WE ARE SO SORRY. It has truly been ages since we last updated. We hope you haven't all lost hope! Here is the next chapter and we PROMISE the next one won't be too far away. We love you, thank you for the continual support.

Also, I uploaded this chapter a short while ago but it came through with really bad formatting issues, so apologies if this caused any issues!

Sherlock hailed a cab. "221b Baker Street." He told the cabbie, helping her into the car.

"You joke, but I am very tempted to do so." She replied, laughing again. It was almost as if she couldn't stop. She was the happiest she had ever been and she couldn't help but to grin.

As soon as he slid into the cab he was on her; like a cat to a mouse. He pinned her against the door, kissing up her neck heatedly until he reached her and earlobe, kissing around it as his hand moved to her thigh.

She closed her eyes at his sudden attack, humming with a small smirk on her lips. "Patience dear, we're not alone." She murmured, gesturing to the taxi driver.

He moved his hand higher up her thigh, dragging up the silken material, He whispered against her hair with a smile just for her. "Like I care."

She breathed a laugh, deciding to relent as she let her eyes drift closed, beginning to trace circles on his back.

Sherlock lifted her dress fully and snaked his hand up her gartered leg, taking his time until he reached her centre. He barely paused as his fingers brushed over her before rubbing her gently.

As much as she hated herself for doing so, she grabbed Sherlock's hand and slid it from out of her dress, looking at him with a smirk.

"Now dear, We'll be at your flat in 20 minutes. I'm sure you can wait that long. You have been waiting 36 years. Drop in the ocean and all that" She whispered back, moving her hand so her thumb could drag down his lower lip.

He sat back pouting slightly. "Fine." He muttered.

She leaned across and pressed her lips to his.

"You're adorable when you pout." She murmured.

He wrinkled his nose dismissing her statement.

They arrived at his flat soon after. He helped her get out before picking her up and carrying her across the threshold and upstairs, grinning as he opened the door with her in hand.

"John." He acknowledged, nodding at his flatmate.

John was sat in his armchair, his mug of tea frozen between his mouth and the table. He eyed the two of them. Sherlock standing there as if he was on top of the world, Irene-who up until this moment he had thought dead, as he had been reliably informed of such-in his arms, in no less than a wedding dress clutching a gingerbread man.

"I missed something again, didn't I?" He asked.

Sherlock dismissed his question. "We'll be awhile." He said crossing to his door, he stopped and turned around, "Oh and apologies for the noise." He finished entering and shut the door with a bang.

Irene raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, John's going to have a few questions." She put her gingerbread Sherlock on the table.

He set her down but kept his hold on her waist. He grinned. "Yes, I think we left him speechless."

"He'll get over it." She chuckled, still unable to believe the events of the day. "So which part of 'Good bye' do you find so hard to understand?" She teased.

"That was wickedly cruel of you." He said, half joking, half serious. "I broke my phone."

"You broke your phone so you decided that after texting, the best way of communication was to wait until my wedding day, crash it and marry me?" She asked dubiously.

He furrowed his eyebrows in mock confusion, "Obviously. What else would I have done?" He asked, clutching her to him.

"I don't know, buy a new phone? Turn up earlier than my wedding and tell me it's a mistake? Move on?" She bluntly pointed out the obvious alternatives.

He let go of her waist and moved past her, crossing to the window. "Like that would be an option." He spat, referring to her last offer. "Besides, I thought you women liked such big, romantic gestures. You certainly didn't seem to mind. And it was romantic, was it not?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She walked over to him, putting a hand either side of his face. "You turning up at my wedding, clutching a mini gingerbread you and cutting into my wedding? Definitely romantic." She murmured, smiling softly.

His lips fought a smile. "And are you...happy?" He asked her, slightly unsure.

"I just married the man I love. How could I not be?" She smiled dazzlingly, her entire face lighting up from the joy of it all.

He scanned her face. He had never seen her so genuinely happy and...joyful? She was radiant and he adored it. He adored her. Loved her.

"Good. I thought as much." He said with a smirk, donning his detective persona.

"And you? Are you happy?" She asked, still not forgiving herself for breaking his heart.

He studied her a moment, pausing to keep her on edge, "What do you think, Miss Adler-Mrs. Holmes?" He corrected himself.

"Mrs. Holmes" She repeated, testing the words. She loved it. "I'm going to say, yes, seeing as you wouldn't have married me otherwise. But..." She paused, "Do you forgive me? For the other week I mean."

He sighed lightly, looking away and then back into her eyes. "Yes, of course. I understand that you were boxed into a corner, if you will. You hurt me, yes. But I knew you didn't want to. And I knew you felt the same..." He trailed off, embarrassed.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him sweetly. Tenderly. "I will never forgive myself for hurting you." She whispered against his lips.

"I could say the same." He replied, referencing that fateful night he had crushed her.

"Yeah, but I deserved it. Think of how many times I hurt you before that, making you think I was dead, betraying you to Moriarty." She sighed. "Why the hell did you marry me?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly woman, you are so daft sometimes. I married you because I have the great misfortune of being in love with you." He teased, slightly. "Yes, you did all those things. But so did I...in a sense." He sighed, recalling their complicated history.

"If we start analysing our entire history, and the pain we have inflicted on each other. Then we'll be here all night. And not in the good way." She winked at him, lightening the mood.

He nodded slowly, "Yes, but we should talk about it, shouldn't we? I'm sure you have just as many unanswered questions as I probably do..." He let go of her and crossed to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "Come here." He whispered, lowly, reaching for her.

She crossed the room to go to him, not wanting any distance between them. "What questions do you have?" She murmured softly.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her cheek softly.

"I know I've asked you this before, but I would appreciate the honest truth. Your passcode to your phone...that wasn't just 'playing the game' was it? I was correct. Wasn't I?"

Irene wound her arms around his neck. "I could have guessed that this would be about sentiment." She smiled fondly at him. "Yes, you were correct, it was sentiment." She murmured.

"Sentiment, or love?" He asked lowly.

She thought about this for a moment. "At the time, I believed it to be sentiment but looking back, and knowing what I feel now. I would say love." She whispered.

He gazed at her, his heart pumping. He clasped his lips to hers in a chaste, sweet, loving kiss. "I loved you the moment you first outwitted me." He mumbled lowly.

She smiled at him, resting her forehead against his. "Of course you did. I'm the only woman to have ever done that. How could you not fall in love with me?" She teased with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes, "And do you have any questions for me?" He asked, "Not that I'm done with my interrogation, but we might as well take turns." He smirked.

She chuckled, thinking. "Were you ever tempted? To accept my 'dinner' invitation I mean." She clarified.

He narrowed his eyes at her, "Perhaps. But that depends if you were being delicate or indelicate. Like I told you, I'm not one for physical pleasures." He said lowly.

"Now, we both know that's not true. As does the taxi driver from earlier." She smirked. "Were you tempted for the delicate?"

"Just because my...base desires...have only been ignited recently, doesn't mean I wasn't in control then...though if I must be honest, your proposal was tempting,...but still, I would have only ever settled on a delicate dinner." He answered, glancing away from her.

"So, if after dinner, if I had surprised you, like I did when we were drunk, you would have been able to decline?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed. "I honestly don't know. I would have hoped so...Still...you were always The Woman to me." He confessed.