It took weeks of planning but Sherlock finally had everything to his liking. His new tuxedo hung unknown to John in his wardrobe, ready for his big night. Thanks to Mycroft, he had even met up with and spoken to Celine personally and told him what he had planned up his sleeve. Her answering smile was all he needed to confirm that she was willing to assist him in his grand scheme. That just left him with the most unbearable part of it all: the waiting.

Sherlock was NOT the most patient man. Everyone knew that. But he had at least a month to wait until that night, so he resigned himself to be as cheerful as possible (for him at least) until then. Which meant that he had to completely change his attitude around Mary. John never suspected a thing. He had just assumed that Sherlock had finally accepted the inevitable and was doing his best to come to terms with it by lending his knowledge in any way that Mary deemed useful.

Mary, of course, was too wrapped up in all her planning that she failed to question Sherlock on his motives and simply used him however she saw fit. Color schemes, seating charts, entrée choices, champagne choices, which flowers worked best with the month they had chosen…. her demands were endless. And as much as it irritated him to no end, Sherlock simply smiled and did her bidding. In fact, he had done more than that. Sherlock used his abilities to maneuver all of Mary's choices into ones that were all about John, and he let her think that it was still all her idea. In truth, he had helped planned the perfect wedding for JOHN, not Mary. He couldn't help that she was just too stupid to realize it.

John however saw how much Mary was taking advantage and decided that he needed to get her to dial it back a bit. It happened one particular day when John was at Baker Street. His mobile had gone off a few times but since he and Sherlock were on a case, he had simply ignored it. Whatever it was, he felt it could wait. Mary, however, thought otherwise. When he wouldn't answer his mobile, she then starting in on Sherlock, his mobile now going off like mad. Sherlock was used to tuning it out so it didn't bother him in the slightest. But seeing Mary blowing up Sherlock's mobile finally set him off.

He had grabbed his own mobile and walked in to the kitchen, dialing Mary's number as he did so. Sherlock looked through the corner of his eye, and knew from the set of John's shoulders that he was about to witness a domestic between the two of them. He fought his grin. Good. The more dissension between the two of them, the more chance his plan had to work.

Hearing the phone dialing, he realized that John had put on the speakerphone then set his phone done on the table while he set about making tea. Sherlock did his best to look occupied, but he was anxious to hear just what was about to happen.

(Mary) Hello?

(John) Just what the hell do you think you are doing?

(Mary) I'm sorry?

(John) What the hell is so important that you feel you have to make my mobile go mad?

(Mary) Well I didn't know if you were getting any of my messages so I tried calling.

(John) And did the fact not occur to you that I didn't answer because I was bloody busy?

(Mary) Well, yes. I figured that Sherlock had you running around like some errand boy like he usually does. When I couldn't get in touch with you, I tried his mobile too. Is he there with you?

Sherlock just rolled his eyes with impatience. Where else did she expect him to be?

(John) Of course he's here. We're working on a case!

(Mary) Can you put him on then? I've a question for him.

John turned around and looked at Sherlock with a face that was so incredulous that it almost made Sherlock laugh out loud. But his humor quickly faded when he saw John's face slowly change from incredulous to furious.

(John) THE HELL I WILL! Mary I'm putting my foot down this time. I've dealt with your incessant questions and demands concerning this wedding. Even Sherlock has somehow found the graciousness to put up with it and help out when you asked him to. BUT THIS ENDS NOW! You want to babble on about the wedding? Fine. But from now on, when we're working on a case, you leave us the hell alone! Unless you're bleeding or dying, whatever your problem is it can wait until I get home. How would I explain to The Yard what we missed a vital clue in a case that allowed a murderer or thief to go free because my fiancée was more concerned on how the bloody napkins should be folded?!

Sherlock couldn't help but feel his jaw drop. Of course he'd seen John get aggressive and demanding when dealing with the criminal class, but he never would have expected to see him turn it on Mary. He felt a strange little patter in his chest watching John and realized that he liked seeing John this way. He quickly stowed that away to the back of his mind to ponder over later. Alone. In his bedroom.

The silence quickly settled over the flat. John was still breathing heavy from his shouting and Mary had yet to respond, or if she had, he had completely missed it while being dazzled by John's display. It stretched on a few moments more before John walked back over to the table to check his mobile. Picking it up, he held it up for Sherlock to see.

"She hung up."

"Do you blame her John?"

John sighed and hung his head while plopping himself back into his chair. He had already turned the kettle off, no longer in the mood. "Yeah I suppose not." He began to rub his eyes. "Damn."

"Don't worry about it. Mary with forgive you. She always does. After all, she knows that she's got quite a catch in you and also knows she would be completely dicked-in-the-knob to let you get away."

John's face swung up to look at him as soon as the words had left his mouth, either not sure of what he just heard or if he was just misinterpreting it.

Sherlock clamped his mouth shut immediately. SHIT. Where the hell did that come from? He decided to try and play it off casually.

"Just trying to be a help, and all that. You know that I'm not good with sentiment." he said, trying to keep his voice even.

John seemed to accept his explanation just sat back with a sigh. "I guess it would be a good idea to give Mary some space for the night. If I go home now, the neighbors will have something to talk about for weeks." Sherlock merely hummed in response. "Eh, Sherlock. Would you…mind…?" he started, nodding his head towards his old bedroom upstairs.

"Why bother asking John? As far as I'm concerned, that room will always be yours for as long as you need it." Sherlock replied quietly.

John stood up, feeling both relieved and ridiculous. He knew that he was always welcome on Baker Street. Sometimes he still had to remind himself that technically he didn't live here anymore, but in a townhouse a few miles west of Baker Street.

He walked over to Sherlock, placing his hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock looked into his eyes and thought he saw a message that John was trying to convey to him, but he couldn't quite understand. Instead of asking about it, he simply nodded in acknowledgement.

John then turned around and started heading upstairs to his old room and quietly closed the door behind him. The flat returned to its usual state of silence. But the atmosphere was different.

John was here. The way it should be.

And Sherlock was more determined than ever to risk it all to keep it that way.