Guests rose to their feet as the organ began to play. Heads turned, faces curling into smiles as Molly began to walk slowly down the aisle. She was grinning shyly, her already blushing cheeks gleaming with a soft pink that matched her lips. Her white satin dress brushed against the floor as she walked, clutching a bouquet of lilies in front of her. Margaux clasped her hands together in front of her face as she stood in the pews, beaming with pride as she watched Molly join Arthur at the altar.

The church echoed with the sound of shuffling as everyone sat down, before falling into silence as the priest began the ceremony. Margaux knew exactly how it felt to be standing up there; daunting, nerve-wracking, dreamlike. But she also recognised the look of adoration on her face. She smiled and reached for her husband's hand, feeling his fingers wrapped around a phone in his lap. She turned to him and leaned over to peak at the screen, huffing quietly when she saw his thumb scrolling and sorting through emails. She nudged him, catching his attention.

"What?" he whispered.

She gestured to the front where the priest continued to speak. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slipped the phone into his breast pocket.

"Thank you," she whispered, before glancing over him to see their son with his eyes buried in a portable game.

They were as unbelievable as each other. She shook her head, remembering back to that morning.

She had rushed into the living room, smoothing down her dress as it continued to gather unflatteringly around her hips.

"Sherlock," she sighed. "You don't even have your tie on!"

"I'll get to it," he responded, waving his hand dismissively.

He had been submerged in a sea of letters for weeks, spending every spare moment sifting through them diligently.

"Now isn't the time. Get the tie on. Now."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his brow raising slightly at the assertiveness of her voice. He stood up and flicked up his collar, picking up the tie and hooking it around his neck.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked as he knotted it. "Aren't bridesmaids supposed to be with the bride?"

"I'm not a bridesmaid, remember? She's only having one bridesmaid – her sister."

"You are no match for me!" Vaughan shouted suddenly. "Die, die!"

Margaux looked down at her son. He was sitting on the couch in his neat grey suit, his knees to his chest, his dark wavy hair tucked behind his ears. The bright screen of his game reflected in his pale blue eyes, and she was sure he hadn't blinked in minutes.

The door opened and Mrs Hudson peered around it. With each wedding, her hats were becoming more extravagant. She walked in and perched on the arm of the couch.

"That was John on the phone," she said. "He should be here in a minute, said he took a wrong turn."

"We've lived here for over a month and he still gets lost," said Margaux as she examined herself in the mirror, desperately yanking her dress back into place.

"You seem uptight," said Sherlock.

"The only thing that's tight is this bloody dress."

"Die!" Vaughan screamed.

"Vaughan, that's enough. Turn it off. Now." She turned around to see Sherlock returning to his letters. "And you, don't even think about it."

Sherlock pressed his mouth into a straight line before walking towards her. He bent down, speaking to her stomach. "Your mother is a tyrant."

Molly turned towards the pews and smiled as the priest pronounced them husband and wife. The guests began to rise to their feet, applauding the couple as they shared their first married kiss.

Margaux struggled to her feet, taking Sherlock by the arm to make sure he was standing too. But with her attention focused on the happiness radiating from the couple, she missed the cold expression on Sherlock's face as he locked eyes with Arthur, just for a moment. She missed the strange energy radiating from their brief connection, Sherlock's eyes narrowing and Arthur's subtle nod towards him as he took his new wife's hand.

*

John took a step closer to Sherlock, standing at his side as he looked out amongst the guests; at the clinking glasses and clusters of conversation. He looked up at him, then down to the phone in his hand.

"She'll kill you if she sees you doing that," he said.

"Just a few more emails while we wait to be seated," Sherlock replied.

"Found anything yet?"

"At this point, the aim is simply to curate a list of rejected cases. Once I have them all in one place, then we can begin to look through them."

A blur of blue and white began to approach them. John cleared his throat, elbowing him gently. Sherlock looked up and slipped his phone into his pocket.

"You should probably smile," John muttered.

Sherlock's face suddenly brightened, and though it was fake, it was entirely convincing.

"Hi boys," said Molly chirpily.

John reached out and kissed her on the cheek. Sherlock observed his behaviour and copied, feeling the soft hairs on Molly's face prick with goosebumps as his lips touched her.

"Congratulations, Molly," he said.

"Thank you." She gestured to the woman at her side. "Er, this is my sister Elizabeth. She wanted to meet you both."

Elizabeth was undeniably a Hooper, with mousy-brown hair and a slender upturned nose. She stood in front of the men in her pale blue bridesmaids dress, her delicate shoulders turning in on themselves with shyness as she waved hello.

