“One for sorrow, two for mirth.” John raised his champagne flute, “May your joys always double any pain’s worth. Sláinte!”
Gregory stood and gave him a solid hug. Mycroft reached out and took John’s hand in both of his in thanks. Naturally, knives were taken to the crystal champagne flutes for the newlywed couple to kiss amidst the applause and various calls of cheers that filled the room after John’s best man speech.
It was a beautiful sunny late afternoon secular service. Gregory acknowledged his now husband’s atheism by not having an overly religious ceremony. Mycroft acknowledged Gregory’s belief by having a Catholic priest officiate and bless their union. He even managed to keep a serene face as fingers dipped in holy water made the sign of the cross on his forehead, though he had squeezed the hands of an amused Greg a little tighter for the duration.
“I was reasonably in fear that smoke would black smoke would seep through his forehead at the contact point for a short moment there. I was damned sure the bible the priest had Sherlock hold open would go up in flames.” John teased a bit later.
“I thought I heard a sizzle for a second, honestly.” Sherlock added with wry self-depreciation, “After all, I had not touched one since I pretended to be a vicar to get into Irene Adler’s place. The gilded tome did seem to be warming
A beautiful sunny afternoon had turned into an equally beautiful moonlit night.
“The close of your toast, John. Where did you get the rhyming sentiment?” Mycroft asked the former army captain.
“The first part one for mirth, two for sorrow was something I heard my Mum say at weddings. I ad-libbed the other part just then. You two have gone through the wringer and then some to get here. You deserve this happiness today and more.” John grabbed a passing champagne flute and raised it to the brand spanking new newlyweds.
“It was lovely close. Thank you, John.” Greg grinned as he took the last champagne flute on the tray by a waitress in passing. He took a long sip before he locked his arm through Mycroft’s “So, shall we continue making the rounds my husband?”
“We most certainly shall.” Mycroft grinned at Gregory. “I have to say I do love the sound of those two words from your mouth.”
“My husband” Greg repeated with a smile, then gasped lightly.
“Gregory?” Mycroft turned at the odd sound.
“I imagine you thought you’d never hear anyone say those words to you did you, brother dear?”
The four men paused and turned to the waitress who spoke.
John dropped his champagne flute and immediately pulled his gun on the escaped homicidal psychopath.
“Eurus!” Sherlock stared at his sister in shock. “How?”
“Too bad it will be the last time.” the woman smiled.
“No!” Mycroft cried in horror, his eyes solely on Gregory, as his husband, the champagne flute he had held and his world simultaneously collapsed.
The line for this week is: “One for sorrow, two for mirth.”
We’re given the first line, and we get to write the rest.