"I look hideous."

Mary laughed as Molly held onto the frills of her gown and checked herself in the mirror again.

"You look the prettiest and the most nervous bride in the world. Molly, it's your day; calm down."

"But I'm serious. Sure this tiara isn't overblown, I mean –"

"Calm down, sexy."

Someone telling her to calm down made her all more nervous. She gazed into the water-spotted hotel mirror again – she wore a white gown – of course – and the rustle of its soft fabric made her stomach leap; her hair was tied into a bun with careful locks along the sidelines – Mary's doing despite her repeated hesitations – and a white pearl-studded tiara that was frankly, overblown.

"Is Sherlock here yet?" asked Molly. Even uttering his name made her self-conscious.

"Oh I don't think so," said Mary, folding the clothes lying around higgledy-piggledy. She winked at the bride-to-be. "I'm sure the great thick detective believes in the old wives' tale."

"Sherlock'd say I look like a polar bear with a studded boat on the head."

"If Sherlock comments a word today, by God I tell you I'll launch a kick across his face."

Molly grins.

"But then to think of it," Mary wondered, while pulling out stray strands of thread from the cuffs, and then stepping back to fit Molly into a picture frame before she clicked with her old polaroid camera, "How badly can Sherlock mess up his own wedding day?"

"This is incredibly boring. Tell me again, why've I been made to sit here?"

"You're not been made to sit. You're relaxing."

"I don't need relaxing. Why'd I need relaxing?"

"Because it's your wedding day."

Sherlock frantically walked around his small cramped living room at 221B, while John had a splitting grin across his face as he watched his antics. John took a sip of his tea and slumped against the sofa with a contended sigh. Sherlock stared at him for a while, wondering whether he must imitate, then returned to his frantic to and fro.

"Ah, back in my day –"

"That makes you sound ancient. Probably would have gone well with your moustache. Anyway, go on."

"Back in my day I weren't... jeez, Sherlock, you just made me forget what I was to say! Stop jumping around!"

"I'm not – what, do you realise there're approximately five minutes forty three seconds left for us to leave for the church and meet my overtly-excited parents and my cringing brother, not to mention I just lost a day of progress over the Marylebone triple murders? And why a church, you know I am an atheist, why not a –"

"A morgue? Come on, it's ritualistic. And more so, it's about faith."

"Who cares."

"So, Mycroft's gonna come, eh?"

"In all probability."

The next moment, Mrs. Hudson broke out from behind the doors, smiling to the ears and wearing an abnormally large hat. "Oh, you two big boys!" she hugged them one after one, "I can't believe this is it. Oh Lord, oh Jesus."

"Would you mind changing your lines, Mrs. Hudson, because frankly it'd contradict the fact you consider this occasion special," the word, of course, was followed with the typical eyeroll, "since you uttered the same in the same room back before John's wedding ceremony?"

"Oh, it's the nerves, Sherlock," she pinched Sherlock's cheek lovingly, much to his horror, "It's the nerves you have to keep in control. I know you can't wait, grumpy young man. Molly must be looking beautiful." She clapped her hands together and sighed at the ceiling. Sherlock couldn't take anymore; he shook his head and sneakily slipped out of her vicinity.

John rose from his feet, and brushed the imaginary dust off his tuxedo, "So, shall we? Oh, and Sherlock, did you take your copy of vows? And God forbid, tell me you haven't written them yourself."

Hello peeps! This is the most fun thing I have written, ever. This ficlet will be only three-four chapters long, unless you want more that is. Read and review. Love!