Author's Note: My Beta is away at summer camp, sorry for the delay it caused on all my fics. THERE WILL BE ERRORS in this chapter, because she wasn't home to correct them. Sorry in advance. Basically, this last chapter just sucks. Thanks for sticking with this insane crackish fic until the end.

Sherlock returned to his room at the Inn. After a quick shower, his phone buzzed with a call from his brother. When he answered it, Mycroft scolded him, "Little brother, I hope you plan on reuniting yourself with John in person soon. You can't just leave him a note. That won't stop his marriage to Miss Morstan."

The detective mumbled, like a child, "Yes brother."

Mycroft continued, "Well then, I guess I can expect to see you at the wedding tomorrow morning. Bring the files we organized to prove that Moriarty framed you, because the press will be present. The Morstans are a highly regarded family, and tabloids won't miss an opportunity to snap some photos. You can use that to your advantage. Enter with a bang! That is all."

The phone clicked as the elder brother hung up. Sherlock sighed and began rolling his hair up in curlers.

On the other side of town, John Watson lay awake in a tiny, dull, guest room, on one of the lower floors of the large estate. (Following common wedding tradition, John and Mary had decided to spend the night/morning before their marriage apart.) The doctor really didn't know what to make of this new development, that Sherlock, HIS SHERLOCK, was alive. Too much alcohol had left his head spinning. His thoughts drifted to impossible fantasies of what might happen during their reunion.

And so they spent the night this way, Sherlock, hair in curlers, hanging out the Inn's window with a cigarette in his hand, and John wide-awake, but still comfortably wrapped in expensive sheets.

Guests arrived early for the afternoon ceremony. Cars began pouring down the estate's drive just before eleven. Paparazzi buzzed about the property. Lestrade woke John and sat with him for a late brunch. He tried his best to calm the nervous, hung-over groom, but his attempts fell short. After a quick meal, Dr. Watson awkwardly put on his tux with some help from Greg. The detective inspector started to tie a bowtie for his distraught friend, when suddenly a knock on the door stopped him. He moaned, "Who is it?"

A voice blared, "It's Marc Poppy! I'm here to be the best man!"

John frantically croaked, "Oh bloody hell, I forgot!"

Lestrade whispered, "What the hell is going on? I thought I was supposed to be your best man! Who is the Poppy bloke anyway?"

John flustered, pacing anxiously, "Greg, I'm sorry! I completely forgot to bring this up with Mary. One day at lunch Mary pulled some crap about how her cousin was going to be my best man. I didn't really think it was going to happen. I planned on talking to her about it later, but I slipped up." He began mumbling curses.

Greg opened the door. Marc Poppy, a chubby, childish man, loomed before him. Mr. Poppy repeated, "I'm here to be the best man!"

Angrily, Lestrade shouted, "Get out! I'm John's best man and that's final! I planned his bloody stag party! I helped him with his hangover! I AM HIS BEST MAN!" He slammed the door shut and turned back to the doctor, "I took care of it. That's what a best man's for.

Sherlock, of course, had not left the Inn just yet and was still getting ready. He planned on arriving just in time to stop the vows, but not a moment earlier. If the press would be present, Sherlock was going to make one last great spectacular for the media, before telling them all to piss off.

The ceremony was set in the garden. Roses surrounded the general vicinity, and wooden, white chairs, with red fabric cushions, parted to form a large aisle. High-class men and women dressed in designer clothes filled the seats.

John, Lestrade and the officiant stood underneath a canopy of more red and pink roses, facing the aisle, just slightly to the right. Music began, signaling the start of the procession. Three groomsmen, including Mr. Marc Poppy, walked three lovely bridesmaids down the aisle first. They lined up in front of the guests, men on the right and women on the left. A tiny boy Watson didn't recall meeting before approached with the rings. The doctor could only assume that he was some actor, hired to play ring bearer. Finally, the last besides the bride in the wedding party, Mary's maid of honor, proceeded toward them.

At long last, the bride, riding her horse led by her father, emerged from the distance. She slowly made her way through the crowd and to her groom.

When Mary finally dismounted her horse and stood next to John, the officiant began. He reached the point where he was required to say, "… If anyone has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Sherlock come into sight, rousing gasps from all of the guests and the entire wedding party. Mary was especially shocked. John, who'd guessed Sherlock, would show up after last night's events, smiled. The detective raised his voice, "I object."

