You probably feared I'd never get there, but I finally did. Thank you to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos so far – I really hope you enjoy this chapter.
It's another longish read, but it was soooo difficult to leave things out. (Although this chapter did contain two of the subjects that I know least about in the world – dresses and classical music. Only need to add maths and I'd have had a full set!)
Word of warning – if you have a fluff aversion, best step away now…
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Molly was still in the bedroom when Mrs Hudson called out that the transport had arrived; she peered out of the window and smiled to see one of Sherlock's beloved black cabs, decked out in traditional wedding car ribbons. It had actually been her suggestion; loads of space in the back for three adults, a toddler car-seat and several bags – plus, black cabs could use bus lanes, so there was less chance of getting stuck in a traffic snarl-up.
"Molls, you ready?" Meena called, knocking softly at the door.
The morning had started oddly peacefully. She had woken even before William and made herself a cup of tea and some toast before bringing him into bed with her for his morning feed. It was strange to think that 221B Baker Street was about to become a marital home. Of course, Molly rationalised, for all intents and purposes it had been a marital home for well over a year now, but from today it would be a legally-recognised fact. Similarly, she had reminded herself many times that she and Sherlock were as good as husband and wife (even before he proposed), but it hadn't stopped her wondering whether the events of this day might make it feel just a tiny bit different.
Not long until she found out.
The pace of the day really started to increase when John came upstairs at seven o'clock to hand over a still-half-asleep Rosie and exchange her for a very-wide-awake William. Molly had felt her heart start to race at that point, and she felt a reckless impulse to race downstairs and see Sherlock one more time. He had come back up to the flat unexpectedly the night before, and had taken some convincing to leave - and once he was pressing her down into the sofa cushions and tracing a purposeful path of tiny kisses up the side of her neck, Molly struggled to remember why it was so important for him to go in the first place. It was a huge waste of a perfectly good erection, she'd give him that.
Anyway, probably a good thing that Mrs Hudson chose that moment to emerge from her own flat and make her way upstairs – the older woman's excitement and exuberance was enough to distract Molly from wayward thoughts (and if that hadn't worked, their landlady probably would have just rugby-tackled her on the stairs).
"Be out in a minute!" Molly replied.
She responded to Meena's subsequent offer of help, telling her she was managing fine – which she was, but she also just wanted these final moments to herself. She could still remember the very first time she'd slept in this room, and what it had meant to her. Only a few hours prior to that, she had stood in the living room – in the grip of both anguish and hope – and told Sherlock that she was pregnant. Even despite his reaction that day, Molly would never have believed that she would one day be zipping herself into a wedding dress in what was now just as much her bedroom as his.
From the living room, she could hear the muffled sounds of Mrs Hudson talking to Rosie, and Rosie sounding decidedly irritable. Her goddaughter had been upset by the women's efforts to keep her in her pyjamas until the last minute in an attempt to preserve her dress; she should probably get out there and mediate.
Molly moved in front of the full-length mirror one more time. She had been determined that on her wedding day more than any other, she wanted to feel like – to recognize – herself. A big, traditional wedding dress was never going to fit the bill, and after a day spent dragging Meena around vintage shops and independent boutiques, she had found what she was looking for – a sleeveless, sheer lace, A-line tea dress, with a narrow satin bow belt. It had needed a few small alterations, but as soon as she tried it on it felt right and when she looked at her reflection in the changing room mirror, she was grinning like an idiot. After hunting around online, she'd also found a beautiful shrug in delicate merino wool, which matched the dress perfectly – and well, it was a September wedding, so the weather could go either way.
Meena had taken charge of her make-up (Molly accepted it needed a bit more than her quick-and-practical Boots foundation and blusher combination), and her hair was pinned up to one side and held in place with some 1940s floral-design grips that she'd found in the jewellery box passed down by her grandmother. Any attempt Molly made to accessorize was usually sabotaged by William's inquisitive hands (no necklace or bracelet was ever safe), but she only needed to make it through the ceremony and then he could do his worst.
