She had certainly heard the words, and understood the phrasing, but she still stared at Sherlock with a mildly confused face. Of all the cruel plots he could have devised he was going to involve himself in her wedding plans, which she'd barely brushed upon herself.

She would rather have him cut down Michael entirely, exclaiming him an idiot, than looking at the pair of them with that self-satisfied expression. He seemed positively in all manners of being rejuvenated by his exclamation, as if this was a better job-title than consulting detective – that this was what he'd always longed to do.

"We're breaking tradition I suppose," said Sherlock with a slight frown, before adding, "I assume the appropriate title would be man of honour," at that he gave to smile, a small chuckle emitted.

Man of honour?

Molly hadn't misheard him at all, which was the worst bit of it. For a minute she thought her mind had just chewed all the words up, and swallowed them wrongly, but unfortunately her hearing was impeccable.

"I thought Mary was going to be your maid of honour," said Michal looking at her expectantly, but not at all in the sheer horror and dread her insides were feeling.

She barely felt her limbs, if they were still connected to her that was. Molly was certain she could have dissolved into the chair. Her cheeks were certainly hot, but it wasn't of being flustered.

She faintly said "No." Even then, she wasn't sure if she'd actually spoken, because all she felt like was crossing her arms over her chest pursing her lips. Molly didn't even have the willpower to make her body move at all.

Mary would certainly kill her.

"Originally yes, but because of Molly and mine's – falling – out – and recent rekindling of friendship – that we decided it would be for the best, if I were to wield the usually feminine title."

We?

She snorted, eyes flashing now, as she tried to remain calm, but she felt like fidgeting – possibly leaving the restaurant post-haste, calling Mary, and confessing to Michael – of course doing that, would most certainly end all, which she started to assume was Sherlock's plan.

His plan to ruin her day, which she to be entirely honest didn't quite understand. If the wedding wasn't going to happen, since she was certain that in his eyes Michael wasn't good enough, then why on earth was he assisting its existence?

In the end she was surprised when she found herself saying, "Yes, he is," rather numbly, for a second she was sure she caught Sherlock off guard too.

He seemed to be under the belief that she would falter, which she did, but, "Yes, he is," was her answer.

"Oh – right," said Michael who gave a bit of a laugh, "Right – man of honour," said Michael now a bit slowly, as he properly sized up Sherlock.

"It would be rather difficult for me to be yours, Michael – after all I've just met you," said Sherlock filling up the overwhelming silence, that she felt was herself. She was like a pause, her mouth barely moving at all, and her body had gone rigid to say the least.

"A winter wedding I suppose needs new traditions," said Michael with a smile bringing up his glass, while Sherlock brought his forward too.

Molly sat there, grudgingly bringing up hers with the fakest of smiles, "Cheers," they all said, as the food started to appear.

Sherlock's eyes had stayed on her, fixated on her face. Probably to see all of her reactions, which were certainly less than they could have been.

She'd only narrow her eyes occasionally in return, before he'd direct his attention to Michael who'd gesture wildly with his hands, as he went on how they'd both met online and Molly's lack of trust towards him, "She thought I was some sort of mental case to begin with," he'd laughed.

She expected Sherlock to make a comment about that, to bring up Jim from IT, but the corner of his mouth only edged upwards. No confessions on his part of her poor choice in men.

She found herself grateful, despite not knowing how to tackle his involvement, which she was sure was just a way of making her not go through with it. He was probably entertaining the idea that she'd stand up hysterical, begging him to stop – instead a small part of her brain went – go ahead, try. Try to ruin it, like you ruin everything.

Michael had noted her silence however, giving her an encouraging smile, "You're nervous then?" he'd whispered to her.

"About marrying you – never," she'd just replied, as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

It was that tiny moment that had salvaged the evening for her, making it bearable to have a pair of eyes staring at her intently, like she was an exhibit.

Sherlock was doing this for his own amusement, stringing her along, but luckily the other pair of soft eyes looking at her fondly helped her brave the storm. She was after all doing this for Michael, since Sherlock had to turn around at some point. There was no actual way he was going to be her man of honour.

"The engagement party will be this weekend at Baker Street," Sherlock said, stopping their moment from continuing, and almost causing her to gape at him.

His mouth had twitched, as she attempted to cover up her own surprise over his announcement.

"You're having it at yours?" said Michael.

"Yes, John will probably be delighted to be of assistance," said Sherlock with a smirk.

Michael gave a nod at this, it wasn't until later that she'd understood what that nod meant.

Sherlock had to leave after they'd finished eating; Michael had bore the meal surprisingly well. He even seemed disappointed that Sherlock was leaving, while Molly felt relieved. Sherlock picked up his camera phone from his pocket, announcing that he was leaving because of important business, "I hope it has to do with the wedding," said Michael with a grin.

She was sure it wasn't, because even he – could not stand upholding a charade for too long.

