AN:/ Wow, it's really been too long, and I apologize so much for that. Christmas came and went, then school holidays which meant time with my family, then moving to a new home, birthdays, work, and all that led up to right now. Unemployed and looking for studies, so in the mean time I have an enormous amount of free time on my hands. I don't want to promise that I'll be updating all the time, but since all the big stuff is over, it's what I'm aiming to do. For those of you who stuck around, I'm surprised, honestly, but glad. Hope you enjoy this, because in a couple of hours I'll have a second chapter up for you as a sorry.

Chapter Eleven: Wedding Bells

The soft reminder of Watson's lips was beginning to frustrate the Detective as he wet his lips uncomfortably, hunched over his table like some disfigured vulture, eyes boring into the many chemicals scattered amongst. Ink stained fingers paced his notes, smudging some of the more recent ones, his thoughts not at all with his experiment and wearily he rubbed at his eyes, dropping back into his high-backed chair and pressing his finger-tips together, his mind alight behind closed eye-lids.

Watson didn't go when told. Watson wouldn't allow himself to be swayed by Holmes' constant state of intoxication and drunken advices. The only thing left was a plan so brilliant that Holmes wasn't quite sure why he didn't stumble upon it earlier. He would simply ignore what had happened, pretend that none of it occurred. So simple, but there was no possible way it could factor. Watson simply was not as persistent as Holmes. He would give up out of irritation or loss of interest, the latter being preferable.

Still, the kiss had been a mistake. It most likely gave Watson some form of false encouragement, and frustratingly enough, the soft tingling still had not left and Holmes rubbed his lips as if to rid himself of it for good.

No such luck.

"Holmes," A voice spoke from the door way, and the Detective straightened up, "Since when have you indulged me in knocking, Watson?" He responded with a pleasant taste of his usual wit and the Doctor entered, smiling vaguely, "Too true, only I happen upon my manners every now and then," He jested calmly, glancing around the room before fixing Holmes with a look of disbelief, crossing the room and crouching down in front of him.

The Detective tensed, and when the space between them was short, he jammed his eyes closed, only lifting his lids when he felt a damp cloth on his lips, wiping aside the ink he'd mistakenly traced there before taking Holmes hand and cleaning it.

"Honestly, if I weren't here you'd make such a mess of yourself," Watson spoke disapprovingly, giving no hint that their lack of distance had done anything. Perhaps he too was pretending it hadn't happen. Holmes was all too grateful for this thought, though he'd felt so strange when the good Doctor had brought them close like that and his heart was pounding like he'd gotten an unexpected dose of adrenalin.

"I came to make sure you'd got the invitation," Watson spoke, straightening up and looking at the man who looked somewhat surprised, for once.

"We've moved up the wedding, it is this weekend," Watson continued, looking for something in Holmes' expression that the man clearly wasn't finding. Irritation, jealousy even? No matter, Holmes was well versed in keeping his feelings to himself and nodded briskly.

"That sounds pleasant, I'll keep my weekend free then," The Detective decided, climbing out of his seat and wandering back to the table, pacing through a few pages in the journal until he heard Watson bid him farewell and leave.

His lips pursed tightly and the annoyance surfaced. Wasn't this why he and Watson had fallen out initially? For someone who claimed to have feelings for Holmes, he was doing a fantastic job of finding someone else's arms. Wetting his lips, he tried to focus on the words in his book but they blurred becoming indistinguishable. He felt betrayal settle into his chest and he could've screamed were he not too sensible.

Wasn't he pushing Watson away?

It was healthier if Watson were to marry, rid himself of these ridiculous notions of being with the Detective.

Holmes was in no place to tell him not to marry the woman. Clearly she could give the Doctor something he couldn't, and that was all very well and fine. Only, Watson was his Doctor first. And Holmes was oh-so-selfish.

Pressing his fingertips into his temples, Holmes shook his head. No. He wouldn't lure Watson away from her with promises he couldn't fulfil. He was cruel at times, but never that cruel.

Even as the days approaching the wedding passed, Holmes only set forth in his job as a 'friend' and encouraged Watson. Spending his time alone furiously reminding himself that he couldn't ruin this chance for the Doctor and reminding himself that the only thing that was making him feel so irritated was his dislike of sharing, nothing more.

"Can we stop here for a moment-" Watson murmured to the carriage driver, stepping out of the cart in front of the Baker Street house, heading inside and upstairs, "Holmes?" He questioned, rapping on the door and receiving no answer, he peered inside finding it empty. Frowning, he pushed the door further open and strode in, pacing the floor and sifting through the stack of newspaper clippings on the desk, his hand reaching out and bracing around the hand pistol Holmes surely would never leave for a case without.

A creak almost caused him to job and he turned, "Oh, I didn't realize you were here-Have you seen Holmes?" He questioned the elder woman who shook her head, a tone of distress in her features, "Not at all, not since last night-He kept going on about some break he'd made in this case and he still hasn't returned. I mean, he spends nights out at a time but I do worry, if you see him at your wedding, please do tell him he needs to check in-And good luck," She smiled pleasantly, Watson nodding quietly, his hands around the gun as he headed out to the carriage.

"Ready to go?" Mary smiled from the cart, they'd been heading to get ready but now the Doctor felt a weight on his chest, concern growing, and she noticed due to the slip in her smile.

"Mary…"

"Don't you Mary me, Dr. Watson. We are getting married today, you can't put it aside for Sherlock Holmes. The man is self-destructive and he'll end up getting you hurt," Mary insisted, "Please, just come, Watson," She continued with a pleading look.

"He's been missing-"

"Just leave it, he'll turn up," Mary assured him.

"I can't, I have too…" Watson trailed off, the female frowning, "You spend so much time looking after him, Watson, it isn't your job-The way things are going, you may as well marry him," She mumbled, turning to direct the carriage off, leaving the Doctor standing there with a gun in his hand and only a bare idea where to start.