"Come on Rosie, love, we've got to go in a few minutes or we'll be late," came Mrs Hudson's slightly exasperated tone. "You can't really go to Aunty Molly and Uncle Sherlock's wedding dressed like that."
Molly opened the door of the bedroom to find the older woman perched on the edge of the sofa, while Rosie stood proudly in the middle of the living room in only her pants and Molly's pink and black striped scarf.
"What's the matter, Rosie?" Molly asked.
At the sound of her voice, all three other people looked up, and Molly was faced with an array of open mouths – even Rosie seemed to be wondering who this was and what had happened to her godmother.
"Oh, Molls, you look amazing!" Meena said, breathily, coming towards her and taking her by the hands. "Look at you!"
Molly felt herself blush, but this wasn't a moment to be self-deprecating – she knew it was true, and she was going to allow herself to enjoy it.
"Absolutely beautiful, dear!" Mrs Hudson added, a hand to her chest. "For once, I think that young man of yours might actually be lost for words."
Molly smiled; in fact, at the sight of Rosie's attire, she couldn't help but laugh.
"Rosie, that is a really lovely outfit you've got there," she began. "But I thought you wanted to wear your dress? I reckon it's even nicer than mine."
Rosie frowned and pointed a finger directly at Molly.
"Oh, Rosie, Aunty Molly is all dressed up," Mrs Hudson said. "Why don't you let Aunty Martha or Meena help you?"
"It's fine," Molly smiled, picking up Rosie's white and pink, rose-covered dress. She wanted to do this, and it was no mystery as to why – Mary had been on her mind since the moment she woke up that morning.
"Need a wee-wee," Rosie announced.
"Good idea before you put on your dress," Molly grinned. "I did the same thing."
"Are you sure, Molly?" Mrs Hudson said, frowning uncertainly.
"Honestly, it's fine," she replied, taking Rosie's hand and heading towards the bathroom. "It could be worse; Sherlock will probably be changing a nappy in his suit. Unless he makes John do it – though I think that might be stretching the role of Best Man."
"Oh, that reminds me, Molls," Meena said, leaning into the hallway. "I found some of Will's clothes folded under a cushion in the living room – some funny little dungarees, a bowtie and some other stuff. It's not his outfit for today, is it?"
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. The hiding place suggested premeditation rather than forgetfulness – Sherlock was very likely up to something. She hoped it was more than just trying to annoy his mother (your mother-in-law in a couple of hours, a voice reminded Molly). She asked Meena to put it in her bag, and took Rosie into the bathroom.
If there was anything that was going to keep you grounded on your wedding day, perching on the edge of the bath in your wedding dress while a toddler uses the loo would do it. But Molly wouldn't have changed a thing. When John wasn't around, she felt her godparenting responsibilities even more acutely, made her feel even more protective towards Rosie, even though the little girl didn't yet understand why.
She helped Rosie into her dress, tights and cardigan, brushed her wavy blonde hair and added an Alice band with a rose attached to it. Rose-of-the-world indeed; Mary should be seeing this.
When they emerged from the bathroom, Meena and Mrs Hudson made an appropriate amount of fuss, and Meena offered to help Rosie to put on her new shoes and take her down to the cab. Molly quickly kissed Rosie's head and started to run through a mental checklist of things she needed to take with her.
"Come in here for a moment, dear," Mrs Hudson called from the kitchen. "We nearly forgot something."
Frowning, Molly did as she was told, and found her landlady standing at the kitchen island with two champagne flutes. She immediately knew why, her mind taking her back to the cab ride home after her hen do.
"She's here with us," Mrs Hudson said, smiling. "She always will be."
Molly felt a lump form in her throat, along with the first prick of tears.
