A/N: I'm extremely sorry that this took so long. I do hope this is well worth the wait.

Chapter 4: War Bride

The dance hall was just the same as it had been when Molly Hooper had last been there, although this time she was with her brilliant fiancé and not some bloke who would later break things off with her after she made one too many morbid jokes. The music was upbeat and helped support her cheery mood, though she was nervous. Sherlock had told her that he loved dancing, but she worried that something might go wrong, either due to her own clumsiness or his body being unused to so much movement. If he was having any difficulty, however, he did not let it become apparent to her when they took to the dance floor. He grasped her hand firmly in his own and she discovered quickly that he was a very skilled dancer. It was not hard for her to move with him perfectly like two interlocking cogs in a machine.

"You're talented," she commented brightly and he grinned.

"You're not so bad yourself." She laughed at that and adjusted to a new and even faster song. Time seemed to fly around them and everything was lights, music, and Sherlock's beautiful smile. When Molly finally started to feel tired, the lights had grown softer and the music much slower. She rested her head against the side of Sherlock's neck as they held each other close and swayed together to the music. It was one of the most content moments of her life. "Someday I'll play my violin for you, Molly. I already have a tune forming in my mind," he whispered to her.

"I can hardly wait," she replied softly and Sherlock held her a little tighter. Just for a little while, she forgot about the war and how it was quite possible that the man she loved would one day soon go up in a plane and never come back. "Sherlock, I'd like you to meet my father," Molly murmured after a while. She didn't have the strength to add "before his last breath leaves his body" or even find the words for the implied concern for Sherlock's own life.

"I've no objections." The pilot stepped back from her, still holding her hand firmly, and gestured towards the exit, silently asking if she wanted to leave now. She nodded in return and they departed quietly.

There was more activity outside than there had been before. Other couples and groups of laughing friends lined the streets. It was odd to think of so many living normal, happy lives while young men were out there dying in droves. It was a reminder that they should cherish every second they had together and be grateful to have what they had.

Molly thought of how wonderful it was to be bringing Sherlock home with her. She had no worries about whether or not her father would like him. Even if her fiancé said a few rude things to him, he still be accepting of it, because his first concern had always been for her happiness and if Sherlock made her happy, then there was nothing more to be said on the subject.

"I deduced that you live with your father the first time I met you, you know," Sherlock commented as they arrived at her building.

"You didn't even come into the flat," Molly responded in astonishment.

"I saw enough." Sherlock smirked down at her and she giggled, pressing her cheek affectionately to his shoulder before retrieving her key for her coat pocket and unlocking the door to the flat.

"Dad, I'm home!" Molly called and a kind faced man in a wheelchair came into the front room. "Look who I've brought with me."

"You must be Molly's young man," Mr. Hooper greeted, offering out his hand, which Sherlock stepped forward to shake. "It's lovely to finally meet you, son. I've heard so much about you." The aging man gave a delighted smile that was strikingly similar to his daughter's and Molly could see that Sherlock had noticed from the way he seemed to relax a little at the sight of it.

"I've heard much about you as well, Mr. Hooper." He of course referred to the account of Mr. Hooper's adventures in the last war and his subsequent illness.

"Spinning tales about me again, eh Molls?" her father teased with a giggle and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"I only tell the the stories the same way you told them to me, dad," she replied.

"That's my girl. I'll be sorry not to be able see your wedding." Molly's smile faltered at that, reflected the way her heart broke for her father for the thousandth time. Sherlock must have picked up on her distress, because she felt his hand suddenly rest gently on her waist.

"It's alright. We understand, don't we Sherlock?"

"Of course. It wasn't going to be anything big anyway," the pilot reassured. It was fortunate that they both felt that marriage was something of a private affair and didn't want to put themselves on display for others.

