Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything affiliated with the franchise. The general story idea I will take credit for, however.

Spoilers: Be warned once more - this is set after 3x03 so do not read unless you've watched or want to be spoiled for certain details. One in particular. Sherlock's Woman was also altered to accommodate for this particular something.

Chapter 2: The Wedding

Two months earlier:

The bells rang loud and clear outside the car as Sherlock and Irene gazed up at the sweet, beautiful church. The chiming call was merry and beckoned people to step inside and behold the joyous occasion on this beautiful summer's day. People dressed in bright colored dresses and ironed blazers passed the car heading for the building in question, unaware of the key figures seated inside the vehicle. Someone shouted something about the upcoming wedding, and laughter erupted from a small group of friends on the fresh lawn outside the main entrance. Close to the impressive building of medieval origin stood a sign that read 'St Alfege Church'.

The brunette ran a hand over her hair to assure herself it still lay perfectly in the elaborate do as she smiled, "Who knew we'd be here one day?"

The detective exhaled in amusement and admitted something he rarely had before, "Certainly not I."

Irene turned to the handsome man and pinched his chin with an endearing grin on her red-painted lips. She proceeded to smooth a wrinkle on the front of his dress jacket and said, "Well, I had a hunch."

Sherlock raised a thick eyebrow. "You would have, wouldn't you?"

"Are you ready?" the woman asked and reached for the door.

"Are you?"

Her ivory hand froze on the handle and she sank back against the seat. "I… don't know."

"I figured as much."

Irene lowered her gaze and the catching smile slowly faded. "I think I'm nervous, actually. I wasn't expecting that."

"It will pass," Sherlock reassured and adjusted his bow-tie.

"You're right, of course," the brunette's happiness slowly returned like a sun climbing on the eastern horizon. "So… do you want to head inside?"

The man smiled crookedly and leaned in close. "I do."

The church was almost filled to the brim with happy, excited people and the sound of their easy chatting rose to a crescendo in the beautiful nave of the building. A few kids ran between the pews up and down the aisle and their laughter chased the adults' affectionate words until the noises faded somewhere in the low shadows by the stone walls.

Seated in the very front row, John gazed about at the crowd of friends and family. There were several new faces, but that was to be expected for a wedding such as this.

The blond man smiled to himself and turned back to his wife. The woman was dressed in a beautiful lilac dress and fair curls framed her face perfectly. In the lady's arm sat a restless baby girl safe and sound. With soft, pale curls atop her head and intrigued blue eyes, the girl had snatched her father's heart the day she had been born almost six months ago. Even now, he couldn't help but reach out and caress her soft baby cheek and the girl grabbed hold of his finger tight with a gurgling sound of contentment.

John gently leaned his forehead against his wife's and relished in the moment as she smiled happily. "Reminds me of our wedding day," he said.

Mary frowned in contemplation. "Does it? I'm not so sure I agree. I mean, it's not the same church… or flower arrangements."

Her husband returned her frown but there was no time to comment upon it as the organ started playing the expected tune. As Bach's notes filled the small church, everyone rose from their seats and turned to face the back of the room.

John winked up at the groom in encouragement, before he too turned and waited to finally behold the bride-to-be.

From the very back of the church, on the last row of wooden pews, Sherlock sighed impatiently and drummed his fingers against his knee. "Why are we in the back?"

"We weren't invited, Sherlock," Irene explained for what felt was the thousandth time and leaned close to whisper in his ear when she caught an elderly gentleman in the row in front of them glaring at her. "We would have been, of course, if anyone knew we had returned, as you are aware."

"You're blaming that on me, are you?"

"You're the one who wanted to surprise people!"

Sherlock stubbornly contended, "So did you!"

"But let's drop that bomb at the reception after the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder, dear."

"I'm a show off," the man argued in a heated whisper. "Staying unseen isn't my forte!"

"I have every confidence you'll do your best."

The decorated wooden doors opened then and the woman in white appeared in the entrance. Molly Hooper's grin was brighter than the sun and she practically glowed in a long, strapless, off-white gown that suited her fair complexion.

At the very front of the church, Greg Lestrade lit up light a beacon as he saw his fiancée step into the room. There could be no hesitation that the two love birds had eyes for no one else in that moment. This was their day, after all, and the most important in their lives up to this very one.

With a shaky breath, Molly raised her foot to walk down the aisle. Without warning, Sherlock suddenly stuck out a walking cane he had 'confiscated' from the elderly gentleman in the row in front of them. By pure accident, as the man would later claim, the bride tripped on it and fell to the floor like a gracious tree in the woods. Irene slapped his arm, but too late.

