Author's Note: So I know it's been forever since I last posted, but I had a seriously hard time writing this last installment. I've had to scrap this chapter three times and rewrite it before I was completely satisfied with what I had. However, after stepping away from it for a while and coming back, I think I finally came up with something I think would be a fitting final "first" for Miss Hooper and her consulting detective. Arcoiris asked in a previous comment if I would be doing any of these "firsts" from Sherlock's point of view, and I wanted to mention that I am planning on doing a bonus chapter to finish this story off. The bonus will be a redo of one of the previous entries, but this time the first will be written from Sherlock's perspective. It will only be one chapter, and I haven't decided yet which first to rewrite, so if you have any preference, feel free to let me know in the comments and I will consider those suggestions as I begin working on that extra chapter. For now though, please enjoy reading about Sherlock and Molly's big day!

(Srry, deleted this by accident so had to re-post)

I, Molly Hooper, never swore. My mother had raised me to be a proper young lady, and I had always been informed (on many occasions) that a young lady is perfectly capable of voicing her displeasure in any given scenario with her eyes rather than vulgar language. It was a lesson that had been drilled into me most effectively over the years, and I prided myself of the fact that I never had the misfortune of letting a coarse thought cross my lips. Well, almost never.

"Bloody hell."

In my defense, it was a rather mild choice of words to express a sudden moment of internal horror. My mum obviously did not feel the same.

"Molly!" she sharply reprimanded from across the room. Though she was standing a good ten feet from my present station at the door, I could feel the full force of her disapproval at my use of colorful language.

Instead of defending my lapse in self-discipline I motioned her to come towards me. She gave a little huff at the silent order, but trudged over anyway to see what I was staring at in abject horror. When she reached my side I cracked the door open just one centimeter more so she could partake in my moment of panic.

"Bloody hell."

It took a supreme effort on my part not to point out her equally horrified response to the situation, but I was too mired in my own shock to find any humor in the situation. Instead I shut the door and sagged against it in weary defeat.

"There's so many of them," I squeaked, barely recognizing the timid sound of my own voice. Loving Sherlock Holmes and being loved in return had helped my confidence grow by leaps and bounds over the past few years. (A girl would need all the self-confidence she could muster in order to maintain a relationship with a man who never missed neither a single flaw nor the chance to point them out.) However, the sight of so many people crowding into the chapel that had been meant for the "small" wedding ceremony between Sherlock and myself sent all that built up self-confidence running for the hills.

My Mother, though shocked into blunt language at first, now seemed much more in control of the situation and turned to me with a puzzled look. "I don't understand where they all came from," she shrugged at me in helpless defense. "I promise, dear, I knew you only wanted a small wedding so I didn't put a notice in the papers. I wanted to, of course, but I thought your idea of a simple, intimate gathering would suffice well enough. Frankly, I was impressed you could get your Sherlock to agree to any type of ceremony at all."

That statement allowed a faint smile to glimmer through my expression of horror. "He said he didn't give a toss about how I decided to go about it as long as Mycroft wasn't invited."

"He doesn't want his brother at his wedding?" my mum asked with a concerned frown. "That's odd."

"Not really, Mum. You've never met Mr. Mycroft Holmes," I explained briefly recalling the man in question before shoving myself up from the door and walking back to the full length mirror adorning the opposite wall.

The gold gilt frame around the glass beautifully complimented the rest of the quaint décor in the small room. This little chapel I had managed to book just outside of London had looked like such a beautiful respite from the constant melee that surrounded us at home in the city, and I had been blissfully happy for a few short hours before the unexpected hoard of humanity presently milling around outside my bridal suite had disrupted that peaceful solitude.

"I just don't understand. How did they know?" I complained to my reflection, stomping my foot like a spiteful toddler who had just been deprived of its favorite toy. Unfortunately, the bridal visage staring back at me had no more explanation than I did.

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance in that quarter," a new voice startled me from interrogating my reflection. At the sound of the posh, sophisticated tone that positively dripped with condescension, I turned with a sinking heart. Standing there next to my gaping mother stood the only person Sherlock wished to be as far away from our wedding as possible.

