[[Author's note: I know, I promised this earlier. I was just swamped with work and could not physically get time to post anything. Sorry! Anyway, this is part two of a continuous series of short, sort of feel-good chapters with odd happenings and funny anecdotes leading to the much-awaited moment. So, stick with me as I craft ways to embarrass the couple, make Mary go plan-crazy and have Mycroft drown his sorrows in gin. It will be fun, promise. Read and review and let me know what you think. If you have any prompts or challenges you think I should consider, let me know in that trusty little comment box (they help me grow). I own nothing but the OCs and a vivid imagination.]]

"Don't mind me. I'll be in the kitchen." Mycroft's usually impeccable speech was lazy and slurred, not to mention that his usually measured movements were now practically jerks that threatened to toss him onto the floor at any second. It was his second stumbled step that brought Adelaide to shoot off from the armchair and lead the elder Holmes to the closest seat available on the couch. "Aw, thank you, Laide. You're just the sweetest little thing anyone could ever ask for. I always wanted a little sister. In fact," his voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper, "I used to convince Sherlock to dress in mummy's clothes just for fun."

"Will you shut it, you oaf?" Sherlock huffed impatiently from behind them, his cheeks turning the teeniest bit crimson at the words.

Addie rolled her eyes, not keen on having them fight so early. "Mikey, are you alright?"

"Fan-fucking -tastic, Laide! I just went out and had a drink. Well, more than one, really. I had this many!" He lifted his hands, his fingers ducking up and down as if he wasn't really aware of how much alcohol had been put into his body, or he lost count. "No one ever told me that being drunk was so much fun!" In his state, his tongue lisped his s's and he kept giggling randomly.

"Holy shit, he's hammered," Sherlock sputtered, barely containing his guffaws as he went for his mobile and commenced recording this momentous occasion.

Addie shoved him, leveling him off with a sharp glare before she growled, "You're not helping. Go make some coffee, please." When the detective ignored her in lieu of helping, she pulled hard on the waist of his trousers, tugging him in the direction of the kitchen, only a sneered "Now" escaping her.

Mycroft pulled at the edge of her shirt and stared with wide eyes at the annoyed woman. "Are you cross with me?"

Her eyes softened on the elder Holmes brother and she patted his head gently, putting on a smile. "No, Mycroft. I am not cross with you, just your idiot of a brother."

He nodded slowly, as if trying to comprehend the situation at hand before he let out another jaunty giggle. His hawk-like face stared at Adelaide as if she were a recently discovered species of human, full of weird and incredible characteristics that had to be studied at once. "What will you name your firstborn? Can I babysit? Can you touch your nose with your tongue? And, may I touch your bum?"

"I will cut your arm off!" Sherlock bellowed from the kitchen as Addie smirked.

"That's an awful lot of questions. How about you tell me what you did last night?"

The man on the sofa deflated, his shoulders sagging within the hoodie and sweatpants combination he had on, and there was more than a trace of a pout upon his features. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

He scrunched his nose, like a child staring at a plate of peas before groaning. "Is this what all you normal people feel like? It's awful!"

Addie breathed deep. "I'll try not to take offense to that, but, perhaps." She sat down next to Mycroft, the man automatically leaning against her and setting his head on her shoulder. Feeling a soft spot for the drunken man, she put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a moment to compose himself. He seemed to be having an internal debate and sighing dramatically every now and again. She smirked. "Does this particular ache have a name?" He lacked a reply, but instead tried to disappear behind her and into the sofa. "Like Molly?"

"I don't know what you're talking 'bout." The sofa cushion muffled his words, but there was a bitterness that crossed the barriers of sound. "I refuse to speak about that… that… that meanie!"

"Oh, dear God, this is gold," Sherlock said in a moan, mobile in one hand and mug full of coffee in the other. "Keep going, Mycroft. There's a reason life has put me in this position and I'm curious to discover it."

"Would you be nice?" Addie growled, extending her hand for the mug and challenging her lover with the most flesh-searing glare in the midst of the staring contest of the century.

He smirked, only just slightly concerned for his health at the moment. "Would you be serious?"

Figuring it was a lost cause to attempt to get Sherlock to behave, she patted Mycroft on the back and managed to get him to sit upright once more. "Drink this, Mikey, you'll feel better." Addie gave handed him the coffee and watched as he slurped slowly at the onyx concoction. "Just sit here while we go change, alright?" The man nodded, another sigh leaving him as he did. She turned to Sherlock and just pointed towards the bedroom.

