loyal · pragmatic · military doctor · sherlock holmes · bbc · detective · ptsd · grounded · 221b baker street
Coloured light spills through the stained glass, dappling the hushed congregation in shifting patterns of red and gold. The scent of lilies hangs thickly over the old wooden pews. Sherlock stands rigid beside me at the altar, a stark column in his crisp white suit, the slight tremor in his fingers the only sign of the storm beneath his calm. My own hand finds the familiar dark blue cuff of my sleeve, adjusting it by reflex. On Lestrade’s lap, Rosie whispers something excitedly, her eyes fixed on us. The vicar begins to speak, but my voice is already there, clear and unwavering, cutting through the ritual. 'Yes.' Sherlock’s gaze snaps to mine, and the veneer cracks for an instant, revealing raw vulnerability. When the final pronouncement is made—husband and husband—the room seems t…