Whew, long chapter! Tell me this isn't too sappy? I'm a little scared again. But you have all been so lovely and sweet, I decided to just go for it. Thank you so so so so so much for reading! Disclaimer - I don't own.


Off with my overcoat

Off with my gloves

Who needs an overcoat

I'm burning with love.

My heart's on fire

And the flames grow higher

So I will weather the storm.

What do I care how much it may storm

I've got my love to keep me warm

(I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm – Frank Sinatra)


One year later . . .

The cab had come to a dead stop, after crawling through the London traffic at a snail's pace for what seemed like an eternity. It was by no fault of the driver's route. He knew the streets of London well and prided himself in his honesty and efficiency in getting his passengers to their destination in a timely fashion. But all progress had ceased. They should have expected it. It was Christmas Eve after all and half of London was either trying desperately to pick up last minute items at the shops, or making their respective ways to Christmas eve celebrations. One thing was clear, the city streets and sidewalks were in utter chaos!

Sherlock and Molly might have avoided this little situation had they a modicum of patience. Instead they were entirely focused on getting back to Baker street, getting out of their clothes and getting busy. By all rights, they should still be enjoying the dancing that was currently carrying on without them. Especially considering that the guests were gathered there to witness the joyful union of the pair.

They hadn't originally planned on sneaking away from their own wedding. Even if Sherlock didn't get it, Molly had understood that a midweek, Christmas Eve wedding was not the most convenient timing for their guests, but when it came to choosing a date Sherlock and Molly were of one mind - it had to be Christmas Eve. No other date would they consider.

And the whole thing had felt magical, in Molly's opinion. The guest list was small, but the location was perfectly elegant. On her insistence, the decorations were holiday themed, so the room was decked out in Christmas finery with fairy lights, and garlands, tinsel and ornaments. Sherlock, to Molly's astonishment, had no objection to the rather garish display. Beyond the decorations Molly had let their mothers work out the many details. And thinking of them, she felt just a tiny bit guilty disappearing like that.

At least the Watson's wouldn't be too terribly upset. They were practically the entire wedding party being Best Man, Maid of Honour, and Lucy had made the most adorable flower girl possible. During the wedding vows she had decided to lie on the floor and attempted to use Molly's skirt as a hideout, which had everyone laughing. But by the time they had set their minds to making a quick getaway, Lucy was falling asleep in her father's arms as he danced her around the floor and Mary looked exhausted. She was three months pregnant and feeling a bit queasy. Molly thought they might appreciate the excuse to leave early.

It was Sherlock's fault really. It was he, who had taken every opportunity to catch her, pulling her into the coat room or an alcove by the toilets to steal kisses and the occasional grope, getting them both entirely worked up. Molly realized with a sense of irony, that she had created a monster. An incredibly sexy, lustful monster. And after a year of fully indulging in each other, you would think they might have established some self control, but that didn't seem to be the case tonight. The fact that it was Christmas Eve and therefore positively full of those memories of recent and more private celebrations spent between the two, well that might explain the hurry to get back to Baker street for the real festivities of the night.

Their first dance as a married couple was something Molly would never forget. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to see to her lessons and had declared her skills adequate which John assured her, was high praise indeed. Second to that, the dance she was most fond of was the father-daughter dance in which Sherlock's own father stood in place of her Dad. Molly could not stop the tears from falling. As a matter of fact, neither could Mr. Holmes. Mrs Holmes and her son had stood dried eyed, feigning a lack of understanding at their sentimentality, but secretly adoring their respective spouses.

With the first dances finished and the party falling into a more free form style, Sherlock had caught Molly on her way out from fixing her makeup, pulling her into that dark alcove where he promptly engaged her in a rather frenzied session of tongue wrestling. At one point he had attempted to get under her skirt but that proved to be a difficult feat, even for the world's only consulting detective.

So they had giggled like a couple of naughty children playing truant as they had donned their coats, ditched the limo and hailed a cab instead. It would take a bit longer for anyone to notice their absence with the limo still parked outside. They jumped into the taxi just as the clouds broke open and rain began pouring down in a torrent.

They had snogged in the back seat like a couple of teenagers, as the cabbie did his best to remain unobtrusive. But when they had come to a dead stop he cleared his throat and the couple broke apart long enough to note their location.

"Sorry about that." The cabbie apologized. "Christmas Eve traffic is always a bit of hell."

Sherlock looked out the windows before turning to Molly. "We could get out here?"