"To Mary Rosamund Watson," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
"And to the best godmother she could have chosen," Mrs Hudson added, linking her arm with Molly's. "I'm talking about you, dear, although I like to think I'm a close second."
Molly laughed, not caring in that moment what happened to the mascara Meena had carefully applied half an hour earlier.
"Now, drink up," Mrs Hudson said, swiftly draining her own glass. "That fiancé of yours may have a very big brain, but you know he'll turn into a panicky old lady if you're even a minute late."
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It probably should have been a strange thing to not know where she was getting married, but by the time the cab left Baker Street, the only thing on Molly's mind was how impatient she was to see Sherlock. That said, as the taxi turned right just before the British Library and headed down past Russell Square, Molly could feel her stomach tighten with nerves. Nerves, excitement and almost disbelief that this was finally, really happening.
The cab seemed to be taking a very familiar route, and when the they continued all the way down Holborn, Molly pinched her lips together as a smile started to break through. She had a good hunch about where she was getting married.
"Oh, good lord, why are we at the hospital again?" Mrs Hudson asked, as the taxi slowed to let some staff in medical scrubs cross the street.
"If you're getting married in the morgue, Molls, you should have warned us," Meena said, in an amused tone. "We're going to need coats. And a strong stomach for the meal."
"I think we're going back to the museum," Molly said, smiling, as much to herself as to the others.
Sure enough, the cab turned down to the lane to the building that housed Bart's Pathology Museum, and was flagged down by two familiar, suited figures. As soon as Rosie spotted John, she started waving her arms and straining to get out of her car seat. He opened the door and Molly helped Rosie to get out of the car to see him.
"Ladies," Greg smiled, holding out his hand to help first Meena and then Mrs Hudson out of the cab.
"Martha, you look gorgeous!" he declared. "Are you going to allow me the honour of escorting you inside?"
"You should be so lucky," Mrs Hudson replied, rolling her eyes. "We need someone to carry all the bags."
John set Rosie down on the pavement with Meena and offered his hand to Molly. When she finally landed on the pavement and straightened out her dress, she saw John's eyes widen spontaneously.
"Wow, Molls, you look…amazing," he said. "Really, really…incredible. I should probably warn Sherlock – can't have him fainting at the altar. Or whatever we're using as an altar – it's a display cabinet, but I've been trying not to look too closely at what's inside it."
"Sherlock arranged this?" Molly asked, taking John's arm.
"His idea, Mycroft's ability to cut through red tape," John replied. "Though I think what swung it for the museum director was you. You know, from one pathologist to another. You ready for this?"
Molly nodded quickly, smiling. Meena tapped her on the arm and handed her the small, neat bouquet of cream-coloured roses, peach carnations and gypsophila. Their small party then made their way through the Henry VIII Gate, prompting a few double-takes from staff and patients as they crossed through the square and in through the Minor Injuries unit.
She hadn't expected to have to take a lift three floors to her wedding venue (or to share that lift with two nurses and a man with an IV drip stand) but there was something delightfully off-kilter about the whole thing – and deeply personal, too. Her first senior job, her first meeting with Sherlock, falling in love with him, their first proper date, the birth of their son – all events that had taken place within the footprint of St Bartholomew's Hospital.
As they grew closer to the museum entrance, Molly began to hear the murmured conversations from the gathered guests, and it set off a swarm of butterflies. And she knew that if she was experiencing butterflies, Sherlock – for whom large groups of people were usually to be tolerated at best – could be on a verge of nervous collapse, particularly without John's reassuring presence.
"John," she whispered, leaning into him as they walked. "Is he okay?"
"I think it's a good thing he's got Will to keep him busy," John replied. "When I left, Will was leading him in circuits around the room."
"Um, what's Will wearing?" Molly asked. "I've got his outfit in my bag."
John frowned, clearly unaware of the knickerbockers-and-bow-tie debacle.