"Certainly Michael, I'd never forget your future nuptials," Sherlock said with what Molly recognised as one of his infamous fake smiles, before he'd thrown on his coat, and bid them farewell.

When Michael and her finally left the restaurant, they finally had a proper moment to themselves; walking instead of taking a taxi to her flat; her hand was stuffed in his jacket pocket, clutching his hand.

Michael had then said amidst their slow pace, "He's quite something, really."

"Yeah," she said.

"You were quiet tonight – nothing wrong?"

"I'm just a bit – overwhelmed, you know. It's happening so fast," she lied.

"Not too fast I hope," said Michael looking anxious.

"No – no – no – it's just, you know."

"I hope I do," he said with a grin.

It was then he looked at her sideways, and she raised a brow, "What is it?" she asked.

He gave a sigh, "Now, I'm just wondering. It isn't my place, I felt it was a bit out there to ask while we were eating really, but how long have Sherlock and John been together?"

She gaped at him, "Oh – oh -," she started, wondering how to finish the sentence, "Err – they've been living together for about – three years, I suppose."

"John must have handled it really badly that Sherlock died like that, or well – he didn't die – die," said Michael looking a bit puzzled.

"John was quite upset," said Molly, knowing she wasn't in fact lying, for she was actually telling the truth. The truth, with some minor alterations, but this was just Michael's assumptions of the actual truth – not an actual lie. She was a horrible human being, she thought angrily.

"I suppose they're good now, then?"

"Very," said Molly reminding herself about the fact that John's fist connected to Sherlock's face on the moment of his return.

"But he's really the best man for the job – he'll know what you want, before you've even figured it out," said Michael happily, causing her happy image of Sherlock knocked down to vanish.

Mary. She could only imagine how her friend would react, really, which was why she'd phoned her up for a coffee, which Mary had quickly appeared for.

Her blonde friend had stared at her hand for a moment, before going into the queue to make her order. Molly sat with her cup of coffee by the window grimacing, until Mary returned with hers.

"So-," said Mary, "What's the emergency met-up about, then?"

"Why do you think it's an emergency?"

"You never ring me up early in the morning to tell me we're going to have lunch together - we usually text a half-hour before."

"I wanted to be prepared, for once."

"It sounded more like you had something to tell me."

Molly frowned, "I do have something to tell you."

"What is it?" said Mary a bit more seriously, taking a swig of her coffee.

"You know how I said you were going to be my maid of honour, right?"

"You're not letting Josephine be that, are you? – you know she's unorganized-," said Mary rolling her eyes.

"No, it's not Josephine."

"Oh," said Mary put out, "It isn't?"

"It's – err -," she said, knowing that what she'd say next would certainly involve her having to admit the rest of the tale, "It's Sherlock, actually."

"You're going to be her best man?" It seemed that the idea was too difficult for John to grasp, it was.

"Yes, the position usually claimed by the maid of honour," said Sherlock huddled in front of his laptop.

"A title that usually goes to women," said John standing in the middle of the living room with a cup of coffee, clearly needing one more cup, double the strength, considering what Sherlock had been retelling him the last twenty minutes.

Sherlock didn't give any answer, clearly to busy with whatever he was doing, "So you're helping her plan her wedding?" said John rather slowly.

"Yes, John," said Sherlock clearly irritated.

"The wedding you've been keen on stopping?"

Sherlock raised a brow, stopped his typing, as he turned around to face his friend, "I have no intentions of stopping this wedding, John. I am just assuring that Molly is making the right decision."

"Then you could have signed the papers, and let her decide for herself," said John with a knowing look.

Sherlock scowled at him for a second, until he returned to his furious typing, "So what are you doing?" John asked after a minute of silence.

"Planning the wedding, John," said Sherlock with amusement in his voice, "What else would I be doing?"

Both John's brows rose in mistrust, but soon he looked amused, "That's not something I thought I'd ever see – Sherlock Holmes – the wedding planner," said John sniggering now, clearly not managing to contain his glee.

"Neither did I, but it does give me enough opportunity to seek out Michael."

"And you didn't have enough from last night? You can usually size up a man from one look."

"No, we've barely grazed the surface of the man. Michael is more than one layer, John"

John blinked, "Right – I very much doubt that - but wouldn't you have to be his best man to do that?"

"He's already got one – and Molly's was easy to dispose of – she's barely spoken to him since they've gotten engaged – so I have replaced hers."

"The friend she brought over last Christmas?" asked John trying to seem disinterested.

Sherlock snorted, "Yes, the one you were attracted to, while you were already attached to another woman – yes – her - John."

"I wasn't – well – I'm allowed to find someone attractive, Sherlock," said John.

Sherlock ignored him, "I might be seeing her often, considering she's one of the bridesmaids – so you will have your chance to get off with her – as you so delicately put it," he said.

"Sherlock!" snapped John, "I haven't said anything."

