New chapter for you, thank you for your lovely feedback as always :)

Marriage, Missing, Microchipped

Tom and Molly had been engaged for a few months now, and yet they hadn't begun any of the standard wedding preparations. They had no time of year, let alone a potential date. Church or hotel? Not discussed. Type of food? Not discussed. Small or large? Not discussed. Molly decided that if they were to get past the large hurdle that is Sherlock Holmes, maybe the wedding planning will remind them both that they want to do this.

She started by making a rough guest list for her side, who would be maid of honour? Who would walk her down the aisle? What sort of dress did she want? She decided to take an easier option first, and have look through Pinterest for dress ideas. By the time Tom got home she had a dress, a venue, a menu, flowers, colour scheme, a refined guest list and an idea for a date. She was feeling very proud of herself,

"Hey Molly, anything weird and wonderful happen to you today?" Tom asked, he'd starting veiling his increasingly nosy questions (albeit badly), in a manner that suggested he was trying to keep tabs on her and Sherlock. She refrained from rolling her eyes and tried to re-build her excitement over the planning she'd done.

"I've started some wedding planning," She said brightly, a slightly forced smile on her face. Tom just looked confused.

"Why? I didn't think we'd be getting married any time soon? Nice long engagement remember?" He furrowed his eyebrows, Molly's statement not sinking in.

"Nice long engagement because it takes 18 months to plan a wedding!" Molly said in jest, although it did sound a little patronising.

"It doesn't!"

"Does"

"Doesn't! Those blokes on the tele do it in three weeks!" Tom snapped

"That's not a model to follow idiot!" Molly exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth after she realised what she'd said. "I didn't mean that,"

"Evidently you did," Tom snapped before storming out of the flat and into the London night. Molly sighed, he really was an idiot and there was no point in pussy-footing around that anymore. She looked back down at her guest list, how on earth was she going to convince Tom to let Sherlock come to the wedding, especially after the issues he caused at the garden party! A wicked grin crossed her face, she had just the idea.

When Tom had not returned that evening, or indeed the next morning, Molly decided that she wouldn't grovel. He would return in his own good time, after he was finished sulking. If dealing with sulking man-children was an Olympic event she'd win gold, after all she'd had enough practise over the years. Lunchtime passed, and still no word, so when there was still no sign of him that evening she text Sherlock to come over (under the promise of a spleen and some burst appendix fragments).

"What's the problem Dr Hooper?" He asked in a bored tone, not bothering to remove his coat or shut the door. Both of which he quickly proceeded to do when he saw the look on her face.

"Two things, firstly, I need to you find Tom and check he's not hurt himself. He stormed out last night when I called him an idiot. Secondly," She continued quickly, to stop Sherlock commenting on the situation, "I need you to be my maid of honour."

Needless to say, Sherlock looked confused.

"I thought they had to be female?" He said slowly, trying to process why on Earth Molly would ask such a question of him.

"Well, you are a close friend of mine," Molly reminded him, hoping not to get yet another lecture on sentiment and caring.

"Is this some sort of a joke?" Sherlock asked more tentatively than he'd admit to.

"Obviously" She smirked, mimicking Sherlock as best she could. "But seriously, if Tom tries to stop you coming, then I think you may have to be,"

"I'm not wearing a dress," He stated quickly,

"You'll wear what I tell you to." Molly replied monotnously, with a dangerously deapan look on her face.

"Joke?" Sherlock prompted,

"Maybe…" Molly enjoyed winding Sherlock up, he had so little to go on with social constructs, especially those involved in one of his most hated gatherings of people- weddings, that she could say pretty much anything. She grinned at him and sent him on his way to deal with the much easier task of finding Tom. It wasn't easier in the sense that Molly thought it would be, with him being able to deduce it in seconds, but for his own convenience, Sherlock had microchipped Tom. Partially to avoid being in the presence of the man, partially to keep tabs on him, but also to account for this happening. He checked his phone in the cab, and Tom was indeed well, and staying with someone called Joe. Male friend, both of similar backgrounds and upbringing, no doubt both of similar stupidity. Sherlock snorted, thanked the cabbie (unbeknownst to John he could actually travel for free in most cabs, for a variety of reasons) and walked up the stairs to 221B.

Several hours later, after being ignored by John (who was still insisting on working) and Lestrade (who wasn't sure about giving him cases yet), Sherlock found himself blowtorching eyeballs for amusement. He had a few leftover and John had said he'd pop by after work, so he was just filling the time, after all, you never know when a torched eyeball may be a vital clue in a murder investigation, much like tobacco ash, or the tensile strengths of natural fibres…

He heard John's heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, and as he turned the corner, an excited glint in his eyes. Sherlock could only hope that it was due to a case. As it transpired, not only did was he asked to be best man, he found out that he had not only a friend, but a best friend. In processing this information, his mind flicked briefly back to earlier, did that make him Molly's mock-best friend? For a man who never expected to have a friend, to have two best friends within a few hours was a little overwhelming. Overwhelming enough to drink tea with a toasted eyeball in it.