Fill: Bound in Gold 6epennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:38:56 UTC
Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, John felt the heat of another human body beside his. No, two human bodies. There was a rustling, and someone quite small brushed up against him briefly before moving away. Lady Holmes, of course. She’d been the one to escort Sherlock down the aisle.
And now there was only Sherlock, standing mere inches away, and John was frozen in a moment of panic, eyes locked on a spot just over the vicar’s shoulder. The music faded, Bill’s hand squeezed John’s wrist for a moment, and with one more deep breath, John turned to look at Sherlock Holmes.
He was tall, nearly half a head taller than John, and very slim, which made him appear taller still. He held himself erect, with a proud posture and perfectly squared shoulders. He was, indeed, all in white. It was a flowing, silky three-piece suit, not quite a tux but blatantly formal. The fabric in turn clung to him and draped off his slender frame, flowing and caressing like water. His collar was flush against his slender, swan-like neck, which lead up to his smooth and angular face, with its perfect cupid’s bow lips, straight and stately nose, and impossibly high and sharp cheekbones. His hair was almost black and semi-long, arranged in perfectly ordered and styled curls that swept away from his face, save for his thick fringe, which fell lightly over his forehead.
His eyes, however, remained a mystery. Sherlock’s upper face was obscured by a slim silver mask with no eye holes. His head kept moving in tiny increments from side to side as he listened intently, relying on his other senses. John wondered if Sherlock could hear his elevated heartbeat, or his unsteady breathing, or the near-silent slide of his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips.
Sherlock Holmes was gorgeous. Statuesque and lithe, impossibly pale and impossibly beautiful. John, for all his borrowed finery and professional styling, felt inadequate and dull in comparison. And he could not look away. How fortunate, then, that he wasn’t supposed to.
The vicar spoke, jerking John back to reality, though he still couldn’t tear his eyes from this unearthly creature he was about to marry.
“Dearly Beloved, we gather on this day to unite two lives and two worlds. May this union stand as a testament to the unity of our great nation and her people...”
And now there was only Sherlock, standing mere inches away, and John was frozen in a moment of panic, eyes locked on a spot just over the vicar’s shoulder. The music faded, Bill’s hand squeezed John’s wrist for a moment, and with one more deep breath, John turned to look at Sherlock Holmes.
He was tall, nearly half a head taller than John, and very slim, which made him appear taller still. He held himself erect, with a proud posture and perfectly squared shoulders. He was, indeed, all in white. It was a flowing, silky three-piece suit, not quite a tux but blatantly formal. The fabric in turn clung to him and draped off his slender frame, flowing and caressing like water. His collar was flush against his slender, swan-like neck, which lead up to his smooth and angular face, with its perfect cupid’s bow lips, straight and stately nose, and impossibly high and sharp cheekbones. His hair was almost black and semi-long, arranged in perfectly ordered and styled curls that swept away from his face, save for his thick fringe, which fell lightly over his forehead.
His eyes, however, remained a mystery. Sherlock’s upper face was obscured by a slim silver mask with no eye holes. His head kept moving in tiny increments from side to side as he listened intently, relying on his other senses. John wondered if Sherlock could hear his elevated heartbeat, or his unsteady breathing, or the near-silent slide of his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips.
Sherlock Holmes was gorgeous. Statuesque and lithe, impossibly pale and impossibly beautiful. John, for all his borrowed finery and professional styling, felt inadequate and dull in comparison. And he could not look away. How fortunate, then, that he wasn’t supposed to.
The vicar spoke, jerking John back to reality, though he still couldn’t tear his eyes from this unearthly creature he was about to marry.
“Dearly Beloved, we gather on this day to unite two lives and two worlds. May this union stand as a testament to the unity of our great nation and her people...”
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