"But you were thinking it," he said with a raised brow, "She will most likely be here for the engagement party I am sure."

"The engagement party?" said John baffled.

"We are hosting it."

"We are? You could have at least mentioned it last night, so I'd gotten the chance to tidy up."

"It isn't before Friday, John," said Sherlock with a sigh.

John stared at his cuppa, trying to not smile, until he looked up, "Does this mean that you'll be signing the papers soon?"

"Not any time soon, no," said Sherlock.

"Yet – you're helping her plan the wedding?" asked John again, but this time with an unconcealed smile. Sherlock had now reserved a great deal of time with Molly, more than he had with Michael, considering his position.

"Planning being the keyword, John. Plans do have a tendency to fall through, even if Molly is behind them."

"Sherlock – Sherlock Holmes is going to be your maid of honour? I suspect he'll be showing up in a gown, then?" said Mary rather heatedly in clear disbelief, "Molly – if you don't want to hurt my feelings, you can tell me who's going to take my place – of course I'll be disappointed, but it's completely alright – we've been friends long enough."

Molly shook her head, "It's the absolute truth."

Mary seemed to be mulling it over, "OK – so – is he blackmailing you?"

"No," said Molly all too hurriedly.

Mary's brows knitted, "Then why on earth is he going to be your maid of honour? I'm sorry to say, but I find it bloody hard to believe."

"We're – friends, you know."

"Molly, previously you fancied the man, then hated him – to a mild acceptance of sorts, and now he's taking my part as your maid of bloody honour?"

"Yes."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, he's just going to help out, with the wedding – it doesn't mean you can't be as involved – you know Sherlock he'll probably not – you know – be as involved."

"OK," said Mary nodding her head slowly, "OK – so you're a horrible liar."

"I'm not," said Molly rather indignant, until she caught herself.

"Gotcha!" said Mary smugly.

"Mary!"

Mary looked at her rather sternly, her abilities of snaring out information clear, from her having worked as a teacher for years – Mary could spot a liar, "Molly – what's going on?"

Molly stared at her friend, hesitating, but she knew she had to tell her – if there was one person besides her dad who had to know, despite what Mary would end up advising her – she had to, "I'm married."

Mary's face was that of complete frozen terror, her eyes flickered to Molly's ring, then to her face, until Mary put on a strained smile – mirroring her own from last night's dinner, "What? You're – you're already married – to Michael – oh – wait – but – oh – god – I'm so happy for you," said Mary, quickly recovering.

"You don't look it," said Molly worried.

Mary wavered, "Was that a test? You're - not - married, then?"

"Not to Michael," said Molly with gritted teeth.

Mary had needed about five minutes to stop laughing. She was clearly amused by the whole situation, despite Molly's clear frustration, "This isn't something to laugh at! This is serious, Sherlock won't sign the papers – until he's said Michael's in the clear-,"

Mary stopped laughing, pursing her lips together, clearly trying very hard to see the severity of the matter, "Right – your crush of how many years, in fact your husband - is going to evaluate your fiancé – Molly – you've got to see the funny side?"

"It's not funny – I'll never get to marry Michael if this continues – Sherlock will never sign the papers at this rate. He'll be busy-,"

"Planning the wedding," interrupted Mary seriously, which caused Molly to laugh despite it all.

"Oh, it's not funny, Mary," she said giggling.

"You know, we've been moaning for ages about turning into spinsters, and here you are – having been married for six years – I could have found myself a bloke in those six years, had I known."

"I didn't actually think I was married."

"But you probably wanted to, then," said Mary with a significant smile.

Molly moaned, "Yes - then – this is now – this is the point were if this continues I'm bound to have to tell Michael-,"

"Why don't you?" said Mary, "Why don't you just tell Michael – everything – I'm sure he'll understand."

"No, he won't. He'll be mad at me for keeping it up for so long."

"Yes, but it'll blow over, Molly," said Mary reassuringly.

"Yes, and I'll still be married to Sherlock," groaned Molly.

Mary looked thoughtful, stirring a spoon in her cup, before she said, "You know, you're probably right – it would maybe – actually be good for you, this."

"What?"

"I told you that you rushed into it."

"I didn't rush into it."

"You've known him for a year."

"So?"

"You take time choosing your socks in the morning, Molly. Michael's not going anywhere, consider the time Sherlock's giving you a good thing, and – it probably is. You can postpone the planning-," said Mary sincerely.

"The engagement party is on Friday," said Molly drily.

"Really?"

"Sherlock's - idea, actually."

"For someone keen that you don't get married, he's certainly helpful," said Mary trying hard not to grin, wondering idly why on earth Molly's barrister had neglected to mention annulment, and why she didn't feel particularly compelled to tell her either.

A/N: From now on I'll be updating this every Tuesday/Wednesday, depending on your time-zone really.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Thank you very much for the encouraging reviews and spit-takes - they certainly made my day!

Hopefully this was enjoyable as well - conchepcion.