John's silver hair was combed neatly and slicked to one side. His suit was neat, his Best Man speech written out on a piece of paper, folded and tucked away in his breast pocket. He stepped into the small newsagents with his daughter, their formal attire a stark contrast to the clutter of snacks and soft drinks surrounding them.

He walked up to the counter. "Twenty... er..." he looked down at his phone. "Marlboro Red?"

The clerk nodded and turned around to the wall of cigarettes behind him. He lifted a pack and set them down, eyeing Rosie as she toddled around the shop in her poufy white dress.

"They're not for her," John joked. "They're for a very stressed-out groom."

The man gestured to the stack of newspapers beside them. "You're not on your way to that, are you?"

John glanced over at the headlines: 'HAT DETECTIVE TO WED TODAY.' He handed over the money and slipped the box into his pocket.

"I am, actually, yeah..."

"Really? Wow." The clerk leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter. "So, what's he really like then? The papers always make him out to be this mysterious vigilante type. But is he really like that?"

"Well he just text me asking me to bring him cigarettes. So right now, I'd say he's probably on the verge of a breakdown."

*

Sherlock was on the verge of a breakdown. At least, that was what others would say. He stood in the middle of 221B Baker Street in his black three-piece suit with his violin resting beneath his chin. He lifted the bow and ran it shakily across the strings, while his other hand couldn't seem to hold a chord. He huffed and let out a low, frustrated growl.

"Oh, what's the matter, Sherlock?"

He turned around to see Mrs Hudson standing in her floral dress; a concerned expression peering at him from beneath an extravagant lilac hat.

"I can't... play," he replied through gritted teeth before looking down at his hand. "My fingers seem to be trembling. Perhaps a sign of an underlying neurological issue..."

Mrs Hudson giggled. "You've got the shakes."

"What?"

"You're just nervous." She walked up to him, fixing the flower pin on his chest and straightening his pale grey tie.

He looked down at her, watching as she took so much care folding his shirt collar and smoothing it down. Her eyes were teary, her lip holding back a tremor.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She glanced up at him, shook her head and smiled. "You just look so handsome," she said. "I'm so proud of you, Sherlock."

"You're acting like I'm going to die."

"Oh shush," she batted her hand at him and took a step back. "I just... I've always known deep down that you would marry someday. I feel very protective of you, like you're my own son, and mothers... they just know these things. It's like a sixth sense."

"How could you possibly have known?"

"Because you're lovely, Sherlock. Because underneath it all, you're a caring soul."

He pulled a face. She ignored it as she continued.

"You're loving, and despite the way you present yourself to the world, you're lovable too."

Sherlock began to roll his eyes, but stopped himself as he looked at her; at her beaming smile and glossy eyes. He sighed.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

"What for?"

"For everything. And you can stop worrying; I may be getting married, but we both know I'll always need you." He stepped forward and placed a kiss on the side of her forehead before putting his violin back on its stand.

John walked into the flat with Rosie resting on his hip. Her pearly blonde hair was long and wispy; he had done his best to somewhat style it, but his lack of practice was clear. He put her down on the floor, she ran towards the kitchen and began to shout.

"Von!"

"He will be down in a moment," Sherlock replied before his head snapped up to John. "Do you have them?"

John nodded, taking the cigarettes out of his pocket and handing them over. He unwrapped them hastily, ripping away the foil and sliding one out of the box with his teeth.

"You're not lighting up in here, not with the kids around," said John.

Sherlock grumbled as the cigarette rested between his lips.

"Oh John, here," said Mrs Hudson as she rushed into the kitchen. She returned shortly after with two flower pins. "Here's yours. I'll do Rosie's."

"Thanks," he said as he attached it to his suit jacket. "So, this is your wedding party, is it? Me, Mrs H and the kids?"

"My parents are on their way," Sherlock replied as he peered out of the window. "I believe Mycroft has organised a 'nice car', whatever that means."