"As long as you're happy," Mr. Hooper responded, his wrinkly grin widening. "Now, young man, I'd like to hear all about what it's like to be a pilot these days. Quite a bit different from my day, I'd imagine." Molly's father gestured for Sherlock to take a seat in the nearby armchair. Sherlock obliged and began to talk about the new planes and what was really going on in the war, giving his honest perspective, which was quite a bit different from what was in the papers. Mr. Hooper listened with a look of silent understanding in his eyes. Both men had seen things no one ought to have seen and Molly could tell that it was helping them bond.

She remained silent as they talked, busying herself with making a pot of tea. It warmed her heart to see her father and her fiancé take such an instant liking to each other and the longer their conversation went on, the more it seemed as if great weight was being lifted from their shoulders.

When Mr. Hooper finally dosed off in his wheelchair, Molly quietly put him to bed and returned to the sitting room to find Sherlock fiddling with his cap. It wasn't hard to guess that he thought it would time for him to leave soon and was reluctant to go.

"You can stay," Molly told him, gently taking his hat from his grasp and placing it on a hook by the front door. Sherlock appeared to be a little astonished by this. "It's not as if we're going to get up to anything, is it?" she joked, coaxing a smirk from him.

"No, I suppose not." He took a tentative step forward and placed a hand on her should. There was a particular softness in his eyes as he gazed down at her. It was appreciation, she realized with a sudden rush of affection. She blushed and stood on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It was pure heaven, the way they melted together. Molly slid her arms around Sherlock's neck and brushed her tongue along his upper lip. He parted his lips and let her show him how to kiss like sweet fire. A small whimper escaped him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. He looked a little dazed when she eventually pulled back for air.

"You alright?" she asked.

"I...I never thought it could be like that," he breathed. Those words pulled hard on Molly's heartstrings. They were yet another reminder of the fact that this grizzled warrior of a young man still had enough naivete in him to react that way.

"You liked it, then?" she whispered and she received her answer in the form of another kiss. Her heart soared and she struggled to keep her footing with all the passion he put into the act. "I love you," she blurted out when they separated. Their fingers found each other and laced together, linking them as they shuffled into Molly's bedroom. They were both tired, Sherlock especially, and wanted nothing more than to be close. Molly stepped out of her pumps and Sherlock began to loosen his tie, which reminded her that he hadn't anything to sleep in. "Hold on. I'll fetch dad's spare pajamas. I'm sure he won't mind." With a parting smile, she quickly went to get the clothes and when she came back, Sherlock was already down to his pants. She was a little alarmed at first, but she quickly recovered. She had seen a lot more as his nurse. He took the pajamas silently, not speaking until she began to undress herself.

"Do you want me to avert my eyes?" he asked. Under different circumstances, she would have said yes, but Sherlock was her fiancé and she considered it important for them to be comfortable with each other like this.

"No, it's fine," Molly told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Would you like help with your dress?" There was something rather liberating about the fact that, with Sherlock, that question didn't carry any underlying expectations or lecherous intent. Molly's smile broadened and she nodded in response, turning her back to him. He stepped forward and carefully undid her zipper before backing away again to give her space.

"Thanks. Sometimes it can take a real feat of acrobatics to get in and out of these sorts of dresses." Sherlock laughed at that and whatever hint of tension there had been before was banished completely. Molly soon slipped into her nightgown and climbed under the sheets of her bed, inviting Sherlock to join her and take up what little remained of the space on the small bed. He quietly slid in next to her and they wrapped their arms around each other. "You know, this isn't how first dates usually end," she commented.

"Oh." Sherlock seemed a bit downcast, as if he thought he had disappointed her somehow.

"That's not to say unusual is always bad. In this case, I'd say it's perfect." That satisfied him, though Molly added a kiss for good measure. He carded his long fingers through her hair as they talked of everything and nothing until they had both dozed off.

Sherlock and Molly did not wait long to get married. They didn't really have the option to, what with his standing order to return to active duty quite soon. After officially announcing their engagement to John Watson and Mary Morstan, their friends suggested that they have a double wedding. It wasn't much trouble, so they agreed and Molly and Mary went off to spend an entire evening resolving the matter of dresses. Sherlock and John spent that same evening in pubs in which they both managed to get drunk for the first time in their lives. They both heavily regretted it in the morning, thanks to monstrous hangovers. Molly then took pity on Sherlock and spent the time to make sure he had everything he needed to recover before she went to work.

