The bloody buzzing wouldn't stop. Sherlock cracked open his eyes and reached for his mobile. He groaned seeing that he had missed seven calls from his overbearing brother. Setting the device back down, Sherlock turned his head to the left finding Molly still fast asleep, her head resting on his chest just over where his heart was now beating rapidly. Caught off guard, his mouth slightly agape, Sherlock gingerly tucked her hair behind her ear, needing to touch her to be sure this was real.

Memories from the night before came flooding through his head, reminding him how it felt to have her body mold to his perfectly and the way they moved so well together, anticipating what the other needed. It had started out a bit clumsy, but when they really got into it, it was as if they were gliding across a ballroom floor. He could feel his body reacting to the replay repeating in his mind, and Sherlock shook his head in an effort to keep himself in check. Oh, but how could he when his—oh, she's my wife now—wife's beautiful curves were teasing him, peeking out from beneath the comforter?

He swallowed hard. They were married now. What if she regretted it? Would she resent him? If Molly wanted an out, he would, of course, grant her wish for an annulment, but it would effectively break his heart. Being gone for two years, legally dead, had taught him many things, but the most important was that Sherlock realised that life was too short, too precious, to go it alone. He had missed Molly so much, his heart ached to the point of unbearable pain. She was the only woman—hell, the only person—that he wanted to truly share his life with. All of that time spent yearning for her, and here he was, holding her in his arms, afraid to let go.

Too lost in his thoughts, Sherlock didn't realise Molly had awoken moments ago until her lips were pressed to the hollow of his throat. He closed his eyes momentarily, allowing his emotions to wash over him. She was the only one he allowed himself to be open with, and he found he wanted to give her every piece of him. His eyes were only half-lidded when she moved up just enough to capture his lips with her own, followed by a series of slow, lazy kisses. Oh, God, I love you.

"Mmm, love you too," she murmured in response. Sherlock realised he must have spoken aloud. It was unfortunate when she broke their kiss, but the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him made up for it. This didn't look like the face of a woman who regretted marrying him whilst they were slightly intoxicated. Despite it all, he still worried.

"Are you…okay?" he asked with hesitance.

Molly smiled, biting her lip. "'Course I am," she replied with confidence. "Are you? 'Cause I just—I know you've always said you're married to your work, and, well, now you're married to me, and God, you probably regret it. I should just—" All of her doubts disappeared when Sherlock turned the both of them over just enough for him to linger above her, slowly lowering his body to hers as he kissed her again and again, his tongue slipping between her lips, eager to please. She wrapped her legs around his waist, desperate for him, but of course, that's when Greg's voice boomed through the megaphone.

"Sherlock, your brother requests your presence in his office in fifteen minutes!"

With a resigned sigh, Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration. "I am sorry for my brother's impertinence, but I do intend to make it up to you later, Mrs. Holmes."

"I'll hold you to it," she quipped playfully.

Mycroft Holmes slammed the thick file in his hands onto the desk when Sherlock entered the room. "Little brother, do you have any idea how irresponsible it is to pull this little stunt?"

"Oh, I assure you, it's not a 'stunt,'" Sherlock retorted.

"What were you thinking!? Getting married of all things," Mycroft remarked. "While Miss Hooper is no doubt an excellent candidate for you to waste your life with, I must insist you annul the marriage at once."

Sherlock shot him a dark look. "My life is not a political race for you to interfere with, Mycroft. I have spent the last two years missing her so much I could hardly take it. I won't be annulling our marriage or divorcing her unless she requests to do so."

"You were half-drunk!" Mycroft argued, raising his voice. He was seeing red when Sherlock walked right out the door. "Sherlock, we aren't finished! You're married to your work! You'll soon be a neglectful husband to Miss Hooper and she deserves better than that!"

As Sherlock stalked off, Mycroft's words continued to buzz in his ear much to his annoyance. His brother, he decided, would eventually cool down. It got him wondering though…was Mycroft right? Two years of isolation would make anyone crazy enough to marry the first close friend they thought of. What if this 'life is too short' attitude faded and reverted him back to his old ways? Would he really neglect Molly? He didn't think he could even if he tried.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Sherlock chose to focus on the fact that Molly was at 221B waiting for him, and he had some making up to do. Heading out onto the street, he saw Lestrade waiting for him to give him a lift back to Baker Street. The ride was surprisingly silent, but of course, when they arrived, Mrs. Hudson had offered Greg a cup of tea. Sherlock attempted to escape his landlady's prodding questions, but he conceded that he'd have to wait it out.

Molly, upon hearing the commotion downstairs, crept out from 221B to see if Sherlock was home.

"Is it serious, you two?" she heard Greg ask.

Before Sherlock could answer, Mrs. Hudson had piped up. "Molly is a lovely choice for a wife, but dear, you've always said relationships are nothing but distractions. Marriage isn't a walk in the park, you know."

Having heard enough, Molly slipped back inside, desperate to make herself forget that niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She traced the spines of his books, reading every title packed on the shelves. For as often as she had been here before, Molly had never had so much time or freedom to explore every nook and cranny of 221B. She stopped a moment, coming across a most intriguing volume. "The Dynamics of Combustion," Molly read quietly. It was the author that caught her attention: M.L. Holmes. Was it Mycroft, perhaps? Or—

"My mother's book," Sherlock answered as if he had read her mind. "She claims it to be silly, but it is quite genius." He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around her from behind. "Though don't tell her I said so—I won't hear the end of it."

Molly chuckled. "My lips are sealed." And his lips were pressed to her temple, leaving Molly to wonder why she ever felt unsure of their marriage just a few moments ago.

"We should go somewhere," he told her. His voice was low in her ear. It made her shiver. The tip of his nose traced her jawline. He was driving her wild. "Run away with me, Molly. We can go anywhere you like." A press of his lips to her neck, and she was just about ready to come undone.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears, his proposal giving her a thrill. She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Let's start packing."

Author's Note: So far, nobody's been real supportive of Sherlock and Molly's spontaneous marriage. Their solution? Running off together for their honeymoon. Until next week, dear readers!