Hey all! Yeah so it's been a while. So sorry! The home stretch of school is coming and I was stressed with exams. Also had stomach flu for five days o.O I won't do any shoutouts because that would take more time and I want to post this as soon as possible. Thank you though, to everyone who reviewed I love you all! :D

Their reception was held in a grand gathering place. The walls were embellished with silk drapery and the lighting was dim, giving the room a warmer feel. Placed in the center of the room was a dance floor, it's dark wood shining in the slightest way. A bar stood in the corner of the room and multicolored lights were fastened under the bar top. It was all very elegant, and the servers and bartenders wore traditional black vests. What stood out the most, however, was the grand chandelier hanging above the dance floor and it's crystals danced and played with the light it held. The chandelier, though, would not be the most beautiful thing in the room if Molly was there.

Sherlock and Molly sat in their limo on the short ride towards the reception. Well, not really sitting. With all of the fabrics of her dress, Molly still managed to perch on Sherlock's lap. It wasn't her idea, not entirely; he had lifted and placed her there. His arms wrung around her waist effortlessly. Their kisses were slow, as were their brains, and Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck. His hands yearned to trail upwards towards her zipper to undo the few layers of clothing that separated him from her but he didn't. They did, though, travel up to her face to hold her there before he placed one last long, sweet kiss to her lips. A word had not been spoken the entire ride and it remained that way, for they had arrived. The limo slowed and stopped, it purring slightly and Sherlock got out and made his way quickly to his wife's side of the car.

He opened the door and held his hand out, "Mrs. Holmes?" he asked, sporting a smile.

Molly looked up at him in such an innocent and beautiful way that Sherlock visibly stiffened and his breath hitched. When she looked up at him like this, whether it was now or another time previously, a lump in his throat would form and he would be rudely reminded how much he loved her, how she was worth the fight a million times over. He took her small hand in his large one and she was standing in front of him in all of her beauty. He kissed the familiar skin of her hand which was rudely interrupted by the shutter of camera. They both turned, fully unaware of the blond haired photographer a few steps away.

"H- Hello. Sorry if I ruined the moment. I'm your photographer," he held a hand out towards Sherlock, "name's Beecher," Sherlock shook his hand and Beecher simply nodded at Molly, his eyes lingering on her. He stood there for a moment, tugging on his camera's strap awkwardly before he remembered what he was going to say, "Sorry you're just very pretty," he commented towards Molly. She blushed and thanked him. Sherlock gave him a once over look which concluded his theory. This young man, despite the fact that he was attractive, was no threat to him or Molly; he was simply a nervous dork with scratched reading glasses. Reading glasses, Sherlock observed.

"Yes, so if I could direct you towards the steps here, that's where people usually start," he said sweetly. Even Molly could tell that he was an amateur. He was great, however. Good even. When he had called Molly Mrs. Holmes, at one point, she looked up at Sherlock with a grand smile on her face, him smiling too, and he snapped the moment. He collected the important pictures, ones that usually aren't taken; the pictures between the pictures. Once he was done, Sherlock excused himself from Molly and took him aside.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Mr. Holmes, by calling your wife pretty," he said worriedly and swallowed, hard. Beecher wasn't a very big man and Sherlock's shoulders met at his ears.

Sherlock waved his hand at him, "Of course not, you'd be stupid if you didn't," he said with so much truth it shocked him for a moment before he sobered, "But you're not stupid. You appear to be marginally intellectual. You don't quite like this job, but you're good at it. Why's that?"

Beecher was taken aback for a moment, "Uhm it just…pays I guess. I'm not really sure what I want to be. It's unprofessional of me to talk about myself. I'm sorry."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You're wearing reading glasses," he pointed out and pressed on, "They're scratched which tells me that you read much. But it's not novels. It is historical books and biographies that you are most interested in. Consider pursuing a career in… archivism perhaps," Sherlock helped and turned away. That was enough stranger interaction for one day, he decided. He vaguely heard Beecher call out a thank you as he took his wife's arm in his again.

"What did you say to him?"

"Oh nothing I just improved his life," Sherlock waved a dismissive, joking hand.

"You do that a lot don't you? Improve people's lives?"

"Just look at yourself," he told her as the pavement came to stop at large double doors towards the reception where dance music could be heard emanating from behind it.

"I set you up for that one, you know?"