Noting my discomfort, Mycroft merely gave a patronizing smile before striding forward while swinging that ever-present cane back-and-forth on his fine boned wrist. "I'm privy to information that more than ninety-nine percent of the world isn't remotely aware of, my dear. Did you really think my little brother would be able to keep his wedding a secret from me?"

As he continued to speak, my shock slowly melted into irritation. I had never felt the same amount of ire as Sherlock towards his brother, though the latter had a bad habit of popping up out of nowhere and scaring the wits out of me, much like the present moment. This time, though, he had gone too far.

"How could you?" I accused more than asked as he stood there with a gloating expression that grated against my raw nerves.

He was either oblivious or unconcerned with my distress (and considering he was a Holmes, it was most likely the latter) because his smirk of satisfaction only deepened as he fished a blackberry out of his breast pocket and waved it at me like a hard won trophy. "The internet is such a useful weapon of warfare, so simple and yet so effective. A few enigmatic posts on a gossip site about your impending nuptials and the public just couldn't stay away."

I felt tears of frustration spring to my eyes then at his cavalier attitude towards destroying one of the most precious days in my entire life and all because he wanted petty revenge on his brother in this constant battle of wills between the pair of them. At first, I was tempted to blink back the tears in order to preserve Mary's handiwork in applying my make-up so carefully earlier that day, but then an idea occurred to me. It was time to see how unflappable the elder Holmes really was. Without giving it a second thought, I let out a wail of despair loud enough to wake the dead before sinking to the floor in a rustle of satin and Spanish lace.

"H-h-how c-could you!" I wailed at him as if he had just condemned me to death at the guillotine. "Th-this was supposed to be the p-p-perfect day! You've r-r-ruined it all. Sherlock told me it was n-no use trying to keep people away, th-th-that they would just come anyway, b-but I still t-tried. I just wanted a s-small ceremony with Sh-Sh-Sherlock, and now y-you've r-r-ruined everything!"

While putting on this little display, I had let some very real tears gush from my carefully painted eyes, and couldn't really see during my little tirade if the words I aimed at him were having any real affect. As I continued to sob loudly and pitifully I saw a white blur in front of my face and reached out to touch a linen handkerchief. Grabbing the proffered peace offering I made a show of attempting to quiet my sobs, and looked up into the truly distressed face of Mycroft Holmes. It looked very similar to the face Sherlock made every time I cried. Apparently the Holmes brothers could deal with murder, explosions, serial killers, and any other type of threat imaginable, anything except for a woman's tears. Well, I had to amend that thought, the tears of a woman they care about.

"I didn't think you'd be quite so upset, Molly," he tried to console me by awkwardly patting my shoulder. My Mum had come to me as well by this point, and though I couldn't see her face clearly through my haze of tears, I could well imagine the glare she had fixed on the man crouched in front of me.

Mycroft shot her an uncertain glance as well before his gaze returned to mine. "Don't worry about the wedding crashers," he reassured me once again. "I'll take care of it. Just please stop crying." He said the last word as if it were the worst profanity committed to the English language.

After his promise to fix the mess he had created, Mycroft stood stiffly with the help of his cane before turning to exit the suite. Just as his hand was on the knob to open the door, I called out to him before I could rethink the offer I was about to make. "I don't mind if you want to stay for the ceremony. I never minded really. I think Sherlock needs you here even if he doesn't admit it."

"Once he escapes the loads of press that have cornered him and John I doubt he will feel the same," he answered, though there was a flicker of something in his haughty gaze that made me think he wasn't as quite unaffected by Sherlock's indifference as he pretended.

I was tempted to leave it at that as he had caused me a tremendous amount of stress on an already stressful day, but it wasn't in my nature to hold a grudge. "I'll talk to him."

He looked back at me then, with none of the challenging bravado from mere minutes before. "I'll stay then." He uttered the words as if they were the closing words of a treaty between warring nations. As soon as he had spoken, he was gone through the door to work his magic in fixing the fiasco outside. Shaking my head at is childishness, I accepted my mother's help in standing.