"I know that look. That look does not bode well for me," he mumbled under his breath, finding the rest of his clothes scattered beside the sofa before scampering after the tiny blond. "Before you throw anything in my direction, please—" Addie interrupted his plea with a brief kiss, one that was over before he had even realized what was happening, before she turned away to pick through the wardrobe to settle on an outfit for the day. "Is this a new technique?" He asked, momentarily distracted by Bart and Cassiopeia sidling up beside him and showering him with morning affection. When they were satisfied with the attention, they ran out the door to th living room.

"What do you mean?" She asked, pulling on some jeans by hopping hilariously from leg to leg prior to snapping them closed. She turned towards him as she shed her pajama shirt and pulling on one of Sherlock's old tattered shirts, tying it at the side with a small knot to keep it from dangling too severely over her body.

"Oh, God! If it is, it's working. This is unnerving."

She grinned, ruffling his hair as she went past, going to the hutch to fetch her brush and attempt to wrestle her curls into an acceptable form. "What is?"

He remained still, his nose wrinkling and an apprehensive look taking over his features. "Please stop."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart, but as soon as you figure it out, let me know."

A shiver ran down his spine and suddenly blurted out, "I'm sorry I was teasing Mycroft, I swear."

The saccharine smile she was using dissolved into a look of satisfaction just as she stopped to be toe to toe with him. She glanced up, an eyebrow arched. "Damn right you are. Get dressed." Sherlock gaped, unsure of whether he was more attracted or deathly afraid of the look she was giving him.

When Sherlock re-emerged to his living room, she found Addie covering the sleeping body of his brother with a heavy blanket, his cheeks streaked with what he assumed were tears and a leg dangling precariously over the edge. Bart was lying with all fours splayed around him, keeping watch beside the sofa at the immobile man. "Is it dead?"

"He's fine. He'll sleep it off and be right back to being surly, politically-correct Mycroft in a few hours."

"Were his pupils the same size? Was his face sort of runny? Sometimes people who suffer strokes get—"

"Sherlock Holmes, your brother did not have a stroke!" Addie tried to argue quietly, although there was a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

"It sort of looks like it. Why else would he be in that state?"

"He's having girl problems, Lock," Addie reasoned, leading him into the kitchen. "Usually when Mycroft has trouble with people, he has them killed. I understand his confusion on the situation."

"Yes, that would be problematic. I'd be out a pathologist."

Addie groaned. Of course a situation would have to somehow revolve around the detective. Why would it be any other way? "This isn't about you, Lock."

"And body parts? Where would I get them now?"

"Still not about you, Holmes."

"And who would let me borrow their equipment to do my cases?! That bastard!" Irritated, he turned around and out to the kitchen and stomped towards the couch. He grabbed Mycroft by the front of his hoodie and shook him. Cass, who had been hiding in the shadows beside the furniture ran off in the direction of the bedroom at the sudden ruckus. "I swear if you do anything to Molly I will have you drawn and quartered, you selfish cock!"

Mycroft blinked heavily, the situation still not clear to him and he slurred a sleepy. "Whacha talkin' 'bout?"

"Sherlock!" Addie sucker-punched him in the shoulder and with a yelp he let Mycroft go. "Go back to sleep Mikey, it's nothing." The man blinked in surprise a moment or two before Addie's fingers gently stroking his hair lulled him once more into slumber. It made her smile. This was probably the most physical contact Mycroft had had from anyone that wasn't his mother in ages. Well, apart from that apparent one night stand with Molly. She was actively trying to avoid imagining that scenario.

"Why am I the only one getting slapped around in this relationship?" Sherlock grumbled, rubbing his tender flesh with nimble fingers and frowned.

"If it makes you feel any better, I am all for gender equality. You are within your right to hit me back, although it might bruise your ego to realize that I hit harder than you do." Addie replied, distracted, as she tucked Mycroft in once more and retired to the kitchen. There was a manic headache brewing in the center of her skull and it was screaming for more tea.

"I'll have you know that I have an impressive left hook," he retorted, opening the cupboard above her to retrieve the box of tea she obviously could not reach, were the fact that she was on her tip-toes and muttering darkly any clue.

"Do you?" She put the electric kettle to boil and turned around to watch Sherlock toying with the fraying hem of his tshirt. "Try me, then."

