The bad thing about all of this happening at the time it did was the fact that Sherlock wanted the wedding on the day he picked out, and, god damn it, he was going to!

The next week was full of stress. They sent every single invitation out that night marked "urgent" and had them set to arrive the very next day. The invitations themselves asked that the guests call the very second they received the letter to confirm if they will be going or not.

Sherlock was opposed to this. He didn't want a huge celebration, he just wanted the date. John would normally be completely fine with this, but he informed Sherlock that his parents would be highly upset if he didn't tell them about it.

"Look at it this way," he told him as he licked the tip of his pen, causing Sherlock to grin and reminisce. "Since it's only a few days away, it's likely that most of these people won't even be able to show."

And, naturally, he was right. The wedding arrived naturally quickly and only a few people showed up. Most of the others had called ahead of time to congratulate them and politely say they couldn't make it. John's parents were the firsts through the doors, followed by Mycroft Holmes, who wore an extremely smug look on his face, a phrase he once uttered to John coming back to him.

Sherlock's mother and Mycroft both decided that it was essential that he have the joining in their own building.

People showed up quickly, amazed that Sherlock had actually decided to marry, or, well, get a partnership. John liked to say "marry." Sherlock liked to correct him.

Even Anderson and Donovan sheepishly walked through the doors, fixed on only congratulating John, even if he did end up with Sherlock.

Lestrade and Mycroft had decided they were helping. It didn't matter that Sherlock had snapped at both of them, saying he didn't need help – they both helped. The first thing on their list was making sure Sherlock and John didn't see each other that day until the ceremony.

They snatched Sherlock before John woke up and hauled him to the building, leaving a cab and a note behind for John. They felt they had it completely under control.

But it was Sherlock and John they were dealing with. John was perfectly okay with going along with all of the norms: not seeing the other until the actual ceremony - even letting people fuss over him without a complaint from him. Sherlock, on the other hand, thought it was silly. Pointless.

Come out of your room. –SH

This was the text John got as soon as he had a second to himself. The room was empty for a moment, as the people fussing over him all had something they needed to get from a different area of the building. When John looked down at his phone, he somehow felt that this was Sherlock's doing.

But as he opened the door, he heard a very odd yelp that he had never heard before from a very familiar voice – but didn't see the lovely face it came from. John stood outside his room, looking around at the empty hallway. Until he heard loud bangs coming from the room next to his. He looked over in alarm in time to see Mycroft and Lestrade attempting to get out of the room. Lestrade was apparently struggling with Sherlock, however, and ended up going back into the room.

Mycroft locked the door and turned to look at John.

"You two really are helpless," Mycroft said with a warning in his voice, but with a hint of happiness that John had never seen or heard before from the man. John grinned at his soon to be brother-in-law and put his hands up.

"Hey, it wasn't me."

"You didn't scold him for it, either, did you, John?" John just smiled at him for a moment. He could see some of Sherlock in Mycroft at that point. He could see the happiness he was slightly attempting to hide merely to spite his brother.

"He just wants to see me," John said after a second. "I don't blame him; I much want to see him, myself. I mean, granted, I'm not breaking down doors to-" Ironically, a loud smash was heard from the door of the room Sherlock was currently locked in and a "SHERLOCK!" from Lestrade, causing Mycroft and John both to look over.

John started laughing. The happiness of the whole situation was bubbling up inside of him, and he couldn't help himself. It was getting later in the evening and, although the sun wasn't setting yet, it had the feeling of a quiet, cool late summer evening. And the whole day felt perfect – the whole situation completely ridiculous from the start – and John was laughing and laughing, his voice soon booming, Mycroft beaming at him, and silence from Sherlock's room until Sherlock's shyer laughter joined John's. John could practically see Sherlock scratching at his head and grinning against the door as John leaned against the wall outside the room to laugh. He could just see Lestrade grinning and rolling his eyes, and he could plainly see the wide smile on Mycroft's face – he had apparently dropped his mask, unable to hold it anymore.

