A/N: Thank you once more for such an amazing response! Life is getting very busy at the moment, so I don't know how long it will take me to make the 'final' (?) update...

I decided to put these two plotbunnies in the same chapter due to the short length. These are coming out of chronological order, too, but I hope you'll forgive me! Thank you to the prompt from Chibibook suggesting the scene before John's wedding in which Sherlock offers a hand to help John out of the car. I had this scene lingering in my head but I reckon I might have ignored it if not for the prompt. The boat scene I've written comes after Irene's death in which Sherlock drops her handkerchief overboard as a sort of goodbye.

To Wolfy: I do indeed remember the scene where Sherlock asks something like "Are you happy?" and John ignors him, and Sherlock says something like 'Are you as happy now as you would be on your honeymoon?" when they're hiding before they split (telegram/tower) but I couldn't manage to make a plotbunny grow in my head - the scene just seemed too short, and I didn't think that scene needed any expansion, having only a little space for perhaps a moment's introspection. Perhaps I just have too small an imagination. Sorry!

Plotbunny Four: Car Scene

Sherlock looked over to where John was sleeping, dishevelled, in the car seat next to him. He looked a mess, Sherlock supposed, although personally he thought John's appearance was perfectly reasonable considering how much he'd drunk and fought the previous evening. There was no bone damage and whilst John's reflexes would probably be a little slower for the next few hours he would have made full mental recovery by the end of the day and a full physical recovery within the week. Sherlock flicked his gaze back towards the road. John would want to look his best for the wedding though, he knew, despite any of several logical arguments including the fact that John would still be getting married today no matter how he looked.

Sherlock glanced at John again, feeling a tiny, surprising glimmer of responsibility which was immediately vanquished, followed by a mild regret and nostalgia over their impending parting. Not that he was too worried; he was sure that he could persuade John to help out in later cases if he needed to. But he would have to respect John's boundaries if he wanted his cooperation, and that would mean respecting his married life. Sherlock would cope with the loss, of course, but it was not a transition he would otherwise choose. As he continued to observe John's sleeping features this feeling was followed by an odd glow of something he supposed he could label as latent affection. The man's hair was a mess. Sherlock wasn't carrying a comb though, and to his knowledge neither was John. John has brushed his hair before they'd set out, of course, but in his sleep it had become dishevelled again.

With the intent of doing his companion a small favour Sherlock reached out naturally and began to use his fingertips in a practical manner to smooth down some of the errant strands and give John a neater, more symmetrical appearance. About halfway through his task John woke, his eyelids fluttering open as his gaze focussed groggily on Sherlock's face. His voice, a little croaky with sleep to start off with, grew stronger as he spoke. He frowned.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Fixing –" Sherlock cut himself off as he took in John's expression. "Ah, rhetorical. You object. Then I was, um…checking we weren't being followed. Yes!" He twisted around abruptly so that he was facing John straight on, and then slid his shins onto the seat and pushed himself up so he could peer out through the back of the car.

"Holmes!" John gasped reflexively, the movement have inadvertently driven one of Sherlock's knees into a particularly sensitive area. Then, more firmly, "Holmes!"

"It looks like we've lost them…"

"For goodness' sake Holmes, I knew there was no one there!" John exclaimed, and then with a sudden hitch of breath, "Holmes! God damn it, the car, Holmes – we're going to crash!" At the last word he lurched forward, grabbing hold of the steering wheel and turning it sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a ditch. He steadied their course for a few moments, after which Sherlock began in a slightly higher voice than usual,

"Watson." He cleared his throat politely, but John was currently too preoccupied making sure they didn't drive into anything else. He took a quick breath and tried again.

"Watson, not to trouble you Old Boy, but might we perhaps rethink our current position?"

It was then, Sherlock deduced, that John probably realised that in his dive for the steering wheel he had reached his right arm straight between Sherlock's legs, and his upper arm was now subsequently riding into Sherlock's crotch.

