He looked around the little piece of Regent's Park that they had chosen and approved. Greg was hurrying about, staking their claim with crime scene tape. This made John smile. He supposed if he were superstitious, he might wonder if exchanging marriage vows on ground marked out with such a questionable boundary line was wise. As it was, he merely felt it rather apt. He and his bride had got acquainted while crime-solving together, after all.

Greg had picked John up in one of the larger police vans so as to have plenty of room to load up the ice-filled tubs of beverages and the coolers full of food for the reception. It had been Mary's idea to have a wedding picnic in a park for their closest friends rather than a more formal affair in a church. Everyone was to dress casually and expect to sit on blankets on the ground. There were only about a dozen guests expected, and this suited John perfectly. He had fallen in with Mary's plan gladly—the whole idea of huge and complicated service had filled him with dread.

He began to set up a couple of folding tables to set the food upon. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were to arrive soon with the wedding cake and would need a place to put it. Soon Greg, having finished his foremost task, stepped to John's side to help unload the paper plates, cups, napkins and plastic ware from their hampers.

"Good job we arrived so early, mate," Greg remarked. "We're not the only ones in the city with thoughts of a picnic today. Beautiful day for a wedding. And perfect venue for it."

"It's Mary's favourite park," John agreed with a serene smile. "Of course, every park is Mary's favourite park. But this one happens to be the first park we had a stroll in after our first dinner out."

Greg grinned. "She's quite a find, your Mary," he told John. "There's not many like her. You're one lucky chap." John could not but agree.

"I don't know how much you've been told about what happened after The Accident," Greg continued as the two unpacked salads, sandwiches, and platters of biscuits. "She was absolutely remarkable. Had every right to fall apart, but kept herself calm and collected the entire time."

"No one's told me much of anything," John replied grimly. Everyone had taken to calling John's clumsy impaling of himself on a knife 'The Accident', as if to emphasize that the incident had been no one's fault. John knew better. He had almost died; he had put Mary and Sherlock through hell, and it was no one's fault but his own. He'd let the thief they had been chasing get the drop on him and shove him off balance right into Sherlock, who had been holding the knife. An amateurish, idiotic mistake.

Greg stopped working and turned to John seriously. "Sherlock completely unravelled. He was certain he'd killed you. Panic attack, then shock, the whole gamut. No one could do anything with him, except little Mary. She calmed him down, treated him, cleaned him up, looked after him. It was the most courageous, compassionate thing I've ever seen."

John looked thoughtful. "Their relationship changed completely since The Accident," he noted. "Before, Sherlock liked Mary well enough, but they weren't what you'd call friends. After. . . . I can't explain it. It's as if he actually wants to please her."

Greg nodded. "At one point, in the waiting room while you were in surgery, Sherlock became uncooperative with her. And she stood up to him- said to him, 'You'll do exactly as I say,' or something to that effect. He was a complete lamb for her after that. And seems to me she's never rescinded that order. He still does whatever she tells him to, doesn't he?"

"That might explain it," John mused. "He would know that she put her own feelings aside to help him deal with his. He would feel quite grateful to her for that, I would imagine."

At that moment, John's phone signalled. "John, it's Molly," a breathless voice greeted him. "There's been a bit of a . . . a bit of a hitch." Then Molly's voice became muffled as she obviously turned away from her phone. "Mrs. Hudson, please. Please don't get down on the floor, dear. You'll hurt your hip."

"What's going on?" John asked, suddenly concerned.

"Sherlock's on his way. He can . . . can tell you more about it," Molly said, sounding completely distracted. "I called to tell you that Mary's changed her mind. . . . Oh, Mrs. Hudson! Please don't start crying again! It's going to be . . . . it'll be all right . . . ."

At Molly's words, John felt as if he'd been dropped from an airplane at 30 thousand feet. His stomach churned and his skin went suddenly cold. Mary's changed her mind? "Molly, let me speak to Mary," he demanded hoarsely, his throat closing up.

"She's . . . she's not here, John. She's gone . . . gone back to her flat. She went in such a rush she left her phone behind." John could hear a great deal of clatter and noise in the background, as well as the soft sound of Mrs. Hudson sniffling. Molly continued, although her mind was clearly not on the conversation. "John . . . . John, listen, I've got it all under control. I have to . . . have to get Mrs. Hudson sorted and then . . . then I'll go to Mary's and . . . . Mrs. Hudson, dear, wait for me to help, please." Molly's voice drifted away again as she dealt with the older woman. John was left hanging, unable to fathom what was happening on Baker Street.

"Molly! Molly!" he called impatiently into the phone. "Molly, I'll go to Mary's. You just take care of Mrs. Hudson."

This brought Molly's attention back to John immediately. "Don't . . . don't you dare, John Watson! You . . . you stay right where you are. She'll never forgive you if you . . . . You stay and wait for Sherlock," she insisted. "I promise. . . I promise I'll get her there. We'll be late, but we'll be there. I'll bring her to you."

"But I. . . ." John began, but Molly was gone. John wandered in a daze to a bench and sank onto it. Mary's changed her mind?

Greg had been listening to John's side of the conversation with a look of concern on his face. "Everything all right, mate?" he asked, moving to sit beside his friend.

John turned stricken eyes to the Inspector's. "Molly says Mary's changed her mind. She's gone to her flat. Mrs. Hudson can't stop crying and Molly's trying to calm her down." He spoke in a monotone, feeling almost paralyzed with the shock.

Greg tried to smile encouragingly. "That's all right, mate. She's just got wedding jitters. They all do it. Molly'll bring her 'round. You'll see."