"What?"

"Hit me. Try me. Show me what you've got." She put her fists up and playfully stood in a fighting stance.

"I'm not hitting you!" He replied, appalled, and fussed around preparing two tea cups and taking over her process.

She grinned. "Why? It's for demonstration's sake, not abuse."

He turned sharply, his blue eyes surveying her in the most clinical manner possible before he let out a great sigh. "Honestly, hanging out with us has skewed your societal paradigms. People don't just go around hitting each other."

"People don't run around solving crimes with a blogger, either."

"Call me old-fashioned, but I don't hit girls, even when they're asking for it. Especially if they're asking for it, actually. Unless they are really very evil and about to hurt someone else. Now drink your tea, sit down and look through the things Mary left you so we can pick one of the schemes she has prepared and be bloody blissfully married, am I understood!?" Addie raised her hand, tentatively, and waited for him to acknowledge her before proceeding. "Yes?!"

She gestured to herself with a half-guilty look. "Kidding. I was kidding."

"Oh, then, never mind." He sat down awkwardly and stirred some sugar into his tea. "You're fine with the magnolias, yes?"

With a grin, she sipped on her own cuppa and circled the table, making just enough of a fuss to get the man to slide his chair back a fraction so she could sit on his lap, sideways. After a brief kiss, she opened the lid of the long-forgotten laptop she had placed that morning on the table before making her first cup of tea and clicked through the half-dozen wedding plans Mary had left them. The woman had programmed a sort of pick-your-own-adventure plot to make the process more bearable for the couple. "I like the magnolias. They're pretty. The places are too big, though. Mary does understand that between the two of us there's only like twenty people to be invited, right?"

He laughed, his chin resting comfortably on her shoulder as he, too, observed the screen. "What do you want to do?"

"Elope," she replied sarcastically, clicking through more options and making distressed faces at the screen. "I still like your idea more."

"She's not crazy about it, Ads."

Addie laughed. "She's not crazy about whiskey, but she drank a load of it yesterday. What do you want to do?"

"I don't want to wear a tuxedo, that's for damn bloody sure."

"And I don't want to wear a frilly white dress. So, let's compromise."

He grinned. "I'm listening."

"Tell Mary we'll use the decoration ideas for the reception, but that we'll be doing it at your parent's cabin in a casual celebration."

His face was suddenly alarmed. "Why do I have to tell her?"

"Because the probability of her shooting you twice is little to none. I, on the other hand, am still in the game for a bullet."

"She'll complain that there isn't enough time."

The woman on his lap rolled her eyes, brushing her hair back in frustration before she continued on. "Think about it, Lock. Really, who's coming? On your side: John, Mary, Molly, Mycroft, Greg, Mrs. Hudson. On my side: John, Mary, Molly, Mycroft, Greg, Mrs. Hudson. We don't exactly need to send out RSVPs."

The man rubbed the back of his neck, as he thought. "True. My parents will already be there and they'll be delighted to have the party there. Other than that it would be your father and your brothers, so…"

Addie gasped. "Right. My family. Hmmm, maybe I should tell them I'm getting married before the invitation arrives."

The detective blanched, alarmed. "You haven't told your family!? Adelaide, tell me you're kidding." The guilty expression she wore told him all he needed to know about the situation. "Oh, I'm going to be murdered. They're going to think it's a shotgun wedding. Your father will have my head. Oh, fuck."

She winced. "I'm sorry, it just slipped my mind. Oh, I feel terrible, Lock, really."

"Join the club, Addie," Mycroft mumbled as he stumbled his way into the kitchen, an ever-vigilant Bart following him and nudging him forward every time he seemed to get stuck on a step. "Just to be sure, why do you feel terrible?"

"She hasn't told her family she's engaged," Sherlock retorted, a scowl etched onto his features as he said it. "It's like I'm a venereal disease."

"It's not like that and you know it, Sherlock!" Addie replied, although her heart wasn't in the argument, on account of how guilty she was feeling.

"I don't blame her. It's like having a giant Kick Me sign glued to her back."

The younger man looked defeated, his eyes softening into a sad countenance. "I don't know what's worse: that you've said that or that she's made that same argument before."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'll call them right now and I'll straighten things out. I swear it wasn't intentional, love."