"He's wearing his outfit," he replied, in a puzzled tone, adding, "Everything's fine, Molls. Greg and I are going to head back in there now, so are you happy you know what you're doing? When you hear the music, that's your cue. Greg's going to open the door. Meena, Mrs H?"
"We know what we're doing," Mrs Hudson replied, with a shooing gesture. "You just worry about the groom."
John said a quick goodbye to Rosie, assuring her that he would see her very soon, and reminding her that she had to hold Aunty Molly's hand when going into the big room.
When John and Greg had gone, Molly felt herself taking a deep breath. This was it. This was really it. She was aware that a hush had fallen over the museum hall, and realised that Mike must have asked people to take their seats in readiness.
Meena had tiptoed over to the door and peeped through the glass; she turned to Molly and gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. She tottered back to her side.
"It looks amazing in there!" she whispered.
"Did you see him?" Molly heard herself asking. The anticipation was making her heart race, which felt ridiculous – this was the father of her child, the man she woke up with almost every day, the man with whom she'd nearly had sofa-sex twelve hours ago.
Meena rolled her eyes indulgently.
"Yes. And Detective Sexy looks amazing, too," she replied. "And not like he's about to throw up, so that's a bonus."
Molly giggled, feeling tears start to well up again.
"Sshh now, none of that!" Mrs Hudson gently reprimanded, handing her a tissue from her handbag. "You'll have us all in tears, and then where will we be?"
Again, Molly laughed, carefully dabbing at her eyes.
"Do I look okay?" she asked.
"You look wonderful, Molly," Mrs Hudson replied, squeezing her arm. "Now, go and make an honest man out of Sherlock Holmes. Goodness knows we've all been waiting long enough."
At that moment, the near-silence from the hall was broken by the gentle opening bars of violin music. Molly didn't recognise the piece, but instantly recognised the musician and composer; her face broke into a smile. She bent to kiss Rosie's head before taking her goddaughter's hand; Meena and Mrs Hudson shuffled into position behind her, and in that moment, Molly felt surrounded by love. It wouldn't have felt right for anyone but her dad to give her away, and the concept of being 'given away' didn't sit entirely right with her, either – she had been living an independent life for nearly twenty years, and she and Sherlock were giving themselves to each other as equals. Her little coterie of females, ranging in age from two to eighty, was all she needed.
Molly saw Greg's face appear in the window of the museum door, and a second later, as the doors were opened, music flooded into the hallway where they were waiting. Immediately, she felt lifted up, felt the love behind the melody. An encouraging hand quickly squeezed the top of her arm, and they started to walk.
It was impossible to take everything in as she entered the hall; the music, the smiling faces turned towards them, the transformation of the old Victorian museum. Rows of chairs had been set out on the polished parquet floor to form an aisle, and the flowers – matching her bouquet - that would have been adorning their original wedding venue were now arranged around the seating to make the vast hall appear more intimate.
Once Molly had recovered from the initial spectacle, she saw him for the first time. Although his mother would probably scold him later for bucking tradition, Sherlock had turned to face the procession, and his eyes immediately locked with hers. His smile was breathtaking and his gaze so unguarded in its honesty. And God, he was so bloody handsome! The dusky blue-grey suit was cut to perfection. Molly was struck by a fleeting, impish thought that it probably wasn't appropriate to be quite this turned on in a public place, and with her future in-laws watching.
Sherlock was holding William, who Molly could now see was wearing a suit identical to his father's, even down to the little necktie (which she could see from William's grip on it, was on an elastic). As soon as William saw her approaching, he started to wriggle and call out, which sent a ripple of fond laughter around the room. She saw Sherlock murmur something to him and encourage him to wave to her instead; her hands occupied by Rosie and the bouquet, she couldn't return to wave, but soon enough Molly was beside them.
John showed Rosie to her seat at the front with Mrs Hudson and Meena, and at this point Molly spotted several other familiar faces, including not only Sherlock's parents, Mycroft and Lady Smallwood, but also Sally Donovan, Philip Anderson and the whole Stamford family.
