Fill Based on the First 15 Seconds of This (Sorry 'bout That, OP)twisty_tiesAugust 21 2011, 09:35:02 UTC
"...do you promise to be true to her, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her--"
Beep-beep.
The noise doesn't register with the celebrants, at first. But when it does, the sanctuary fills with a disbelieving quiet and stillness, frozen like a stained glass portrait of awkwardness.
The priest continues, warily. "...to love her and honour her--"
Beep-beep.
Every face in the church turns to the area directly to the left of the groom - some wearing confusion, most wearing shock, and a scant few decorated with frighteningly murderous intent.
Sherlock fumbles for his mobile. "Just a moment," he mumbles.
Unease crawls down each pew as everyone gapes disbelievingly. Everyone, naturally, except for the groom.
"Sherlock," John hisses. His nostrils flare, and a reddish splotch begins to travel up past his bowtie.
"What?" The unperturbed best man continues to fish around under his cummerbund. "It might be important."
"Might be important...!"
Mary gives a small sigh and a reassuring smile to the priest. This is, unfortunately, not as unexpected to her as it perhaps should be.
"Naturally. It might be Lestrade with the results of the--" Sherlock pauses, tilting his head. "...no. I suppose it wouldn't be, would it?"
Literally six inches behind Sherlock, a similarly-cummerbunded Detective Inspector covers his face and silently wishes he could melt into the rose carpet. He's upset to find that, even in a church, that particular prayer isn't answered.
"No, it wouldn't! Sherlock, for God's sake, this is my wedding, and...Christ, will you put the phone away?!"
The priest coughs, discreetly. "Would you like me to...?"
"Oh." Sherlock has, by this time, finally managed to extricate the phone. He stares at the screen. "...John."
"What?" John practically snarls. Mary places a hand on his arm to soothe him.
"Your honeymoon suite." Sherlock's lip twists into a scowl. "You might want to book a different one."
The phone is passed over. John, still brimming over with well-deserved irritation, blinks blankly down at it. Mary's hand reaches in and tilts the phone into her view.
"What..." John chokes.
Mary points at the picture on the screen. "Oh. So that's the..."
"Yes."
"And he must be the..."
"Indeed he is."
"...and...and he's--"
"Pissing on your marital bed, yes." Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "A bit more plebian than his usual sentiments, but there you go." He snatches the phone back and gives a small, victorious laugh. "Another stone in Moriarty's trail! Did you catch that, Lestrade?"
He is answered with a weak groan. Sherlock decides to judge that as a yes.
Nodding in satisfaction, the best man repockets his mobile and adjusts his bowtie. He then turns to the priest, offering him a wide, toothy smile. "By all means, continue."
Beep-beep.
The noise doesn't register with the celebrants, at first. But when it does, the sanctuary fills with a disbelieving quiet and stillness, frozen like a stained glass portrait of awkwardness.
The priest continues, warily. "...to love her and honour her--"
Beep-beep.
Every face in the church turns to the area directly to the left of the groom - some wearing confusion, most wearing shock, and a scant few decorated with frighteningly murderous intent.
Sherlock fumbles for his mobile. "Just a moment," he mumbles.
Unease crawls down each pew as everyone gapes disbelievingly. Everyone, naturally, except for the groom.
"Sherlock," John hisses. His nostrils flare, and a reddish splotch begins to travel up past his bowtie.
"What?" The unperturbed best man continues to fish around under his cummerbund. "It might be important."
"Might be important...!"
Mary gives a small sigh and a reassuring smile to the priest. This is, unfortunately, not as unexpected to her as it perhaps should be.
"Naturally. It might be Lestrade with the results of the--" Sherlock pauses, tilting his head. "...no. I suppose it wouldn't be, would it?"
Literally six inches behind Sherlock, a similarly-cummerbunded Detective Inspector covers his face and silently wishes he could melt into the rose carpet. He's upset to find that, even in a church, that particular prayer isn't answered.
"No, it wouldn't! Sherlock, for God's sake, this is my wedding, and...Christ, will you put the phone away?!"
The priest coughs, discreetly. "Would you like me to...?"
"Oh." Sherlock has, by this time, finally managed to extricate the phone. He stares at the screen. "...John."
"What?" John practically snarls. Mary places a hand on his arm to soothe him.
"Your honeymoon suite." Sherlock's lip twists into a scowl. "You might want to book a different one."
The phone is passed over. John, still brimming over with well-deserved irritation, blinks blankly down at it. Mary's hand reaches in and tilts the phone into her view.
"What..." John chokes.
Mary points at the picture on the screen. "Oh. So that's the..."
"Yes."
"And he must be the..."
"Indeed he is."
"...and...and he's--"
"Pissing on your marital bed, yes." Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "A bit more plebian than his usual sentiments, but there you go." He snatches the phone back and gives a small, victorious laugh. "Another stone in Moriarty's trail! Did you catch that, Lestrade?"
He is answered with a weak groan. Sherlock decides to judge that as a yes.
Nodding in satisfaction, the best man repockets his mobile and adjusts his bowtie. He then turns to the priest, offering him a wide, toothy smile. "By all means, continue."
I am sorry for so many things.
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Allow this to be my apology post for all the fails in this. XD
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I like Mary, she is resistant woman. Moriarty, Sherlock Holms - her nobody scares.
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