Hello there! I'm the Doctor. Now, I should warn you, I do have rules. If you choose to come with me, there's no wandering off. You might have an adventure without me! So grab yourself a fez, maybe a bowtie, and let's get this show on the road!
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Will Contain NSFW Material
Sherlock was aware of the Doctor maintaining something a shade slower than usual. He took the languid movements as an opportunity to rid himself of his shoes and socks, before he rested his hands on the Doctor’s hips, and nudged him back towards the bed.
As before, he wasn’t certain what made things different tonight. They all seemed the same for him, except that he’d been wearing an especially uncomfortable suit. But he wouldn’t argue with the Doctor. If he said that he would show Sherlock why it was different, then Sherlock trusted that he would.
“My love…” The Doctor whispered quietly, as if it were a secret for only them, and in a way it was. No one knew, could possibly really know, the true depth of how he felt for Sherlock Holmes, when he himself was just of reach of understanding. But he’d try and shed light on it, do his best to because he wanted every reason he could think of present in his mind that night.
His hair had a bit of product in it, and it made him smile when he found the unnatural sweetness of whatever he’d used mixed with the very natural scent of Sherlock. He took time to kiss his hair, one particularly curly curl of it, and continued on to his forehead.
His mind, that he could write novels on the complexities of. The one that while so easily led into addictions was also stimulated by much more productive things, such as his cases or quite astounding violin playing (sometimes, however even Sherlock Holmes had… off days with that instrument.) The Doctor was sure to let that last, that kiss to his forehead.
His face, oh his beautiful face. However if he kissed him too much this way, he knew Sherlock might become over stimulated with the sentimentality of it. So he simply kissed his lips, slow and passionate, the way lips like his should be kissed always. Because they were perfect and said beautiful, intelligent, funny and sharp truths, and that was reason enough.
“Sherlock Holmes.” He said with wonder.
It sounded like ‘I love you’.
Sherlock was half-pulled, half-guided back through the ship by the Doctor’s hands that fiddled absently with his shirt. He let him, because the Doctor was interesting when he was focused, and by the time they reached their room, the shirt was practically off anyway. Sherlock just had to shrug slightly to assist the Doctor in setting himself free of the tight shirt and jacket.
Then Doctor touched him, and he seemed more sentimental than usual. Sherlock could only attribute that to the general circumstances. Even at their proximity, Sherlock could see how soft the Doctor’s hazel eyes had become, like he was recalling something that had happened a long time ago. He was just this side of wistful.
Tilting his head over, just a little, to the side, Sherlock reached up a white hand, the one that bore two rings now, and he ran the thumb of it across the Doctor’s cheekbone. In the safety of their room, he could be as sentimental as he liked, and the Doctor would keep his secret from the world(s) outside.
Leaning forward, Sherlock kissed the Doctor’s forehead, and then his cheek, and then his lips. Yes. He adored this creature, this thing he couldn’t identify. And he would adore him forever. Silently, solemnly, without overt explanations. He would worship him in dignified silence until he was no longer capable.
The Doctor leaned into Sherlock’s kisses of adoration, and his eyes fluttered closed. It was not a terrible stretch to lay back on their bed, and it was even easier for him to find himself removing his own jacket and starting to unbutton his own shirt.
But he was distracted from doing so, his hands finding home in Sherlock’s curly hair and feeling the silky skin on his chest.
When yet another, much longer kiss broke, The Doctor gasped lightly, retrieving breath he hadn’t noticed he’d lost. And while he was quick to have their lips touch again he did not rush. Tonight was not a night for anything to be rushed. Slow, thoughtful, intimate pleasures were what they would share.
Absently he toed off shoes and socks, because they would just in the way later and he wanted to have this go as smoothly as possible. Give his Sherlock the type of leisurely, easy love that he deserved.
Sherlock sighed, and then leaned away. He was no moron. But he hardly saw how this night would be different from any other in which sexual intercourse was involved. He and the Doctor had shagged so many times it was no longer novel, and he was under the impression that the novelty was partially where the expectation came from.