"I know everything," he said coolly.

"See what I did there?" she asked, a smile at her lips.

"Yes, well played. Very good," he commented and laughed shortly at her, "Must we do this?" He motioned at the reception hall, "It's so trivial. I just want to go home with you," he whispered as he trailed his fingers lightly over her jaw.

"That's very sweet," she said, straightening his lapels, "But no. Our friends are in there and I still haven't met your family. Don't you want to meet mine?"

"Well…"

"Sherlock."

"I'm merely joking, of course I do," he said very sarcastically.

"That's what I thought," she told him confidently.

"Is this what married life is going to be like? Where you tell me what to do and I have to do it?"

"Yes," she glared at him, "That is what marriage literally entitles. Obedience," she quipped.

"I'm in for hell, aren't I?"

One eyebrow rose in mock defiance, "The worst kind."

An hour later, Molly and Sherlock were sitting very close together at the main table, Molly's shoulder overlapping Sherlock's. Waiters presented them their desserts and Molly cooed at the decadent piece of red velvet cake with white frosting that was placed in front of her. Sherlock agreed to eat most of the courses presented to him and he felt full. He was about to dig into the dessert anyways when he remembered something.

"Aren't I supposed to rub this all over your face? Or something?" he asked uneasily.

"Rub what?" she questioned, confused.

"The cake…"

Molly cracked a smile and laughed, "I get to do it to you too," she pointed out.

"It is what it is," he grinned.

As they both stood, part of their cake in hand, everyone in the small group of people they loved turned to watch.

"Don't be sloppy," Molly said, "I don't want any of it getting on my dress. Or in my hair," she pushed her hair of her shoulder and Sherlock's throat tightened slightly.

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes."

With that, his hand smushed the cake on and in her mouth, moving his hand to cover the low part of her cheeks. When he was finished he added a dollop of frosting to the tip of her nose with one slender finger. Her messy mouth formed a smile and she did the same to him, making sure to get it in and on his mouth as well as his chin and almost up his nose. The crowd whooped and clapped and Sherlock forced Molly into a sloppy frosting filled kiss. She laughed against him and the onlookers applauded louder than before. Sherlock kissed the frosting off her nose and licked his lips.

A waiter gave them serviettes and Sherlock rid Molly's face of cake while holding her jaw, "Thank you. That was lovely," Molly said sarcastically.

"Anytime. Really," he smirked down at her as Molly wiped the cake from his face in return.

With a smile he sat down holding a hand out for her to join him there once again. She obliged and sat partially in his lap as his arm wrapped around her waist and they continued to eat. They were barely left alone for five minutes before John clinked his knife against his wine glass. Sherlock looked down over at his table, which was a few feet away, and he glared at his friend who stood up uneasily. The group hushed and John began:

"Good evening, everyone. I'm John Watson, the best man, and I'm glad you all could make it here today to see my best friend marry another equally fantastic person. I'd like to thank the parents of the bride, Clarissa and Robert, rest his soul, and the parents of the groom, Genevieve and William, for raising the beautiful people we are here for. Of course, I'd like to acknowledge all of the rest of you, the friends and family, for making this day complete. Now, I know that most of you don't make it out often and only came here for the free food, so I've been asked to instruct you not to make a scene - I'm looking at two boys," he pointed at Matthew's sons, Dean and Henry, and the boys giggled.

John laughed too before he continued, "When I first met Sherlock Holmes, he told me that while he was flattered – he thought I was hitting on him – he would always be married to his work. Clearly that is not the case once he met dear Molly here. We've all seen Sherlock bring his intelligence to his work as a Consulting Detective and pursue his passion of solving crime. This became the driving force in a friendship between him in his bride. It's where the two found mutual ground – something in common you could call it. Two great brains would work night and day together and it was quite awe-inspiring to watch. Sherlock, here," he motioned at his friend, "Wasn't exactly…responsive. He soon got his big head out of his arse and found the ever-loving Molly Hooper there, finally thankful that he got the hint. Which wasn't very discrete, Molly. Just saying," Molly nodded her head in agreement and laughed, "Anyways, I am very proud of the both of you. You two are my most cherished people and that can only be said about very few. So, let us raise our glasses to the lovely couple. To Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. We wish you the best. Cheers!"

