Sherlock woke to a quiet city. The bedside clock read 4:31 AM. A sated and sleeping Molly Holmes wrapped in his arms. He left his bed for a short time, cursing the biological needs that made him do so then returned. Molly was still deep in sleep but she must have sensed his return and curled into his side. He gently pushed his arm under her shoulder, held her and entered his mind palace.

There were people that were anxious to take Sherlock Holmes down. He had made a career out of solving the nearly impossible and bringing those that did wrong to justice. The living came from the private clients that wanted to know things that affected their lives. The money they paid him allowed him to pay his taxes and have pocket money to spare. Most of that went for cab fares, lab equipment and food. Rent, clothing and other expenses were drawn from a trust that was set up for him as a child. All told, the Holmes family was quite well off and financially stable. Molly, as his legal wife, was now his heir. Perhaps there would be a little Holmes in the future to have that title. The thought surprised and pleased him at the same time.

His mind then turned to the task at hand. Enemies? He had more than a few. James Moriarty and Charles Magnusson were dead; one by Sherlock's hand and the other by his own. One name kept coming to the forefront; Sebastian Moran. An associate of Moriarty's he would be a serious contender for the top position as Sherlock's arch enemy, if they existed. After all, Sherlock did take down Moriarty's network. His associate and, if rumors were correct, lover, would be seeking revenge. Still Sherlock couldn't discount an entirely new player he didn't know yet.

A look at the clock told him it was 5:30 AM. By the time he got out of bed (gently), showered, and dressed it was almost 6:15. He kissed his wife on the cheek, donned his coat, scarf, and gloves and left the flat. He nodded to Mycroft's guards and his homeless associates that were watching the flat. Molly would be well protected while he was gone.

It was nearly impossible to catch a cab at this early hour on a Sunday morning so Sherlock took the tube to Molly's flat. Picking the lock to gain entrance, he looked around. Toby, Molly's cat, wove around the tall man's legs. He'd been alone for two days and was hungry. A few open cupboards and a dumping of stale water (replaced with fresh) and the animal was fed and watered. A soon-to-be resident at Baker Street, he presumed.

He located Molly's overnight bag in the bedroom closet and began to fill it with clothing. Frilly undergarments, outerwear, socks and shoes found their way into the bag. He would accompany her later to gather more clothing and bring Toby home but at least for now she would have clean clothes.

Sherlock's next stop was the local Tesco. There he picked up all the things he needed for a fry-up: eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, tomatoes. Coffee and tea went into the basket along with bread and other foods for lunch. By lunch time he could arrange for a more comprehensive grocery delivery.

Bag laden, he went home managing to hail a cab this time and on the way he texted John to invite him and Mary to breakfast. John's reply was short, "?". Sherlock replied back, "Please come".

Sherlock was cooking when John and Mary arrived. The look on John's face was incredulous and he said, "You know how to cook?" Sherlock had not cooked one meal in the time they lived together.

"Not extensively but I can cook some basic foods, John, " Sherlock replied.

"What's the occasion?" Mary inquired as she lumbered over to the table. At eight months along all movements were slow.

"Help yourself to coffee. Tea will be a few more minutes. I wanted to introduce you to someone." Sherlock said.

"Someone else is here In Baker Street?" John questioned. "Who?"

"My wife," the detective said very matter-of –factly.

John sprayed his coffee throughout the kitchen, "WIFE?"

"Wife," was all Sherlock would say.

"Who and when?" Mary inquired incredulously.

"Two days ago, the night before my exile. That was our wedding night."

"Whoa," John interjected. "You're telling us that you married someone as you were going to die and now they are here?"

"Yes, John. So far we are quite happy."

Just at that moment, Molly came out of the bedroom. Her hair disheveled and wearing Sherlock's dressing gown, she looked angelic to her husband. "John, Mary! I didn't know you'd be here," she said. "Good morning." Kissing Sherlock she wished him a good morning as well but with far more intimate tones than she greeted John and Mary with.

"I invited them for breakfast, Molly," the new husband said. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"I'm happy you did, Sherlock. Does anyone mind if I take a shower?"

