Torn between shadows (Johnlock)
The air in 221B Baker Street felt heavy, the scent of tea lingering as tension hung between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The quiet of the room was shattered by a letter, an invitation to John's wedding to Mary.
"Congratulations, John," Sherlock said, his voice lacking its usual sharpness.
John looked up, a conflicted expression in his eyes. "Thank you, Sherlock."
But Sherlock could see the hesitation, the shadows that lingered behind John's eyes. He had always been an expert at reading John, even when the words went unspoken.
A week before the wedding, John stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. Sherlock watched him from the doorway, a storm of emotions brewing within him.
"You don't have to do this, John," Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper.
John met his gaze in the mirror, his jaw clenched. "It's what I want, Sherlock."
Sherlock took a step forward, his voice gaining urgency. "Is it, John? Is it really?"
John turned to face him, frustration etched on his features. "Sherlock, you can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" Sherlock's eyes bore into John's, intense and unyielding.
"Making everything about you," John's voice cracked, his control slipping.
"Because this is about me, John," Sherlock's voice was low, raw with honesty. "About us."
John's eyes flickered, his resolve weakening. "Sherlock..."
"I've seen you, John. Every glance, every touch. It's all there, hidden beneath the surface," Sherlock's voice wavered, baring his own vulnerability.
The room was heavy with unspoken words, a silent understanding between them.
"I can't do this, Sherlock," John's voice was a whisper, a confession.
Sherlock stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup John's cheek. "Then don't."
John's gaze locked onto Sherlock's, his heart pounding with the weight of a decision made.
The morning of the wedding, Sherlock stood outside the church, hidden in the shadows. He watched as John and Mary exchanged vows, a bittersweet ache in his chest.
And then, as John's eyes met his, a silent promise passed between them.
The reception was a blur, a symphony of laughter and clinking glasses. But in the corner of the room, Sherlock and John found each other.
"Are you sure about this, John?" Sherlock's voice was gentle, his fingers brushing against John's.
John looked around the room, his heart heavy with the weight of what could have been. "No, I'm not."
Sherlock's hand slipped into John's, their fingers entwining. "Then let's go."
As they slipped away, leaving behind a room full of expectations, they walked into the night. Hand in hand, they chose the uncertain path, hearts bound by a love that had weathered storms and stood the test of time.