The organ quieted abruptly and the hall instead filled with gasps that echoed in the old building. Sherlock seized the opportunity and flew from his seat to help the woman up. Momentarily distraught, the bride glanced about and squealed loudly as she recognized the helpful hand. Everyone else present exchanged confused shrugs when Molly stood and embraced the man tightly.

"I'm so happy you're here!" she breathed and squeezed her friend's shoulders as she stepped back to adjust her gown and the small bouquet of yellow flowers.

"Certainly, Molly," the detective said with an air of confidence. Irene knew he was enjoying the attention of everyone in the church and merely performed for the audience like a man on a stage. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Thank you," the beautiful woman smiled up at her friend with warmth and compassion. "It means a lot."

The detective's grin widened mechanically. "Of course I would be here for you and George on your… special day."

"Greg."

Sherlock inclined his head. "…Greg. You're like family."

"I know you don't believe in the concept of weddings," Molly grinned knowingly. "But that last part was true, at least."

From the front, John managed to get a clear glimpse of his best friend in between all the rows of people that stood between them. With an exasperated sigh, he said to his wife, "Of course he'd return on someone else's day. The arsehole has 364 other days to return home, but it had to be today. I bet he either planned it so that he could get center stage, or he had no idea and simply couldn't help himself. Typical Sherlock."

Mary's grin widened and she leaned close to her husband. "Now it's starting to remind me of our wedding day."

The rest of the ceremony proceeded without further interruptions and soon Greg and Molly were declared husband and wife to the sounds of a cheering crowd.

At the reception afterwards, the guests enjoyed the warm weather of the late summer in the vast, blooming gardens at Kenwood House in northern Hampstead. The wine and champagne flowed and there was already more than one overly happy guest present in the early evening.

Near the grand, white house the employees had set up a party tent for the coming dinner and all the tables were already set and prepared for the lovely celebration.

While everyone else enjoyed the sun's warm glow, John and Mary mingled through the crowds outside in search for the prodigal couple. It was inside the tent they finally caught sight of the tall man with curly hair attempting to occupy a small group of bridesmaids with a story. As John came closer, he heard the end of the tale.

"-No, no! The white color wasn't intended to signify the bride's virginity. Everyone knows that! Traditionally, purity was associated with the color blue and the Virgin Mary. Either way, it could be conceived as an old-fashioned idea with today's modern approach to intercourse before marriage. Originally the bridesmaids wore similar dresses to the bride as a protection against evil. Seems far better than the yellow nightmares you're all-"

John jumped in, grabbed hold of his best friend's sleeve and tugged unkindly as he apologized to the group of stunned women. Sherlock stumbled back with a confused frown, but uttered not a word in protest. John and Mary led their friend away from the muttering bridesmaids and over to a secluded table further away.

"They should have gone with lilac," Sherlock whispered indignantly. "Like the bridesmaids at your wedding."

Mary hurriedly embraced the tall man, careful not to squish the baby in her arms, and kissed his cheek with genuine joy.

Her husband looked up at his friend with an amused twinkle in his pale eyes, "You could have called, you know. You were gone for six months with hardly a word."

"I was preoccupied," Sherlock said with a grin and patted his friend's back brotherly. His eyes sparkled with genuine affection as he beheld his short friends beside him.

"So we gathered," the blonde woman declared. She gently rocked to and fro as the baby girl yawned in her arms. "We read about all the unusual crimes being solved all over the world in the papers. I'm impressed."

"And I'm impressed you didn't go for the shock value when you returned," the short man said pointedly. "Well, more than that little stint in the church."

The other man grimaced and placed his hands behind his back stoically. As he responded, his gaze flew up over their heads and plainly gave his irritation away. He seemed like a deflated balloon, robbed of his purpose of soaring high in the skies. That, of course, was merely Sherlock Holmes being denied something he wanted. "Irene talked me out of it."

"Really?" John tried to hide his amused grin but without succeeding very well. "I didn't think that was possible."

Sherlock harrumphed. "Neither did I."

"Speaking of the devil…" the blond man cleared his throat and inconspicuously glanced about. "She's… not around, is she?"

There was unusual warmth in the detective's gaze as he nodded over their heads. "She's catching up with the bride."

Sure enough, Irene, dressed in a flowing, blue summer dress, seemed to be deep in friendly conversation with Molly at the the bar on the other end of the grand tent. It seemed little could interrupt them and from the distance they looked like childhood friends, though they'd been acquainted less than a year.