"Look how handsome you are, sweetheart!" Molly whispered to William, kissing him.
"Thank you," Sherlock replied, raising a roguish eyebrow at her.
"You mum is going to kill us," Molly whispered, biting down on a smile.
"She'll get over it," he said. "Besides, I'm about to do the one thing she thought would never happen."
Greg stepped forward to take William from Sherlock's arms, sitting him on his knee on the front row next to Sherlock's parents. Molly could see Mike making some final checks.
"You look…astonishingly beautiful," Sherlock whispered. "I am about to get very, very lucky indeed."
Molly sniggered, suppressing her laughter behind her bouquet. She had to remind herself that thirty other people were in the room, probably all watching them intently.
"You wrote this?" Molly asked, tilting her head to listen to the music. "This is you?"
She saw Sherlock's cheeks colour a little.
"Yes," he replied. "I recorded it the night of your hen do. Do you like it?"
Molly smiled, nodding. She had to fight the instinct to grab him by his lapels and kiss him – Sherlock's mother, and Mrs Hudson, would definitely have something to say about that.
They were almost too distracted by each other to notice that Mike Stamford was now standing in front of them. He softly cleared his throat, and when Molly looked around, he was smiling pointedly.
"Are we ready to start?" he asked, quietly.
There was a quick exchange of glances between them, and Molly saw her own excitement reflected in Sherlock's eyes - despite his straight-backed attempt at formality, he wasn't fooling her for a second. She saw him reach into his jacket pocket for a moment, as though adjusting something, before straightening the lines of his suit again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends – and little people, too," Mike began, smiling towards Rosie and William. "It is my huge privilege and pleasure to stand before you today – in this particularly unique venue that I personally know very well - to perform this civil marriage ceremony. Sherlock and Molly are good friends of mine, and I know that you all share my excitement and heartfelt good wishes to them on this wonderful occasion, their special day."
Molly felt Sherlock's fingers brush hers, seeking permission to take her hand, as she listened to the rest of Mike's warm, genial welcome and introduction.
"Now for the bit that makes everyone nervous," Mike said. "As you know, I have to ask that if any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now. And before you speak, please remember that the bride's poor taste doesn't count."
A ripple of soft laughter passed through the room, and Molly couldn't help but giggle, too; when she glanced up at Sherlock, he was looking at Mike through narrowed eyes, but accepting the good-natured teasing.
Before Molly knew it, they were being asked to make their declarations, and suddenly the swarm of butterflies was stirred again. Sherlock had previously insisted that he could quite easily memorise his lines, with no need to repeat after the registrar, and a hush fell over the museum as he began.
"I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, William Sherlock Scott, may not be joined in matrimony to Molly Louise."
Mike thanked him, and Molly saw Sherlock quickly flick a glance her way.
"I do solemnly declare," Molly began, emotion catching in her throat. "That I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Molly Louise, may not be joined in matrimony to William Sherlock Scott."
She heard a little noise from the audience, certain it was a sob from her almost-mother-in-law.
"Thank you, Molly," Mike said, smiling. "Now, we move on to the contracting words – we're nearly there. Sherlock, I'm going to ask you to go first."
Sherlock turned to face Molly, once again taking her hand in his. She almost didn't dare look at him, teetering as she was on the brink of happy tears, and she could hear that Sherlock's own voice was thick with emotion as he spoke.
"I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, William, take you, Molly, to be my wedded wife."
At that point, Molly heard a squawk from the audience and realised that their son had heard his own name. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw William bouncing on Greg's knee, arms outstretched towards them. Again, soft laughter broke out in the hall.
"Little busy right now, William," Sherlock said. "Mummy and I will be with you shortly."
