A/N – Thanks to ScopesMonkey, as always.

Before

He's asleep, one leg and one arm strewn across me, per usual. His face is buried into the space where my shoulder meets the pillow and his soft breaths are brushing across the incredibly sensitive spot on my neck. I have to force the sensations down because we won't have time for that this morning. He shifts slightly and his dark curls tickle my ear. It is almost exactly the same way he was positioned the first time I woke up with him. Those first tentative steps made both of us nervous, I think, but it was worth the risk. This is easily the best relationship I've ever been a part of. Sometimes, I think I was born for this, born for the pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the adrenaline, and all the stupid, frustrating, glorious happiness. Born to be with him.

I pull away slightly and whisper his name.

"Sherlock."

He mumbles and pushes his body closer to mine, tightening the grip of his arm across my chest. There is a faint twinge through my ribs, more psychosomatic than anything else, and I resist the urge to cringe. It's been a long road to get him completely comfortable touching me. I don't want any setbacks.

"Sherlock," I repeat. "We have to get up."

He says a clear "no" this time and buries his face deeper. I bring my hand up to rest on his thigh that is draped across my hips and trace my fingers along the sensitive spot just behind his knee. He shudders and hums against my shoulder.

"Sherlock, we have to go be civilly joined." He doesn't move but is awake almost instantly at that. I can tell by the slight tension that enters his muscles as they prepare to stretch and become functional again.

He pops his head up suddenly and looks at me.

"That's silly, John, we are being married." He is unable to keep the smile from his face as he says the words. I know that it matches the smile on mine. I think I should be nervous, but I'm not. Not even a little.

"Technically, it's a civil union," I correct. I stretch up and place a kiss on his chin, the faint stubble scratches my nose and sends jolts through my body. I love waking up with him in the mornings. And every morning from this point forward, I think. Except when he's on a case, I mentally add.

"Technically, that is stupid. I am entering into a marriage and so are you," he replies as he presses himself off of me and into sitting position. The movement pulls the blankets down to my thighs and he takes a moment to look me up and down, arousal crosses his features. "Perhaps we should shower separately."

"Good idea, Mr. Holmes." I sit up and move to my knees. I lean towards him and settle my hand on the back of his neck before I move to kiss him. He lets me deepen it and I do, causing him to moan and bring a hand up to cup my face. I feel the instant that he completely relaxes, giving in. It's the instant he concedes to be late for our appointment, our wedding, and stay here with me, in bed, for as long as I want. I pull back from him, his face is flushed his eyelids heavy. He looks beautiful and he smiles at me. I smile back in the instant before I dart off the end of the bed. "Me first," I shout over my shoulder and I hear the pillow thump against the bedroom door as I manage to close it behind me.

Before

He's standing in the kitchen when I walk in. He's got his suit trousers on and the white shirt, which is open just the correct number of buttons. He's barefoot, though, and leaning against the kitchen counter holding a plate under his chin and eating a piece of toast. I frown with some sort of indignation that he's eating in the suit he's going to be married in and hasn't even bothered to put on his shoes, but I don't feel it. I don't feel anything but a buzzing excitement that seems to have settled just under my skin. I expected to be nervous, anxious but I am not. Excited, I am only excited.

"Want a piece?" he asks me between bites. I nod, surprising myself, and he holds the plate out to me. I grab one and the napkin he offers. I take a couple of bites and set it back on the plate. He smiles at me as he bins the rest and sets the plate in the sink. We are coming home before we head to Corsica so I know he will wash the dish then, not that I care if it sits there for two weeks. It's just a plate with crumbs. He washes his fingers, careful not to get his cuffs wet. I notice he got the cuff links in by himself, something with which he usually struggles.

He walks towards me and stand on his toes, placing a quick kiss against my lips. The simple gesture ignites my nerve endings and every muscle in my body twitches. I feel so excited and have so much energy I feel like I could run a marathon or swim the Channel. I could jump rooftop to rooftop through London. He lowers himself back down and smiles up at me. He's happy and excited. I could jump rooftop to rooftop screaming about how much I love John Watson. I roll my eyes and the ridiculousness of that thought and John seems to have understood it because his smile grows.

"I'm going to finish getting ready," he says. "Cologne preference?" I only have one that he truly loves so there is no need for him to specifically choose one of mine. I put it on as soon as I finished showering. John has three that I enjoy for very different reasons, but today's choice is an obvious one.

"The blue one," I reply having no knowledge as to the name of the cologne. It is in the blue bottle as opposed to the clear of the green bottle. It is the blue one, the one that makes me want to devour every inch of him for hours. I plan to do that this very evening, in our hotel room in Corsica with the bumblebee tie and the red jumper and maybe before, in the few minutes where we come home to change and pick up the bags before heading to the airport.

Perhaps if we cut the lunch short we can squeeze in the extra necessary time for that to happen. There is something appealing about our first time after getting married being in our own bed. I will see if I can make that happen. Worst case scenario we are late for the plane, and as it is a private flight set up by Mycroft, they'll wait for us.

John nods and walks past me. I hear his quiet tread on the stairs as he heads back up to the bedroom. I see he's made coffee and left the remaining half of his cup sitting on the counter. I bring it to my lips and down the bitter liquid.

A few moments later I hear the same tread as he walks back down the stairs, the heels of his shoes tapping down each step and the familiar creak as he reaches the fifth step from the bottom. I close my eyes and remember the first time I heard those noises. The gait was uncertain then, having been dependent on a cane less than 48 hours previous. He'd been tired from the case and moving his few boxes, but not from the guilt. He'd never felt guilt for that man's death, that man had been about to hurt me.

I turn and look at him as he reaches the bottom step. He looks over at me, that warm familiar smile across his face. He's straightening his jacket, pulling on the lapels. He looks amazing. He holds out a hand and I close the distance between us and take it.

"Ready?" he asks and I nod.