Sherlock preferences

You are invited to a wedding

A/n- ok guys! For this part I've only done Sherlock and Mycroft because I could only think of two stories (I am extremely tired). I would like to do one of these for John and Moriarty but I'd need some suggested storylines. If you want to see this part for any other characters, please give me some ideas and I'll pick my favourites 😊 thanks xx
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Sherlock-
Sherlock didn't even open his eyes when the dainty little violet envelope fluttered through the letterbox and landed on the floor. The fire crackled and spat in the background as he sat trying to think about a triple homicide. He only moved when Mrs Hudson followed up with;
"Post for you dears!"
You looked over at him and raised your eyebrows persuasively. He let out a long sigh and childishly slid onto the floor to retrieve the letter. He picked it up and flipped it over.
"Going by the colour of the envelope this says wedding, classy not bold so young... Ish, i'd say about 25. You have several friends who are about 25 so hard to narrow down. Look at the calligraphy though, obviously not done professionally but not a bad job, I'd say someone who writes like this regularly on labels and such... Probably that one that works at the bakers, the tall one, with...the hair...? Sorry I'm not very good with names." He grinned cheekily as you snatched the letter from his grasp. "Jessica" you said through gritted teeth.
"Jessica?... Oh yes, the baker" Sherlock stated, smugly as his deduction was correct.
"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Miss Jessica Charlotte Mosby and Mr Thomas Adrian Michaels... How sweet"
You were still speaking through your teeth and Sherlock could tell something was up. He placed his hand gently on your chin until your eyes broke contact with the letter. Your tear ducts stung a little but you forced yourself not to cry in front of Sherlock.
"(Y/n)? What's wrong?"
You inhaled deeply, pulling yourself tightly into his chest, leaving him with no option but to place his arms round your frame, still in confusion.
"I've not seen Jessica in months! And here she is! Inviting me to her WEDDING? I wouldn't even have said we were that close... After want happened in college and all..."
Sherlock pulled away for a brief moment to look down at you, his Cupid's bow dipped slightly into one of those concerned pouts he always does when he is worried about you.
"What about college?..."
He whispered gently, not forcing the question upon you like a police interrogation but offering it as more of an option where you could choose to speak if you wished. You inhaled deeply, once again and the memories began to flush harshly back into your consciousness.
"Well..." You began quaking ever so slightly
"Jessica was always one of the nerds in school y'know? Stereotypical. Glasses, tight ponytail, wore cardigans and brown trousers not skirts... Well, I was a 'popular' one. But I didn't mind being friends with her, sure, it didn't win me any 'cool points' but she was a lovely person and I couldn't leave her alone like the rest did..."
You stopped and wiped an emerging tear from your eye. Sherlock sighed and picked you up, carrying you over to his chair where he sat and placed you across his lap.
"Continue" he ushered softly
"Yeah... Well as Jessica and I hung out more and more, she began to... I don't know... Change. She wore more skirts; changed her glasses to contacts; bought more fashionably branded bags and pencil cases. She basically became popular. After that though, she started hanging out with my friends and they really liked her. So much so that they kicked ME out of the group... I was replaced by Jessica."
"Oh (y/n)"
"I was left with nothing... The popular kids wouldn't talk to me and neither would the geeks... I was alone, all because of her,"
Sherlock leaned you in to lie across his chest. You had become accustomed to feeling the bumps of his ribs against your cheek and it filled you with some comfort. He raised a hand to draw through your hair and started to speak
"Look, (y/n), I think I know a thing or two about being an outcast... It's no fun.. But look at you know." You smiled and pressed your head deeper against his strong yet angelic looking body, the porcelain jutting up against your face and body.
"Let's go to that wedding, lets outshine that bride and let's get so drunk that you won't even know what day it is!"
"SHERLOCK!??"
"Sorry" he said sheepishly "it was just an idea... Let's just have a night in."
He smiled again, cradling the femininity of your curvature against the fragility of his skeletal pottery frame.
"That sounds lovely" you murmured as you threw the letter into the fire that had been lit. It crackled and fidgeted like a snake recoiling and sliding into the undergrowth after a fight.
"Who needs Marriage anyway?"
"Sherlock... WE are married"
"Yes, well, Jessica isn't marring an ultra genius is she?" You raised your brow once again "aaaand, and! I bet Jessica will not be half as beautiful as a bride as you were"
"That's more like it" you giggled and closed your eyes. Soon you both fell asleep to the crackling of the fire.