Vaughan walked into the living room with a face like thunder. His small suit was identical to the men's, even down to the pale grey tie. His dark, wavy hair had been brushed back and tucked behind his ears, and his walk was clunky in his shiny black shoes.

"I hate this," he said. "I look stupid."

"You're four," Sherlock replied. "Do four-year-olds even care what they look like?"

"They should if they look stupid."

"Oh, Vaughan, you don't look stupid, you look adorable!" Mrs Hudson cupped his face in her hands and pushed his cheeks together.

Sherlock watched as Rosie ran over and squeezed him tight. He watched as Vaughan returned her hug and the pair began to giggle with excitement. It was in these moments that his son most reminded him of Margaux; in his warmth and patience.

Two shiny black cars pulled up outside Baker Street, and within moments, Mycroft and his parents were walking into the flat. Mrs Hudson greeted them kindly, handing them their flowers and offering them drinks. Mycroft looked across to his brother who was standing alone near his armchair, his arms behind his back as he stared ahead into nothing.

He approached him slowly. "If it wasn't for mother reminding me every five minutes that it's your 'special day', I may have abdicated my role of usher just so I didn't have to wear this suit..."

"Really?" he snapped out of his trance, looking him up and down. "I went with black just for you. It's slimming."

Mycroft smiled sarcastically. "Not even a top-hat? Tails? A cravat?"

"I decided all of that wasn't very... me."

"Ah," he gave a slight laugh, his eyes flitting across his brother's face. "You hold tension in your forehead. Might want to try and relax it a bit."

"Mike..." their mother glared from across the room. "Be nice."

He turned back to him and exhaled before reaching out his hand. Sherlock looked down at his extended arm and back up at his face, his brow furrowing slightly.

"It's called a handshake," said Mycroft.

He took his hand.

"Congratulations, baby brother."

"I haven't gone through with it yet."

"No, but I'm trying to be nice. As per mummy's request." They shook hands firmly. Mycroft leaned in, speaking quietly. "I am... incredibly happy for you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh God. Are we really doing the 'loving brother' thing?"

"Just for today."

*

Sunlight shone through the tall windows, laying a frosted glow across the small room. The walls were a mixture of stone and wood, and the air smelled like musk and incense. The muffled sound of voices drifted from the church as guests waited in the pews.

Margaux had spent the entire morning in the company of her bridesmaids; they had distracted her as they got ready, eased her panic as they gathered for photographs and held her hand as they walked up the steps of the church. But now she was alone, standing in the small back room waiting for the word that they were making their way down the aisle.

A large, old-fashioned mirror leant against one of the walls. She looked at herself one last time, twisting her body to check that her dress was sitting right. She leaned in close, checking her makeup and re-positioning her veil. Oh my god, you're getting married, she thought to herself, as if it hadn't quite dawned on her until that very moment. She stepped back, letting out a shaking breath and twisting a loose strand of hair around her finger when suddenly, the door creaked open and Mycroft stepped inside.

"Come to walk me down the aisle and give me away?" she asked.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and allowed a brief smile. "Margaux, the idea that you are something that one man can give to another is absurd."

She smiled. "That was the correct answer."

"I came to tell you they are ready. Your bridesmaids will be walking shortly so you need to make your way to the entrance."

She nodded and took a deep breath. He could sense her nerves as she fiddled with the sleeve of her dress.

"It is with the upmost reluctance that I tell you, you look beautiful."

"Thanks, Mycroft." She laughed slightly, looking in the mirror at herself. "It's funny. I'm marrying Sherlock, but in some ways, I feel like I'm marrying you too. When I say those vows, I'll be gaining a husband, parents, a brother..."

He lowered his head for a moment. "I do hope your expectations are low. We have proven to not be the most functional family unit."

"Yes, well I gathered that when your sister tried to kill me."

He laughed. "See you out there... little sister."

"Mycroft..."

He turned back. "Yes?"

"You know him." She paused. "I understand your rivalry goes back to childhood, but if we're honest, you know him better than anyone."

He nodded, wondering where her point was going. "Mhm?"

"Will he be happy? All of this... it's not just some gesture on his part to make me happy, is it?"