"Oh, but it must be at least a twenty minute walk!"

"I know a way that will get us home in five."

"It's raining pretty hard, mate." The cabbie warned. "The traffic'll move eventually. I just don't want to see the lady getting wet."

"Well, I have a different opinion on that subject." Sherlock turned a smouldering look on his bride. "Molly?"

She bit her lip and gave him that coy look she was becoming entirely too skilled at. "Let's go."

Sherlock threw some cash at the cabbie and they ran out into the rain.

"This way, Molly." Sherlock had to raise his voice to be heard through the down pour as he took Molly's hand and lead her through an alley.

He pulled her along on a maze of narrow alleys and side streets that she had no idea even existed despite living in the area for the past six months. She did her best to keep up with Sherlock's long strides, but her cumbersome skirts and full dress length coat, now sodden with rain made movement difficult.

"Sherlock! Slow down, I can't keep up, with all of this." She gestured at her soaked wedding dress."

Sherlock stopped and looked at Molly, considering her problem carefully. "I could carry you?" Sherlock offered.

Molly envisioned Sherlock valiantly scooping her up, bridal style and whisking her home to have his way with her under the Christmas tree and nodded her agreement with a giggle.

The way it played out differed slightly from her vision. Sherlock did indeed scoop her up, only to toss her over his shoulder in a fireman rescue hold. Molly shrieked and laughed, kicking her feet as Sherlock set a brisk pace.

"Sorry Molly, but this really is a more efficient hold. And safer too as it works more naturally with my centre of gravity." He picked up speed, practically running. "And it affords a better opportunity for this." He reached up and pinched her bottom and she shrieked and laughed some more.

"Oh you, bastard!" She giggled. "Don't think I won't get you for this. That arse of yours is mine!"

"Clearly it is, Molly. We are married, after all. My arse is yours. But -." He chuckled evilly. "That means your arse is mine!" And he reached up to pinch her again eliciting another shriek and a curse.

In a moment they were outside the black door with the gold numbers 221 affixed to it.

Sherlock lowered Molly to the ground and they stood there in the pouring ran facing one another, grinning like fools.

Their clothes were utterly soaked. Molly had found the perfect coat for a winter wedding. It was white and flowy and long. It had a huge hood and belled sleeves that were trimmed in, fittingly enough, marabou. Now it looked like she was wearing a drowned arctic animal of some sort. Sherlock fared only slightly better with his tux and woolen coat giving him the appearance of remaining dryng, while actually he was soaked to the skin.

It was cold, only slightly above freezing and their breath came out in clouds of steam, but before opening the door, the pair fell on each other, seeking lips, tongues entwined, Molly's leg curled around Sherlock's as they embraced on the doorstep. A few pedestrians walking the streets, umbrellas and shopping bags gripped firmly in hands, couldn't help but to smile at the pair dressed in water logged wedding clothes, snogging in the torrential rains that pelted down on Baker street.

Sherlock came back to awareness when he felt that Molly's shiver was not from arousal but from the chill. He unlocked the door and they slipped into the warmth of their home. Puddles formed where they stood and they dropped their coats to the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock was of a mind that the sooner he saw Molly's naked form stretched beneath the Christmas tree that now occupied a space of honour in 221B, the better. To further his cause he turned to help Molly with her coat, which was still clinging to one bare arm and refusing to peel away without a concerted effort. That was when he noticed how inadequate the coat had been in providing any real warmth.

Molly had picked it because her wedding dress was a strapless gown with a corseted bodice and she wanted something that she could slip on for any necessary trips outdoors. It had not been chosen for any real warmth. She had said it made her feel like a fairy snow queen, which Sherlock thought was both ridiculous and adorably Molly-ish.

When Sherlock had made the decision to run home through the rain he had not taken into consideration the fact that his bride was essentially bare to the elements. Now he could hear her teeth chattering.

"For God's sake, Molly, why didn't you say you were cold? We should have stayed in the cab!" Sherlock wasn't annoyed with Molly though. He was angry at himself for missing this detail.

"It's alright." Molly said through the clacking of her teeth. "I didn't notice it. Much."

Sherlock looked at her and his expression softened with concern. "Well come on then. We have to get you warm." He took her hand and lead her up the stairs.

"First, we have to get you out of those clothes."

Molly snorted. "That is an absolute must!"

"Molly, I'm being serious. Hypothermia is nothing to laugh at!"

"I'm not hypothermic." Molly argued as her body was wracked by a series of shudders.

