A/N: Took me just like 3 years to complete. Forgive me.

The church was eerily quiet; the priest cleared his throat - others held their breath and you could actually hear the flick of some wedding guest's wrists as they fanned themselves through the blistering heat.

Her pink dress was clinging to her skin, probably see-through at this point, and she felt like disappearing through the floor. She'd like the ability to do that, as everyone in the church was staring at her.

Or so she felt, instantly regretting that she'd said yes to be an impromptu-bridesmaid. Holly was avoiding eye-contact with her, her hand half-covering her mouth, as if wanting to laugh.

Sherlock proceeded to lean down to her ear, "Should we leave?" he whispered, though his whisper felt very loud considering the gravity of the situation.

She pursed her lips awkwardly. Her bouquet was still in her hands, but he wasn't wrong to answer the question. Eyes were on her as a fact and it wasn't just something she'd imagined. While she was trying her best to look anywhere else - even the priest was looking at her a bit cross attempting a second throat clearing, then again, she'd "borrowed" his car.

This was technically not her fault, and technically the wedding was still going on. Despite nothing currently happening. Nobody had left yet, but all of them, guests, family, friends – they were all holding their breath. They had good reason to, and she had good reason to want to shield her face with the flowers in her hands.

At first, everyone had laughed at what had seemed to be a joke.

The groom had already been late after all, it seemed like the right atmosphere to crack one, but the way Tom had proceeded to apologize right after it, clarified that it wasn't a joke on his part.

He'd actually gone and done it.

It was the business of the name…

It was like she'd said – Polly and Molly were very similar.

And anyone with half-a-brain would have thought he was making a reference to Friends. Maybe it was something Polly and he enjoyed watching together, an inside-joke of some kind, and as the wedding party had laughed as well, it didn't seem far off (some of them even saying Friends under their breath, nodding their heads in acknowledgement for having "gotten that reference".

But then Tom had apologized, laying it on thick with saying he'd mixed up Polly's name with hers, as he'd practised a lot on his vows with her when they were engaged (clearly in front of a mirror to try to work on his nerves on the prospect, which was a detail that didn't help, especially when he added the fact that he hadn't really practised for his new fiancé). Polly had turned on her then, and it wasn't the sort of cross stare either, it was the "oh my god, is he this thick?"

They were still hanging on the thread of this very moment, none of the groomsmen knew how to proceed, some of them making faces during Tom's speech, unable to really stop him from making a fool of himself.

Besides the bridesmaids, all of them, horrified for Polly.

The fact that Sherlock wanted to exit the exact moment didn't feel off or at all wrong, but she felt if she moved, everyone else would.

"…We'll wait," she said in a low voice to Sherlock who raised a brow in return. Holly who was besides her letting out a snort, quickly clearing her throat right after. The bride-to-be glanced at her sister who shrugged in return, all of them unsure of what to do, as was normal. Molly was just glad Tom wasn't talking anymore, his speech having waned off when he knew he'd made a mess of it.

Time seemed to speed up, however, the second Tom got one of the bridesmaid's flowers sharply thrown on his head.

He cried out, clutching his forehead.

Polly took one look at his pained face, picked up her skirts - and ran for the exit. Her face flushed and her eyes teary, several of the guests stood up from their seats, the volume as if turned on again, people talking, shouting – some laughing.

The bridesmaids trotted after Polly, a few seconds later, some of them exclaiming her name, and others taking to throw a scathing look at Molly, as if she'd forced Tom to say her name instead of Polly's when accepting the vows.

She hung back, jerking her head at Tom who stood dumbfounded by the aisle – the priest snapping his bible shut with a sigh. Tom ran after Polly, his own best men carrying after him, while Sherlock his best man, stood behind, hands clutched behind his back, as he furrowed his brows at the scene. He looked oddly amused.

Holly gave her a look, before walking slowly after the proceedings probably on-going on the outside of the church.

She knew she could probably do something, but she was done.

She had done enough.