John shook her hand before nudging Sherlock in the side, encouraging him to do the same. He took her hand in his and shook it briefly, taking a deep look into her doe-like eyes.

"It's okay that you hate me," he said.

"I-I'm sorry?" Elizabeth shook her head with a laugh.

"I'm aware you dislike me greatly for how I've treated your sister over the years. It's understandable."

"H-how... I don't, I didn't..."

"Microexpressions. Your face was practically twitching with them. It really is alright, Emily-"

"Elizabeth."

"I don't blame you. I'd hate me too."

"I do hate you," John chimed.

Molly sighed and ushered her sister away before turning back to the two men.

"She seems nice," said Sherlock.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Arthur by his side.

Molly smiled. "Where've you been?"

"Just chatting. Working the room." He snorted as he turned and stood beside her. "So glad you both could make it."

He extended his arm. John accepted, giving him a firm handshake and a sincere smile. Arthur then directed his hand to Sherlock, waiting.

"Congratulations," he said plainly, his hands remaining firmly behind his back.

"Thanks. And listen, I know you both really care about my wife, so I wanted to assure you that I'll always take care of her."

Molly let out an 'aww' and lay her head on his shoulder.

Sherlock let his eyes glaze over for a moment, freezing them in place to stop them from rolling.

"You better had," John joked.

They all laughed together, except for Sherlock.

"Well she's Mrs Westbrook now so I've got no choice," Arthur joked back.

The doors opened to the hall where large round tables stood draped in crisp white tablecloths. Margaux found her place card and sat down, taking a sip of water, wishing it could be something stronger.

Greg Lestrade sat down beside her, adjusting his tie and gulping down the last of his champagne. She narrowed her eyes at him, as if he were purposefully rubbing it in her face.

"What?" he said with a shrug.

The room began to fill as guests searched for their seats in the bright, flowery room. Mrs Hudson sat at their table and helped Vaughan onto the seat next to her. Margaux smiled at him, raising her eyebrows to ask if he was okay. He put his thumb up before returning to his game.

"So how's William Warren been getting on?" asked Greg.

Margaux looked at him and laughed. "Have you ever noticed we always end up talking about work?"

"Not the kind of job you can leave at the office."

"True." She nodded. "He seems okay..."

"Oh god, what is it?" he sighed.

"Oh, nothing. I just... I find the whole thing a bit unsettling. The guy's 6'3", how the hell do you pluck a guy like that off the street without leaving any evidence, no witnesses? How did they get him to cooperate-"

"Ah, I know that one. Apparently they had some dirt on him. Threatened to out his 'secret' if he didn't comply."

"His... secret?"

"I told him he should have demanded he reveal it," said Sherlock as he sat down beside her.

John sat down at the table too, hoisting Rosie up and tucking in her chair.

"He was a witness, Sherlock, not a suspect," said Greg. "We can't force someone to divulge anything they don't want to. You seem to forget sometimes there's a difference between the victim and the culprit."

"Mm, what's the saying? 'Potato, potato'?"

Margaux rolled her eyes and took another sip of water. "I really wish this was a gin and tonic."

"Ah well not long now before you can have one," said Greg cheerfully before reaching over to pat her bump.

Before his hand could make contact with her, Sherlock swatted it away.

"Ow! What the bloody hell was that for!?"

"You should never touch a pregnant woman's stomach without permission," he replied bluntly. "It's intrusive and dehumanising."

Margaux pressed her lips together, trying hard to stop herself from smirking. She looked at Greg with wide, amused eyes and shrugged.

"Technically he's right..."

"I'll remember that for next time," he said, nursing his stinging hand.

*

The night rolled in quickly, turning speeches to music, flowers to disco lights. John waited at the door, welcoming his plus-one with a smile and kiss on the cheek. He led Rose through the party, pulling out her chair and offering her a drink. She thanked him and sat down at the table opposite Sherlock and Margaux.

"Hi." She waved.

"You look lovely!" Margaux shouted over the music.

"Thanks! So do you!"

"What!?"

"Nothing." she shook her head and laughed.

John returned quickly and handed her a drink. She took a sip and put the glass on the table, letting the cold condensation trickle down onto the tablecloth.

"I'm glad you could come," he said.

"Me too," she replied. "It's like battle of the best friends."

He chuckled into his pint glass. "I'd win."

"You probably would." She smirked at him before looking across the table. "Y'know, I always wondered what it was that brought the two of them together. I mean, yeah, he's a handsome guy and obviously I think she's beautiful too. But beyond shallow attraction, I never really saw a reason for this deep-rooted connection they seemed to have."

John laughed. "You mean you never got what she saw in him."

