"What do you think about weddings?" John asked Sherlock who had his nose deep in a newly acquired book on rare poisons.

The detective looked up from where he was sat, snapping the book shut. "Really, John. I should think you would know my position on them by now. 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." Having made his point, he returned his attention to his book.

The doctor shook his head. Sherlock could be absolutely oblivious for someone who prided himself on his skills of observation. "Ah, I should have made myself clear. What do you think about us? Getting married, I mean. Having a wedding and all that." John was grinning as he asked, waiting to see the detective's reaction.

Sherlock looked up, then set his book aside. He blinked for several moments before leaping to his feet. "I believe, my dear Watson, that recent developments have forced me to reconsider my stance on the matter. Indeed, weddings are splendid."

"I'm glad you think so," John said, beaming up at his fiance who beamed back at him.

Both men laughed, then came together in a kiss that was neither too long nor too short, but perfect.