Even after the chaos of the evening, you and Sherlock are still running with adrenaline from solving the only two cases that have managed to stump both of you.

To run off some of the energy while you wait for Lestrade, Sherlock thought it would be a good idea to teach you some new steps.

"You're very light on your feet, darling," Sherlock compliments as he leads you around the room.

"You're not too bad yourself, darling," you reply.

"Well, you know how much I love to dance."

"Of course."

You both smile and twirl around the room until you see John walk in with a smirk.

"Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding," he says.

"One murderer... one nearly murderer," Sherlock replies with an arm around your waist.

The three of you turn your attention to the door when Greg walks in with the photographer.

"Sherlock, (Y/N), I got him for you," Lestrade says.

"Ah, the photographer, excellent. Thank you. May I have a look at your camera?" Sherlock asks, walking forward and taking it from the guy's hand without waiting for an answer.

"What's this about? I was halfway home," the photographer says.

"You should have driven faster," you say.

"Ah, yes, yes. Very good. Now you see... perfect," Sherlock says, handing the camera to Lestrade and John.

"What is it? What are you going to tell us?" Greg asks.

"Try looking yourself," Sherlock says.

"Look for what?" Greg questions.

"Is the murderer in these photographs?" John asks.

"It's not what's in the photographs, it's what's not in them. Not in any of them," Sherlock says.

"Sherlock? The showing-off thing, we've discussed it before..." John says.

"There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph, who can go anywhere and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. You only ever see the camera." Sherlock suddenly handcuffs the photographer to a pole.

"What are you doing? What is this?" the guy asks.

"Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer, known to us as The Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Johnny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed," you say.

Sherlock continues. "An invitation to a wedding. The one time Sholto would have to be out in public, so he made his plan and rehearsed the murder. Down to every last detail. Brilliant, ruthless, and almost certainly a monomaniac. Though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good. Everything you need is on that." Sherlock tosses the phone to Lestrade. "You probably ought to arrest him or something."

Everyone stands speechless as Sherlock walks over to stand next to you again. Mary then walks in as if she's been looking for the lot of you for a while.

"Come on," she says, grabbing John and gesturing for the rest of you to follow.

"It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes," the photographer says.

"Oh, I don't do the arresting, I just farm that out," Sherlock replies.

"Sholto, he's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker. I shouldn't have tried to be clever," the guy says.

Sherlock's voice drops an octave. "You should have driven faster."

You smirk and loop your arm through Sherlock's as he leads you from the room and to the last couple of hours of the wedding.

♖♖♖

All the guests stand in a circle as John and Mary waltz around the area and Sherlock plays the song he composed on the violin. Your attention is, naturally, focused on him as the candlelight dances off his features.

The people that haven't heard him play are obviously quite impressed that such a high-functioning sociopath could produce such mesmerising notes.

The song comes to an end and the crowd claps as Sherlock bows his head before speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier, a crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I'll be making one of my own. Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will always be there. Always. For all three of you." Your eyes widen and you give Sherlock a shut-the-hell-up look.

"Sorry, I mean... I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I just miscounted. Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please. Thank you. Okay everybody, just dance, don't be shy."

You and Sherlock rush over to Mary and John and you have the urge to slap Sherlock upside the head.

"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting," Sherlock apologizes.

"Deduction?" Mary questions.

"Increased appetite, change of taste perception, you were sick this morning, you assumed it was just wedding nerves. All the signs are there," you say.

"The signs?" she asks and you and Sherlock share a look.

"The signs of three. Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test. Well, the statistics for the first trimester are-"

John cuts him off. "Shut up. Just shut up. How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor!"

"It's your day off. Stop panicking," you say lowly.

"I'm not panicking," John states.

"I'm pregnant, I'm panicking!" Mary whisper-yells.

"Don't panic. None of you panic. absolutely no reason to panic," Sherlock says, trying to calm them down.

"Oh, and you'd know, of course!" John exclaims.

"Yes, I would. You're already the best parents in the world, look at the practice you've had," Sherlock replies.

"What practice?" John asks and you knowingly smile.

"Well, you're hardly going to need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way," Sherlock jokes, causing Mary and John to tear up. "Dance. Both of you go dance, right now. We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about."

"Right." John nods.

"Let's go, husband," Mary says, dragging him away.

"Don't worry, Mary. I've been tutoring him," Sherlock assures.

"He did, you know. Both of them. Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs. Hudson came in one time. I don't know how those rumors started," John jokes as he and his wife dance away.

You look up and see Sherlock's grim expression. It doesn't take a genius to deduce what's going through his mind right now.

"Do you want to go?" you ask.

"Why?" he questions.

"You know why."

Sherlock nods and you hold onto his arm while resting your head on his shoulder as the two of you maneuver out of the ball room. You open the closet by the exit of the building and hand Sherlock his coat. You slip on your own jacket and snag the car keys from Sherlock's pocket before taking his hand and walking out into the moonlight.

You get into the driver's side and Sherlock slides into the passenger's with his head lazily resting against the seat.

"Sleep. I know you didn't get any last night," you order.

"I'll be fine. Sleep is the last thing on my mind," he mumbles.

"If you don't close your eyes and drift off to a dream land full of fluffy clouds and cotton candy right now, I'll start calling you William," you threaten calmly as you start the car and begin to pull out of the parking lot.

Sherlock groans. "God, my mother finally stopped calling me that only four years ago."

"Then I guess you better sleep," you say.

"Fine," Sherlock reluctantly agrees and shuts his eyes with a sigh.

You glance at his form and hope that whatever happens, he'll be okay.