Chapter Text
Dust settled like a blanket over the arch and aisle of the upcoming nuptials, coating every seat with a fine layer. As the small number of guests congregated at the seats before them, a few of the more formal members of the group complained, but to both Enola and Tewkesbury, it just made their wedding more beautiful and suited to the region where they were. They were tired of the colonialism that their country had perpetuated, and this felt like an act of rebellion almost. It felt like the land itself was claiming their wedding to be its own, and they were entirely alright with that.
Enola stood off to the side, preparing to walk down the aisle, so ready to be matched to Tewkesbury forever. Her brother’s unkind words before her first wedding were buried deep inside her brain before the original wedding, but now they had been replaced by reassurances from every one of her immediate and less immediate family members. Her confidence was boosted and ready for her wedding.
She thought she was as ready as possible until her mother was talking to her and revealed that Edith was there. Her face was flooded by an expression that was stronger than mere happiness; she had missed Edith much more than she ever cared to admit, nearly equally to the amount that she had missed her own mother.
They enveloped one another in a hug that felt so warming and comforting, even despite the high temperatures in Malta in the late spring.
She felt so much better about this wedding than she had for the previous one. Every single detail down to her much more subtle wedding dress was fitted to her and her soon to be husband, rather than how the aforementioned one had felt built for anyone, with her only being the partner that had been chosen by Earnest.
This time, there was no ill-fitting traditionally English music as she made her way down the aisle before her, leaving shoe prints behind in the dust which was melting away before her feet.
Her eyes locked into Tewkesbury’s dark brown ones, a subtle smile emanating across her tanned skin, which had become progressively darker through her time in Malta, a far more traumatic experience for everyone than anyone could’ve possibly anticipated coming there.
As she reached the front, her and Tewkesbury began to move closer, so wrapped up in the moment that they had forgotten that it was not customary for a future husband and wife to kiss before the ceremony began. They only stopped when a shout came clearly past them from Eudoria.
Enola quickly glanced behind her at Sherlock, whose expression was fittingly unreadable, though his eyes were trained on Watson, and there was a subtle glint behind them which was only detectable by another Holmes to be a look of love. I guess love truly was in the air for the Holmes siblings.
As the ceremony faded, the love didn’t, and the married couple now descended into the sea, laughing as they had done before this whole ordeal began. And it was glorious.
Meanwhile, Eudoria sat down onto her bed subtly glancing over at Edith, who was taking off the little amount of makeup which lay on her skin’s surface, revealing an equally if not more beautiful woman, who was barely hiding beneath it all.
Edith turned around and Eudoria quickly looked away, pretending to be undoing her boots.
“Eudoria,” Edith said gently, her voice slightly breaking, “I wish we could have as beautiful a wedding as they got, but no one would understand.”
Eudoria looked up at her, sadly matching her exact facial expressions because her heart broke in exactly the same way since she knew that Edith was completely correct. And there was nothing they could do to change it.
They were already fighting for women’s rights, and they were spread far too thin doing that, fighting for the right to love who they want would only get them more abused and make less people influenced to follow their ideas. No. They had to keep this secret, potentially until beyond the grave. Maybe then they could exist in harmony and not be in constant fear of people discovering that they were in love with one another.
This world was too unfair for people like them. They could only hope for change in future generations.
“I sometimes wish I could just be normal, and love men, but I just don’t feel the same way towards men as I do towards men. As I do towards you,” Eudoria admitted, “when I married William, I never felt anything like this towards him.”
“I know exactly how you feel, and it's okay, because we have each other, and we’re already on the run for one thing, may as well make it two. We should tell people, or at least Sherlock and Enola,” Edith suggested.
Eudoria nodded carefully, but deep down, she was panicking. What if her children didn’t understand? She couldn’t lose that. Mycroft would never understand, and she never expected him to, and never planned on telling him either. However, if Sherlock or Enola didn’t accept her, she would break. Completely.
They were the only people she had besides Edith, and she still felt alone at the best of times. If Sherlock or Enola, or worse both of them, ever ended up leaving her, she’d feel even worse. She’d feel abandoned.
But she kept her brave face on for Edith. She mustn’t plague her with stories such as these.
Concurrently, Sherlock was lying in bed, cursing his brilliant mind for keeping him away from the slumber which Watson had achieved so simply, when he peered over towards him. He was breathing peacefully in his single bed opposite; hand splayed on the pillow above his head. He was carefully mumbling unintelligible words beneath each slow breath, and he looked so peaceful.
Sherlock’s head turned away, staring back up towards the ceiling as his face flushed with color unfamiliarly. He felt a way which he had never felt before. Towards anyone.
What was this that he was feeling?
It felt wonderous, and terrifying and so exciting all in one. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else felt the same way towards a close friend. And they weren’t really very close. They barely knew anything about one another. He knew his habits and behaviors, but that’s very different to actually knowing someone.
So why did he feel this strong unknown emotion towards him?
What could this emotion even be known as?
At that moment, Watson twitched, and clearly muttered, Sherlock.
He was appearing in Watson’s dreams. Did he feel the same way?
Watson suddenly awoke from his dream world, to see Sherlock’s bright and beautiful eyes tracking him.
Had he said something in his dreams which had given his feelings away. He knew he was the type to talk in his sleep, so he actually might’ve.
Oh god.
This way he was feeling was unlawful, and he knew that full well. What if Sherlock reported him to the authorities. And he was sent to a conversion camp. Or worse, put to death.
No, he couldn’t have that happen.
When he gazed into Sherlock’s eyes, they made eye contact for no more than a fleeting moment. He recognized the look behind Sherlock’s eyes.
It was the same way he felt. They clearly felt the same way.
When John climbed out from under his sheet, he walked over to Sherlock, who was now sitting facing the wall away from Watson, and placed his hand lightly on his back. He slightly shuddered at the sudden touch but didn’t move away.
Instead, he nestled towards his touch.
This was confirmation.
They felt the same together.
Right?
But he was too scared to move in for a kiss. What if he’d misinterpreted the signals? He couldn’t take that risk. Not when the consequences were so dire.
So, his touch faded and he moved away. Back to his bed. Back to sleep. Where he could be who he was without the fear that came with it in the real world.