She looked back over to them, watching as Sherlock leaned over, saying something against Margaux's ear.

"I don't think anyone will ever fully understand what she sees in him." She turned to John. "But I'm starting to think that's the point..."

He nodded with a smile. "He says there's a part of him that 'belongs only to her'. You don't get what she sees in him because he doesn't want you to see." He pointed at Sherlock. "But look, sometimes you can get a glimpse of it if he doesn't know you're looking."

They watched Sherlock whisper to her again, making Margaux burst into laughter and place her palm against his chest. He rested his hand on top of hers, his eyes creasing at the corners with a smile.

"It's quite sweet really, isn't it," said Rose.

"It is. It's incredibly frustrating at times though."

"Did you know she said he's the best sex she's ever h–"

"Why would I want to know that? In what world would I want to know what Sherlock bloody Holmes is like in bed?"

She laughed. "I just thought you might find it interesting! He's so... unassuming, you just wouldn't expect it. Though I must admit, I saw a picture of him in the papers once holding a riding crop, and I imagined him–"

"Whipping a corpse," he interrupted sternly. "He uses the riding crop to assess post-mortem bruising. Nothing else. Please don't finish that sentence."

She patted him on the arm. "Okay, John Watson, whatever helps you sleep at night."

He swirled the ice around in his glass and cleared his throat. "So... Do you and Marg talk about, erm, do you discuss your- your experiences... a lot?"

"Oh yes I told her all about you," she replied brazenly.

"Ah..." His cheeks began to burn.

At a table nearby, Greg folded his arms across his chest, turning to Mrs Hudson sitting beside him.

"So how're you getting on without them?" he asked.

"Oh I'm alright," she replied. "Sherlock's there so much I forget sometimes he even moved out. Oh and I've been walking around naked a lot more than I used to."

"Lovely," Greg sighed.

"Oh look at those two." Mrs Hudson pointed to the large doors at the back of the room.

Greg followed her line of sight, noticing John and Rose sneaking away together. "What is it about weddings that make people go all soppy?"

*

John took her hand as they rushed down the long corridor, giggling and shushing each other as they searched for a quiet, secluded spot. They stumbled upon an empty conference room, with tacky patterned carpet and buffet carts stacked in the corner. Rose took him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him into a kiss.

"I don't think we're allowed to be in here," he said quietly.

"Didn't you ever do anything like this when you were a teenager? Sneak off somewhere with a girl?"

"Yes, but now I'm in my forties and I'm afraid the embarrassment of getting caught would be much worse than if I were eighteen."

She laughed and leaned in again. He kissed her back for a moment, but it felt cold, passionless.

"What's the matter?" she sighed.

He fretted for a moment before speaking quietly. "I don't want to hurt you..."

"Why would you hurt me?"

"I... This was only supposed to be a few friendly catch-ups, a cup of coffee and a bit of company."

"Is that not what we're doing?" She looked at him curiously.

"Not unless you're this friendly with everyone?"
He raised his fingers to his mouth, wiping the lipstick that had smudged across his lips. "I'm just... I'm sorry, but it's not fair for me to lead you on. I'm not ready. I keep telling myself I am, but the minute I get close to someone, I realise I just... can't."

She laughed softly and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Did it ever cross your mind that I might not be interested in having a relationship with you?"

"You're not?"

"I like being single. Honestly, I just wanted to share notes on Margaux and Sherlock. The kissing and the dating, that was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

"Oh..."

"We're not going to end up together, John Watson. But it's not because we don't like each other. It's because I don't want to be with anyone, and the only person you want to be with isn't here anymore."

John inhaled deeply through his nose. "Right. Well then-"

Before he could finish, the door began to open. He instinctively grabbed her hand, pulled her around the back of the carts, hiding behind them.

"You've been working with Shuttlecock too long," she whispered.

"Ssh."

They watched through a gap in the carts as Arthur walked in and began pacing the room.

"Do we really have to do this on my wedding day?" he asked, his voice more stern than John had ever heard it.

"Let's not forget, you wouldn't have even had a wedding if it weren't for me."

John recognised the voice that entered the room; slick, precise and oozing with sarcasm.

Arthur frowned in annoyance. "What exactly is it you think you know, Mycroft?"

"I know that all it takes is one word from me, and your marriage to Ms Hooper would be over before it began..."

John and Rose looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Are you threatening me now?" said Arthur. "Is this what it's come to?"

"Not so much a threat as it is a reminder."

"Of what?"

"Of what I'm capable of. Of what I know about you and what you've been doing."

Arthur huffed and ran his hands through his hair. "I can't get near him. The man won't even shake my hand. How am I supposed to-"

"Not my problem."