They all expressed no objections, Sherlock told her were the towels were and then, "I went to your flat this morning. I fed Toby and there are some clean clothes in your overnight bag near the sofa." One last chaste kiss and Molly Holmes went off to shower. Sherlock turned back to their friends and stated, "You have some questions."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. How could you do this to her?" John stated, irritation evident.

"Do what? Marry her? I love Molly, John."

"She is a nice, normal woman…"

"She cuts up cadavers for a living…"

"A nice, normal woman, Sherlock. What's going to happen when you get into one of your moods or retreat into your mind palace if things get difficult? How many cruel, callus statements until she's had enough? Marriage isn't always a lark." John looked over to his wife pleadingly, "Sorry, Mary, but no marriage is."

Mary replied with slight amusement, "I know that, John. There's all kinds of things like the toilet seat, toothpaste tube, loo roll and washing up to work out."

"Not to mention international assassinations." Sherlock chimed in. The conversation continued. They discussed the ins and outs of relationships. They discussed the importance of communication and consideration for each other. Mary and, eventually John, really got the impression that Sherlock really cared for the woman he married

As the conversation slowed down Sherlock reiterated his position, "I was facing near certain death. I had two days to reassess everything. I finally understood that Mycroft was wrong and sentiment isn't always a bad thing. I realized what I had been denying for too long; I am in love with Molly Hooper. I know I'll be a horrible husband at least at first, possible forever. I am rude, arrogant and I speak before considering others. I am going to try, though. She is one of the few truly good things in my life and I don't think I could withstand losing her." It was right then that Molly walked out of the bathroom, just in time to hear the last part of Sherlock's declaration to his friends. She knew he cared but, until then, didn't understand the depth of love he held for her.

They talked as they ate, making plans for New Year's Eve. Sherlock trying to argue that it was just another night, everyone else arguing that it wasn't . Mary bringing up the fact that a little get-together could serve as a small, private reception. Through it all, the entity that planted the listening devices in the flat was never far from Sherlock's mind.

Once breakfast was eaten, Molly volunteered to do the cleaning up. John gave Sherlock a look that said, "Enjoy it while you can, mate." The men retreated to the living room with their coffee and discussed Moriarty (Mycroft, obviously) and the bugs found in the flat.

Mary wasted no time. She started to clear the table and Molly tried to stop her. Mary told her, "I'm pregnant, not ill," and promptly gathered the dishes. As the men discussed the buggings and what to do about them, the women talked as well.

"OK, spill, Sir Shag-a-lot?" Mary said.

"What? Oh, the papers. I won't deny that he is… um… quite skilled." A blush flushed her cheeks, "But seven times a night? I don't think anyone has that much stamina."

Mary smiled and hugged her newest friend and told her, "Just keep him in check, OK?"

"I'll try but you know him. I love him to pieces but I'm scared. What if I'm not the wife he needs? What if I mess up one too many times? " Molly was really nervous.

"You just be Molly, OK? He truly loves you. Just trust each other, OK?"

The rest of the cleaning up was finished quickly with light conversation and laughter. Soon enough, they joined their men in the living room, a fresh pot of tea in hand.

"And you don't have any idea who planted them?" John asked.

"I'm pretty sure. I'm just waiting for Mycroft to get it for me when it is complete. I do know that it wasn't him or his lackeys. Too clumsy, too amateurish. "Sherlock replied.

"Moriarty?"

"Dead. Suicide."

"Then, who sent the message over the telly?" Mary asked.

Sherlock smiled wryly." Someone who would have been heartbroken if I had died. Someone who offered to draw up an annulment. I refused, of course."

Molly smiled remembering his refusal. His brother meant well, she supposed. She just wanted to be here, with Sherlock. In her heart, this marriage was right and it would be difficult to tear them apart. Molly knew this was fast. She wasn't as naïve as many thought.

"You really do love her." John stated.

"Yes, I do, Isn't that what I've been saying all morning?" Sherlock said, glancing at Molly who was sitting with Mary on the sofa. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to make her happy."

Just then a text message came over Sherlock's phone: You have 24 hours. Tell Mummy and Dad or I will. MH