A/N: Last chapter! I hope the ending wasn't too bad... I'm working on a new Sherlock story, by the way, which should be starting to go up soon. Enjoy :)

Morgan had returned to her flat after a week at the hospital. Her skin was now criss-crossed with faint white lines, although they hardly showed against her pale skin.

John had visited her several times as she was recovering, talking to her, trying to put her at ease. But the usual disinterest she had shown in other humans had multiplied exponentially. Sherlock had refused to come, saying he had experiments to catch up on. John had let him off the hook for the most part, merely inviting him along each time he went for his visit.

The first night Morgan spent back home, John had gone to spend the night at Sarah's due to Sherlock's unending insults. Sherlock was playing the violin, an endless river of music flowing from the instrument.

"I'm going to kill you."

The blade sliced beneath her skin, tearing the blood vessels open. Warm blood flowed down her body.

The pain lasted an eternity.

"I want to die!"

Morgan woke up at 2:40, sweating and panting, with the intuitive feeling that she was not alone in the room. She sat up and pushed herself into the corner, clutching her blanket, sleep blurring her logical skills.

"It was a dream." Sherlock's deep voice was close to her. "Davis is dead."

Intellectually, Morgan knew this. Of course it was just a dream, a memory made worse by her subconscious. But still she shook in the corner, like a child afraid of the monsters in the dark.

The mattress sunk as Sherlock sat on it. Morgan strained her eyes to see him in the dark room. By the light from downstairs, she could see his faint profile as he regarded her panicked state. "I'm not good at comforting people, so don't expect me to make you feel better." He slowly put a hand on her shoulder. "John says this is something that makes people feel better."

Morgan was acutely aware of the feeling of his hand through her t-shirt. It was so much better than having metal cutting into her. She leaned into Sherlock, not noticing the way his muscles tensed when she did so. Two hours and forty minutes of sleep and an adrenaline rush were not helpful for thinking processes. The point was this person next to her was safe.

Sherlock was having a mental conference with himself about Morgan. She was disagreeable, and by common definition she was not aesthetically pleasing. But over the past week there had been nothing to do, and his thoughts had turned increasingly towards her and the various thoughts and feelings he had to repress while around her. How did he feel about her?

Sherlock's heart rate was 114 beats per minute, yet it still came as a surprise to Morgan when he pressed his lips to hers. She didn't move as he placed slow, gentle kisses against her mouth. He placed his hand lightly on the side of her neck. After a few moments, he pulled away.

"Interesting," he commented. "Unresponsive, yet your heart rate was elevated at a consistent level with sexual attraction."

Morgan's mind was also whirring through the possibilities of this experience. The sudden intimate gesture had fully opened her mind to the possibility of romantic feelings for Sherlock. Yes, it did feel nice to be close to him. It was true that his intellectual abilities were alluring. And her heart rate did increase to 117 beats per minute. Analysis: She was physically and intellectually attracted to Sherlock Holmes.

"Out of ten, my level of interest in you is 8.08. Is that satisfactory for a possible romantic partner?"

"It is enough to test the success of a relationship between the two of us. It's an experiment of sorts."

Eight years, eleven months, and five days later, the data from the experiment was collected.

Morgan was in a dress (for the first and only time in her life). Sherlock was in a suit. John smiled at the ceremony he had been responsible for planning.

"We are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to unite Morgan and Sherlock in holy matrimony."

Sherlock looked from the minister to John. "John, you really aren't observant. Why on earth did you give us a Christian ceremony? Like God exists." Upon hearing that statement, the minister crossed himself and left the altar.

John scowled at Sherlock. "I didn't bloody know you were going to offend the minister!"

Morgan interrupted before the argument could erupt. "John, you do it then."

John looked flustered. "Well, I don't really know how…" He stood next to the couple. "Um… Sherlock, do you take Morgan to be your lawfully wedded life, through sickness and darkness, and…"

"Just ask us if we do," Morgan whispered to him.

"Sherlock, do you love Morgan?"

"Define love."

"I give up." John threw up his hands in exasperation. "Just kiss the bride."

Sherlock's lips caressed Morgan's as he mouthed something.

"I do love you."