The crowd was speechless, except for a few reporters who began shouting questions like, "How did you mock your own death?" "Why would you come back if you truly were a fake?" "Why do you object to your best friend's marriage?"

Holmes ignored them, and walked forward toward the bride and groom. The officiant gestured to the file folder in Sherlock's left hand and barked, "Do you have a legal reason why these two should not be married? If not, you are wasting our time."

The detective replied, "No sir. This folder contains proof that James Moriarty framed me, and that I am not a phony detective. It also provides a detailed explanation of how I faked my death. I will be giving it to the media under the agreement that they will, from now on, stop publishing stories about my adventures and me. The final thing they will publish is here, in this packet. This is all they may show the world. The only true accounts of my cases that I will allow to be published from this day forward, are those written by my companion John Watson, if he agrees to return to helping me with my detective work."

Greg Lestrade, who stood next to the groom, made no effort to stop Sherlock.

The officiant sighed, "Brilliant speech Mr. Holmes, but if you'd please excuse yourself, we have a wedding going on and you have no legal reason why I can't marry Dr. Watson and Miss Morstan . . ."

John interrupted, "Wait!"

The officiant rolled his eyes and asked, "What is it Dr. Watson?"

The doctor declared, "I don't want to marry Mary!"

The officiant began to speak, but he couldn't get any words out before Mary barked, "WHAT?"

John tried to calm her down, "I'm sorry Mary. It's just . . . I didn't really want to marry you in the first place. You really forced that proposal, and I was about to end things with you. I was just really vulnerable and I'm sorry; I guess I used you. But… now Sherlock's alive."

The bride stammered, "JOHN, you can't just leave me because your little playmate came back from the dead! We all know you can't go out on cases like you used to! Your leg got so much worse!"

John snickered, "Mary, I was shot in the shoulder."

She wheezed a pathetic, angry gasp that sounded like a dying horse.

Mr. Morstan rose from his front row seat and made an attempt to interrupt, "Oh please! This is all ridiculous, can we just get on with the wedding and forget that this man made an appearance. This whole situation is just nonsense."

Sherlock turned, glared and snapped, "Oh do shut up!" He turned back to face the doctor, "Listen, John . . . This is your choice to make, whatever you do I won't mind, but while I was away I realized things. I realized how important you are to me, and I'm not going to say I need you, because I'm Sherlock Holmes. I don't need people, but I do love you. There, I've said it. I love you Dr. Watson."

John dropped his cane and reached out, as if he was going to embrace the detective, but instead, he punched him in the face.

Mr. Holmes was barely scratched, but he was rather stunned, "J-John?"

Dr. Watson claimed, "That's for the three years of hell you put me through, and this is for admitting you love me, after all this time, you bloody idiot." He grabbed the detective tightly and pecked him on the lips.

Lestrade smiled brightly, he was probably the least confused guest. The tabloids were practically having a party, flashing cameras left and right, while the audience gasped.

Mary, outraged, shouted, "You're GAY?"

To which, John, still holding Sherlock, replied, "I guess so. Maybe. Yes. Of course."

Miss Morstan quickly thought up a plan to save her wedding, "But what about the baby?"

There were more gasps from the already stunned crowd, and more flashes from excited cameramen. Mrs. Morstan fainted.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and laughed, "Nice try lying bitch, but I'm a consulting detective, and I can tell when a women's dishonest about being pregnant."

The detective pulled John along, running down the aisle, through the crowd and out of the rose-covered garden. Just as they reached the gate, John paused for a moment grabbed Sherlock in a real kiss, and held up his middle finger to Mary. Mrs. Morstan, who had just been revived, fainted into her husband's arms again. Lestrade laughed. Mycroft, from the back row, looked over and winked at the D.I., who raised his eyebrows cautiously.

Author's Note: Basically, that's how Series 3 should go. TAKE NOTE MOFFAT, TAKE NOTE! Thanks for reading and reviewing everybody! I'd love to hear what you thought of the ending so please let me know! If you like my writing, you can check out my other exciting Sherlock, Doctor Who and Death Note fics!