Red and white and yellow glasses were raised like stars and they picked up their own glasses in unison. This was truly perfection, Molly thought. She watched as Sherlock made his way over to John and thanked him. Sherlock hugged and clapped his best man on the shoulder. They both shared a laugh and a short conversation before Sherlock returned to Molly.

She faintly noticed the song that began to play until Sherlock held his hand out to her, "Care to dance?"

Molly gave him one of those smiles that made his heart leap and he felt a bead of sweat form on the back of his neck. It's not as if he was nervous; it's just an effect she had on him. He didn't quite mind the breathlessness once in a while. It wasn't until they reached the center of the dance floor that Molly recognized the song. The Scientist by Coldplay.

"I've never told you how much I love this song. How'd you know?"

"I just did," Sherlock replied simply and took Molly in his arms as they danced their first dance as a married couple.

"Sherlock…" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Mary told me."

"That's what I thought."

The song was slow and Molly laid her head on Sherlock's shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around her waist and the other held her hand gently as he swayed them back and forth to the music.

Nobody said it was easy

Oh, it's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be so hard

I'm going back to the start

"I don't want to go back to the start," Molly said.

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked, unable to hear her half mumbling into his tux jacket.

"I don't want to go back to the start," she repeated as she looked up at him, "The start was to easy. It seems like so long ago that I sang to you the night you first started living with me. It was so easy to do that. It just seems like it must have been a lie seeing what we've experienced. We've been through much together, you and I. I would never take any of our past away. It's what brought us here. It's why I'm in this dress and you're in that tux and we're dancing to this song."

Sherlock looked down at his wife for a long time, "Just a song," he said, though he was interested in the way she thought about their past.

"I know, I know," she laughed and ran her hand higher up on his shoulder, "I just don't want to go back to the start," she whispered as she placed her head back onto his chest.

"I know."

After a few songs ended they were soon claimed by other people. Mary, who had danced with John the whole time, whisked Sherlock away. Sherlock thought it was strange to dance with anyone other than Molly, but he didn't mind much for Mary was quite a dancer and light on her feet.

Sherlock could tell that the song was nearly to a close, "When are you going to tell John?"

"Tell John what?"

"Don't play coy with me," he rolled his eyes, "Tell him you're pregnant, of course?"

She gasped lightly, "How did you know? I only told Molly. Did she-"

"No," he told her, "I figured it out for myself. Not quite hard. You have repeatedly ran your hand over your stomach throughout the night. I imagine you told John that you were feeling ill, but you 'couldn't possibly miss this.'"

"Are you going to tell him if I don't?" she asked, worried.

"It's your news to deliver not mine. He'll find out eventually, whether he sees signs or you tell him."

The song came to an end and they separated. Sherlock gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before whispering in her ear, "Just tell him. He'll love being a father."

Mary whispered a thank you back and Sherlock then went out of his way to dance with all of the female guests from Murielle, Clarissa, his mother, to his sweet Mrs. Hudson, who began to cry.

After Mrs. Hudson collected herself, he glanced over to find Molly and John dancing, for lack of a better word, dorkily. He was interrupted from staring at his favorite people when a throat cleared behind him.

"Room for one more?"

Sherlock turned and was met with Irene Adler.

"Of course," he held out his hand and she took it. Irene held him close, too close for comfort and Sherlock was somewhat relieved when the song ended and she released her death grip on him.

"Sorry about that, I'm just-"

"You missed me. And Molly."

"Yeah I did," she confessed.

"Why didn't you visit?"

"I relocated. I told you that."

"But you never really did, did you? You felt you were getting too close or you were making too many attachments. You also felt you weren't needed or wanted for that matter. Well that wasn't true. It isn't true."

She crossed her arms in front of her, but not in anger, "I would ask 'how did you know' but no one really understands how you do anything really. Except for her," she nods towards Molly who is just barely in my peripheral vision where she always is.

"It's best if it remains that way, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say," she cocked a curious eyebrow at him, "You're such a mystery, Holmes," she said and unfolded her arms inching closer, "Shame I didn't get you when I had the chance."

She looked at him up and down once before she slid past him. He did feel her hand slightly pat his arse, however.

Sherlock decided to take a leave from the dance floor to join Lestrade at the bar, who appeared to be fairly inebriated.

"Heyyyy, Macarena!" They shouted.