He sighed. "As my brother waits at the altar, I have been making some deductions of my own. He has blotted his brow with a handkerchief four times, removed and reattached his flower three times and exchanged a glance with our mother twice. He has checked his own pulse, changed his stance periodically every ten seconds, and asked Dr Watson if his hair looked okay..."

Margaux giggled.

"He is nervous. My brother does not get... nervous. Does that answer your question?"

She nodded.

He glanced out into the church as music began to play. "It's time."

*

The church was small; intimate yet bright as light poured through the stained-glass windows. John turned his head as music began to play and watched as the bridesmaids walked slowly down the aisle.

Margaux's friend Steph walked first; the long dress trailing behind her. Next was Molly, with Rosie by her side. She blushed and smiled shyly as she held her bouquet in front of her, while Rosie toddled happily with her basket of petals, forgetting to scatter them in her excitement. Finally, Rose appeared in the entrance. Her auburn hair was styled neatly away from her face and she was holding hands with Vaughan who was doing his best to look happy despite his suit.

John smiled as memories from his own wedding flooded his mind. He waved at Rosie and gave her a thumbs-up, mouthing 'well done' as Molly sat down and lifted her onto her lap. He glanced back down the aisle, his mouth falling open slightly as Margaux finally appeared.

Sherlock kept his eyes ahead, his hands clasped together in front of him. A collective gasp echoed across the church, but still, he did not look.

"Oh my god, Sherlock," John whispered as he turned back to him.

"You shouldn't say that in here," he replied.

John rolled his eyes and nudged him gently. "Turn around."

"I can't."

"You need to. Trust me."

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned his head, the hairs on his arms pricking against his sleeves as he laid eyes on her. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, his gulp so audible that it made John give him a reassuring pat on the back.

Margaux only realised she was holding her breath when she reached the altar. She blew out the air softly, smiling at Sherlock as their arms brushed against each other.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi."

The guests sat down. She looked back at them for a moment; at the small scattering of people. She thought it would be upsetting to see the pews so empty. Yet as she stood up there, she felt a strange wave of comfort.

The priest raised his hands and began to speak. "We are brought together today to celebrate the love between Margaux and William."

Sherlock grimaced, Margaux stifled a laugh.

In the pews, Lestrade leaned in to Mrs Hudson. "Who's William?"

"It's Sherlock's first name," she whispered.

"You are having a laugh–"

"Ssssh."

The priest continued to speak, his voice echoing against the arched ceiling. "Marriage is a commitment that should not be entered into lightly. It is a life-long declaration of one's love, support and obligation, binding in law and in the eyes of god."

Margaux glanced up at Sherlock, noticing the slight roll of his eyes. She elbowed him softly, smiling as he looked down at her.

The priest spoke for a long time, and although it couldn't have been more than five minutes, the pair felt as though they had been standing there for hours. A mixture of relief and fear washed over Margaux as he instructed them to face each other. She handed her bouquet to Molly and turned to him. Sherlock took her hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze, though he wasn't sure who needed the reassurance more.

John stepped forward, taking the rings from his pocket and handing them to the priest. The priest held the rings in the palm of his hand as he spoke.

"May these rings be blessed as a symbol of your union. As often as either of you look upon these rings, may you not only be reminded of this moment, but also of the vows you have made and the strength of your commitment to each other." He handed Sherlock Margaux's thin white-gold band, instructing him to hold it near her finger. "Will you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes take Margaux Cave to be your wife? Will you promise to be faithful to her always? To love and honour her, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death parts you?"

Sherlock's breath quivered. "I will."

She smiled as he pushed the ring onto her finger. "Phew," she whispered.

A smile cracked the corners of his mouth.

"Will you, Margaux Cave take William Sherlock Scott Holmes to be your husband? Will you promise to be faithful to him always? To love and honour him, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death parts you?"

"I will," she said before sliding the wedding band onto his finger.

