I have gloves, I have gloves! Wonderful, comfortable cotton gloves! Makes typing a tad difficult but WORTH IT.

Enjoy. Not long now folks.

Mycroft returned home to find Molly and Irene in one of the living rooms. He didn't even have to ask, he could guess what must have happened. Irene looked up as he walked in with a sigh. "How did it go?" She queried, not even really caring. Mycroft shrugged.

"It wasn't bad. Everyone got ridiculously drunk."

"Except you of course" Mycroft straightened his suit jacket, trying to look as pompous as possible.

"I have a reputation to maintain."

"Ah. Makes sense. How was John and Lestrade?"

"Incredibly drunk of course. I took John home, he wasn't very grateful. Can't say I blame him really. The Magnificent Hermit still in his room?"

"He threw us out. Said he wanted to compose. I say threw, it was more politely ask with veiled threats. Most words I've heard out of him in two weeks." Irene moved her checkers piece two spaces. Mycroft resisted the very strong urge to roll his eyes and nodded a farewell to the two women and headed towards his brother's room.

Sherlock was indeed composing when he arrived. His brother stood in front of the window, music stand to one side, telescope to the other. Himself in the centre as he delicately lifted the bow over the peal white strings. He should really be sleeping. The music was soft with a touch of melancholy. It wasn't one he'd heard before. Very new then. Sometimes he would start songs and never finish writing them, then start up months or even years late. Mycroft would have loved to hear the entire song but his brother decided to stop once he'd realised his sibling was in the room.

"How are you?" He received a short grunt in reply.

"The Stag went well."

"I know"

"Oh using words now are we?" Sherlock returned to grunting as a form of speech. Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I saw John"

"I know"

"How can you know?"

"..Mycrotch"

Sherlock's eyes lit up with repressed mirth and held in his laughter as he strummed the violin. Mycroft opened his mouth to retort but gave up. Why wasn't he surprised? He knew the two were messaging each other, but had been unaware that John had drunkenly posted the insult that night. Wonderful. He would never hear the end of this.

"Yes, well. Let's not dwell on such things shall we?"

"Your house...Mycrotch"

ArmyDoctor has logged on.

NordicExplorer has logged on.

ArmyDoctor: Normund? You on?

NordicExplorer: John? How are you feeling?

ArmyDoctor: Look, I'm sorry about last night. I was wasted.

NordicExplorer: It's ok. It was...quite amusing. Don't you have a wedding to go to this afternoon?

ArmyDoctor: Yeah, I just wanted to pop on and apologise. I didn't say anything stupid did I?

NordicExplorer: &.No, nothing at all.

ArmyDoctor: Phew, thats a relief. Well, better go and get ready! See you soon Normund!

NordicExplorer: Looking forward to it John.

ArmyDoctor has logged off.

NordicExplorer has logged off.

"How do I look?" John's mouth fell open at the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend. She was stunning in a pale blue gown, complete with blue earrings and white purse. John suddenly felt like he was dressed as casual as a couch potato. He couldn't hold a candle to Mary. But he didn't really want to. Why should he compete when she was so absolutely stunning? Mary raised her eyebrows, smile slipping across her face as she watched and waited for John to make a comment. Or perhaps just stand there with his mouth open for a little longer.

"Wow. Just...wow" She giggled and swatted at him.

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself" John grabbed his lapels and stuck his chest out.

"I try. Ready?" He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.

"Absolutely"

"You'll outshine the bride"

The wedding was held at a beautiful little chapel on the outskirts of London. The chapel was filled to the brim with relatives, friends, co-workers and well wishers. John felt privileged to be the Best Man, his face grinning widely as he watched his friend place a ring onto his new wife's finger. He cheered and clapped louder than the rest of them when Greg and Anna kissed passionately. Sure he couldn't help feeling that someone was missing from the proceedings, but he was sure he was there in spirit ...complaining.

And in fact, Sherlock was nestled at the very back of the chapel, in full disguise, a few seats away from Mycroft. It had taken one almost puppyish look and a strong argument to get his brother to bring him here but it came with it's own list of conditions.

Don't talk to the couple, don't talk to John or Mary or Mrs Hudson. Leave as soon as it is over. Do not go to the reception. Stay hidden. Boring. Did people really like weddings? This one nearly put him to sleep. He was only here because it was Greg getting hitched. Weddings seemed utterly, mind-numbingly dull. He was glad when it was over. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could finish packing and wait for John to get online. Of course he would have to allow for John to go to the reception and come home but Sherlock could be patient. Usually. Ok, maybe sometimes.

The couple walked down the aisle, their feet barely touching the ground, they seem incredibly happy, almost lighter than air. A drug that Sherlock felt he would never obtain. The Yarders formed a guard of honour outside the Chapel door's for the new husband and wife. Sherlock couldn't remember ever seeing Greg in such a wonderful mood, with such a brilliant smile. His wife had a smile that matched her husbands, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to be able to deduce she was pregnant. Soon Greg would be a father. Sherlock was...conflicted but believed himself to be happy for him.

Greg just wanted to grab his new wife and never let go. And to snog her brains out. Other things as well but they'd all have to wait for their first night together. Except the snogging. He truly could not believe the turn out. People he hadn't seen for years had turned up! Friends and relatives, co workers, just about everyone he ever knew or cared about. Well, except one person. But he wouldn't dwell on that on such an amazing day.

He simply turned and gave John a thumbs up and a wink and followed Anna into the beautiful white limosine that was waiting. Courtesy of M Holmes of course.

Gorgeous_In_Westwood has logged on.

TheSniper has logged on.

TheSniper: This is stupid.

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: What? This is awesome! Great fun!

TheSniper: We're in the same goddamn room!

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: 8D

TheSniper: No

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: :C

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: ;_;

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Hey, I'm bored, Lockie isn't on to torment, though I am giving him maybe one or two torture free days before we grab him. Poor baby needs it. Needs to think there's hope. Though I may give him a little clue as to where we will meet. Just for fun. XD

TheSniper: Jim, why can't you just leave the sod alone? This obsession you have with him is ruining the business!

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Oh Seb, it's already ruined. Got to start again. After I kill Sherlock Holmes. Little Lockie thinks he'll get to see Johnny Boy again and reveal that he's alive. Silly detective, that is not going to happen. There won't be an emotional reunion for you, except with me. That will only end in tears. And then we can focus on the business, ok?

TheSniper: Not ok, but so long as I get to shoot somebody soon I'll be satisfied for now.

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Trigger finger itching? They have a powder for that.

TheSniper: Shut up