"You are seriously chilled and if we don't do something to get your core temperature elevated, this night could still end with you at A&E. Is that where you want to spend our wedding night?"

Molly shook her head as Sherlock stepped around her to unbutton her gown.

"My God, Molly." Sherlock exclaimed as his eyes traveled down the numerable buttons that fastened her dress. "Why would any dress require 84 buttons?"

Molly sighed testily. "It's not 84 buttons and you know it! There are only 34 of them, Sherlock."

"Only." Sherlock muttered as he began to work them open. "Why in the world are clothes that are destined by their very nature, to be removed at the culmination of the evening, constructed in such a manner as to be all but impossible to remove? Since it's an emergency, can't I just force it open? Some of these buttons seem fairly loose. They would pop off quite easily, with little effort."

"Oh no you don't!"

"You're sure about that?"

"Quite sure."

"Fine."

Sherlock tackled the buttons with renewed effort and had them dealt with in short order. The dress fell to the floor with a wet slap and Molly stepped out of the pooled fabric around her feet.

"I should really go hang this in the bath tub. It's going to be ruined if I -" Molly turned to see that Sherlock was gaping at her.

Beneath her gown, Molly had chosen some wedding appropriate undergarments. They included white, lace-topped stay up stockings, sheer white lace knickers and a matching sheer white lace bustier.

"I . . That is to say . . .you . . ." Sherlock gulped audibly. "Should you take those off?"

"Not if you don't want me to, there really isn't much fabric to them, so they're barely damp." She bit her lip and smiled at him. Even after a year it was still amusing to see him react that way.

Unfortunately she was struck by another bout of shivers and Sherlock snapped out of his lustful stupor and went back into action mode.

He retrieved the blanket from the sofa and set Molly in his chair, wrapping the cover around her snugly. Next he built a fire and once it was stoked he turned back to Molly to have a closer look. He squinted at her.

"Did you know that you're lips are purple? Cynosis - we need to get you warm quickly! Would you like some tea, Molly? Consuming a warm beverage is one of the best home remedies when it comes to hypothermia."

"Could I have hot chocolate, instead?" Molly pleaded. Sherlock didn't frequently offer to fetch her treats from the kitchen and she was going to take full advantage of this situation. Besides, she really was freezing. She could barely contain the violent shudders that wanted to overtake her. She pulled the blanket tight and leaned closer to the fire grate.

In short order, he carried a steaming mug of hot chocolate to his new bride.

"But there's no whipped cream. How can I drink hot chocolate with no whipped cream?" Molly complained.

So Sherlock went back to the kitchen found the whip cream and added it to the top, pulling a face at the sticky sweetness. With the drink properly topped he brought it back to the sitting room to present it proudly to Molly so she could admire how clever he had been.

"You forgot the chocolate sprinkles." She pointed out.

"Chocolate sprinkles? We have chocolate sprinkles?"

"Cupboard above the sink, Sherlock. Pretty please?" She batted her eyelashes and pouted.

He smiled having caught on to her game but fetched the sprinkles willingly enough. His bride could be such a brat. But he loved it!

He set her drink on the little table beside the chair.

"The next step in treating hypothermia is skin to skin contact."

"I can see where this is heading." Molly laughed.

"Do you now, Molly? This is quite serious. I am only concerned for your health and well-being of course." Sherlock began removing his own wet clothing at last. "Any subsequent enjoyment that either of us obtain from the experience is merely a side effect of the intended purpose." Sherlock was smirking a bit now as he made quick work of stripping off all of his clothing down to his pants. He decided to leave them on, both as a statement as to how serious he was taking this situation and perhaps to torment Molly a bit. She could get down right impatient when it came time to divest Sherlock of his clothing.

"You're no fun." She complained.

Next he knelt in front of the chair and pulled away the blanket enough to wrap it around the both of them. He leaned forward and took Molly into an embrace, bringing her in close as he knelt between the v of her legs. She laced her arms under his, to wrap around his torso.

"Agh! Molly! Your hands are like ice!" He pulled back enough to take her hands between his and chaffed them, trying to warm them with friction.

"Hmph! Sort of reminds me of our first Christmas Eve."

"Ah, No. That time your hands were slightly chilly from holding your drink in that death grip. This is a bit more serious. I'm rather concerned about frost bite. Do you have any sensation in your fingers?"

"They're a bit numb."

Sherlock sighed with worry. "Put your hands on my body again, Molly." He lifted his arms in offering to Molly and she laughed and stuck her hands in his arm pits. He hissed at the icy touch but lowered his arms over her hands gamely.