They turned back to the priest as a whimpering drifted from the guests behind them. Sherlock's mind wandered, for just a moment, as he tried to decipher who was crying by the cadence of their sniffling.

The priest continued the ceremony, reciting quotes and saying prayers, until eventually, he raised his hands and finally said the words everyone had been waiting for.

"It is with great honour that I can now call you husband and wife. You may now share your first matrimonial kiss."

Margaux fought the urge to swear with relief. She placed a hand on Sherlock's face and pulled him down to her. But his kiss was chaste – light and quick, almost reluctant.

Their guests applauded and rose to their feet, seeping into the aisle to take photographs as they signed the marriage license at the small desk near the altar. Vaughan made his way over. Margaux lifted him onto her lap, the three of them smiling as cameras flashed around them. But like a settling storm, the church grew quiet as everyone filed outside. John took Vaughan's hand, passing him a box of confetti and leading him to the exit.

"We have to go and wait outside," he said. "We're going to throw this over your mum and dad."

Vaughan took the box with a grin, looking back at his parents with excitement.

And suddenly, they were alone.

"Honestly," Margaux began as they strolled down the aisle. "I'm shocked they even let us in here. I'm not religious and I had a baby out of wedlock, and well... you've killed someone."

"Don't forget the years of drug abuse," he replied.

"Ah yes, that too." She laughed, before grasping his hand and pushing her fingers through his. "Well," she took a deep breath. "We did it."

"We did."

"Now for the hard part."

"That wasn't the hard part?"

"Mm, photos, shaking hands, speeches, socialising... doesn't sound like your cup of tea."

He frowned, then shrugged. "I'm good at pretending."

They stopped just before the exit, the large doors muffling the sound of the guests outside.

"Here we go," she said. "Big smiles..."

She took a step forward, but he stopped her. She turned to look at him as he stood firmly in place, and in one smooth motion, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was different this time – deeper, more intimate. Like he had been starved of her lips and was savouring every moment of them.

"I'm sorry I could not do that up there," he said as he rested his forehead against hers.

"It's okay. I know public displays of affection aren't really your thing."

"Yes. But only because this part of me belongs only to you."

She smiled. "That's fine by me."

"Shall we?" he gestured towards the doors.

She nodded, taking his hand again and allowing him to lead her out into the warm May sun.

Confetti fell from the sky like snow. He gripped her hand tighter, unsure if he would ever let go.

*

The reception venue was dark and romantic, with stone walls and marble floors, grand archways, grassy courtyards and hidden libraries. Sunlight flooded the main hall through large windows, where tables had been strewn with flowers and elegant centrepieces. Plates were empty and champagne glasses clinked as Margaux looked around the room. She smiled at Molly deep in conversation with her new boyfriend, at Greg making Mrs Hudson laugh as he tried on her hat, at Vaughan managing to draw a smirk from Mycroft. She felt a pang of guilt as she looked down the top table, at the empty chair between Mrs Holmes and Vaughan; an 'E' penned on the place card.

Sherlock was sitting next to her, staring down at his left hand with a burning intensity. He glared at the shiny wedding band wrapped around his finger, wondering if he would ever get used to the feeling of it there.

"You okay?" Margaux asked quietly.

He turned to her. "Yes," he said, looking back down at his hand. "Still feels rather... strange."

"I know," she said. "Quite sexy though, you wearing a wedding ring."

"Settle down, darling."

She giggled, fanning herself with her place card.

The sound of metal clinking against glass brought the room to silence before a man holding a knife and a champagne flute raised his voice. "Praise silence for the best man."

Everyone clapped as John rose to his feet, taking his speech out of his jacket pocket.

"Usually the groom speaks before the best man. But for any of you that attended my wedding, I think you'll agree it's best if I go first..."

Laughter pattered across the room.

John cleared his throat. "I would start with how I came to be Sherlock's best man. But he technically didn't ask me, so I can't. He said it was implied, that he would choose no one else – sorry to anyone that wanted to be best man - But... when he said this to me, I realised how even after all this time; after being flatmates, colleagues – if you can call it that." He laughed. "After him being my best man, even as I'm his son's Uncle John, and he's my daughter's Uncle Sherlock... I realised that I was still completely astonished to have this man call me his friend."

