As Sherlock Holmes waved off another offer for a glass of champagne, he kept deducing to himself how tedious and utterly stupid this whole wedding was.

First off, the whole thing was enormously overdone. There were flowers on just about every square inch of both the ceiling and the floor-Mary's demand, he was positive-and hired waiters and waitresses took up the entirety of the whole area.

There was just one thing, though, one thing that bothered him the absolute very most, the one thing that had both annoyed and blinded him immensely when he first set foot in the place.

It was way too yellow.

The walls, the decorations, the flowers-everything was yellow, even Mary's hair, for God's sake! The whole décor of the occasion was already a disaster; Sherlock couldn't even imagine John's wedding vows. He chuckled briefly to himself and continued to loathe the color theme of the wedding. He looked around the room to continue ratting out where the color was, and his eyes fixed on a particular figure in which had just strutted into the room. Sherlock sighed in frustration-he couldn't believe this.

Oh, for God's sake.

As his eyes latched onto Molly, he wanted to bang his head through a window.

Her dress was yellow.

The extreme brightness of the room gave Sherlock a headache; he wanted to leave immediately, but he knew he couldn't. He was John's best man; he had to give a speech, and even Sherlock knew it was going to be an atrocious one. He sighed, rubbed his temples, and sat back in his chair, dreading the oncoming cheesiness of every wedding in the history of the universe.

He barely registered the chair next to him was pulled back-until he realized exactly who it was.

"Hey."

It took all of his instinct not to shoot up from the chair and dart away, but he slowly calmed himself and relaxed into a sitting position.

"Molly." He said, constructed.

"Hi."

Sherlock realized that his heart was beating at least 3.65472 times faster than normal (a quick calculation with the mathematical probability of heart speeds around the opposite sex) and he mentally slapped himself for it.

No, heart. Stop. Don't do that.

She looks beautiful.

Shut up.

She's gorgeous.

Stop.

Why haven't I kissed her yet?

No.

Why did she have to go and get engaged?

SHUT. UP.

It was like his brain was in the middle of a never-ending duel- the lovesick portion and the genius sector.

Sherlock quickly snapped out of it and came to the conclusion that he and Molly had been staring at each other for at least five seconds and he abruptly turned away, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly.

Am I-? Did I just…blush?

He decided to deal with the matter later, back at his flat, and turned to face Molly again.

"So, Molly, how have you-"

Mrs. Hudson frolicked over and snatched Molly up for a hug, interrupting Sherlock entirely. He grumbled to himself as he fumbled with the napkin on the table, replaying his "best man speech" in his head to memorize it. Not that he hadn't memorized it already.

Later that evening, dull, repetitive, modern-day pop music floated through the room during the reception. As Sherlock sat in the corner, all he wanted to do was go home and sleep.

His speech hadn't been as disastrous as he had planned; well, at least he hadn't upset John in any way, but everyone had seemed to think it was better than nothing. Sherlock Holmes, giving a speech about how much his best friend meant to him. That was most definitely a first.

He very precisely noticed Molly approach and sit next to him this time.

"Do you want to dance?"

Sherlock thought he felt his heart stop. Sherlock Holmes, dancing? He was about to ask if she was joking until he turned and looked at her, noticing the seriousness aflame in her hazel eyes.

"Um-"

"Come on."

She took his hand and dragged him onto the dance floor just as a very slow, romantic song began to play. Sherlock very gingerly put a one hand on her waist and the other he clasped within hers. He was extremely aware at how close she was to him. Slowly, methodically, they began to sway in time with the music.

Molly smiled and began to laugh. "You know, the next wedding you'll attend is mine, you better not bring trouble by not dancing."

Sherlock smirked. "Well, don't get married then."

Molly's head snapped up to look at him, a startled expression on her face. Had he said something wrong? He had just made a simple deduction-if she didn't want me to cause trouble, then she shouldn't—

Oh.

OH.

The meaning of what he had just said finally sunk in- he was legitimately horrified, as he had basically just admitted his feelings to her. Oh God. Oh God.

"Okay."

It was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. He whipped his head down to look at her, to hopefully confirm what she had just said.

"What?"

"I won't get married then."

Sherlock barely had time for his heart to do a backflip before she grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss.