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It smells like flowers. Everything. Smells. Like. Flowers. There are baskets piled everywhere, covering every surface, plumeria and bougainvillea and crown flower. The entire floor of the sitting room is green with foliage, and rolls of string are clustered together on the dining room table. It smells like a funeral home and Sherlock is scowling as he pushes his needle through yet another purple petal.

“We are never getting married,” he snaps.

John doesn't even look at him. His brow is furrowed with concentration and annoyance and he can feel a headache coming on. “Agreed.”

They string flowers and foliage in silence for a while.

“Anyway,” Sherlock says suddenly. “Not like this.”

John smiles at the plumeria now dotted with his blood. “Definitely not. We'll elope.” Then after a minute. “You don't have to do this, Sherlock.”

Sherlock raises his head long enough to glare at him and John returns it with his mildest look. “You practically threatened me with abstinence if I didn't.”

“No, I just said I wouldn't have time to have sex. That wasn't a threat. Just a fact. The wedding is tomorrow. It's not my fault.”

“It's your fault you said yes.”

“She's my sister! What else was I supposed to say?”

“'Sorry, Harry, I'll be too busy having sex with my boyfriend, and since you were too drunk to show up to mine with Mary—'”


Sherlock snaps his lips shut but his eyes flash. He turns abruptly back to the heap of flowers and foliage in his lap and furiously stabs an orchid with his needle.

John takes a breath. “Sherlock. Just. She's trying, okay? I know she's not exactly—anyway. She's trying. Don't make it harder for her. And thank you. For helping, I mean. We're almost done. Just a few more, yeah?”

Sherlock threads in silence for a minute, but he looks up and nods. “Fine. But we're still eloping when we get married.”


John grins. “First you have to ask.”

Sherlock frowns at him but there's amusement there too now. “Or you could ask me.”

“Me?” John echoes, aghast. “Everyone would think I'd gone mad to want to marry you. But if you ask me I can just say I didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

Sherlock sticks his tongue out and John laughs. “Git. I don't plan on asking. I'm just going to tie you up and drag you in front of a minister one day and you won't have a bloody word to say about it.”

“You tie me up? Now there's a change of pace,” and Sherlock laughs as John's face turns beet red.

They're quiet again, but it's a good silence this time, and by the time 2am rolls around they are both stiff and aching and ready to burn the flat down with every flower and piece of foliage in it.

“That's it,” Sherlock says, and standing up, he crosses over to John. John doesn't even protest as Sherlock pulls him to his feet and starts fumbling at his belt.

“Sherlock, what—”

“Be quiet, John. We can stab more flowers and leaves after.”

“After—Sherlock, we don't—”

Sherlock doesn't answer, just pushes him face first towards the nearest wall and kicks a foot between his legs. John gives a startled yelp. “Sherlock!”

“Hush, John. Now, listen carefully.”

One long-fingered hand reaches around to dangle a tiny bundle of flowers and foliage in front of John's face. “This is a lei. I made it for you. Do you see what size it is?”

John stares at it, this tiny thing of colour and scent, barely large enough to fit around his wrist. He nods dumbly, not sure what else to say, and he feels the soft breath of approval on the back of his neck.

“Good boy, John. Now watch closely,” and John does, as hands reach down and drag his trousers down with his pants, just far enough down so that his cock comes bobbing out and he feels the brush of Sherlock's trousers on his arse. John is already more than half hard, his body recognising this position for what it is. He watches with a silent fascination as those hands drape the tiny lei over his cock and he feels the silk of the petals brushing tight against his balls.

“Oh God.”

“Now, John,” Sherlock says, and his voice is low and threatening against his ear. He shudders, and the flower wreathe shifts against his balls as his cock hardens. “Are you listening, John? This is important.”

John can't quite catch his breath so he nods, a tight motion of his head and Sherlock chuckles quietly, the heat of his breath on the side of John's face.

“I made that lei for you, John, and I expect you to wear it. I expect you to wear it all night. While I fuck you up against this wall, I expect it to stay on, perched on your lovely little cock. I expect it to stay on while I'm inside you, and I expect it to stay on after I've come in you and I pull out so you can feel me dripping down your thighs. And it's going to stay on as you sit in that chair with my come on your arse and we string more flowers for your sister's wedding. It's very important it stays on, John. And should you at any time feel the lei start to slip, should you start to…fall…I will gladly put you back up against this wall and fuck you hard once more. Do you understand, John? Because if it does slip, John, should this lei I made you fall off, it will be a very, very long time before I let you come again. Do you understand, John?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes.”

“Good. Now let's begin.”