As the pre-wedding festivities officially kicked off, the palace transformed from a quiet estate into a sprawling, vibrant, chaotic festival. Guests began arriving in waves, clogging the long driveway with luxury cars and filling the grand halls with a cacophony of languages and laughter.
Sherlock stood at the top of the marble staircase, observing the sea of faces with a look of profound skepticism. It appeared as though the entirety of Birmingham had decided to relocate to the Roy estate for the week.
"I thought you said this was a family affair," Sherlock remarked, his eyes tracking a group of teenagers taking selfies near a 19th-century tapestry.
"At this rate, we’ll need to issue rations."
"I promise, it’s not all of Birmingham," Shruti assured him, leaning lightly on his arm as she surveyed the crowd.
"It’s just people of our acquaintance and relatives—lots and lots of relatives."
She let out a small, ironic huff.
"Most of these people couldn't be bothered to fly out for the Holmwood ceremony in September. But the prospect of a Roy wedding at the actual palace? The FOMO—fear of missing out—is a powerful motivator. They didn't want to miss the 'Roy-marry' Shaadi— wedding of the season, so here they are."
Sherlock hummed, his mind already categorizing the new arrivals by their gait, their dress, and their level of potential "nosiness." He noticed a distinct pattern: the relatives who had ignored their English wedding were now the ones most eager to push their way to the front to greet Nani and offer unsolicited advice to Shruti.
"They aren't here for us," Sherlock deduced, his voice low. "They’re here for the spectacle. To enjoy the celebration — rich food and accommodation."
"Precisely," Shruti whispered back, a tired but sharp glint in her eyes. "Which is why we stay close, keep the smiles polite, and retreat to the No Entry Zone the second the rituals allow. Ready to play the part of the happy, traditional couple for a few hundred of our 'closest' strangers?"
Sherlock looked down at her, seeing the slight paleness under her makeup and the defiant tilt of her chin. "Only if it means I get to ban at least three more people by sunset."
Shruti snorted. "Deal. But they better be drunk, fatty uncles with too much perfume or, resentful, middle-aged ladies with big-talking mouths."
Sherlock titled his head in affirmation. "You do realize you're essentially giving me half the gathered crowd to play with."
Shruti, nonchalant: "Consider this your wedding gift."
That made both of them chuckle as they watched the buzz on the grounds.