"Just…take the wheel, Holmes," John muttered, sitting back and lowering his arms so that Sherlock could readjust himself and move back into the driving position. A moment of mild awkwardness followed for both of them. It seemed that John was simply going to settle down again and go back to sleep, but just before he did he asked,

"Did my hair really look that bad?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered simply.

"Right." He closed his eyes, a half smile lifting his lips. Sherlock's low corresponding chuckle followed him as he drifted back into oblivion.

~O~

It was only a few minutes later when Sherlock pulled the car to a halt outside the church, but by then John had already fallen back into a sound slumber.

Sherlock finally roused him with the help of some conveniently noisy bagpipers.

He stood by the side of the car as John clambered down, and offered a hand to help support him. John looked at him for a moment as if irritated by the thought that he should need it, but after the first wobbly step he resigned himself to Sherlock's foregone conclusion and took his hand. Sherlock deliberately kept hold of his hand for a split-second longer than he knew was necessary, almost as if by prolonging the contact he could delay the moment, the metaphorical shift in their relationship towards the more distant. But as John's walking stabilised and Sherlock relaxed his hand to let John's drop John curled his fingers around a little further, maintaining the grip. Sherlock could tell from the pressure against his hand that John was no longer using him for balance.

"Are you nervous, Watson?" he deduced incredulously.

"I think one is entitled to be nervous on the one of the most momentous days of their life, Holmes."

"Ah, yes, but I find I'm handing it quite well actually. I was asking about you."

John looked at him for a long moment, shook his head and grinned. "I'm fine."

Sherlock gave his hand a sharp squeeze and then let go. He nodded perfunctorily, not meeting John's eyes. "Good."

Plotbunny Five: Boat Scene

John watched the white handkerchief as it was whipped away by the wind to be lost in the waters beyond. He watched Sherlock's gaze follow it for a moment and he stood as if to say something, but just then Sherlock turned back towards him with a small smile, as if to encourage John to make no more of it.

"I'm sorry," John said anyway.

Sherlock looked down and then back up. "That's alright Watson. After all, I still have you."

His smile widened a little, although John thought he could still detect some sadness in the detective's eyes. John felt a flash of guilt at that – Sherlock wouldn't have him much longer; as soon as this case was over he would be leaving and moving into married life with Mary. Another time he would have mentioned as much but this time he remained silent, sympathising. He sighed. He was always sympathising. If only Sherlock could make a habit of returning the gesture they might have something resembling a normal friendship. But Sherlock had never been 'normal'.

John walked over to where Sherlock was standing and briefly put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock shrugged it off with a grunt, reaching for his pipe. John regarded him for a moment, then paused and turned from him to face towards the retreating body of water instead, spreading his arms out a little from his sides to embrace the wind. He didn't know who exactly he was trying to distract – Sherlock or himself. The case wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. He could feel the adrenalin reinvigorating his system, caught in the challenge of adventure. He felt Sherlock's gaze slowly centre on him.

"Watson, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked at last.

"Enjoying the breeze," John remarked dryly.

"A pointless and misjudged occupation," Sherlock observed. "From the way that you are standing with your arms slightly out and pushed back, palms tilted forward I deduce that you desire to feel the wind on your front and face. However, Watson, we are facing the back of the boat, if you had not observed, nor is the wind direction in your favour."

John allowed a small smile to twitch at the corners of his lips but rather than responding merely closed his eyes, relaxing as Sherlock returned to his usual bantering tone.

"Also," Sherlock continued, "if you really wanted to feel the breeze you should raise your arms perpendicular to your body to maximise air resistance, like so."

Sherlock stepped up behind him and raised John's arms brusquely by the wrists to make his point. Though having perhaps misjudged either the manoeuvre or the length of his arms this brought him practically flush against John's back, the end of his pipe lightly grazing John's jaw.

"Priceless advice, Holmes," John noted sarcastically. There was a pause as he reopened his eyes, half-turning with Sherlock's fingers still lightly supporting his wrists. They caught each other's eyes and paused as if to say humorously, 'Look at us.' A grin spread over both their faces and then they broke apart, laughing.