He leaned down and kissed the Doctor once more before he straightened and sighed.
“Well,” he said, “then perhaps you can come help me out of this suit. It’s uncomfortable.”
“My poor darling.” The Doctor said sympathetically, steadily walking backward, unbuttoning the dress shirt that… Had way too much starch, no wonder it was uncomfortable. He had mastered walking backwards in his vessel ages ago (boredom).
Once in their bedroom, he had no more patience for the fabric and slid it off at once along with his jacket. “There we go.” He purred, smiling and stopping just a second to take the sight of him in. It was odd but he could not help that sometimes he simply… found himself in awe of Sherlock.
He felt his face change, soften, and he kissed him, a hand gently cupping Sherlock’s cheek. His new ring, now an added feature but it meant the world. Sentiment.
And for a moment he was transported back to that time, that first time that had gone a bit sourly, when Sherlock’d kissed him and… Whole new worlds had been presented.
He knew Sherlock conflated novelty with the sacredness of people’s wedding nights, but that wasn’t quite right…
“Do you remember when you first kissed me?” The Doctor asked, eyes flickering across his face and a small loving smile gracing his features. “And how happy I was then? That’s the happiness I feel right now but renewed in a way that I really hadn’t foreseen… It does not require novelty to make the act special, darling, it only requires love, an emotion I know all too well we feel for each other. So let’s make love tonight. I promise you will understand why our wedding night is so special by the end…”
The Doctor was his most content, and his most at ease when he was inside of his TARDIS. It was his home, and it had become Sherlock’s home, even if he missed London and John terribly. But the Doctor seemed much more at peace, now, than he had before, and for that Sherlock was glad.
“Yes,” he said, tilting his head as little so that he could kiss the Doctor’s earlobe. “Everyone seems to insist it’s the most enjoyable by default. I’m not certain why.”
Sherlock smiled, and kissed the Doctor again.
The Doctor giggled lightly in response, delighted. Their kiss, as most of their kisses, was loving, and were he a weaker hearted fellow he might’ve swooned. But he hummed pleasantly instead when it’d ended, and played with the top button of Sherlock’s shirt.
“I suppose you shall just have to come find out then.” The Doctor smiled back, though his own admittedly more suggestive.
Sherlock watched the Doctor as he spoke, and he never felt more relieved. After all, this wasn’t something Sherlock was terribly interested in. He was far more interested in the Doctor, who he hadn’t really seen much of for two entire days.
The Doctor, and even John to some degree, were slightly old fashioned, and while the Doctor had spent the night before on the TARDIS, Sherlock had been in his bedroom on Baker Street. John insisted it was tradition, and that Sherlock would be glad he’d done it when the wedding night came. Sherlock supposed he understood the idea, but still, he’d been grumpier than usual without his Doctor, who tended to keep him a bit more on the contented side.
“Yes,” he said, almost instantly. “Let’s.”
Sherlock smirked at the Doctor, and winked, and then he stood and straightened his jacket. Practically no one one noticed them as they headed for the door.
They had decided that in the morning, they’d go to their actual honeymoon destination but for the night they would stay in the TARDIS. He spent hardly anytime at all messing with controls, letting her do as she pleased. The ol’ girl certainly knew the drill.
“I’m so happy…” The Doctor confessed, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling goofily at his husband. His arms found their place around Sherlock’s shoulder’s and he kissed him. His husband.
It was then The Doctor paused a moment to watch the pale, beautiful face he loved so much before kissing him. Ah, now this was better. They were home, and no one was around to watch, an entirely creepy concept he didn’t want to think too much about.
“And now it’s our wedding night.~” He chimed, nuzzling gently at Sherlock’s jaw.
This was not Sherlock’s forte. Groups of people, all milling around, being loud and obnoxious. It was oppressive to him, even if he knew most of them. Some of them, of course, were there for the Doctor, and Sherlock didn’t know them, and didn’t talk to them. But it still felt like he was sitting in the center of a bee hive, and there was unnecessary buzzing all around him.