Sherlock turned back to her and smiled. On cue, John stepped forward and Sherlock took a ring from his hand; in that split second, Molly could see writing inscribed on the inside of the ring, but there was no time to wonder. Sherlock lifted her hand and gently eased the ring onto her finger; it paired so beautifully with the ring she had worn for the past nine months.
"Molly, I give you this ring as a token of my love for you and as a symbol of our marriage," he said, his voice low, his eyes fixed on her. "I hope you feel that I have expressed to you in private the depth of my love and affection, and I promise you that I will continue to do so for the rest of our time together. But for the benefit of everyone here today, I would like to say once again that Molly, you have given me more than I ever believed I deserved. You were my friend when I desired no friends, and you loved me when I wasn't worthy of your love. I promise you that I will strive every day to be deserving of that love, and I will never stop telling you how grateful, how truly blessed, I am that you waited for me – that last bit was for my mother, but I mean it wholeheartedly."
Molly put her free hand to her mouth, uttering a half-sob, half-laugh, as the guests laughed, too.
"Molly, thank you for everything that you do and everything that you are. Thank you for our wonderful, beautiful, wedding-upstaging son; you and he have irrevocably changed my perception of the world and of myself – and give hope to everyone that even the most rude, ignorant and unpleasant of human beings are capable of redemption. Your love gives me strength, wisdom and safe harbour, and it can't help but make me a better person."
The sight of Sherlock's crinkle-eyed smile ensured that she couldn't keep the tears at bay any longer; in a second, John was handing her his pocket-square.
"This is the adventure that I never knew I wanted," he said, stroking his thumb over her new wedding band. "But which I now couldn't imagine my life without. It seems insufficient to say that I love you, but Molly, I do love you, and regardless of where this adventure takes us, I always will."
Molly felt as though her breath had been stolen, and once again she had to resist the urge to fling her arms around his neck. Instead, she allowed Sherlock to take John's handkerchief and brush the tears away from her cheeks.
"Does the bride need a minute?" Mike asked. Even he looked as though he'd been affected by Sherlock's words.
Eyes still on Sherlock, Molly pressed her lips together and shook her head. Drawing a breath, waiting for a moment to allow the pace of her heart to settle, she began.
"I call upon these persons here present," she said, determined to savour every word. "To witness that I, Molly, take you, William, to be my wedded husband. I give you this ring as a token of my love for you and as a symbol of our marriage."
John gave her a supportive wink as he held out the larger ring for her to take. Taking hold of Sherlock's left hand, she allowed her fingers to linger on his calloused fingertips and the tiny, pearly scars that told the story of his exploits over the past two decades. Holding his eyes with hers, she slid the ring on to his finger until it would go no further.
"I…I'm not going to pretend that I can match that," she smiled. "But when I was getting ready this morning, Meena reminded me of something I said to her eight years ago, something I'd forgotten about."
Molly heard a tiny whoop from her friend in the audience, which raised a laugh.
"We met up for lunch in the staff canteen, right here at Bart's, and apparently I said to her that everything was fine, because I'd just met the man I was going to marry."
Sherlock was giving her an amused, sidelong smile, and she felt a pleasant flush rise in her cheeks. She knew she would have to elaborate on this tale later, in private.
"Unfortunately for me," Molly continued, biting down on her own smile. "It took that man a little while to come around to my way of thinking. But Sherlock…in case you ever doubted it, you were worth that wait. And you said you weren't worthy of my love…well, I didn't always understand that love, either; I just knew that I loved you and that there was no point in fighting it. I love your brilliant brain, of course I do, but it wasn't that that made me love you - you…you always said that feelings, sentiment wasn't your area, but I knew that it wasn't that you didn't feel, it was that you felt too much. I fell in love with your heart."
She saw Sherlock blink hard, his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"Thank you for trusting me with that heart," she added. "And thank you for our little boy, who I hope will grow up to be as much like his father as he looks like him. Sherlock…I know we took kind of a weird, circuitous route to get here, but," – Molly smiled, took another deep breath – "we're here."