People were walking back outside, some of them clearly keen on feeling the hint of a breeze on their faces. She longed for it herself, shoulders slumping slightly at the heat, as she felt Sherlock take hold of her one free hand. Her hand tingled, and she hoped it would continue to do every time he did so. "I won't be making a speech then," he said to which she laughed.

Molly was bemused to see Greg walk towards them, while other people were heading for the exit, the detective inspector sifting through the crowd. He stopped by the pair of them, glancing briefly at their interlocked hands, but thankfully not making a shrewd observation.

"So, I suppose the wedding's off then?" he said, picking at his ear awkwardly, half of a grin on his way.

"Yeah," she said. She wasn't happy that it was, neither for Tom or Polly, though she supposed they had rushed it a bit. And so, had she and Tom when she'd accepted his impromptu proposal years back.

She garnered from some of the expressions she was getting from people she knew who were giving her an awkward wave of their hand – her Facebook inbox would be littered with either sympathy or abuse. But she didn't have it in her to care, as she'd tried her best to have the wedding pull through. She did have a nagging voice in the back of her head that she did care in the end, and that she could have avoided all by ticking of 'not attending'. Then again, she looked down at her and Sherlock's hand. He gave her a look at that, his eyes twinkling slightly,

"What?" he said.

"It isn't my fault, is it?" she said making a face.

"You've solved a murder case - helped her sister - got the sisters on friendly terms again and even got the groom in time for the wedding. So no," said Sherlock with a sigh. "I think this might just be meat-dagger…"

She really couldn't bother to correct him.

"Well, he did drink too much last night, and nerves, which are normal. It's a wedding. I almost fainted during my own," Greg added.

Sherlock resisted commenting on that, probably helped that she gave him a look first, his mouth poised and ready to say something that would probably have Greg gritting his teeth.

"Right," she said, however, not feeling very cheered when she saw an elderly lady who she could only gather was Polly's grandmother looking very cross, cursing under her breath. "Ugh."

"I thought he was taking the piss, to be honest," said Greg trying to be helpful.

Molly snorted, shaking her head, as she relieved the moment in her head once more. "Not your fault that he's watched too much Friends," said Sherlock, giving her hand a squeeze.

She smiled at that, struck by the fact that Sherlock did actually pay attention when she binge-watched that show (frequently). Honestly, sometimes she was convinced he'd used her flat as a bolt hole just to have the chance to watch the telly.

"Well – what now?" said Greg, hands in his pockets, eyeing the now empty church.

The priest was already gone as well.

She half-expected to see someone sweeping the floors by the way the church had managed to empty out so quickly.

"Home and country," said Sherlock with raised brows to Greg who looked at the pair of them rather put out. "For you Greg." His expression changed entirely by the use of his proper name.

The detective inspector grinned in return at being called the right name, "Don't make the name-thing a recurring thing, it might get to my head… I suppose you'll both-,"

"Stay-," Sherlock replied before she had a chance to say anything.

She smiled at that, her insides feeling all of a sudden lighter, yet nervous. It had all started out in desperation, from her part that was, her tirelessly trying to get over the man standing beside her. The same man who had been trying to woo her, terribly, albeit, but nonetheless in his own very strange way. He looked handsome there he stood, somehow cool in the heat, like he could withstand any temperature, though the thread count of his suit was probably something impeccably posh and light. Or he was just magic, she supposed, almost giggling to herself.

His face was so sincere, so earnest, so open, it made her heart ache to look at him. There would be no problems from now on, well, no problems they wouldn't be able to overcome, whether silly or serious.

She gathered her wits about her, trying her best to look at something else, giving Greg a half-hearted goodbye.

She looked lovely there she stood, still clutching those flowers in her hands, which looked like they were drooping. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips rosy pink from the heat. Somehow, she seemed to have gone into her own internal mind palace, hardly paying mind as she stared upwards at the ceiling, not even giving Greg much regard as he walked off to give them a moment. Clearly, she was admiring the painting on the ceiling, with all its textures and holy figures, her lips slightly parted.