But, soon, everything was back to being busy. John was rushed back into his room, Sherlock was allowed to stay in that room as long as he allowed them to fuss over him a bit. Sherlock let them fuss over him, but complained loudly the whole time. Loud enough for John to hear him and laugh, which he very well did.

And, soon, but not nearly soon enough, they were standing in front of each other, trying not to grin like complete morons as they were joined. And Sherlock slipped the ring back on John's finger – he found it silly that there should be two different rings, and John much agreed – knowing certainly that it wasn't something about how much money it might be, as Sherlock didn't every really mind about spending money, but also not caring if that had been the case.

And as he slipped it on, John wanted to watch it happen, he wanted to see the ring on his finger, but he couldn't look away from Sherlock's face. Sherlock himself slipped the ring on without looking away from John's face. John attempted the same in return, unable to look away, and messed up several times, causing Sherlock to snicker and the few people who had arrived (making a crowd enough that Sherlock was a bit bugged by it) laughed in appreciation.

And when they kissed, it was—Okay, it was actually pretty awkward. Sorry to break the romantic mold, but - well, to be fair, it started off cute – the guests "aww"ing when John pulled Sherlock down (just as he had done the day when he kissed him on the forehead) and Sherlock grinned, bending and pressing his lips softly – chastely - against John's. And John grinned against Sherlock's mouth and couldn't help it when his eyes fluttered open a split second later. And the kiss reminded both of them of everything from the beginning.

Their eyes opened, and then they were looking at each other and John looked like he was going to giggle. Sherlock was so endeared and joyed by John's reaction and by the thoughts clearly going through both of their heads about their old game, the game that created this, that he pulled him closer and pretty much devoured his face, gaining a cliché wolf-whistle from someone – probably Anderson, maybe one of John's college buddies.

John was actually pretty torn on what he should do. Push Sherlock off? No- John was finally his. Well, keep kissing him like this? No- there were people everywhere!

While he was having this inner war, however, he was letting Sherlock nearly ravish him – though anyone could see how flustered and confused John was. His flushed face, his hands twitching on Sherlock's upper arms as if he wasn't sure if he should push him away or pull him closer while Sherlock's hands were latched on John – the small of his back and the side of his face - pulling him close and ignoring John's obvious confusion.

Luckily, Mycroft took pity on him and they were pulled apart by him and Lestrade. Lestrade was nearly rolling his eyes and Mycroft was giving Sherlock a look that plainly said "I know what you're up to, but it's not going to work." It wasn't until John saw his face when he knew that Sherlock was trying to get them out of the reception.

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock huffed and took his hand. John grinned at him and Sherlock looked sideways at him. He tried not to, but couldn't help but grin. People clapped and they were led out of the building and into a taxi cab (Sherlock asked for this specifically, though Mycroft argued against it – they settled on a fairly expensive, very nice cab.)

Once in the cab, it was silent for a while. John kept fidgeting and, for once, he wasn't the only one. Sherlock couldn't seem to sit still, either.

"Sherlock," John began, turning to ask him a question but halting right away by the look on Sherlock's face. He had apparently been watching John the whole time and his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, and a hint of the butterflies he felt was showing on his face.

"You know you look amazing in a suit?" Sherlock had muttered, though John wouldn't remember it later, because the next second warm lips were on his own, hands on his back pulling him closer, and seat belt restricting him, as Sherlock's hands are up and down John's arms, on his face, in his hair, all soft, but insisting. And it's a clash of lips and tongues and warm breath – but not teeth, they'd learned to avoid that, and good thing, too, because as nice as it might sound in stories - the passion being so much that their teeth clash together - it actually kind of hurts and it's pretty unpleasant.

The kissing is fierce, but it isn't sexual. It's "I've been waiting to do this for a long time," but it's not "get in my pants, dear god, I don't care if we're in a cab," as much as the cabby might think it is. Sherlock's crawling nearly on top of John, kissing him and nearly whining – or is he moaning? No, it sounds like whining. John pulls away ever so slightly.