But John didn't want to marry someone who had to be talked into it. And Mary did not have jitters. Mary was the most fearless person he knew. She would never make a decision based on emotions; she would think things through logically and coolly. Mary's changed her mind. Well, of course she had. She was an intelligent woman; and she was so young, and so beautiful, and so vibrant. Why on earth would she want to throw her life away on a broken-down old soldier like him? Hadn't Harry said as much just yesterday? Harry refused to come to the wedding. Why should she watch her brother make a fool of himself over a girl half his age, Harry had said. Unfairly, of course—Mary was only 12 years younger, not twenty. But still, she had a point. A point that Mary had also apparently come into agreement with.

"What's happened?" he heard the familiar baritone voice demand from behind. Sherlock had arrived, and he was carrying the cake. No, he wasn't, though. It was another cake entirely from the one Mrs. Hudson and Mary had slaved over. It was clearly a cake made in a bakery and purchased just this morning. The detective set it on one of the tables and sat beside John on the bench.

"Molly called. She said Mary's changed her mind," John said. It felt more unreal every time he said it.

"It's just nerves," Greg assured them both. "It happens to all of them. You mark my words; she'll be here soon, ready to tie the knot, any minute."

John shook his head. He looked up at his best friend, trying to see some sign of encouragement on his face. Instead, he saw only the same bewilderment that John felt himself. "Sherlock, Molly said you'd be able to tell me what's going on?" he said hopefully.

"I have no idea," the detective said wonderingly. "Mary was still upstairs in your room, dressing, when I left. She seemed perfectly happy last time I saw her. Even the incident with the cake didn't bother her."

"What about the cake?" Greg asked. John frowned. Who cared about cake? Mary's changed her mind—what difference could cake make?

"Mrs. Hudson was carrying it out to the taxi and lost her balance on the stairs," Sherlock explained. "She didn't fall, but she dropped the cake. She was most upset. Molly had all she could do to console her. Then Molly and I walked to the bakery to buy a substitute. I came on here with it, and Molly returned to help Mrs. Hudson clean up the mess. Why don't you go to Mary's flat and speak to her?"

"Molly absolutely forbade me to," John told him, bewildered.

Sherlock was astonished. "Molly was assertive?"

"Adamant, even," John told him. "Said I was to wait here and let her take care of things."

"Hmm. Interesting," Sherlock mused.

John sighed. It was obvious to him what had happened. Mary had initially seen John through a sort of biased, romanticized light, watching him work with Sherlock Holmes. But then John had shown how ridiculously stupid he really was, getting himself stabbed in the back. Mary, with her fear of losing people, must have realized that she couldn't trust John not to get himself killed in some foolish way. She would have been too kind to break up with him while he was still recovering. But now that he was better, she must have wisely reconsidered taking a chance on him. He didn't blame her. He thought he should call Molly and tell her not to go to Mary's flat after all—not to try to convince her to go against her better judgement. He thought about it, but just could not bring himself to do it.

Mycroft arrived, elegant even in his casual dress, with a stranger in his wake. His only task in planning the wedding had been to find a vicar willing to conduct a ceremony in the park, and he had succeeded easily. Who wouldn't want an excuse to spend such a beautiful spring day in a scenic park, eat lovely picnic foods, and get paid handsomely for it? John stood to greet them, trying to put on a brave face.

Greg pushed in front of him before he could say anything. "So glad you could make it," he was saying. "The bride will be here presently. She's just running a bit late." He gave John a look that told him to keep his mouth shut. John was resigned. He'd let Sherlock and Greg handle things. He'd just sit on his bench and try not to think about what this day had meant to him and how much he had lost.

The other guests turned up. John looked at his shoes and hoped no one would speak to him. Sherlock and Greg heading off anyone who tried to approach him, much to his relief. How could he bear to accept congratulations, now that he knew that Mary had changed her mind? The time dragged by, and John just sat in a daze.

An appreciative gasp from the guests made him look up. Down the path walked Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary—all smiles. Mary was stunning, her face radiantly happy, her pace quick with excitement. She was wearing a simple white dress, trimmed in blue that matched her eyes. John had never seen anything so perfect in his life. He rose to his feet as she walked towards him. Her eyes were shining. John's mind stuttered. What was going on? Hadn't Molly said that Mary had changed her mind?

White dress with blue trim. But Mary had planned to wear jeans and a peasant blouse. She must have . . . . Oh.

"I'm so sorry to make you all wait," Mary said to her guests cheerfully. "I meant it when I said we should all dress casually, but at the last minute, I changed my mind. I had to rush home and put on something a bit more—wedding-like." She turned to a speechless John and looked concerned. "Are you all right, Captain? You look a bit peaky. Molly did call to tell you we would be a bit late, didn't she?"

"Oh, Molly called all right," Greg snorted, barely able to contain his mirth. "John's just in shock that you got here so quickly. He thought you'd take a hell of a lot longer. Forever, even," he chortled.

John shot him a lethal look. Mary just gave him a puzzled smile and then pirouetted before her groom and asked, "Do you like it?"

John remained unable to speak. Good lord! Did he like it? Had he ever in his life liked anything more? In comparison to the vision that stood before him, all else in the world faded into inconsequential nothingness.

"Molly told us you'd changed your mind," Sherlock remarked. "John thought . . . ."

"You're wonderful. Perfect and wonderful," John interrupted, suddenly regaining use of his tongue. "I feel quite . . . underdressed next to you."

Mary dimpled, throwing her arms around his neck exuberantly. "You're perfect just the way you are," she told him warmly. "I absolutely adore you. Let's get married!"

John finally recovered his scattered wits. "Well, all right, then. Let's!" he said.

And so, they did.