Molly, John, and Mary all swayed their hips to the music and they laughed incessantly as they all poorly danced the ridiculously enjoyable Spanish dance. The song ended and they all screamed, "Heyyyy, Macarena!" one last time.

"Well that was fun," Mary said, and beamed up at John who hadn't realized how much his girlfriend loved to dance.

"I think that's enough for now," John replied, a bit breathless but a smile on his face as he placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, "You've had me dancing all night, dear."

"Alright, alright," Mary said and turned to Molly, "See you later, love," and she kissed her on the cheek.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Mary? It will just take a second."

John pointed to their table and left the girls alone, "Sure, Molls, what is it?" she asked once John was out of earshot.

"Have you told him yet? Of your pregnancy?"

Mary looked back at John before answering, "I've been trying to find out the best time to tell him," Mary half-whispered.

"Do it now. He needs to know. If you wait too long he'll notice himself or he'll be upset once you do tell him. I'm telling you, Mary, he wants this."

She looked back at him again, "Okay. I'll do it. I'll tell you how it goes, yeah?"

Mary kissed Molly on the cheek again and left the bride alone. Molly smiled at her friend and looked around for Sherlock. He was sitting at the bar with Lestrade. Men, Molly told herself and laughed. A man caught her eye and she gathered up her dress and made her way over to the elderly man sitting alone.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. We haven't gotten the chance to properly meet. I'm Molly Hooper. Well, Molly Holmes now," she said with a nervous giggle and held out her hand.

She heard the man say "Christ" under his breath and he looked up from his scotch to regard her. He looked at her up and down, studying her like a Holmes.

He stood a moment later, a broad but fake smile on his face, "Lovely to finally meet you," he lied, "William Holmes," he said and shook her hand, "I wish to speak with you. In private, about some… serious business."

Molly quirked an eyebrow, "Well how about we settle that over a dance?" she suggested.

"That isn't-"

"For god's sake, William, dance with the girl," a voice said behind Molly, "God knows you don't with me."

Molly turned and was met with Sherlock's mother, "Oh hello, Mrs. Holmes," she heard an audible sigh from William.

"Good to meet you, Molly. And please call me Genevieve. Later on you must tell me how you acquired my son's heart, but for now you will dance with my stubborn husband," the elderly woman patted Molly on the hand, gave her spouse the ultimate death glare, and left them to dance.

"What will you be having?" the bartender smiled at Sherlock.

"Nothing for me thanks, but a water for my friend here," he pointed at Lestrade and sat in the stool next to him, "How many has he had?"

"Two vodkas, a beer, and three scotch."

"Ffriend?" Lestrade slurred, "I thought you din't have ffriends."

"That was just something I said," Sherlock explained, "Why are you drunk, Lestrade?"

"Because alcohol is goood," he clarified, "And I'm sad," he pouted like a child.

"Not enjoying the festivities?" Sherlock asked as the water appeared.

"Reminds me of my wife. She din't wanna come. Prolly cause I kicked her out," he finished his scotch and motioned for another one, but Sherlock shook his head once at the bartender.

"You kicked out your wife? When did this happen?"

"Month ago," he slurred out, "She seemed sad and she was all like 'I'm sorry' but I just made her leave."

After a moment of silence he continued, "There isn't even anyone to hit on here, Sherlock," he waved his arm lazily at the people behind them, "You should have invited some single people for god's sake! I imagine Mrs. Hooper is out of the question."

"Mycroft is single."

"You've got a point there," Lestrade said with more seriousness than Sherlock anticipated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and clapped his friend on the shoulder as he stood, "Just drink the water and go home. Have the nice bartender call you a cab, yeah?"

Lestrade turned in his seat to face Sherlock, "Thanks, mate. You're so nice," he said so seriously that he started cracking up.

"You are definitely drunk, Greg."

"I know," he laughed and set his head on the counter seemingly for a nap.

"Perhaps the taxi now?" Sherlock asked the bartender.

He nodded in compliance as Lestrade began to audibly snore.

Mary made her way across the dance floor and reached their table. John sat back in his chair, scotch in his hand and a warm smile on his face when his girlfriend arrived.

"Sorry 'bout that, Mary. Just a bit tuckered that's all," he patted his lap after he returned his glass to the table in front of him.

Mary sat down gingerly in his lap, biting her lip slightly. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked down at him uneasily.

