New Story! I wanted to update so many of my other stories, but my computer hates me and wants to see me cry. Happily, this one did survive fully intact.

Enjoy!

Reviews and favourites are always welcome.

John Watson started the day off with a horrified groan. He then did the only sensible thing there was to do and buried his nose deeper into the pillow he was hugging against himself.

Never again. Never. A. Gain, would he drink.

It was Sherlock's fault. That's right, it was always Sherlock Bloody Holmes' fault. If he hadn't dragged John to this damned country in the first place, John wouldn't have been tempted, "Come on Sherlock, it's Las Vegas! One casino trip, it won't kill you." John took it back. He took it all back. This hangover was clearly death not even trying for a disguise.

His pillow grumbled incoherently and burrowed it's way closer to him.

Never again. Never. A. Gain. Not one drop. Whiskey, vodka, mouthwash. It was all go- no. Wait... something... wasn't right. John's eyelids twitched in concern. Pillows weren't supposed to move. He cracked one eye open, with instant regret.

Why hadn't he closed his curtains all the way? Why was his bed larger than the one he'd paid for? Why was his pillow human shaped? John slowly reopened his eyes.

Yep definitely human shaped. And if the curly mop of hair tickling his nose was any kind of indicator, it was Sherlock shaped.

Shit.

Shit! What happened last night? All he remembered was the bar owner they had assisted placing a pair of large, colourful and, "On the house," drinks in front of them, then... nothing.

Alright. It was fine. Clearly John was just too tired to go back to his own room, and had decided to crash in Sherlock's.

Alright. So they were both naked, but Sherlock slept in the nude plenty of times, and John wouldn't have had any pyjamas.

Alright. So there was a used condom on the floor.

That could be anyone's.

John buried his face into Sherlock's hair. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening. What. No really. What, was in those drinks? He wasn't even gay! And what about Sherlock? Had he even wanted this? The detective had never shown any real sort of sexual attraction to anyone, man or woman, before. Sure, maybe he gets a bit too excited around dead bodies, but other than that...

John didn't have long to ponder these questions as his bed mate was beginning to stir. It was then that John realised he was still clinging to his friend, and quickly released him. He shuffled away till there were several inches of space between them, just as Sherlock's eyes blinked open.

Sherlock took one look at his blushing friend and groaned.

"Yeah. Same here."

"How much do you remember?"

"Honestly? Not a damn thing."

Sherlock looked surprised by this. "Really? Nothing... at all?"

John frowned. "Just us trying those free drinks. Why? What do you remember?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Absolutely nothing. I was hoping you could fill in the blanks."

John rolled his eyes.

While Sherlock was searching for any sign of their clothing, John busied himself with inspecting the room. He got so caught up in trying to discern how one room could hold so many shades of pink that he didn't notice his friend freeze in the process of picking up a shoe.

"What room is this?"

"John."

"Because it almost looks like the honey-"

"John. Look at your left hand."

Well that would make anyone nervous.

"Why? What have you done to i- you've got to be kidding me."

Thankfully, it wasn't missing or the hoof John had been expecting.

Not so thankfully, it was much, much worse.

A simple, but thick band of silver metal was wrapped around John's ring finger. "Please tell me this is your idea of a joke."

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Sherlock held up his hand where a matching ring glinted mockingly back the blogger.

"Well it's not real right? We couldn't have gotten... Right?"

Sherlock glanced up from his examination of his ring. "I know in the past I've commented on your power of observation, but even you aren't that slow. Look at the rings, look at the room, look at... us."

John buried his face in his hands. "So that's it then? We're... you know."

"Married. We're married, John. Get used to the word now. We'll be hearing it a lot in the next couple of weeks."

John's head snapped up. "No! No I won't. Because this- this wedding... thing is not going past the borders of this town. You understand? No one finds out about this."

"John-"

"It's fine. It'll be fine, really it's fine, it's fine. They have drop in weddings, they're bound to have drop in divorces."

There was a flurry of commotion behind the front desk as Sherlock and John stepped off the lift. By the time they reached it, the two young women working there were staring at them with large, matching, sadistic grins marring their faces. "Good morning to the happy couple."

John glowered at them. "Hilarious. Where do we go to get this undone?"

The girls exchanged a look. "A courtroom." They said in unison. "You could try a good divorce attorney," The elder of the two added, "But, they're always so tied up around here. It'll be a least a week till you'll be able to get an appointment."

John rubbed at his still throbbing forehead. "Our plane leaves tonight."

"Then wait till you're home and try your luck there. And I assume you'll be want to check out. How would you like to pay for your rooms?"

The receptionists were saved from being tackled by the quick intervention of Sherlock, and by the arrival of a dark haired valet.

"Sorry," He apologized as he stepped up to the front desk, "Amy, I need the room number for a Doctor and Mr. Watson-Holmes. Some guy in a black car wants to talk to them." The valet lowered his voice, "I think they may be part of the mafia."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come on, John.

Out in the parking lot a conspicuous black car waited with its back door open as Sherlock and John exited the hotel's main doors. In it, Mycroft Holmes and his ever present assistant waited for them.

"And how are we feeling today?" Mycroft smirked. Neither of the two men made a move to reply. "I hope you'll take this as a lesson in why alcohol is bad."

"Don't patronize us, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped, "How did you find out?"

Mycroft's smile became that much more patronizing, "You called me." He replied, "I have the recording here, would you like to hear it? It's really very amusing." Mycroft nodded to his assistant who pressed a series of keys on her phone until Sherlock's recorded giggling filled the small space.

"Mycake!" John could be heard laughing hysterically in the background. "My! Guess what? I'm married! That's right, Mycroft. I got married before you! Now who's the disappointment?"

Still in the background, drunk John interrupted the man, "Come on gorgeous! It's our bloody wedding night! Hang up the phone and get that fine arse of yours in here!"

Sober John buried his face in his hands. "Can we turn this off, please?"

Mycroft gave him a condescending smile. He shut off the recording and leaned back in his chair. "Mummy of course wants to meet with you both. She's rather insistent you have a proper ceremony."

John's head popped back up. He gaped at the brothers in shock. "You told your mother?"

Mycroft chuckled."Of course not. Sherlock called her and she hacked the CCTV to see for herself."

John rubbed his temples. "Undo this."

Mycroft frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You, with all your power, undo this."

"I'm not a lawyer, John. I can't snap my fingers and undo anything."

"Then why are you here!" John shouted.

"Mostly to gloat."Mycroft replied. "I'm surprised you want me to intervene at all, seeing as your both still wearing the rings."

John yanked the silver metal off his finger and tossed it away from him. Only one person in the car noticed the way Sherlock's eyes followed the ring's trajectory.

"I've arranged for us to be taken back to England, via my private jet. Please don't feel obliged to thank me for my kindness-"

"We weren't going to."

"-We can get the proper appointments and paperwork in motion as soon as we've landed."

John nodded and the rest of the ride to the airport was spent in silence.