An audible 'aww' radiated around the room and Mrs Hudson lifted a napkin to her eye.

"I don't think many people can say they knew their friend was in love before they did. Honestly, I don't even think I can say that. But someone who knew from the first time she saw the two of you together, was my late wife Mary." He cleared his throat, choking back the urge to cry.

Margaux's hand instinctively dropped to Sherlock's lap, finding his hand and gripping it tight.

John continued. "Mary championed love. Everything she did was for love; she was driven by it, and she eventually died for it. Funnily enough, some of my fondest memories of her are when we talked about Sherlock and Margaux. When she'd notice him give her a glance across the room and nudge me so hard she almost broke a rib. When I'd find her sitting in a mood on the couch, and when I'd ask her what was wrong, she'd say 'I just don't understand why they can't get together!'. When she chose them to be Rosie's godparents because she knew they'd make it in the end. If she were here right now she'd give me a hard slap for speaking for her. But she's not, so I don't think she'd mind too much if I said this on her behalf: Sherlock and Margaux Holmes..." He stopped, laughing for a moment as people whooped and cheered. "I bloody knew it - I'm channelling Mary now - I bloody knew it. You are two of the most stubborn people I have ever met, which is how I know that your love must be damn strong. I wish you every ounce of happiness; I hope your successes are endless, I hope your fights are fiery and I'm sorry I can't be there to watch you both stumble blindly through this terrifying thing called marriage."

Margaux laughed, hiding a snivel. Sherlock squeezed her hand under the table.

John raised his glass. "To the happy couple."

Everyone cheered and took a sip of their drinks. John sat down and exhaled with relief, turning to Sherlock who gave him a nod. He nodded back with a smile before bracing himself as the man with the glass announced the groom.

The air seemed to leave the room as Sherlock rose to his feet, many of them experiencing a simultaneous flashback to John's wedding; to the awkward silences, the talk of dead bodies and blood, to him leaping over the top table and searching for a murder victim amongst them. Margaux looked up at him as he cleared his throat, waiting with bated breath for him to speak.

"Th... Er, thank you all... for coming." He paused, looking around the room at the eyes staring back. Waiting. "I er, as John has already so kindly pointed out, speeches are not my strength. I thought about repeating my performance just to annoy him but I didn't think that was fair for the rest of you."

There was a wave of laughter. He hadn't meant for it to be a joke.

"So, I will keep this short. To my parents, I want to thank you. As you can all imagine I was not the easiest child, or adolescent, even as an adult I have not been much better. Yet you sit here today proud of me... that is all I have ever wanted."

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs Holmes breathed, as Mr Holmes placed his arm around her.

"To my... brother Mycroft, I want to assure you. Though I am now a married man, I will always make the time to make your life as difficult as possible."

Everyone laughed as Mycroft raised a glass to his brother.

"To my son, Vaughan. I want to encourage you. While I feel privileged to see so much of myself in you, I urge you to keep tight hold of your mother's traits – they are like gold, and you will be lucky to have them. To my friends," he glanced across to Molly, Mrs Hudson and Greg. "I want to tell you that I am grateful for your patience and your indiscriminate support. To my best man and best friend John, I want to ask you... to remain the 'best' and remain by my side. Always."

John smiled, using his finger to blot away a tear on the inner corner of his eye.

"And," Sherlock turned to Margaux. "To my wife."

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Wife. She was his wife. The notion still hadn't sunk in, instead it sat in the air between them like oil on water.

"I want to promise you," he continued. "That I am unwavering in my love for you. I always will be."

He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright and intense. There was a long silence until she smiled up at him.

"You have to make a toast," she whispered.

"Oh, yes," he turned back to the guests, clumsily lifting his glass. "To Margaux. The most beautiful bride I have ever laid eyes on – how lucky I am, to be her groom."

There was a rumble of applause as Sherlock took his seat.