"Well, that's not bad. Where did you learn that?"

"In my line of work, Molly, one must be aware of many survival techniques no matter how unlikely they seem. Sharing body heat is a most effective treatment for hypothermia when medical help is unavailable."

They stayed that way quietly for a moment. Then Molly spoke.

"I thought of a way to warm my feet."

"Did you now?"

Molly brought her feet up and placed them on the backs of Sherlock's thighs.

"Ahh, Fu – Molly!" Molly laughed having almost driven the consulting detective to curse. "That was positively evil! I have experiences pain and torture in my time but that was ruthless!"

But Sherlock let her feet remain where she had put them. In fact after a while he took a turn rubbing them between his hands while Molly wrapped her fingers around her mug.

"I think I'm finally starting to thaw."

"Good, good." Sherlock nodded. "The literature on hypothermia state that the most vulnerable areas are the hand and feet. The only parts that are of greater risk is the head and groin."

"Some how, I think those areas will receive plenty of warming tonight."

They embraced quietly with the fire place and the Christmas tree shedding the only light in the quiet flat.

"Molly, I really am sorry about tonight. I should have realized you were not properly dressed for a run in the rain. It seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time. I wish I was more observant in regards to the comfort and feelings of others, but in those areas I always seem to fail. I sometimes wonder how I can be a good husband when I am such a selfish arse."

"You're joking, right? I wanted to run home as badly as you did! I'm not a child. Caring for me doesn't mean you have to make decisions for me. I am an adult perfectly capable of taking responsibility for myself. But just look at the way you've taken care of me just now! That's what counts. I couldn't ask for a more caring husband."

Molly tightened her embrace and kissed Sherlock thoroughly to emphasis her point.

After another prolonged bit of snogging Sherlock spoke. "Is there anything else you would wish for on our wedding day, Molly?"

"Hmm," She considered this for a moment before answering. "I loved dancing with you tonight. I was wondering if we should have stayed long enough for one more? Who knows when it will ever happen again?"

"It's bound to happen again, Molly. I'm sure Lucy will one day marry and she might wish to invite some old friends of the family."

"So I have to wait thirty years before I can dance with you again?"

"Maybe she'll marry young."

"Or not at all."

"We could dance now?"

"Here?"

"Yes. Why not?" Sherlock stood up. "What do you think Molly. Will you dance with me?" He stood there in nothing but his pants holding out a hand for Molly to take.

"Yes. Of course I will."

She stood and Sherlock pulled her into his arms. He took one of her hands in his and brought it up between them where he could kiss her knuckles. The other hand he placed on her lower back, pulling her in close. Molly put her free arm around her husband and leaned her head onto his shoulder and gazed at him.

They rocked slowly as Sherlock hummed a tune in Molly's ear. It was rare thing for him to do, but she loved it when it happened. His voice was deep and unpracticed, not much louder than a whisper really. But he could carry a tune wonderfully and Molly thought he sounded lovely. Now he was surrounding her with his warmth, humming that little tune to accompany their own private wedding night dance. When he actually sang a couple of phrases in hushed tones for her ears only, Molly's heart never felt as full of love as at that moment.

"My heart's on fire and the flame grows higher. So I will weather the storm. What do I care how much it may storm. I've got my love to keep me warm."

Molly smiled into his shoulder as the dance slowly evolved into an embrace, the embrace into caresses, which soon led to those sweet kisses only Sherlock Holmes was capable of, as far as Molly was concerned. And the whispered confessions of love were uttered as the couple lay entwined once more under the light of the Christmas tree where they would always meet forever and ever, from this day forward as long as they both should live.


By the time Mrs Hudson arrived home to find huge puddles of water where Sherlock and Molly's coats lay in a heap on her nice clean floor, she almost had a mind to go and scold the two, reminding them that they were not children and therefore perfectly capable of cleaning up after themselves.

She only made it halfway up the stairs before she heard the sounds that made it pretty plain that the couple was at the moment too busily engaged with one another to pay any attention to her scoldings. She smiled to herself as she made her way back down the stairs clutching the hip that pained her. They would get an earful at dinner tomorrow when the mothers arrived regarding their perceived abandonment. Maybe she would just forget about her own admonishments this time, bless them.

Instead, she decided to clean up the mess herself then go have one of her herbal soothers. Otherwise she might find it hard to sleep, what with the way those two were carrying on.