Mycroft-
You were sat there -hands nervously between your knees- next to Mycroft in one of the church pews. You were both on the end of the row, Mycroft right next to the isle, you, one in, sat next to some distant auntie you never knew you had. The atmosphere was gorgeous, blue silks hung from the walls and there were surplus amounts of flowers adorning each available jut in the church. Mycroft fidgeted.
"Why do you make me come? I don't even know these people... For Christ's sake, you've not seen her in six months!"
You sighed heavily, letting out a slight irritated groan as you place your hand on his knee and squeezed.
"I told you, we invited her to our wedding last year! It would seem rude not to take her up on an invite to her's."
Mycroft rolled his eyes and you slapped his leg playfully. "I'm just afraid that she'll look better than I did in my dress..."
You muttered under your breath. The comment seemed out of nowhere, but Mycroft knew you. You were often prone to these kind of deprecating outbursts. He took his own hand and placed in on your thigh, provoking you to lift your head which had been dipped to stare into your silver shoes.
"Precious. You know how beautiful you looked in your dress, nothing can top that" he smiled warmly and you slid up against his side, letting your head fall against his broad shoulder. The feeling of his soft, pressed suit against your skin was magical "thank you Mykie"
"You're welcome"
Suddenly, the lights dimmed a little and 'Here comes the bride' began to grandly play. Mycroft wasn't really interested but you immediately turned your body to face the back of the church and watch her enter. As soon as you caught a glimpse of her, your head instantly snapped back to face the front
"That bitch!" You whispered to yourself -a little too loudly- catching Mycroft's attention.
"What was that?..." He inquired
"That bitch!" You said again "that's my dress! She picked the same dress as me!" Defeated, you flopped down in your seat and with tears in your eyes, folded your arms and pressed harshly against your stomach. Mycroft felt devastated. Not usually being an emotional man, his first instinct was to subtly panic. He wasn't used to dealing with this so he just ushered you back to his side and tried to move your arms away from your midsection. He acted so gentlemanly. He cradled both your hands in his and brushed your stray fringe out of your face.
"Don't do that..." He spoke softly, the wedding still going on in the background
"Do what?" You sniffed and attempted to retract your hands. He wouldn't let you.
"I know what you're doing (y/n). You feel self conscious again. You always cover yourself with your arms when you feel self conscious."
"It's involuntary..." You muttered
"It's unnecessary..." He smoothly retorted. Your face bore a smile for a split second before the bride passed your isle. Mycroft noticed her this time. He looked her up and down, seemingly unimpressed at the spectacle. The dress was the same but the person in it was not. She looked pretty, granted, but who doesn't on their wedding day? Her silvery white, flowered tiara glistened as the light caught it and Mycroft could tell that she had been uncomfortably yanked into the dress by the corset... Far too tight. She almost looked inhuman as she slowly made her way to her husband-to-be.
"There really is no need to be jealous (y/n). I think the dress suited you far better" he purred into your ear as you sulked.
"Mine didn't have a corset... She's obviously wearing a corset..."
You stared daggers at her tiny waist as she stepped along the long carpet. Mycroft was becoming more and more agitated and nervous as you say there on the brink of tears in the tiny pew.
"Come on."
"W-what? Where-?"
"Just take my hand"
Mycroft instantly pulled you up from your set and carried you bridal style back down the isle and into the reception area (luckily you were mostly unseen as all eyes were on the bride).
The open doors of the reception allowed a cool breeze to remove your tears. When he placed you back down, Mycroft just stood with his arms folded, looking at you with a mixture of pity and understanding in his glimmering dark eyes.
"What?.." You murmured in a low tone
"You know what..." He said, unfolding his arms and offering them for another embrace. You pressed yourself harshly against his chest, clinging to his frame like a primate grasping on to a tree for dear life.
"Why did she have to do that?" You spoke into his suit. "She SAW my dress!"
Mycroft awkwardly stroked your hair while you wept against him, not really sure of the protocol he had to carry out.
"Well... If it's any consolation... I think you looked practically breath taking when I married you. And you have every day since..."
You immediately brought your face away from his torso
"Awwww, Myk." You smiled, slightly consoled.
"Come on, let's get back home. I never really liked her anyway..." Mycroft chuckled as you took his arm in yours. Walking in time with the faded music, out the front door and away from the church, you both continued to smile.
You squeezed his arm tightly and without another passing word, you walked on.