Hi guys, this is my first fanfic. If you could review, comment, or like, it would would mean a lot to me :)

John gets a girlfriend. Sherlock decides that the reason he's lonely is not that John is away. Nope, not one bit. No Mrs. Hudson, not even a little bit. So he does the most natural thing for Sherlock to do. He seduces John Watson's partner. And marries her.

...and Moriarty finds out.

John growled.

"Incorrect! Try again!" he sang. The whip lashed against his skin, leaving another deep cut.

"Wanna give me a kiss Johnny boy?" Moriarty asked.

"I will never give in to your sick perversions."

"Ooo honey, your dirty talk is soooo sexy!"

"Shut up Moriarty." John snarled.

"You should take lessons in manners, Johnny."

"Oh, because drugging someone, stuffing them in a van, then chaining them up to torture them isn't considered impolite?"

"Oh my, Sherlock's pet is getting rude." He leaned in.

"But your Sherlock will come for you."

"No he won't. He's not my Sherlock. He doesn't care about me."

"Oh pet, you know as well as I do that for John Watson he will tear the world down."

"No, he won't. Because Sherlock bloody Holmes has gotten himself married."

"..."

"WHHHAAAAAATT?!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

3 months earlier

The situation was getting out of hand. Sherlock had been infected by some strange disease carried by John's girlfriend. Whenever John brought his girlfriend into the flat, a strange twisting in his stomach occured, and his chest pained him. He had to consult John.

"John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"What disease has the symptoms of chest pain, lowered level in consciousness, and nausea only in the gut?"

"Well, when do you feel like that?"

"..."

"Sherlock, you have to tell me. You could be infected with some life-threatening disease for all I know."

"There is a certain female. Whenever she talks with someone, my chest hurts and my brain doesn't work and there's a strange feeling in my stomach."

"...Sherlock, that's not a disease."

"Well then, what is it?"

"It's called jealousy, or love. Whichever you prefer."

"..."

"Sherlock?"

"..."

"Sherlock! Don't throw up at the mention of emotion!"

When Sherlock had finished vomiting (and John had forced him to clean it), they started the conversation again. Or rather, John did.

"Sherlock? Who is it?"

"..."

"Is it Molly?"

"No."

"Is it... erm... hmm... is there any other female you interact with on a daily basis?"

"Donovan."

"What?! You're in love with Sally Donovan?"

Sherlock fixed him with an icy glare.

"Do you honestly believe that I would fall for Sally Donovan? I underestimated your intelligence, John."

"Fine then. Will you tell me?"

"No."

"...alright then."

And that had been the end of it.

"Hello, there." a dark voice purred.

She gulped and turned around. And it was...

holy-mother-of-fuck this man was hot. He had slicked back auburn hair, deep grey eyes, and good lord, that outfit. A deep purple shirt that was so tight you could practically hear the buttons screaming in protest, unbuttoned partially to show a long neck and a hint of muscular chest.

She stared. How the hell do you manage to get jeans on when they're that tight?! His arse was...

Oh this was not good. She was at her bachelorette party, she was NOT supposed to be fantasizing about other men. Well, she was, but she wasn't supposed to be serious about it.

He smirked.

"Enjoying the view?"

She blushed crimson, and stuttered.

"Um, kinda."

Internal facepalm. The hottest man she had ever met, and she goes,"Um, kinda." Wait. He looked really familiar. Almost like...

"It's nice to see you again, Elizabeth. If you don't remember, I'm Sherlock."

This was Sherlock? The one time Liz had met him, she had gazed upon his scraggly face and tangled curls for a grand total of 2.7 seconds before he spun around in his dressing gown, and left the flat, supposedly to 'get some human heads', according to John. She feared mildly for John's sanity, but had decided that his eccentric flat-mate was just a quirk.

"Your hair is different." she said.

"Case required that I change my appearance a bit." he said.

A bit? A bit?! That was not just 'a bit'!

"Of course, when I met you, my physical condition was not... the most flattering. I had just started a case you see."

Right, the man was a private detective or something of the sort.

"Umm..."

"Would you let me buy you a drink?" he asked.

Well why not. It was her last night as a free woman.

"Sure."

She woke up with a ferocious headache. She groaned as she sat up. And instantly froze. Because the figure in the sheets right beside her was not the sandy-blond haired, compact, broad-shouldered, tanned man she was used to. No, this person had a head of auburn hair and was thin, chiseled, and long. She looked down. No clothes. She glanced over at Sherlock. No clothes.

What had she done?!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

John stretched and yawned. Where was Liz? Ah. She had gone out to her bachelorette party last night, and told John she would probably stay at a friend's house. Strange, there was no violin screeching. Where was Sherlock? Probably in his bedroom. Regardless of what the genius (read: idiot) told himself, you can't survive healthily on 5 hours of sleep. Every three days. So John went to the kitchen, popped some bread in the toaster, and set the kettle boiling.

"Sherlock, breakfast!"

Silence. No snarky, sarcastic reply, no noise, no sound. Strange.

"Sherlock?"

John walked through the kitchen and into Sherlock's bedroom.

And froze. Because the love of his life, his fiance, was lying naked next to Sherlock.