A/N: This chapter takes place after "Sign of Three" but prior to "His Last Vow."

Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the hotel room's mirror, adjusting his tie and scowling. Seated on the edge of the bed, Mycroft fiddled with his cufflinks and watched his little brother with an amused expression.

"Something troubling you, dear brother?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.

Mycroft teased, "Feeling a bit left out? Always the best man, but never the groom?"

"I won't even dignify that with a response," Sherlock snorted.

The elder Holmes frowned. "Sherlock, you and I have had this conversation before, in both specific and abstract terms. I am the heir to the estate and if I do not have a legitimate heir of my own, the family's title and lands revert to the Crown. And while I find most humans, save for yourself, to be as entertaining as goldfish, Molly is –"

"Is what?" He demanded. "A more interesting goldfish? Or perhaps she's reached the level of dog? Sweet and loyal, but by no means an equal!"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm settling for less than I deserve."

The detective turned around, looked his brother in the eye and rumbled, "No. I think she is."

The government official stood up, crossed the room and stared defiantly into his brother's eyes. "What did you say?"

Sherlock returned the stony glare. "You heard me, brother mine. 'I am the heir.' 'The title must not revert to the Crown.' Those are the words of a man making a business transaction, not a man in love."

"Oh, silly me, I'd forgotten what a romantic you are," Mycroft said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "None of that has ever made a difference to you before, dear brother. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Because I've seen something you haven't, Mycroft," the detective spat.

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"I stopped at Molly's room before I came here. She's over the moon about you, going on and on about how in love the two of you are. Such things are always revolting, and it's even more revolting to hear it from her because," he chuckled, "she really thinks you love her! I suspect she has a severe case of denial, or perhaps she's just desperate to be married and have children and doesn't think she can afford to be choosy. Perhaps she doesn't know that you aren't capable of making anyone happy, or perhaps she does but doesn't think she deserves happiness. Regardless of her motives, she certainly can't see that you're far more interested in your title than you are in her. Now, if she too saw marriage as a financial arrangement, I would have no objections, but clearly she's more interested in love than money. When she works out that the marriage is a sham – and she will – it will be the death of her. I don't know why she has such a weakness for sociopaths but -"

"Enough, Sherlock!" Mycroft bellowed. Regaining his composure, he continued, "If you don't care to attend this wedding, fine. I can obtain a valid marriage license without you as a witness."

"Thank you for proving my point, brother dear," he hissed, and began to stalk off.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft reached out and grasped Sherlock's elbow. "Come with me."

Mycroft made his way down the hall to Molly's hotel room, dragging along Sherlock, who, in the grand tradition of younger siblings, threatened to tell Mummy. Mycroft scowled at him to be quiet and then knocked on the door.

"Darling?"

Feminine voices yelped on the other side, and then the maid of honour cracked the door and barked, "Mycroft! What are you doing? You can't see Molly, it's bad luck!"

"Yes, but … I was wondering if I might speak with her about an urgent matter? She may stay on the other side of the door if she likes; we needn't see each other."

"Fine," the maid of honour groaned. "But don't you dare peek!"

Mycroft turned to face away from the door and replied, "On my honour, my back is turned."

Fabric rustled as Molly came to the door, which remained open a few centimeters. "What is it, love?"

"Molly," he said thickly. "I know you don't want me to see you before the wedding, but I simply needed to tell you something. Last night I had the most horrible nightmare, in which you had deserted me at the altar. While the thought of humiliation was terrible enough, what kept me up was the idea that," he took a deep breath, "that I might never awaken next to you again. I couldn't bear it; it was one of the most frightening things I have experienced."

"Oh, love," she murmured.

Mycroft swallowed as his brother looked on sceptically. "Molly, if you've any doubts about this, please tell me, and I shall do all that I can to alleviate them. I..."

Silence hung in the air for a long minute. "You don't have to say it," she breathed.

"In an hour I shall be obliged to say it in front of fifty people, so I ought to practice," the government official began. He reached his right hand around the door and found Molly's left hand. Gently entwining their fingers, he continued, "People think me incapable of feeling romantic love, and while I am not one to follow a crowd, until I knew you, a small part of me believed them. I ... am grateful that their suppositions were incorrect."

"I love you too," she whispered.

The maid of honour's voice rang out from the other side of the door. "Oi! That's enough, you two! She's not supposed to ruin her mascara until after the ceremony starts!" With that, the happy couple dropped each other's hands and the door slammed shut.

"Satisfied?"

"Yes. That was disgusting," Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft smiled at his brother. "Baby brother, one of the things that Molly and I have in common is that we both enjoy putting you in your place."

If Sherlock still had doubts, they evaporated the moment Mycroft lifted Molly's veil and guided her up the steps to the altar. The younger Holmes smiled smugly and reminded himself that later he would congratulate the new Mrs. Holmes for turning his brother into a human being.