"What's wrong?" he breaths against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock smiles shakily against John's lips in turn, looking into his eyes.

"I've never felt this happy in my life."

The reception was completely unimportant to Sherlock, but John had been looking forward to it ever since that dream he had. As he mingled, Sherlock sat at a table, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fists, and eyes glued on his brother as he glanced at the half of a wedding cake that was still on the table.

"Sherlock," he heard Lestrade say as his lips quirked up into a smirk when Mycroft abruptly looked away from the cake with an annoyed look on his face that only Sherlock or his mother would notice. "I'm really happy for you."

"Cliché," Sherlock replied, hardly opening his mouth.

"No - well, yes, but I mean it!" Sherlock gave a hum in response. "I've noticed you acting differently towards him since he first showed up. Granted, I spent enough time with John that I figured he didn't hold the same interest. Though, to be fair, I should have picked up on it. He talked about you an awful lot – even if it was pretty much all complaining."

Sherlock gave a small grunt in response.

"Should I…?" Lestrade looked to the side, not sure what to do. Sherlock lifted his head off of his hands and looked at Lestrade.

"Thank you."

"I…" Lestrade stared at him for a few awkward seconds. "What?"

"I'm not saying it again," Sherlock scowled.

"No, of course not, but… What for?"

"You pushed it. Even if you did think it was a game, you helped. The moron thought I knew about his feelings the whole time – thought I was being cruel."

"That's horrible," Lestrade said in a voice that suggested he wouldn't be surprised if it had been the case. Sherlock scoffed and turned completely away, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Sherlock, sweetie," a soft voice said. He changed completely. He sat straighter, face softened and eyes widened, and his arms came uncrossed as he turned and looked at his mother, smiling at him kindly. She held out her hands for him and he took them without hesitation, standing up and looking down at her with a small frown.

"What is it?"

"First of all," she began in the same soft, level voice as before, but Sherlock gulped at how deadly he knew it was. "I'm astonished and slightly insulted that you didn't mention John to me before now, though I suppose it's because you didn't realise he was in love with you – He was first, as I can see it." She smiled at him in a way that reminded Sherlock of how Mycroft smiled when he wasn't pleased with something. He became anxious.

"I'm sorry, mummy," was his muttered reply. She let go of his hands and stood on her toes to move some of his curls out of his face, smiling at him softer.

"The reason I came over, Sherly, dear, is to tell you that it's time for you to dance with him." Sherlock scowled slightly at the use of "Sherly" and his mother gave a soft giggle and hugged him. He hugged her back and was suddenly aware that John was standing next to him. When he let go, after his mother pulled him down to kiss him on the cheek, she vanished into the fairly small crowd of people. He looked after her, wondering where she went and ignoring John's smug face.

"Sherly?" John asked, laughter in his voice. Sherlock glared at him. "And I believe I heard you say 'mummy?'" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and brought him to the middle of the dance floor, scowling and sneering the whole way while John just chuckled.

And when Sherlock pulled John towards him, setting them up to dance, John forgot what he was laughing about and Sherlock forgot what he was scowling about. They stared at each other for a moment, aware that everyone was looking at them and waiting for the music to start. Aware that the joining honestly didn't change anything that would have happened, anyway. As Sherlock had said, it just made things easier – especially financially.

And when the music started, John remembered that he sucked at dancing. He was especially nervous, stumbling and stepping on Sherlock's shoes a couple of times. Sherlock merely smiled at him.

"Relax, I've got you. Just follow my lead, that's all you have to do," he told him in a deep voice. John gave a sigh and tried. He let Sherlock swoop him around the room. Let him have them turn in wide circles, let him practically make him swoon with how amazing he was at dancing. He was breathless. It was even more amazing than his dream. He smiled at Sherlock.

"How's Mycroft doing? Staying away from the cake?" Sherlock gave a bark of laughter, slightly shocked.

"Was it really that noticeable? I thought he was doing fine at hiding it."