"I think I understand what you meant from before," she muttered before helping me to put myself to rights again. "Are you sure you want to marry into this family, Molly? They seem a bit intense."

I let out a soft laugh at my Mother's assessment of the Holmes clan. "I'm sure, Mum. I love him."

"I'll assume you are referring to Sherlock," she answered with a joking smile. I returned the grin and, in a moment of impulse, hugged her close to me. She seemed surprised by the unexpected show of emotion but understood the reason for it as soon as I spoke.

"I'm so glad you could be with me here today," I sniffed trying to ward off the reemergence of my earlier tears. Those had only been for show while the ones that threatened behind my lids now were uncomfortably real.

My Mum just hugged me tighter without any need of explanation. She understood. "You've become such a beautiful, young lady. He would be so proud of you, Molly."

"I know," I returned, hugging her just a little bit tighter. "I just wish he could be here."

My Mum pulled back from the hug then and placed her hand over my heart with a tender look. "He's in here, Molly."

I nodded my head, still feeling a bit melancholy at the turn of my thoughts, but I determined to put everything negative from my mind and pasted a bright smile on my face. "Do you think maybe you could find Mary?" I asked, trying to change the topic to a less emotional subject. "The wedding starts in a quarter of an hour and she probably won't appreciate my botching her hard work with these tears."

"I'm sure she'll understand," Mum said pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, but she turned and made her way towards the door. "I'll see if I can find her," she called back over her shoulder before leaving. "Good luck, darling. Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man."

With that, she turned the knob and exited, closing the door soundlessly behind her. I smiled at her parting words, and looked back at my altered reflection in the polished mirror standing behind me. I was dismayed to find dark streaks staining my pale cheeks from the liberally applied mascara that had lined my eyes before the rush of tears washed them down my face. Taking Mycroft's handkerchief, I scrubbed vigorously at the black smudges under my eyes.

While in the midst of this task, I was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing once more. "Please don't be angry at me, Mary," I began, assuming the new visitor was my friend sent to fix the damage done to my face. "I've a perfectly good explanation why all your hard work has gone to waste."

"Perhaps my brother would be the reason," a deep timbre halted my explanation, and I whirled around to face my fiancé. I should have been annoyed that he'd broken tradition to see me in my bridal attire before I had the chance to walk down the aisle, but he just looked so handsome in his black and white tuxedo with that wild mass of curls on his head a bit at odds with his formal attire, giving him the look of a man who would never be completely tamed. Not that I wanted him to be.

Rather than scolding him for the abrupt appearance, I gave a commiserating smile instead. "You saw him then?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered before approaching me and snatching the bit of linen out of my hand. He continued with my previous task of wiping the marks on my face before continuing. "He didn't apologize exactly, but he said you told him he could stay despite his interference."

"You don't mind?" I asked then, reaching out to grasp his hand to still its movements.

Sherlock looked at me with a sardonic gaze before commencing with his task once more. "Of course I mind," he replied with a disdainful tilt of his brows. "I suppose he can stay for the ceremony though, since he's gone through the trouble to make such a fuss."

"What about all those people?" I asked him, remembering the reason for Mycroft's appearance in the first place.

Sherlock seemed satisfied with the results of his handiwork then and pocketed the handkerchief after giving me a silent nod of approval. "He's concocted some nonsense about chemical fumes to frighten them away. Rather quick work he made of it actually. The excuse is a paltry one considering we are quite some distance from anything that could remotely present a danger to the atmosphere, but people are idiotic enough to believe anything they're told. The only people still hanging about are Mrs. Hudson with John and Mary, plus your family members and the minister."

"Good," I breathed with a sigh of relief. "I want it just like this. Nobody staring at me and criticizing your choice for a bride, just the people who love us here to watch me become Mrs. Holmes."

"Why would anyone criticize my choice of bride?" he asked me in genuine confusion. "You're a perfectly intelligent woman, even if you are a bit prone to babbling and bad attempts at humor."

