"Sherlock, I need your help with the music at the church." Mary entered the kitchen of 221B Baker Street with a bag full of groceries. John may not be living there anymore but both of them were spending a lot of time there lately, and Mary knew that if she wanted fresh milk in her tea, she had to supply it herself. "Something smells lovely in there. Mrs H been baking?"
Sherlock was engrossed in his microscope but pointed to a sealed tub sitting on the kitchen table in lieu of an answer. It was full of a pale-coloured... something.
Mary opened it with a sense of dread and was surprised by the pleasant smell.
"For your hands." Sherlock explained, not once looking up from his microscope. "The alcohol rub you use at work is ruining your skin - the state of your cuticles is frankly shocking."
"You made this?" Sherlock made poisons and explosions and biohazards. He didn't make hand creams.
Sherlock finally looked up at her, with a look in indignation on his face. "I do have some expertise in chemistry - simple cosmetics are hardly beyond my skills."
"I mean...You made this for me?"
"Like I said, your hands are in a dreadful state. You can't have cracked, dry hands in the wedding photos - twenty megapixels is most unforgiving."
Mary was still holding the tub, but made no further move to investigate its contents.
"It's not poisonous, I tested it first!"
Mary smiled at Sherlock's protest. He looked like a child presenting a piece of work to his teacher for approval. She scooped a small amount of the cream out with her fingers and began to rub it methodically into her hands. The cream felt as luxurious as any she had ever used.
"Mmmm... smells like honey."
"Royal jelly. The diet of a developing queen bee larva, produced by the workers. Traditionally used for skin care by herbalists and their like, but there is some scientific evidence to its properties. Of course, it's in suspension with honey, aloe vera and a few other natural ingredients to preserve and enhance it." Sherlock smiled at her as he stood up from his stool and placed his hands on his hips. "I harvested it myself."
Mary smiled at this last personal touch. "You harvested it?"
"A former client of mine is an urban beekeeper - keeps a beautiful collection of hives on her roof-top apiary. She always invites me to assist her with the harvest."
"You like beekeeping?" Mary asked.
"A hobby I have always considered, but there just isn't the room here. May put a bee in Mrs Hudson's bonnet so to speak. Maybe some day..." Sherlock looked towards the kitchen window with an almost whimsical look in his eyes.
"Sherlock, that is very sweet of you. Thank you." Mary grabbed hold of his hand and hugged his right arm. This wasn't the first time she had used this gesture but Sherlock still tensed a little as she did it.
"John, what are you smirking at?" Sherlock's head snapped to face John leaning on the doorframe, watching the whole scene.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." John was still smiling, to the point that even Mary felt a little uncomfortable, and she let go of his hand.
"Mary, you mentioned something about the music for the church?" Sherlock asked, pushing past John to sit in his chair.
John sat across from him. Mary handed Sherlock a list of the suggested music before taking her now familiar position perched on the arm of John's chair.
"Oh god, yes, please help me! That horrible organist kept trying to confuse me - that and implying that we had no right getting married in church at all, because we were 'living in sin.'"
John pulled Mary half into his lap, cuddling close to her. "Charming. Why are we getting married in church again?"
Mary gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Because my parents were married in that church and because you love me."
Sherlock was reading the list with increasing disgust. "Wagner's Bridal Chorus. How predictably dull. You are not seriously considering walking up the aisle to that drivel?"
"Wagner's what now?" John asked.
"Here comes the bride..." Mary sang. Sherlock grimaced.
"The Prince Of Denmark's March. Jeremiah Clarke. Mildly tolerable. Especially compared to the Wagner. Unless the organist doesn't feel he's up to it?" Sherlock made several more adjustments to the list, his forehead furrowing in disgust. "And if he makes any more comments about your living arrangements, I'll find out his own immoral habits. Habits he won't want aired."
"Sherlock..." John had a warning tone in his voice.
"What? When someone is very vocal about other people's sexual morals, they are usually trying to defect attention from their immoral behaviour. Classic tactic."
Mary nodded. "He does have a point. Look at all those politicians."
John laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. "I do get scared at how much you agree with Sherlock."
"That's because I'm right, and she is intelligent enough to see it."
Mary beamed at his compliment.
Even Sherlock Holmes could acknowledge that Mary Morstan was one extraordinary woman.