"Was that... acceptable?" he asked.

"It was perfect," she replied.

The man with the glass stepped forward again. "Praise silence for the bride."

Margaux stood up, immediately regretting her decision. She sighed, there was no turning back.

"Apparently," she began. "It's traditional for the father of the bride to give a speech. But since I don't have one of those, I thought I'd say a few words myself... We've heard a lot of things about Sherlock, and how him even sitting here today is a marvel. But what a lot of you may not know, is that in some ways, I'm more surprised to be sitting here myself. As you can see from my side of the table, I am lacking in the family department. I don't have proud parents, or a sibling to sit and yawn at my speech – well, technically I suppose I do now." She looked down the table at Mycroft. "Hi, bro."

The guests laughed.

"For most of my life I have been completely content with being alone. That was until one night about six years ago, when this guy finally gave in to my advances." She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And from that moment on, I was a goner. I mean, he may be a nightmare but he's good-looking so can you blame me?"

Everyone laughed again. She blew out a breath and continued.

"It's true, Sherlock Holmes is just as aloof and straight-talking as people say, and the majority of you here have experienced his sharp tongue and somewhat unconventional ways first-hand. But the side of him that no one sees is the reason I'm standing here today. Nobody has ever made me feel more loved, appreciated and protected. No one has challenged me, supported me, or been so eager to learn about me. He has proven to be the best father and the most loyal friend, and I have no doubt in my mind that he will be a wonderful husband. So, if you would all join me in raising the last of your glasses to Sherlock..."

Everyone held up their drinks. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you."

"I love you too," he replied.

She sat down, throwing back the last of her champagne.

Sherlock leaned into her, bringing his lips to her ear. "I hate when people toast to me."

"I know, that's why I did it." She smirked.

...

Drinks were emptied and conversation flowed as the guests were moved into another room while they decorated for the night.

Mycroft had somehow found himself with Vaughan. They sat at the edge of the room people-watching; Mycroft with one leg crossed over the other, and Vaughan with his feet hanging over the edge of the seat.

"Can you speak French?" asked Vaughan as he kicked his legs.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Can you speak French?"

"No."

"Well then how could I prove it you, if you don't know whether I'm speaking it correctly or not?"

Vaughan shrugged. "My mummy and daddy are going to France."

"Indeed, they are."

"Can I stay with you when they're gone?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I don't think so, little one."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think your parents would agree. Besides, I work a lot."

"I could go to work with you. I go to work with my daddy. But don't tell mummy."

Mycroft revelled in the small moment of silence before his nephew began to speak again.

"Are you married?"

"No."

"That's okay." He shrugged.

Mycroft looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "I know it is..."

"I'm not going to get married either."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm going to be a detective."

"Your father is a detective – well, somewhat," he muttered. "and he is married."

"Okay well I might get married then."

Sherlock and Margaux had slipped off quietly, stealing a moment alone while the wedding party drank and entertained themselves. He held out his arm for her to link as they wandered the halls slowly, peering into rooms and turning random corners until the sound of their guests was nothing more than a murmur.

Margaux stopped at a large window, gazing out at a beautiful courtyard glowing in the warm spring evening. She felt Sherlock's arms wrap around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

She leaned back into him and smiled. "Y'know, it only really hit me when John said it... that we're Mr and Mrs Holmes."

"Technically we're Mr and Dr Holmes."

"Mm," she shook her head. "It doesn't really work; people will hear Mr and Dr and just assume you married John."

Sherlock gave a gentle laugh, his arms still wrapped around her.

"I appreciate you holding me that little bit tighter today," she said as she continued to look out the window.

"I thought it would provide comfort. To me, as well as you."

"Well it definitely has. Thank you." She turned around to face him, slinking her arms over his shoulders and weaving her fingers into his hair. "If someone would have told you when you first met me that one day we'd be married, would you have believed it?"

"No," he replied bluntly.

"Oh alright, you could have at least pretended to think about it a bit..."

"Sorry," he took a long pause. "No."

