Usually I wouldn't be updating this fast, but I really enjoy writing about Sherlock and Molly and their unusual relationship. A lot of the fics on here portray Sherlock's character just like any other man, with normal reactions and feelings, but Sherlock isn't normal. It doesn't make sense for him to immediately be gushy in a fic when it takes him ages to warm up to anyone in the series, and even longer for him to show it. It's what makes him so interesting to write about :)

The sixteen days passed slowly for Molly. Sherlock was away in Ireland for most of them, solving a case for his brother that he assured her would practically solve itself and therefore didn't require her assistance. Accustomed to his constant presence, irritating though it often was, she felt like something was missing when he was gone. She divvied up her time between St. Bart's and keeping Mary from learning of the secret wedding. Whenever they talked, Mary usually asked about Sherlock's cases, and Molly had already let it slip that they would be leaving for the U.S. in a little over two weeks. Mary, who had visited America time and time again, wanted to hear every detail. So far she knew nothing about Sherlock's undercover position. As was to be expected, he'd already secured it; the other applicants had failed to complete their interviews due to sudden and significantly better job offers, so the paper had had no choice but to hire him.

The morning of the wedding, Molly awoke to find her calico, Toby, purring up a storm on her chest.

"I'm getting married today, Toby. Well, sort of," she said. The cat opened his big green eyes for a moment and regarded her with feline contempt. "Oh don't worry, I won't forget about you. It's for a case. Shouldn't last too long, and I'll be back before you know it."

"You're going to be one of those old ladies who lives in a house overflowing with cats, aren't you?"

Molly shrieked and pulled the covers up to her chin. Toby scrambled for refuge. "SHERLOCK! How'd you get in here? I'm in my nightie!"

Sherlock was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He was dressed in his usual attire—lilac shirt, black suit, black leather shoes. "The lock on your front door is embarrassingly easy to pick. I suggest you have it replaced. And honestly, that's no way to treat your fiancé. There is nothing you have that I haven't already seen in the morgue."

Or on Irene Adler, Molly thought. "Aren't you sweet. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed in the privacy of my bedroom."

"Toby is still in here." A hiss answered him from under the bed.

"Cats don't count. Get OUT, Sherlock."

"Women," Sherlock said, but he complied with her wishes.

Molly waited until the sound of his footsteps faded before getting out of bed. Then she ran to the door, shut and locked it, and proceeded to dress for the day.

"Hmm. Well, at least it's not the cat-patterned cardigan," Sherlock said when she entered the kitchen in a 50s-style lilac dress. This was the closest thing to a compliment he could give.

"What exactly are you doing here, Sherlock? It's 8am. We still have two hours until the ceremony," Molly said. She hoped her hair wasn't standing straight up on her head. She'd curled it in a hurry, fearing Sherlock was snooping through every personal item in her flat while he was waiting. The state of her makeup was also doubtful.

"I got bored. Mrs. Hudson told me I'd have to pay ten pounds for every bullet hole I put in the wall, and I ran out of spackle last night."

"So you decided it would be more exciting to come over here and bother me?"

"Naturally." Sherlock pressed the brew button on the coffee maker. While it was percolating, he rifled through the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and a block of cheese.

"And now you're making breakfast?"

"Would you rather I shoot your wall?"

"Breakfast will be lovely, thank you." Molly sat down at the table, not wanting to have to explain bullet holes to her landlord. She pulled the newspaper towards her and flipped to the crosswords.

"The answer is 'antihistamine'."

"Sherlock! I prefer to do my own crossword puzzles."

There was a moment of silence. "Aleutian Islands, socialism, binary system, cuneiform, Georgian, Faberge, Einstein," Sherlock muttered.

Molly glared at his back. She wadded up the newspaper page and chucked it at him. It bounced off his curls and almost landed in the sizzling pan of eggs, but he caught it just in time and tossed it in the bin.

"I don't really fancy ink in my breakfast."

"Did you ever think there might be a reason you tick people off?" Molly asked after opening her Sudoku book and discovering that it was entirely filled in. She considered throwing it at him as well.

"Because people are insanely dull, and any spark of brilliance upsets their mundane existences?"

"Wrong answer." The coffee maker beeped, and Molly got up to retrieve a mug from the cabinet.

Sherlock shoveled the cheesy scrambled eggs onto two plates and added some kippers. He set one of the plates in front of Molly. It smelled heavenly, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Are you going to let me see this 'suitable' ring you bought for me yet?" Molly asked.

Sherlock set down his fork and dug in his pocket. He slid a gray box across the table, and she caught it and opened it. A simple stainless steel Claddagh ring was nestled on the plush cushion within. The crown atop the heart was studded with tiny flecks of onyx.

Molly was speechless for a moment. "Not many people know about the quarter of Irish in me. How did you?"

"Your mother's maiden name is Flanagan. It's not that hard to figure out."

"And how do you know her maiden name?"

Sherlock sipped his coffee and pretended he hadn't heard.

"You looked into my records, didn't you?"

"I'd like to point out that they were public records. How else was I supposed to know the sort of ring you would want?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe you could have asked?"

Sherlock blinked. This seemed to be beyond his level of comprehension.

Molly sighed and gave up. She slipped the ring on, and it fit as if it was custom made for her. "It's very beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I got it from a jeweler who owed me a favor. He threw in mine as well." Sherlock showed her a plain band that was also made of stainless steel. It was a good choice for him.

Molly put her ring back in the box and returned it to Sherlock for safekeeping. When they had both finished breakfast, Molly glanced up at the clock. "9am already," she noted. Only an hour to go.

"You should finish getting ready then."

"I already did."

"Nearly. You have a streak of eyeliner running the full length of your nose."

Molly grabbed a spoon and looked at her reflection. She squeaked. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"

"At first I thought it might be a fashion statement." Sherlock smirked. "If it helps any, it does match your shoes."

Molly shot him a withering look and stomped off towards the bathroom.