He didn’t eat. He wasn’t hungry. And the food wasn’t to his liking anyway. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, and really, Sherlock was the only one who seemed unhappy at his own wedding. But that was just Sherlock. Unhappy no matter what.
Glancing at the Doctor when he spoke, Sherlock shook his head.
“No,” he said. He nodded towards the table where many of Sherlock’s friends sat. “Ask Molly. She likes you.”
“Nah…” The Doctor smiled, patting Sherlock’s hand. “Besides it seems someone has already beaten me to it.” And with that it seemed like things had gone badly with Lestrade’s wife and to prove himself… really to himself, he was asking Molly to dance. He could hear them from where he sat if he focused a bit. ‘Will they mind? They haven’t-’ ‘Of course he won’t mind, this is Sherlock, after all.’
And they went to dance and The Doctor smiled. He looked about. Everyone was happy and chattering and eating. Good.
“Hey, Love,” The Doctor smirked, taking Sherlock’s hand, “how about we make like a couple of Malkarian bumble bees and fly on out of here?~ ” He was pretty much done with this now, what with the reception over anyway. Besides, it’s not like anyone was looking. And he doubted Sherlock wanted to stay.
Sherlock blinked when the Doctor kissed him a shade prematurely. But that was the Doctor, really, wasn’t it? Eager as always. It was a bit disconcerting that there were people clapping and chattering as they kissed, since kissing was something Sherlock kept strictly for inside the TARDIS, or at the flat, or anywhere where there weren’t people.
Smiling slightly against the Doctor’s lips, Sherlock parted them, and then brought the Doctor’s knuckles to his mouth. He kissed those, too, and then found that he was anxious to get out of the spotlight, and elsewhere, where he could properly kiss the Doctor.
The Doctor kissed his hair line, a bit hidden from his curly bangs and walked him back down the aisle, everyone following with bits happy muttering and conversation. “Just dinner, darling,” He whispered, an affectionate arm running across his shoulders, “then we can get back to the TARDIS. But we have to say goodbye to our guests, our friends, properly, is all…”
He was excited, and it showed in his face. There was a separate place to eat, about similar in size so just right for what they had.
And dinner went well, separate tables for separate little groups . Lestrade sat with Craig, probably encouraged by their wedding to text his ex-wife again. That’d go smashingly.
The steak seemed to please John and he and Molly and Mrs. Hudson talked at their table. He dared not look over at the Holmes’ for he was not that courageous.
At some point through the meal, Lestrade began clinking a glass, as did Molly and practically everyone else. Demanding a kiss from the couple. Cute, but The Doctor knew that would make Sherlock uncomfortable so he pecked his cheek to settle the people.
The classical, instrumental music he’d asked to be played was playing gently, a bit louder now that most talking was out the way. “Will you dance with me?” He asked quietly, nodding his head over at the large dance floor to their side. A hopeful smile graced his face, however if Sherlock declined he’d understand.
Sherlock looked down at his hand where now, there were two rings. A thinner band that he had been wearing for a long time. And the thicker, less adorned wedding band. It was strange seeing jewelry on his hand, since he never wore it.
Glancing at the man, Sherlock fished out the platinum band. He’d been careful to have them sized perfectly. And as he expected, it did fit. Perfectly. The Doctor’s hands were slender and long, and not very big.
Actually, Sherlock liked the way the ring looked there.
The Doctor let out a small shuddered breath as the band went around his finger. Secure, and always. Just like their promise.
The wedding officiant was saying something else again, and at about ‘I do pronounce you both wed, you may-‘, The Doctor was kissing him. His hand had brought up Sherlock’s chin slightly, raising his gaze from his new band to his eyes and it had been a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.
The audience let out a mutual chuckle at his eagerness and while it was a bit odd to have people clap for seeing him kiss his beloved, he couldn’t really hear them. He was focused on his fingers lightly touching Sherlock’s face and how soft it was and how soft his lips were and the fact that they were married. Sherlock Holmes, his husband.
