{"id":141321,"date":"2015-08-13T12:21:06","date_gmt":"2015-08-13T12:21:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.merindab.com\/private\/2015\/08\/13\/hudders-and-hiddles-after-the-vows-had-been\/"},"modified":"2015-08-13T12:21:06","modified_gmt":"2015-08-13T12:21:06","slug":"hudders-and-hiddles-after-the-vows-had-been","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.merindab.com\/private\/2015\/08\/13\/hudders-and-hiddles-after-the-vows-had-been\/","title":{"rendered":""},"content":{"rendered":"

hudders-and-hiddles<\/a>:<\/p>\n

\n

After the vows had been exchanged, they had all sat down to dinner
\nunder a sky painted rose and heather and tangerine by the setting sun, the
\nfaintest flecks of stars beginning to peek through. Now that the food has been
\neaten, the happy couple toasted, the champagne drunk, and the dancing begun,
\nSherlock finds himself alone at a table, looking around at nothing in
\nparticular. John has excused himself to give his regards to the newlyweds, and
\neveryone else has made their way to the patio-turned-dance floor. Sherlock lets
\nhis eyes linger for a moment on the guests dancing there and wishes, for the
\nmillionth or so time in his life, that he were a different kind of man\u2013perhaps
\nthe kind who feels comfortable asking a stranger to dance, or, better yet,
\nasking the one person he really wants to hold in his arms as they spin
\ngracefully around the floor, eyes locked on one another, the world around them
\nmelting away. But Sherlock isn\u2019t that kind of man.<\/p>\n

The memory of the last time he had wanted to dance at a wedding needles
\nhim, and Sherlock has to fight to tamp down the regret and sadness he still
\nfeels about that entire situation. Yes, John is back at Baker Street now and
\nMary is long gone, but part of Sherlock still hates that he hadn\u2019t been more
\nvocal about his desires, that he hadn\u2019t tried harder to stop John from marrying
\nher. He knows it\u2019s selfish\u2013though he tells himself it would have saved both of
\nthem a lot of pain and suffering in the long run. The whole thing fills him
\nwith self-loathing. He hadn\u2019t been good enough to peg Mary as the liar she
\nreally was from the start. He hadn\u2019t been brave enough to tell John how he
\nfelt. And in the end he hadn\u2019t been quick enough to prevent Mary from
\nabsconding with John\u2019s daughter, both of them disappearing into the night like
\nphantoms. The guilt eats at Sherlock until he pushes himself away from the
\ntable and slips into the darkness. He follows the low garden wall to the
\nfarthest corner, well outside the warm sphere of light cast by the lanterns
\nsurrounding the patio. Sherlock lifts his long legs carefully up and over
\nbefore taking a seat on the wall, facing out at the surrounding hills looming
\nnearly invisible in the darkness. He could really use a cigarette. Instead he
\nwatches the stars emerge as his vision adjusts, and when the slight autumn
\nbreeze ruffles his hair, he wishes he had thought to bring his coat.<\/p>\n

Soft footsteps behind him. An all-too-familiar cadence. John.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you are. I was wondering where you\u2019d got off to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMmm,\u201d Sherlock hums noncommittally. John stops just behind him,
\nclose enough that Sherlock could lean his head back against John\u2019s chest if he
\nwanted to. And he does want to. But he doesn\u2019t move. Since John has come home,
\nthey seem to have found their rhythm again, and Sherlock doesn\u2019t want to screw that
\nup. Sometimes though, there are little touches\u2013John\u2019s arm glancing off
\nSherlock\u2019s as they walk, John\u2019s fingers brushing across his as John hands him a
\ncup of tea, John\u2019s hand gently squeezing Sherlock\u2019s bicep in an occasional
\ngesture of\u2026 friendship? understanding? support? Sherlock isn\u2019t sure. He also
\nisn\u2019t sure if they actually happen more often now or if he just notices them
\nmore often now that he is more attuned to the effect that John has on him.
\nEither way, he doesn\u2019t think that his head resting on John\u2019s chest would be
\nwelcome. It\u2019s too\u2026 intimate. And so he restrains the desire that pulses through
\nhim with every beat of his heart.<\/p>\n

John clambers over the wall, his shorter legs making the movement
\nfar less graceful than Sherlock\u2019s had been, and takes a seat next to him.
\nSherlock can feel the fabric of John\u2019s suit jacket catch ever so slightly on
\nhis own where their arms graze against each other. They sit in companionable
\nsilence, the strains of a recent pop hit floating gently away from the cottage,
\npast where they\u2019re huddled on the wall, and out into the open night.<\/p>\n

John eventually breaks the silence with a quiet sigh. \u201cI never
\nshould have gotten married.\u201d <\/p>\n

Keep reading<\/a><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

hudders-and-hiddles: After the vows had been exchanged, they had all sat down to dinner under a sky painted rose and heather and tangerine by the setting sun, the faintest flecks of stars beginning to peek through. Now that the food has been eaten, the happy couple toasted, the champagne drunk, and the dancing begun, Sherlock … <\/p>\n

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