He avoided saying something all-together-stupid, allowing himself to admire her in silence – the pair of them alone for once. They'd barely had any time to themselves, and if they did, they always wound up somehow occupied by some thing or the other. Her dress clung to her skin, beads of perspiration slipping down her chest, by the revealing low cut at the front. It was a lovely dress, he mused. None of the frills and mess of the wedding dress, yet effortlessly her, with practical pockets, he couldn't help but notice.

"What?" she said clearly catching his gaze, and his eyes flickered upwards to her face.

He didn't reply, he didn't know what to say, he felt he would ruin the moment, whatever moment they seemed to be lost in. He knew they had seemingly all the time in the world, but, he was scared. Terrified that if he took one false step, she'd go, leave, and he'd be standing there alone.

"What are you thinking?" he finally managed to say, his throat somehow dry.

She smiled sweetly, her brown eyes shining, "We're alone."

"Oh – I hadn't noticed," he joked, relieved to hear her laugh.

She stepped closer, leaning on her tip toes as she gave him a soft kiss on the lips, causing him to close his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

Throwing her arms around him, she held him close, and he returned the favour, his hands on the small of her back. Once more he felt her soft lips, and he kissed her in return, first softly, then fiercely, even if he wanted the moment to last.

"Hi-," said a voice, and they turned in surprise to see Tom and Polly, the pair of them walking towards them in a slow pace. Both of them holding hands, which he could see Molly seemed relieved at. So was he, to his own surprise.

"Sorry about that-," said Tom chuckling.

Polly gave the man a look, which Sherlock recognized.

"- But enough about that, umm-,"

And that's when the priest strode in, holding a book in his hands, which caused Sherlock to raise his brows in surprise.

Molly lifted her flowers in recognition, eyeing the pair of them. "We want you to stay," said Polly stopping Tom from babbling on, with a genuine smile on her face.

The pair didn't move any further, standing in front of them, while the priest however, stood by the pew.

"The both of you," Tom finished.

Sherlock blinked furiously, clutching Molly's hand once more, firmer than intended.

"… We're not getting married," said Polly letting out a breath, still looking somehow happy. "Not yet, at least."

"But-," Molly started confused turning around to look at the priest who had his book open in his hands.

"We thought – maybe -," continued Polly.

She turned to look at Sherlock, and he looked perplexed, but there was something in his eyes, nervousness and... hope.

"Us?" she started, "But we've not – we've – I-," she really didn't know where to go with that sentence whatsoever.

They wanted them to marry? Them?

"Yeah - but you've been in love for years, and have known each other for more than them," said Tom. "…There's a reason we never got married, besides other things obviously, but it was never about us… It was always about the two of you."

"Well-," she looked down at the floor, not managing to go on, and soon she looked up to see Sherlock meeting her gaze full-on.

His smile wasn't something she could ever manage to describe, too bright, too gleaming for words ever being able to.

John had his daughter perched on his shoulder, while he managed to balance his camera phone on his other shoulder. He hadn't heard from Sherlock in weeks, which wasn't unusual, but he wanted to see if everything was alright. The fact that Molly hadn't returned as well did bode well, or so he thought, but he couldn't be sure. Finally, after several attempts Sherlock answered – "What?" he bit out.

"Well, hello to you too-,"

"I've really no time-,"

He could hear giggling in the background, besides the sound of a slap. John didn't want to ask what was being slapped, or where, or who – his imagination was enough. "So, everything worked out then?" he said quickly, knowing he'd be hung up on any moment.

"Yes, of course. We're on our sex holiday as we speak."

He sighed, "Okay, then, umm, I'll call you another time."

"Do," said Sherlock in return, promptly hanging up.

Mary came into the room, relieving him of Rosie.

"Was that Sherlock?" she asked, bouncing their baby on her chest.

"Yeah, umm, I think he's alright. I think I heard Molly in the background."

"Oh good," she said with wide-eyes, clearly relieved.

"He said they were on their sex-holiday,"said John with a laugh.

Mary stared at him, then, looking thoughtful.

"What?"

"Didn't he call our honeymoon a 'sex holiday?"

John blinked.

THE END.