I was too flattered by his praise of my intellect to be offended by his other observations at my other shortcomings. "Thank you, Sherlock," I replied before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

I expected him to make a move to leave after our kiss since I had imagined his only reason for checking on me was to ensure I was all right after the unexpected encounter with his brother, but he surprised me even further by withdrawing a familiar looking black box from his pocket and extending the offering towards me. "I wanted to give you this. I meant to do so earlier if I hadn't been besieged by a band of inept reporters."

I looked at him quizzically but reached out to pluck the proffered gift from his outstretched palm. When I popped the lid open to look inside, my heart lurched in my chest at the beautiful trinket lying against the smooth velvet lining. Smiling up at me was a miniature version of my father's portrait that I kept on the bedside table back at our flat in London.

"How…?" I began to ask Sherlock before my emotions became too much for me to finish the thought.

Taking pity on me, Sherlock took the box from my hand and removed the little portrait from its compartment. Once he did, I noticed a little clasp dangling from the top that Sherlock proceeded to clip on to the silver bracelet adorning my wrist, a bracelet that reminded me of every precious moment Sherlock and I had shared together. Once the miniature was settled comfortably between the small magnifying glass and a pink heart, Sherlock looked back at me with that tender expression I saw so rarely. His blue eyes, usually so hard and scrutinizing as he dissected the world around him and everyone in it, now softened gently as his ran his long fingers along the various charms decorating the silver links of my bracelet.

"I knew you were missing him," he explained then, still keeping his sapphire eyes focused on the various little charms he had gifted me with over the years. "I thought you would enjoy having this with you on our wedding day."

I was too overwhelmed at his thoughtfulness at first to say anything. At my silence, he glanced back to find me struggling to hold back the tears for the third time that day. "It's beautiful, Sherlock," I hiccupped then on a sob lodged in my throat. "How did you know?"

"Because I see you too, Molly Hooper," he said then, bending down to reward my trembling mouth with a tender kiss.

I buried my face against his neck then, breathing in his familiar scent that smelled faintly of cigars. In view of the celebratory occasion I didn't bother to voice my suspicions of his smoking habit, instead I just borrowed further into his warm embrace, willing the rest of the world away in these precious moments between the two of us. "I'm glad you see me, Sherlock," I whispered then so softly he most likely wouldn't have heard me if not for our close proximity. "Not many people do."

"Most people are idiots," he repeated his earlier sentiment and I couldn't help but laugh at his matter-of-factness.

"And to think just a short time ago I thought this would be one of the most mortifying days of my life," I managed to say once the burst of laughter had subsided. "I should have known, though."

He pulled back then and regarded me with something dangerously close to a smile. "Should have known what?"

I leaned forward to press my forehead to his before answering. "I should have known that the day I get to become Mrs. Sherlock Holmes would be a perfect day, no matter what else happens."

"Nothing is actually perfect, Molly," Sherlock couldn't help but correct me.

"This day is," I nodded with reassured conviction. "It's the most perfect day imaginable."

And with that I pulled Sherlock back into another sound kiss. It wasn't until after the ceremony was over and the vows had been read that I realized Sherlock hadn't bothered to argue my claim. In fact, as we danced our first dance as man and wife I fancied I could hear him mutter something above my head that sounded suspiciously like the words "perfect day." I wondered if I head misheard him at first as Sherlock Holmes would never admit to being wrong about anything.

Although, I thought quietly to myself as we twirled together and the lights from overhead caught the shimmer of the gold band adorning my finger, there is a first time for everything.

Well, that's all folks! I can't thank everyone enough for taking the time to read this story and especially for those that gave me such positive feedback. I had originally intended to put Irene Adler into this chapter somehow, but it didn't really work with the flow of things. It just seemed a better fit to use Mycroft, so that's the route I went with instead. Expect to see that bonus chapter posted in a couple of weeks, but for now I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. I've had such a great time getting to write about Molly and Sherlock! Remember, if you have any preferences on which first you would like to see from Sherlock's perspective, be sure to let me know!