When the words were out of her mouth, Molly felt slightly lightheaded, but she was immediately fortified by the soft, spontaneous applause behind them, and the intensely loving way in which Sherlock was regarding her.
Mike thanked them both.
"Sherlock and Molly have made their declarations before you all today, have spoken the words that make this marriage a legally-binding contract, and have exchanged their vows to each other," he said, folding his hands in front of him. "So, without further ado, it gives me enormous pleasure to pronounce them husband and wife."
There was a pause while the words sank in, and Molly heard John clear his throat at the same time as Mike tapped Sherlock on the elbow.
"I'm sure I won't have to tell you twice," he smiled. "But you may now kiss the bride."
Once again, Molly felt a whoosh of breath in her body as Sherlock closed the distance between them. Cradling her jaw with his long fingers, he smiled at her slightly dreamily before bringing his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, reverently - presumably committing the moment to memory as she was urging herself to do, too.
"Daddy! Look! Kissy-kissy again!"
Molly felt Sherlock laugh against her lips, as the laughter, cheering and clapping spread throughout the room. John gave them both an apologetic look before turning to address the scene-stealer. Rosie was standing on her chair, pointing with both hands in case her father could be in any doubt. Beside her, Meena was doing nothing to hide her own enjoyment of the scene.
Defiant as ever, Sherlock caught Molly again and swooped in for a second kiss.
"Wife," he whispered, nuzzling her nose with his.
"Husband," Molly whispered, thrilling at the sound of it.
Mike eventually succeeded in herding them over to the table that had been set up for signing the marriage register. Goodness knows how Mycroft had managed to overcome council bureaucracy to make this happen – she would be sure to thank him later. She recognised Bach's Brandenburg Concerto Number 3 playing as she wrote her married name for the first time (contrary to what anyone might assume, she had not been practicing it for the past eight years), and tried to persuade Sherlock to smile for the photographer (surreptitiously goosing him as he stood beside her seemed to work).
"If you'd all like to gather, the bride and groom are going to make their exit," Mike called, tucking the register under his arm.
"Wait, wait!" Meena called. "The bouquet!"
Molly heard Sherlock groan at what he clearly perceived to be yet another tedious wedding tradition – or possibly just another thing delaying his wedding night. She tried not to dwell on that quite yet. Meena dashed over to hand her the flowers, and Molly turned her back on the gathered guests.
As the bouquet landed, she heard Sherlock snort and a peal of laughter ring out. Turning around, she saw Greg holding the flowers in one hand, while William was balanced on his opposite hip.
"Nice catch, Chief!" Sally Donovan called.
"I was only tryin' to stop my godson getting' hit," Greg replied, bemused. "But I'm gonna consider that a result."
"The ability of a bunch of flowers to divine future marital prospects is somewhat unproven," Sherlock said. "But for a man of your advancing years, you do have surprisingly impressive reflexes, Lestrade."
Sherlock stepped forward to lift William out of Greg's arms and into his.
"You've just done that thing again where you insult me and compliment me at the same time, haven't you?" Greg said, rolling his eyes.
Molly giggled, and Sherlock offered her his arm, one eyebrow raised as though to say shall we? She quickly leaned in to kiss first William and then Sherlock before their guests parted to each side of the aisle to allow them to make their exit.
"Where are we going?" Molly whispered, as they reached the open door.
It wasn't like other wedding venues, where you emerged from your ceremony onto a beautifully-manicured lawn or a pretty, cobbled churchyard.
"I don't care," Sherlock replied. "But let's do it quickly. I have a horrible feeling that my mother might be in a hugging mood."
At that moment, Molly didn't particularly care either – she was quite prepared to follow her new husband to the ends of the earth.
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The story ain't done yet – there's a party to be had. Watch this space for Best Man speeches, cake, the return of William's outfit-from-hell and no doubt quite an emotional Mummy and Dad….
Thanks again for reading!