"No, it's fine, really. I'm sure everyone forgets to tell their family they're getting married. It's only supposed to be an important part of your life with all that agreeing to be with a single person the rest of your life. I'm sure it could slip anyone's mind," he replied sarcastically, pouting severely and staring straight forward at the opposite wall. Addie groaned, at a loss of what to say before giving up and going off in search of her mobile to phone her father and brothers.

"All my life I've wondered why men fall so readily for those endearingly odd creatures that are women. Now that I've been down the rabbit hole, I'm still none the wiser." Mycroft quipped, earning a smirk from him brother who pushed Addie's untouched tea in his direction and lifted his own in a toast.

"What happened to you last night, brother dear?"

He sipped on his tea and thought for a beat before a large sigh escaped him. He was endearingly confused and had no logical manner to express himself, so he just said whatever was on his mind. "I was talking to Ms. Hooper, trying to urge her to reconsider her frankly brash decision to never see me again. I went back to the Diogenes Club and a drink was offered to me. Followed by many others I made at home. It turns out that bartending is not a skill that is acquired by simply pouring random liquors into a glass."

Sherlock laughed, even when he was trying his best to swallow down the guffaws. "Mycroft, that is pathetic. Still, Molly Hooper? I didn't think she was your type. Frankly, I didn't think anyone was your type."

Mycroft's middle finger absently traced the edge of the teacup. "I became infatuated by something she said, is all."

"And what was that?"

"You're only as important as the people you pardon and the company you keep. At the end of the day you all end up at my table, nobody the wiser."

Sherlock smirked, impressed with the pathologist's train of thought. "She's right, but it's not an uncommon thought. Why did it bother you so much when it came from her?"

"I was demanding she expedite some corpses of interest to me. She told me to wait in line like the rest of the world. When it came to the part of the conversation in which I begin to threaten with my position and status, she said that, then bumped me to the bottom of her roster."

"And that is why she's my friend. So, that's all it took, a little attitude?"

"No. I tried to bribe her and she also refused. I threated to have her fired and she dared me to make the call because she knew I needed her to do it. She's the only competent pathologist in the city. I apologized and the rest, as they say, was history."

"It certainly seems like it. To her, at least. No chance of her reconsidering that one mistake?" Mycroft glowered at his younger brother, but shook his head in response, nonetheless.

"It was something fueled purely on dinner, wine and profuse apologies. It was a chance reaction and to expect for the circumstances to repeat themselves would be idiotic on my part. The Universe is rarely so considerate."

The younger brother drained his cup before patting the head of the bloodhound who had just nudged his leg for attention. He tossed him a biscuit from the tin on the table and watched the look of glee emerge in the dog's eyes as he crunched on the treat. "Don't be so sure. The Universe has its way of tricking us all into false sense of dread and hopelessness. And sometimes we do get the best surprises." The man glanced towards the sofa where Addie sat talking on the phone.

"Like a fiancée that conveniently forgets to tell her family about her impending imprisonment to my darling younger brother?"

"It's not like that, Mycroft. Well, it is, but I don't blame her. Her first-hand experiences with marriage include a woman who pathologically lied and married men for sport and an ex-assassin and an adrenaline junkie whose hobby is to get shot at."

"I've heard the ex-assassin has been planning the hell out of the event. How is that faring for you?"

"Horribly, but we've come to a decision. We expect you to be there, Mycroft, considering it will be at our parent's country home."

Mycroft whined, making a face at the idea. "Don't make me do this, Sherlock!"

"Molly will be there with enormous amounts of alcohol around."

"You had me at alcohol." He grinned, rolling his eyes all the same.

Addie stepped lightly into the room, stuffing her mobile into her back pocket and skirting around the boys to get a glass of water. She drank deeply, avoiding the blatant stares she was receiving from them both, eager to know what had transpired in the minutes she had been speaking to her family.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, turning back towards the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You had already called them," she stated, leaning against the counter and shuffling her feet.

"Well, I certainly couldn't wait for you to realize that you had to do it, now could I?"

"And, that's my cue to leave," Mycroft chipped in, nervously, before all but disappearing out the door.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

The man shrugged, picking up the two abandoned teacups from the table and scurrying around to straighten up the kitchen. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She threaded her arms around his torso from behind while he did the dishes, looking for excuses to engage with something other than Adelaide. "It is something, and I feel awful. Please forgive me."

"It's no big deal, Ad. Just forget it," he replied, his voice tight and modulated into a pseudo-calm tone. "I have things to do, so—" he broke off, breaking from her embrace towards the living room, picking up his laptop to skim through a case.

