow . no veils or flowers . just this

it was simple then .