I still can't quite believe it. -SH

What? -JW

You. And I. Getting married tomorrow. Is it...I keep worrying it's all in my head. -SH

John smiled down at his phone and typed out a new message.

Sherlock, stop worrying. Just be happy for once, will you? -JW

I am. I am. But Mrs. Hudson is being silly. Bad luck be damned, I want to see you before tomorrow. -SH

Sherlock... -JW

What? –SH

Behave. -JW

John smiled affectionately at his phone screen.

I will. But why do I have to stay outside the flat tonight? What's supposed to happen if I see you, anyway? This is ridiculous. -SH

Do you want me to go somewhere else, Sherlock? We can swap... -JW

No. I don't care about not being there. I care about not being with you. -SH

I'm not going to be able to sleep. -SH

John frowned.

It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride, Sherlock. -JW

An idea came to him.

I think it only applies to seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding day. And seeing as I'm not going to be wearing a dress, nor will you see what I /will/ be wearing tomorrow... -JW

And I'm not the bloody bride. -SH

I'm wearing a suit, thank you very much. -SH

I'm holed up in a hotel, thanks to Mycroft. Come if you can. -SH

I'm the bride, Sherlock. I know. What hotel? -JW

Rialto, near the Tower of London. -SH

It's rather nice, actually. -SH

On my way, love. –JW

Sherlock grinned down at the screen of his phone, putting it on the bedside table and straightening a pillow on the bed. His head felt… light. Airy. Combined with the nervousness that refused to let go of his stomach, the effect was... interesting. New. Staggering. Christ! He was getting married tomorrow. Him. Sherlock Holmes. Oh, God.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on his door. Sherlock practically flung the door open and then flung himself into John's arms. It'd been hours since they'd been together, since Mrs. Hudson had forcibly separated them. John hugged Sherlock back tightly, inhaling his scent. He felt himself relax into Sherlock's arms, as though he'd forgotten how to breathe, and Sherlock had just taught him how.

"It was a bit embarrassing how strange it felt, not having you with me," Sherlock murmured against John's hair. "The prospect of not seeing you till tomorrow, in the chapel. I didn't like it at all."

John kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "I know," he whispered. "But you'll have to survive alone for a few hours tomorrow, when I'm getting ready for our big day."

"No doubt I'll be pinched and pulled about by Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock grumbled. "I know how to put on a suit, but she insists on coming to help."

John giggled. "She's happy for us, darling."

"It seems everyone is," Sherlock said, realizing that they were still in the hall. He took John by the hand and let him into the hotel room. "Champagne in the fridge, magnificent view of London, full kitchen, and here I wish I was back at our dingy little flat."

John frowned. "It's not that dingy," he grumbled, offended. "I like it there."

"So do I," Sherlock reassured him. "Much better than this place, or Mummy's fussy mansion. Remember, she wanted to hold the wedding there, and when you saw it...the look on your face!" He kissed each of John's knuckles on his left hand, lingering on the finger that held his ring.

John smiled. "It is kind of huge, Sherlock."

John pulled Sherlock's face closer to his level, standing on his tip-toes to kiss his fiancé. Sherlock hummed in pleasure, reveling in the simple, sweet moment in front of the window, John's hands on his waist and Sherlock's hands on either side of John's face, tilting him upward the better to kiss him. It was easy. It was perfect. A warm bubble seemed to rise and burst in his chest every few minutes as he thought about the minutes, hours, days, months, years to come, all with John.

John smiled against Sherlock's lips. "That, Sherlock," he whispered, his eyes still closed, "is a human emotion."

Sherlock straightened up, and John struggled to reach Sherlock's lips again. "Damn." His lip jutted out in a pouting expression. "You're too tall."

"Then we'll have to cease being vertical, won't we?" Sherlock teased. "Poor, height-challenged Doctor Watson."

"Soon-to-be Doctor Holmes." John grinned. He'd been getting Sherlock with that one for weeks.

"Perfect," Sherlock murmured, leaning down to kiss John again, his eyelids, cheeks, jaw, then finally his lips. "Absolutely stunning."

"Sherlock...?" John whispered against his lips.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, softly. "What is it?"

"I love you."

"I knew that," Sherlock said affectionately.

John smiled. "I know."

"What now?" Sherlock asked, holding John close as they both looked out at the cars below, tourists and Londoners swarming the streets.

John smiled up at him. "Anything. It's our last night as unmarried men. You have anything you want to do? I could call Lestrade and have him take you out for your bachelor party."

"Those imply celebrating /not/ being married," Sherlock scoffed. "I'm rather looking forward to it." He smiled. "No, I think I'd rather stay right here with you."

John blushed slightly, the colour sending warmth through Sherlock. He walked to the bed, stripping off his jacked and jumper as he went.

"We'll save /that/ for tomorrow," Sherlock said, a gleam in his eye. "We'll have plenty of time. All the time in the world, in fact. To solve cases. Shag. Whatever we feel like. Right now I'd just like to...I don't know. Be in your presence. That's enough."

John laughed. "I was just getting warm, that's all. I don't intend to shag you until our honeymoon."

"I look forward to it," Sherlock smirked.

John smiled. "You seem to be excited for our first shag, Sherlock. I wonder what got you so excited."

"You, of course."

John chuckled. "Yeah, because you know what to expect."

Sherlock chuckled and John looked a bit grumpy. "Everyone thinks that I've shagged a million girls because I'm so old. And here I am, almost 40 and still a virgin, while my fiancé is only 32 and he's shagged more people than I want to know about."

Sherlock shrugged. "Not that many. And only for the purpose of experimentation."

"You liked it, admit it."

"Not yet," Sherlock said reassuringly. "Now hush. Enough boring talk. We have hours before they realize you're gone. What should we do?"

"I don't know, you're the genius. You decide."

"We could..." Sherlock hesitated. "I don't know. Champagne and a bit of togetherness seems nice. See if there's anything on telly?"

John nodded. "Sure."

Sherlock made his way to the kitchen. "Find the glasses?"

"Yeah," John replied from the other room as he reached into the stained wood cabinet.

"Thank you." Sherlock retrieves the light, bubbling bottles of wine from the fridge. "Happy nearly-wedding, Doctor Watson."

John pulled some glasses from the cupboards. "Happy almost-wedding, Sherlock Holmes."

The rest of the night passed in tipsy bliss; bit of crap telly, lots of sweet, champagne-flavoured kisses, and at one point a pillow fight. John fell asleep for a few hours, but Sherlock wasn't able to. But he lay with his John anyway, feeling the rise and fall of his abdomen as he breathed, and the gentle thrumming of his heart.