She laughed, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands fell from her waist to her hips, digging his fingers through the delicate mix of lace and tulle. She returned the gesture by pushing herself against him, inciting a groan in the back of his throat.

He pulled away. "We should go back to- erm... to the..."

"Wedding?"

"Yes. That."

She took his hand as they started making their way back.

"I'm your wife."

"Indeed, you are."

"And you're my husband. Sherlock Holmes is my husband..." she giggled.

He looked down at her, his nose wrinkled in confusion. She noticed his expression and laughed.

"Sorry, I think it's going to be a while before it sinks in."

*

They found themselves separated for most the night. Each time they would try to come together, they would find themselves pulled in different directions by people wanting to talk and take photographs. Vaughan and Rosie played together on the dance floor, chasing balloons and collecting decorations from the tables. Greg sat at a table with Mycroft, guzzling down a pint of beer while Mycroft periodically checked his watch, and nearby Mrs Hudson danced with Mrs Holmes, the pair giggling and trying to convince Mr Holmes to join in.

Margaux sat down with the people from work, turning to Will and elbowing him in the side. "Thanks for coming," she said.

"What?" He pointed in the air as the music played loudly.

"Nothing!" she shouted with a smile. She glanced over to the other side of the room, watching as Molly led her boyfriend over to Sherlock. "Oh god. Please be nice," she said to herself. "Be nice, be nice, be nice..."

Sherlock had found a quiet spot where he was seemingly invisible to everyone. Except Molly. He had never been invisible to Molly.

"Hi, Sherlock. This is Arthur," she said, doing her best to sound sweet despite having to shout.

Arthur extended his arm as Sherlock's eyes trailed him. He was shorter than he had expected, with rounded features and kind eyes. His suit was nice – bought especially for the occasion. Non-smoker, wine-drinker, plays guitar, keeps relatively fit. Architect – oh wait, Margaux had already told him that one.

He didn't return the handshake, instead nodding politely. "Pleasure," he said.

"Congratulations, mate. The whole day's been beautiful, really. I'm honoured to have been there."

"Thank you, Arthur."

Molly's eyes flitted between the two men. Sherlock was being pleasant. She couldn't quite fathom it.

John sat down between Greg and Mycroft, folding his arms across his chest. "Well," he began, turning his attention to Mycroft. "I'd say today's been pretty smooth sailing, considering both Holmes' were present."

"There's three of 'em now, John," Greg added. "Sherlock, Mycroft and Margaux. If things weren't crazy enough before, they sure will be now. Imagine when the kid gets older, there'll be four of 'em!" He lifted a pint to his lips.

John laughed before turning back to Mycroft. "I think it's safe to say you can relax now. He told you nothing would happen today, and he was right."

"Just because we are not aware of it, does not mean it hasn't happened," Mycroft replied.

John opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a voice booming through the speakers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mr and Mrs Holmes for their first dance."

Everyone applauded, standing up and crowding around the edge of the dancefloor as the couple made their way over.

"Oh god," she said. "I just remembered I let you choose the bloody song."

"Ah yes, I forgot about that too."

She glared up at him.

"Relax. You said you trusted me."

She took a deep breath, allowing him to lead her into the middle of the floor. She did trust him. His judgement, however, she wasn't so sure. But when the gentle strumming of an old guitar began to play, she felt her muscles loosen and a shiver descend her spine.

"You chose this?" she asked as they began to dance.

He nodded. "I thought it rather fitting. Are you happy with it?"

"I love it – this song – I love it." she cupped his jaw. "I love you."

He took her hands and began to dance, his movements effortless as he turned her and pulled her close to him.

The book of love is long and boring,
No one can lift the damn thing.
It's full of charts and facts and figures,
And instructions for dancing.

But I, I love it when you read to me
And you, you can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb

But I, I love it when you sing to me
And you, you can sing me anything.

The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
And things we're all too young to know

But I, I love it when you give me things
And you, you ought to give me wedding rings
I, I love it when you give me things
And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.

- The Book of Love // Magnetic Fields