"Sherlock, look at me."

His fingers tapped the keys in a seamless string of characters and his eyes wandered not an inch from the screen. "I don't see why that is necessary, I'm working."

"I just want to see… It doesn't matter, just look at me."

"Just drop it, please."

Addie sighed, slowly approaching the detective, skirting around him with just enough berth to not startle him with her closeness. She sat on the coffee table, facing him, her hands wringing together nervously. "I hurt your feelings, didn't I?'

The man continued typing, seemingly entranced with his work. A small, weak, "yes," escaped his lips as he continued his search and waited for the answers to load.

"Oh God," Addie groaned, blinking to keep the tears stinging her eyes at bay. The feeling at the pit of her stomach was threatening to eat her from the inside out, but she was sure she would survive the ordeal just so she could live the remainder of her life in misery. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way. I know how horrible it sounds to say it slipped my mind, but it did."

He closed his laptop abruptly, looking up at his lover with a look that immediately shattered Adelaide's heart. "Are you even interested in marrying me? I'm not sure you are and frankly, it just kills me to think that this is of no consequence to you."

"It's not like that, Sherlock. I am excited, truly—"

"Then why did you not tell them?"

"I wouldn't even know how to broach the subject. We all lost faith in the whole ordeal so to tell them was…"

"Forget it. I don't want to know."

"Why not?"

"Because it just tells me how much you're opposed to the whole idea and it makes me feel worse."

"That's not fair, Sherlock."

"But it's true, isn't it? You don't believe in marriage, you can't be bothered by it, you're indulging me." He stood from the sofa, itching to get further away from her so he could collect his thoughts and swallow down the lump forming in his throat. He picked up the violin by the window, plucking at the strings and listening to the soothing pings it emitted every time his fingers ghosted over them.

"No, I don't believe in marriage in the sense that it does not automatically turn your life into a happy ever after. I also don't believe a piece of paper binds you together for life. I believe in people who make vows and keep them. I believe in hard work and learning from bad decisions and pain. I believe in Sherlock Holmes and the fact that he makes me happy and I can no longer envision a life without him; and I want to stand somewhere with my family and friends and tell them just that."

Sherlock stopped playing, a sniff coming from his direction, but he was still turned away from her. "Do you really want that?"

"Don't you?" The man turned around, hands at his sides holding his bow and violin, eyes puffy and wet, nodding gently in such an innocent manner it took Addie all of her self control not to sob uncontrollably. "I'm sorry." He nodded once again. "Is it alright to hug you now?" He put the violin down beside her cello and stepped purposefully in her direction. Addie's arms wrapped tightly around him and she could feel him relax slightly into her touch. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, carding her fingers through his hair, now that his forehead was pressed against her shoulder and kissed his crown gently. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I know. I love you, too," he mumbled into her shoulder, causing her to smile. "I'm sorry I reacted like this. I just…" he trailed off and she lifted his head up by his chin just enough to look into his worried blue eyes.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You're such a fantastic man, Sherlock, and so different that I sometimes forget you're vulnerable. I lost sight of that and I shouldn't have. You count on me not to."

He smiled a teary smile, touching his lips briefly to hers in a tender kiss. He felt much better now that he could clearly see her position on the upcoming events in their life. He would be lying if he didn't say he was a little relieved, as well. He chuckled. "Are we really doing this?"

Adelaide smiled, gleaning comfort from the gentle strokes his hands were practicing on her sides. "Of course we are. We're nothing if not determined."

"Can I tell you a secret?" He whispered gently into her ear, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine in a ripple of electricity.

"You know you can."

"I've never looked forward to anything so much in my life." He said, equally whispered and sending jolts down her spine and making her whole body tingle. She kissed him soundly in reply and sighed contentedly when it was over, the two remaining in silence for a long while before Sherlock's mobile went off. "That's probably John. I should get it."

"Yeah, of course." His hands fell limp away from her body, but the man kissed her once more before picking up the phone and answering promptly.

"John, just the man I wanted to talk to. We have a lot of work to do. Would it be possible to tell Mary that we have six weeks and that Addie and I got our shit together? Yes, in those exact words." Addie grinned as she watched the detective go back to his laptop and talk about this new case of theirs just as her mobile went off with Mary's tag staring at her from the coffee table.

And so it began, "Heya, Mary…"

TBC...