Eight days earlier

Mycroft Holmes was not a caring man. At least, that's what he told himself. He was not kind. He only cared for himself. His parents were both nuisances. His servants were lazy. His younger brother was annoying at the best of times. He cared for none of them, and that was most definitely not why he was currently walking through the slums of Paris looking for his younger brother.

He had never been fond of Paris. London had always been Mycroft's city. Still, that didn't mean that Mycroft didn't know Paris like the back of his hand. He knew every nook and cranny, every tavern, every opium den. He also knew where his brother was lodging.

Mycroft entered a small tavern and sat at one of the many tables. The tavern owner, a short scrawny woman with stringy red hair, came over and asked him if he wanted anything to drink. Mycroft ordered wine, even though he knew that it would be watered down. It wasn't a very crouded tavern, which was probably why Sherlock had chosen it. A few minutes later his younger brother sat down across from him, his face grim.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft took a sip of the wine. It wasn't that good, but then again this was a cheap Parisian tavern. "I've never liked my wine watered down," he said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You did not come here to talk about wine, Mycroft. What are you doing here?"

Mycroft stared at the wine in his glass. Without meeting Sherlock's eyes, he said, "Molly Hooper is getting married." He felt Sherlock stiffen next to him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft let out a long sigh. "I know that you are still in love with her, little brother. I also know that you seem to think that staying away from her is the best thing that you can do for her. It's a rather silly notion if you ask me."

"Nobody did." Sherlock muttered underneath his breath.

Mycroft ignored him. "I've decided that rather than watch you spend the rest if your days moping around in this pathetic tavern, you are going to come back home-to London."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Honestly, Sherlock," Mycroft said, "his name is Tom and he's a rather pathetic excuse for a human being. I'm not going to watch idly as Tom steals your happiness."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I thought that you didn't care?"

"I don't," Mycroft huffed. He definitely didn't care. Mycroft glanced at his younger brother, maybe if he said it enough times it would become true.

The man at the door didn't stop him. Perhaps he just assumed that he was part of the wedding party, he looked the part, or maybe he didn't care, either way, Sherlock Holmes had no trouble getting past the guard.

He didn't know which room was hers, so he decided to try all of them. Nobody noticed him as he snuck up on each room and peeked inside. Most rooms were empty, though there was one where the groom was getting ready. He was a tall man with curly brown hair. Sherlock decided instantly that he didn't like him.

As he closed the door quietly, he heard someone make a noise from behind him. Sherlock turned on his heel to see an old man with white hair who looked vaguely familular. "What are you doing?" The man asked.

Sherlock gulped. What was he doing? Confessing his love to a girl that he hadn't seen in three years and thought that he was dead? "I'm looking for the bride's changing room?" he managed to mutter.

"And why would you be doing that?" asked the old man.

Because I'm in love with her.

"I want to wish her good luck," Sherlock said instead.

The old man nodded. "Follow me," he said. He led Sherlock down a series of different hallways until they came to a door with a white flower wreath on it. "It's this one," the old man said.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

The old man just grunted and turned around. Before leaving he said, "By the way, if you break her heart, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he watched the old man walk down the hallway and disappear around the corner. He looked at the door in front of him. Molly was on the other side. He could almost sense her presence. What would she say? She was getting married, it was quite possible that she no longer wanted to even see him. He had lied to her again and again. He really didn't deserve her.

Sherlock knocked on the door.

"Come in," Molly's voice was slightly shaky, as if she was sad.

Sherlock pressed a hand against the door and slowly opened it. Molly turned around to face him and stopped. Her face was blank. Her expression was unreadable. "Hello, Molly." Sherlock Holmes said. That seemed to break Molly out of the trance that she was in. In three long strides, Molly crossed the distance between the two of them and slapped him, right before she kissed him.

Bernard was sitting with the rest of the servants in the back of the church. Even though he had known Molly since she could only toddle, he had been placed in the back of the church, much to his displeasure. He knew that it had been at Tom's request. Bernard just didn't like that boy. He was nice enough to Molly, but he was horrible to his servants.

Molly's mother walked up the length of the aisle, it where Tom was standing and whispered something to him. "What?" Tom practically screamed. A whisper began to spread through the crowd. Lord Thomas, left at the alter. This would make quite the story.

Bernard just smiled to himself. He was glad that he wouldn't have to kill Sherlock Holmes. For once in his life, the boy had done the smart thing.

For once in their lives, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper had listened to their hearts, and not their brains.