"I do."

"You do? Oh, right, my turn, I guess."

"Yes, Molly."

"Oh, you've already – sorry – I do."

"You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide. Amen."

"Aren't we supposed to kiss?"

"This is a traditional wedding Molly – not a show. Let's go, or we might not catch him."

6 years later.

There were various things maintained throughout ones life, ticking a box was one of them, and "single" was the usual place her pen itched towards. However it happened that this was about to change; the ring on her finger being the proof of that, as Michael finally asked her. It had been an unreal event - Michael had been all nerves; spilling the champagne glass on the table, causing the plates to almost collide with the floor, before he finally managed rather red-faced to ask her to marry him.

Her yes had been one of month's preparations. Was it silly of her to already from the start of their relationship manage to visualise them together? That's what everyone told her, that if one could visualize themselves talking with their loved one, or being with them in a certain setting it would happen. Unlike other people who just became all fuzzy and the scenarios were absolutely not PG-13. There was a massive difference between like and love – and lust. There was definitively a wide array of differences between all of those feelings, and she was wiser being aware of those. It was of course that point in her life when she was about to settle things, since Michael had been rather adamant that they resolve things beforehand. That was just normal behaviour, it was better to be safe – this didn't mean that they didn't trust each other, but they were adults. Adults were prepared for the worst-case scenarios, even if they most likely wouldn't ever happen.

Karen, a blonde barrister had sat down with her papers, "Yes – yes –we'll just have a look see here. You've been living alone for about, how long exactly?"

"12 years, I think now," said Molly.

"No roommates or any of the sort?" asked Karen with a curious expression, the papers lifted a bit more to her face, as she scrutinized them a bit more.

"Not at all."

"Right, but you and Michael will be living together?"

"Yes, we're getting married after all. I suppose that's what they expect of you," said Molly with a laugh.

"Alright, and I assume you're going to work that out with your – soon to be ex-husband, then?" said Karen, at which Molly stopped laughing.

"Sorry?"

"Yes, your ex – or – oh – sorry - I understand," said Karen who proceeded to give a bit of a overly long wink.

Molly sat there flummoxed, her entire body frozen, as she slowly said, "But I'm not married. I've never been married – you're looking at the right papers, then? I'm Molly Hooper."

Karen blinked stupidly for some few seconds, "I am, yes. All the details are here, but you're married – to a – Sherlock Hol– oh, isn't it that sexy detective chap, then?"

There had certainly been tears, not as much hers as her mother who'd suddenly lost it entirely on the phone, "You're ALREADY married – when – what – how?"

"I've – it's – it was a while back – it wasn't really a marriage, I thought, and he's certainly not been a husband – to me."

"WHO IS IT?" her mother had demanded.

"Err – you know – I'm just going to make him sign the papers. It's just a mistake, mum – it'll be fine-,"

"Molly Jane Hooper or whatever your last name actually is-," said her mother.

"Oh – mum – can't – oh – hear," and so she hung up on her mother, and with a sigh of relief put her camera phone on silent mode.

It had been a case; this was before John Watson; before 221b Baker Street, and a distant memory of the time where she'd been a bit more helpful outside of Bart's. Strictly un-romantic in every way, even if she wanted it to be more, and he certainly assured her multiple times that it wasn't more than usual business. Of course, suddenly her help was needed in a more elegant prospect – the dress had been lovely, despite it being a bit too big on the chest area, but it was the closest to her then-fantasy of marrying the man. He'd informed her that she was the only woman for the job. She suspected that she might have been the only woman he knew back then, but she'd agreed to it - a bit more hesitantly, as it just seemed a bit odd to fake an actual wedding. However it seemed, that some parts of it might have actually been real – the whole of it that was. The fact that she had in fact gotten married to Sherlock Holmes – and he'd neglected to inform me of the actual fact was alarming? It was even worse knowing how long she'd gone without knowing. Did he even know? Maybe he hadn't known, maybe the ceremony had been faked, but somehow the papers existed anyway.

She was definitively not telling Michael. How would he cope with her suddenly informing him that she was just going to divorce her ex-husband? One she didn't know she was married to – the same man who'd been intolerably rude to him when he'd shown up to pick her up from a late night at Bart's. Not that Sherlock wasn't anything but rude to any of her other boyfriend's.

Well, now she had already tucked the papers in her bag, and was ready for them to be signed without a moment's hesitation.

It was perhaps a bit odd to be striding this late to Baker Street, but she had to work late – and he hadn't made a surprise visit.

Molly rang the bell several times; they let her in without a word, and she stormed up the steps in a hurry. Her mouth was half-open about to ask the dreaded question, "DON'T," Sherlock practically shouted from the chair he sat on.

She snapped her mouth shut eyed him curiously, and observed as John and he were apparently trying to play chess (or John was trying, and Sherlock succeeding), "I am trying to give him a chance – you interrupting it with your questions might ruin the game for him," said Sherlock a bit more pleasantly, than her actual welcome.

"Shut up," murmured John narrowing his eyes on the pawns, touching his chin idly, as his other hand hesitated over his knight.

Sherlock tutted over John's attempt of a move, while she just stood uneasily looking on in the doorway.

John turned round and spotted her, "Oh, I thought you were Mrs Hudson – what's wrong?" he said spotting her agitated face.

Molly stepped over the threshold, "I just – err – you know – you can probably finish – the game first."

"It's no problem, really," said John attempting to stand up from his chair.

"Finish the game John," said Sherlock with a smirk.

"Molly's here," said John.

"It's because you know what will happen, don't you?" said Sherlock with a wide confident smile, "I'll win – you'll lose."

"It might be important," said John ignoring his friend's telling of the truth – he'd lost most of his white pawns to Sherlock, as she could easily spot.

"I doubt it," he said to John, before looking at her – his eyes lingering on the hand resting on her handbag, "If - you're here to make me return the hand, I still require it for further testing."

Molly frowned, "I'm not here because of the hand."

"Oh," said Sherlock with a tilt of his head, eyeing her clothing, "You've been at Bart's, then – a long day – by the look of it."

"Yes, it's been a very long day, and I just need your signature," said Molly trying to be as calm and pleasant as she could muster. She walked slowly towards the men, her hand soon rummaging through her things, before she brought forward a large thick brown envelope.

Sherlock stared at it, "Legal documents – why do you need me to sign legal documents?" he said standing up from his seat.

"Just take it," she said handing it to him, as John sat looking at the event in general surprise.

He took it and wordlessly slipped the papers out of the envelope, his blue eyes searching the papers, and then he slipped them back inside the envelope and handed them back to her.

John looked at Sherlock and then Molly, "Is there anything any of you would like to tell me?"

"No," said Sherlock who'd seated himself down again, "Let's settle this game first John, and we'll discuss those matters later."

"I'm sorry?" said Molly, "You're just going to leave it like that? I'd like your signature, if you please."

Sherlock looked up from where he sat, looking now a bit serious, but mostly amused – for John had made his move – "No – oh – and checkmate John."