They watched through the gap as Mycroft bowed his head before slinking out of the room, disappearing like smoke through an open window. Arthur sighed, his face falling into his hands, and after a moment, he left too.

"What the hell was that about?" asked Rose.

*

Sherlock took Margaux's hand, coaxing her towards the dance floor. She had never understood how a man so reserved could be so fond of dancing. It was endearing, she thought, as she followed him into the middle of the floor. He tucked her hair behind her ears before letting his hands slide down and rest on her lower back. She reached up, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as they swayed together.

"I love you," he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled. "Can I kiss you?"

He glanced around at the crowded dancefloor before nodding discreetly. She pulled him down, bringing his lips to hers for a brief moment.

"You taste like brandy," she said.

"I do? Sorry about that."

"No, I like it. Reminds me of what I'm missing."

He laughed softly, suddenly reminded of the bump wedged between them.

The music lowered as a voice sounded through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the floor for Mr and Mrs Westbrook's first dance."

They walked to the edge of the dance floor, watching as Molly and Arthur met in the middle and took each other's hands. Vaughan appeared at Sherlock's side and tugged on his trouser leg. He bent down and picked him up, sitting him against his hip as they continued to watch.

Eyes followed Molly and Arthur as they danced together, but something drew Sherlock's away. He squinted slightly as he looked across the room to the blacked-out window, noticing a small gap revealing a view of the car park outside. A car turned on the gravel, its back door opening as someone climbed in. 

"Are you going to tell him?" asked Rose as she stood with John at the back of the room. "Now would be the perfect time since Arthur's occupied."

John looked over at his friend as he stood with his son on his hip, his wife on his arm. He shook his head. "No. I can't tell him here, not tonight."

Cheers and applause erupted as the song came to an end. Molly beamed as she looked around at her guests; she was certain she would remember this moment forever.

Sherlock put Vaughan down and waded through the crowd towards John, stopping in front of him with a furrowed brow.

"I just saw something peculiar outside. Care to join me while I investigate?"

John looked over Sherlock's shoulder as Arthur glanced in their direction. "Yeah, er, no thanks..."

"What? Why?"

"I er... just... look, I'll talk to you later, mate, okay?"

Sherlock stood there, still, silent and confused as John walked away from him.

*

Margaux closed the heavy door with her foot and threw her keys on the table beside it. She took off her coat and looked up at Sherlock as he stood with Vaughan sleeping in his arms.

"He's had a long day," she said, brushing the little boy's hair out of his face.

"I'll take him up," Sherlock replied before making his way up the stairs, carrying his son as if he were light as air.

She left the light off in the bathroom, appreciating the milky glow of moonlight pouring in through the window as she cleaned off her makeup. She glanced into the mirror, smiling as Sherlock stepped into the room and walked up behind her.

"Oh good, while you're there you can unzip my dress," she said.

Without a word, his hands found the zip, pulling it down slowly and watching as the fabric parted to reveal her delicate back. He placed his fingers at the base of her neck before running them down the crease of her spine.

Whenever he touched her like that, she was never sure whether he was admiring her or examining her. But when she felt his lips on the back of her shoulder, she smiled.

"Thank you for behaving yourself today," she said.

"You prefer me when I behave?"

"Sometimes. Not always..."

...

Hands tangled in hair as clothes fell to the bedroom floor. Margaux pushed him onto the bed, taking his face in her hands and kissing him, so fervently that he fell onto his back.

"There was something strange about John tonight," he said, laying beneath her as she kissed his face, lips, jaw, neck. "Do you not think?"

"Not particularly," she muttered quickly between kisses.

"I think he knows something. I could tell in the way he looked at me after the bride and groom danced."

"Sherlock..."

"What? Oh no, do carry on, I like it. I'm just thinking out loud."

She sat up straight and blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Do you always think about John when you sleep with your wife?"

"Did you not find his demeanour odd?" He sat upright beside her.

"Rose told me they decided to stop seeing each other. Maybe he was feeling a bit crap?"

"Mm maybe."

She squeezed his face gently in one hand and turned it towards her, smirking slightly as he looked down at her lips. She felt triumphant as he leaned in, steadying himself on his hand as he kissed her, his mouth trailing across her jaw to her neck.

He huffed. "It had to be something to do with me, otherwise why would he look at me like that?"

"Oh my god."

She climbed off the bed and stormed out the room, returning a few minutes later with his mobile phone.

"Call him," she said. "Call him now and find out."

He took it reluctantly, looking down at the number in his contacts list. But just as he was about to call it, the phone began to ring.

He looked up at Margaux. "It's John..."