Sherlock’s eidetic memory had locked up his vows, which he recited without trouble. They were much simpler, much shorter, much less sentimental. A promise of loyalty, a promise of protection, and a promise of love. That was all there was, and all there needed to be. After all, he wasn’t a sentimental man, and spending too much time spewing unnecessarily about his affections seemed pointless to him, and would have taken up more time than they really should have spent.
In the end, Sherlock finished in a moment, a shorter time than the Doctor. He heard a sniffle from the audience, and he couldn’t resist the urge to look over at Molly, who was crying into John’s shoulder. John had a strange mixture of sadness and happiness in his eyes, and that was a thing Sherlock found it difficult to look at.
So he looked at the Doctor again, instead.
The vows were beautiful, true to Sherlock’s character. And The Doctor loved them. He wanted to kiss him for his sweet words, but he knew he’d have to wait just a bit longer.
“Doctor,” the wedding officiant smiled, they were very smily, “you may now present Sherlock with his ring.”
His hand shook slightly as he nodded curtly and held the ring firmly. Don’t drop it. He took Sherlock’s hand in his own, and looked him in the eye, a wide, cheesy smile of his own as it slide down his calloused finger. Wow. It looked… perfect.
“Sherlock?” The man over-seeing the ceremony turned to him expectantly. “The ring.”
Sherlock was as indifferent to the room and the people in it as he was to the cars parked outside. It was easy for Sherlock not to be nervous. Nerves were pointless, and after all, why should he feel nervous? All he was about to do was tell everyone else that he was going to continue to do just what he’d been doing all this time: tolerating the Doctor, and shagging him occasionally. That hardly seemed something to get nervous about.
But even as he made his way to where the Doctor stood, he was perplexed by the Doctor’s tears, which he effectively ignored. Why was he crying? That didn’t really seem to make sense to Sherlock, so he said nothing to that effect. Instead, he found his spot, and glanced towards Mycroft and his mother, both of whom had the same distasteful look on their faces. Mummy had never imagined Sherlock would get married, and even if she had entertained the idea, marrying a man was certainly not her idea of a future for a Holmes boy.
That being said, she was quiet, and otherwise respectful, which was more than Sherlock had expected.
All Sherlock had on his person was the platinum wedding band in his pocket, which he had been fingering all morning long, and actually wanted to continue doing now. But instead, he just glanced at the man before them who would do the honors of making this official. In England, anyway. He had no idea what that meant for the rest of the universe.
The Doctor’s murmured words were almost muted out, and Sherlock’s initial reaction would have been to kiss him on the cheek. Of course, John had quizzed him on proper marriage ceremony etiquette for a week beforehand. So he was sure that wasn’t proper. So he resisted that urge.
“Dearly beloved,” began the wedding officiant with a pleasant voice, “we have gathered here today to bring together and support two great men as they begin their journey into matrimony…” And on he went and his voice calmed The Doctor down. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Sherlock and the way his hair looked, and his eyes like galaxies brilliant and vibrant, and the way his suit fit his lengthy form so well…
“The grooms have prepared their own vows, and would wish to recite them now.” Prompted the fellow nicely, a smile of serenity on his face. The Doctor assumed he must like his job.
The Doctor, they had planned, would go first, though what was actually said was a surprise. They had to come from the heart.
“I, The Doctor, promise to you, Sherlock Holmes, that I will love you and care for you and strive everyday to be worthy of the love you have for me. I promise to be honest, patient, compassionate, and forgiving.
“I promise to nurture you, and your dreams, and help shoulder the challenges that we will face together, as one. And I promise that I will keep you, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death do us part. This is my sacred vow to you, my equal in all things.”
To be honest, he felt his voice clench with emotion at certain parts of his vows but he did not stop and every bit fell from his tongue with ease. Memorized, and embedded onto film because damn Craig and his iPhone.