"Ah… I should go over there and say hello. Excuse me for a minute," John said and easily slinked away between the tables.

A waiter passed the other two and Mary smiled as she declined the detective's offer of a glass of champagne. The man, instead, merely took one for himself and turned back to his company.

The woman eyed the man curiously as she held her daughter closer. "Once may be an accident or a forced occurrence, but twice suggests the beginning of a habit, don't you agree?"

"Hmm?" the man asked as he sipped from his drink.

"Weddings. I thought they weren't your thing."

"Oh, they're not. Stop smiling," Sherlock winked. He paused a beat before he hesitantly gazed down at the small girl. He looked as if he'd never seen a child before in his life, and in a way, he hadn't. At least not this one. "Now, will you introduce me to the next generation of adrenaline junkies?"

"Sherlock!" Mary breathed and the baby awoke with a start. The mother shushed her little one before she could start crying and as soon as the disaster was averted, the woman turned back to her friend.

The man merely grinned down at mother and child and softly asked, "What's her name?"

"Elizabeth Harriet Watson," the blonde woman smiled and her eyes sparkled knowingly as she stepped closer to let the man behold the six month old child. "Born on February 15th, just a week after you two left London. She was quite big; I must say, and with a strong windpipe. But simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen… You're the godfather, you know."

As if this had been the most important news he'd ever heard, Sherlock inclined his head once. His smile quickly faded only to be replaced with a serious yet doubtful expression as he leaned closer to the little girl. Carefully he reached out one of his strong hands to touch the baby's small one.

At the other end of the tent, John reached the women and gently touched Irene's elbow to acknowledge his presence. The striking woman turned and smiled at him in a carefree manner the man had never seen her portray before. Her cheeks were rosy and she even seemed to have put on a few pounds since he'd last seen her. It seemed whatever she and the detective had been up to during their six month hiatus; it had done the woman some good.

"Hello, Mr Watson," she spoke and her voice was smooth as silk as she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Molly excused herself then as she glanced back. "I think Greg wants me. I mean… wants to talk to me."

"He wants you, dear," Irene assured and smiled widely as the bride hurried outside to her husband's side. The woman watched as the newlyweds shared a tender kiss in front of the cameras before escaping for some private time in a secluded part of the gardens.

Slowly, the brunette turned back to her company and noticed an amazed sparkle in his eyes as he beheld her in turn. "What?"

"I didn't think you'd be back," he admitted simply. "I honestly didn't think Sherlock would find you on time. No one's gladder I was wrong… Well, except perhaps you."

The woman ducked her head and merely grinned, but it was all the reply he needed. It warmed his heart to see her openly portray some of the affection he'd long since guessed she possessed beneath her frosty surface.

"I'm glad you came to your senses, Irene," the doctor said with a heartfelt smile. "Though… I wish the two of you hadn't kept it a secret for such a long time. I wouldn't have known the truth at all, unless Mycroft hadn't complained that you'd failed to appear where you were supposed to. He said you'd vanished somewhere in France and had reports that said Sherlock was with you when you'd last been seen."

"Yes, we made it a point to be seen before vanishing off the map for a while, to not give you a fright," the woman explained. "But Sherlock did contact you to tell you we were returning home?"

"Two weeks ago," the man nodded pointedly. "He forgot to specify when. As a matter of fact, it was a very cryptic message. We weren't even sure if you would return with him. Mary and I actually had a little wager on the matter. I bet on you, of course."

"No, he didn't," a low voice interrupted and the couple turned as Sherlock and Mary joined them. The baby was now held in the protective arms of the tall detective who looked somewhat stiff with the extra load, though he attempted to hide this behind a stiffer grin.

The woman leaned closer to make herself acquainted with the curious child before remembering herself. She glanced up at the man and asked, "I'm sorry, who didn't what?"

The man patiently clarified as he gazed down at his best friend, "You bet that Irene wouldn't return with me. A tenner short, I gather. I wouldn't bet against Mary, she's a bright girl. Well, moderately so, anyway. …Not at all compared to me, obviously."

John sighed as his wife handed him a glass filled almost to the brim with champagne. He looked her in the eye and mockingly said, "Ah… He's back! How we missed his crude and sharp tongue."

Sherlock raised his own glass to his friend's. "You say it in jest, but every word of it is true, John."

The man nodded and the harmonic cling of the glasses touching seemed to celebrate the long expected reunion perfectly.

"Yes. And it was certainly worth the money to see you here again. Both, of you."

To be continued.