"John, there's something I have to tell you."

"What is it?" He asked as he wrapped his arms about her waist and left a sweet kiss on her shoulder.

Mary swallowed hard. So much was riding on how this turned out. Even though they had only been dating a month, Mary loved John. She couldn't quite explain the connection she felt with him, but what she did know was that it was almost instant. "He is so beautiful," was the first though that had crossed her mind when she saw the same John Watson that was holding her so carefully now.

"John, I'm pregnant," she blurted out quickly. Her hand came up to cover her mouth and she shut her eyes tightly. A few moments of silence later, John's hand came up to rest on her wrist. He removed her hand from her mouth and held their hands together tightly.

"Please. Please don't be upset John," Mary looked down at him desperately as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Of course I wouldn't be I just…" John took in a shaky breath and his eyes darted around the room as if he was searching for an answer somewhere.

His other hand pinched at his eyes and wiped over his face once, "I don't know what to say."

Mary remained silent and watched his expression carefully. She shifted uneasily in his lap as she saw him frown. She was looking at his mouth and didn't notice how his eyes were becoming increasingly misty.

"Mary, I-" he choked as a single tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away, "That's… that's fantastic. That's fantastic!" a smile cracked over his face and Mary breathed a well needed sigh of relief as John hugged his girlfriend and kissed her all over her face.

Mary giggled, "All right, all right!" she swatted his chest and she looked down at him for a long time before placing a long kiss on his forehead, "Thank you so much for being you," she breathed.

Molly didn't mind dancing with Sherlock's father. He had a sophisticated form which impressed her. It was his animosity with Sherlock that she minded.

"What was it that you wish to speak about with me?" Molly asked after a minute of silence.

"Sherlock isn't one that falls in love or one that is fallen for. I need to know what your motives are. Why did you choose to marry my son?" he said bluntly.

Molly was slightly taken aback, "Because I love him. He protects me and I protect him. I don't understand what you are trying to ask, Mr. Holmes."

"Are you marrying my son for the stature? The fame? The money?"

Molly stopped dancing with the man altogether and took a well needed step away from him, "How dare you," she whispered, "Did you not just hear what I said?"

He stood his ground, "You didn't answer my question. Why is that?"

"Why is that?!" she repeated, her voice rising with anger, "Because it is the most ridiculous and insulting question I've ever been asked! I married your son because I love him. He married me because he loves me. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"That is simply something he's telling you. I'm sorry to inform you, but my son is using you."

"You are so ignorant," Molly laughed in pity and he frowned at her, "You clearly know nothing about your son. Where have you been all of his life anyways? What kind of father criticizes his son at every turn? What kind of father are you?"

William was about to retort back until he noticed the man now at Molly's elbow.

"What is going on here?" Sherlock asked.

Molly looked up at him, "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I lost my temper. This clearly isn't my place," she said worriedly, assuming he was upset with her. She tried backing away, but Sherlock was there to stop her.

"It's quite alright, Molly. My dad clearly doesn't know how to talk to people with respect, let alone his own son's wife," he turned to his father, "I would ask you to apologize, dad, but we both know you're too proud to do such a thing. Call me when you feel like being a decent human being, yeah?"

With that Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand and returned them to the dance floor. He held her close and was looking off into the distance. She knew him well enough now to notice the dance of flames behind his blue eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that, Sherlock. Just because he doesn't like me doesn't mean you have to have a worse relationship with him. Now you've left him angry. I don't imagine you'll speak with him in the near future."

"Are you kidding me?" he laughed and looked down at her, the flames dissipating, "I've been waiting to do that for years."

"It's a shame you feel that way," Molly told him.

The DJ announced that this was the final song. Their special day was almost over. Molly pulled Sherlock closer and it was more hugging than dancing. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand pressing down the hair that he now kissed.

Molly looked up at her husband, "Where do we go from here?"

Sherlock's hand rested on her neck now, craning her face up towards his, "Up, Molly. Only up."

BOOM! So that's whats up. Don't have much to say except for that Beecher is not my character. He was made by the fantastic man Brad Meltzer in the book the Inner Circle which I recommend. The character did wedding photography before he became an archivist. It was in DC but whatever! Love the character so much though. Again I apologize for the lateness of this chapter! Won't ever do that again guys ily

~Mel