The beatiful speech Sherlock made at John's wedding
MC: Pray silence for the Best Man.
Sherlock: Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, and, um, others. Er, …. Also....
John: Telegrams.
Sherlock: Right, um…. first thing first, telegrams. Well they’re not actually telegrams, we
just call them telegrams, I don’t know why. Wedding tradition. Because we don’t have
enough of that already, apparently.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Watson, so sorry I am unable to be with you on your special day. Good
luck and best wishes. Mike Stanford. “
“To John and Mary, all good wishes for your special day. With love and many big, big
squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted.”
“Mary, lots of love, Poppet. Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes. From CAM. Wish
your family could have seen this.”
“Special day”, “very special day”, “Love…” “Love…”, “Love…”, “Love…”
Bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically fond.
John Watson. My friend, John Watson. John. When John first broached the subject to
being Best Man, I was confused. I confess at first I didn’t realize he was asking me.
When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised.
I explained to him that I’d never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the
face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task
which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated.
Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was, in
some ways, very close to being moved by it. It later transpired that I’d said none of this
out loud.
Done that. Done that. Done that bit, done that bit. Done that bit. Hmm.
I’m afraid, John, I can’t congratulate you. All emotions, particularly love, stand opposed
to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion,
nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and
sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the
deathwatch beetle that is the doom of our society, and in time one feels certain our
entire species. But anyway, let’s talk about John.
John: Please.
Sherlock: If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures, it is not of
sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has
overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity
and sharpness comes in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.
It is a fact, I believe,that brides tend to favour exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their
big day.There is a certain analogy there, I feel. And contrast is, after all, God’s own plan
to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy
designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot.
The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all
around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet.
I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful,and uncomprehending in the
face of the happy.
So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be Best Man, it is because I never
expected to be anybody’s best friend. And certainly not the best friend of the bravest
and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.
John, I am a ridiculous man. Redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your
friendship. But as I am apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your
choice of companion.
Actually, now I can.
Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am
capable. John, you have endured war and injury and tragic loss, so sorry again about
that last one. So know this – today you sit between the woman you have made your
wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this
world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say, we will never let you down and
we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.