"You told me while you were sick. You were talking about the wedding and you said something like "At our wedding, there will be cake and Mycroft will want some but won't have any," or something. It was funny. Kind of endearing. You act really childish while you're sick, you know that? Practically begged me to stay in your room with you." Sherlock gave a small scowl, but it didn't really hold any negative emotion he wanted it to. He sighed and went back to smiling.

"It's not… Something that happens often."

"What? You being childish? That's complete bullshit," John laughed a bit loudly, but it was cut off when Sherlock swooped them around quickly with a tiny glare. He smirked at John's surprised expression.

"This… is completely stupid, you do realise," Sherlock said to him after a moment. John raised an eyebrow.

"Completely stupid? Why? How? It was your idea in the first place."

"It was," Sherlock agreed, "but it was originally a plan to get you trapped into a marriage and make you fall in love with me. Now it seems…"

"Pointless?" John asked carefully.

"I want to say that."

"You want to?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't work so well."

"I'm… not quite sure what you're getting at," John admitted sheepishly.

"I want to say 'Marriage is pointless. It's easy to use for manipulation and it can be useful in cases, but is otherwise pointless,' but I can't. I want to, because it's completely true, but I can't because I don't want to take it back."

"Okay," John said slowly. "Why's that, then?"

"Because," Sherlock actually took a moment, spinning them around, weaving throughout the crowd, but all as a distraction to John as he thought of a proper response. "Because you're mine," is what he finally spat out, his cheeks turning pink immediately after.

"Oh, well… Uh, I'd still be yours even if we weren't married," John supplied, knowing he was only doing so for Sherlock to get on the right path of what he wanted to say.

"Yes, of course, but… It's the ring, then, I suppose. The ring. It says plainly that you're mine – and you can't leave if we're married – well, technically, it's not married, but you get the basic idea. It's too much work for us to break apart, not that I'd ever want to, so you're stuck with me now."

John shook his head, grinning. The song ended and they stilled, arms lowered but still partially around each other. "You say that like it's something horrible."

"Isn't it?"

"No, Sherlock," John said as he pulled Sherlock down and kissed him. Sherlock grinned against his lips.

"Fine," he muttered. "It's all fine?"

"All fine," John chuckled.

"Whatever shakes my boat?" Sherlock teased, smirking and pulling back slightly.

"Shut up," John replied, laughing and pushing Sherlock further away from him, but grabbing his hand and looking away. Sherlock laughed as if he really didn't want to, but couldn't help himself.

He gave a sigh after his laughter calmed down and immediately said "I don't want to be here any longer," with a smile still plastered on his face.

"Should we go, then?"

"God, yes."

And they were gone – not before seeing Mycroft give in and have a slice of cake, but certainly before Anderson made them a drunken speech (that was recorded on camera, thank god, as neither of them realised they'd be missing that sort of gold when they rushed out the door.)

And as they reached their flat, they knew that they wouldn't ever want to buy an actual house. Even if this flat was sometimes falling apart, it wasn't just a flat now. It was home to both of them, and that wouldn't change – even if John decided somewhere down the road that he wanted a dog that Sherlock very much did not want.

And as the door closed behind them, Sherlock looked around the flat and everything felt amazingly the same now that everything was different. He looked at John to see him gazing at him with an overjoyed grin on his face.

"Welcome home, then, Sherlock."

"Welcome home, John."

And that was just the same as "I love you" to both of them. It was just the same as "Thank you" and "Sorry" and all the words they hadn't had time to say before it finally kicked in that every daydream – every dream, fantasy, and messed up misunderstanding - was nothing in comparison to how they felt at that very moment.

It was just the same as "I'm yours" and just the same as "You're finally mine."

It was just the same as "You need to clean the damn kitchen before we do anything else, for god's sake, is that acid - I think it's burning through the sink."

But, most importantly, it was exactly as it sounded. And everything was blissfully domestic for all of a minute before Sherlock got bored and decided to test his new "marriage rights" with many different "studies" that John certainly didn't mind.