The following day, Sherlock found himself standing beside an extremely beautiful Molly Hooper. Her white dress framed her perfectly, he noted as he stared at her while the officiator spoke. Her cheeks turned an endearing rosy pink when she caught him.

The exchange of rings seemed more official to Sherlock than anything else about the ceremony. After all, it was a tangible symbol of their union, one which would be forever there to remind him that his life was shared with person he trusted most in the entire world.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, Sherlock pulled back Molly's thin veil and she practically pounced on him, bringing them into a kiss that was perhaps a little too passionate for a simple wedding, though neither of them cared in the slightest.

Afterwards, the two pairs of newlyweds posed for photos. The photographer only managed to get one where Sherlock was looking at the camera instead of his wife. The was something overwhelming mesmerizing to him about Molly's appearance. It was like she was glowing with happiness. She never seemed to stop smiling.

That evening, there was free dinner at Angelo's and for the first time, the four of them really got to spend time together as a group of friends. It was rather remarkable to think that they had all been brought together by grim circumstances and now they were each of them married and telling stories and laughing with on another, quality food and wine laid out between them.

Of course, the merriment could not last forever. They would have to return to their dark lives sooner or later. Unfortunately for them, it would be sooner.

Sherlock was extremely reluctant to leave Molly's bed the next morning. They were tangled together under the sheets in warmth and safety and the pilot had never slept better than he had when he had gotten into the habit of falling asleep with Molly's petite form in his arms. If he got up, it would be a long time indeed before he ever felt that kind of security again.

Still, he managed to drag himself to his feet when Molly reminded him of the consequences should he fail to report for duty on time. He put himself through half the motions of getting into his uniform before Molly decided to help the rest of the way. He then returned the favour by doing up the front buttons of her frock for her.

Mr. Hooper made a point to shake Sherlock's hand and wish him luck before the couple left that morning. Though the pilot remained stoic about it, he was in truth rather touched. An odd, undefinable feeling twinged in his gut as left the flat with Molly, who wanted to see him off properly.

They caught a cab to the train station and spent the entire ride tightly holding hands, as if in anticipation of the separation that was to come. The platform was quite busy when they arrived. There were many other young men in various military uniforms throughout the dense crowd. Steam clouded the air and Sherlock made sure that Molly stayed close, not wanting her to be swept away and lost among the masses.

When he stepped onto the train, he felt his wife's fingers slip out from between his and he felt a brief burst of panic until he remembered that of course she wasn't coming with him. He quickly got himself settled in the nearest compartment and then threw open the window to lean out and call to her.

"Molly!" She turned sharply at the sound of his voice and beamed, hurrying over to him and taking his outstretched hand.

"Don't you die out there, Sherlock Holmes. Take care of yourself," the nurse urged. "And don't forget to write."

"Don't worry about me, Molly. I know what I'm doing and I wouldn't dream neglecting you. I wouldn't do for me to survive the war only to be killed by my own wife for leaving her in the dark and making her worry," Sherlock teased in return and Molly smirked.

"You know me well, Group Captain Holmes."

"I do indeed Mrs. Holmes. It is my prerogative, after all." Sherlock punctuated his words with a soft kiss as he leaned further out of the window to reach Molly. The kiss grew much more desperate at the sound of the last call to board. This would be their last moment together for some time, if not forever by some tragedy, and neither of them could quite bear the thought of it ending. Nevertheless, they were soon torn from each other by the forward motion of the train. Molly's whispered 'I love you' echoed in Sherlock's mind as he gazed back at her while the train took him away, a look of distant fear in his eyes, not at her words, but at the thought of never hearing them again.

A/N: Sorry for the short length. The next chapter will be made up mostly, if not entirely, of letters between Sherlock and Molly. I don't know when I'll have it done. My health is poor and it's final exam time for me, neither of which are things conducive to productivity, so please bear with me.