It wasn't exactly planned, but then again, nothing was ever truly planned between Sherlock and me. For one, our relationship was never planned. We sort of fell into place. Two lost souls who finally met, finally found that there was someone just as lonely as them, just as scarred and jaded. If anyone can take credit it can be Sherlock as it was after all his idea. We had been deeply undercover in Hungary for just over a month as we tracked down Moriarty's ties in the city. Having finally located Moriarty's man we moved in on him. We were able to corner him at his home late at night. At first we thought it would be simple, break in at the dead of night and make it look like a robbery gone wrong, but we were not expecting them to be waiting for us. We walked right into a trap that ended in a fire fight that came too close for comfort. Thankfully our time in hiding and taking out Moriarty's web had provided me with quick reaction times. I heard the man in hiding and shot him just before he fired the shot which would have killed Sherlock. After that three more men, including Moriarty's contact joined in on the fight. It ended in the blink of an eye, bullets flying as Sherlock pulled me to the ground behind a couch. We both looked at each other for a long moment before springing out of cover, shooting at our attackers. That look said so much, I love you, stay safe, a please don't leave me on my own. The bullets ceased flying as the three men fell to the ground, but once the shock wore off I felt the burning pain in my side. Upon inspection my hand came back stained red. I had never seen Sherlock more worried than in that moment. He was normally pale, but he looked as white as a sheet as his face trained of all colour. He scooped me up into his arms and ran through the darkness of the night before we could be discovered.
We returned to the abandoned building we were kipping in and under the light of our torches, Sherlock examined my wound. The bullet had only grazed me but I need medical attention. We didn't have anything to take care of this and if it got infected we would be in a far worse situation. Our only possibility was to hope that no one recognized us at a hospital. Sherlock's hair had grown out to his shoulders and we had kept it that way as it made him less recognizable. My hair had been cut to the middle of my back during our travels. In China, the homeless people that had helped us had marveled over how long and how red my hair was. The children had braided my hair as Sherlock and I had spoken with the adults, gathering information about the city. I had cut off some of my hair after we ran into a bit of trouble along our way. I was starting to learn that it got in the way more and could be used against me in a fight if someone got a hold of it. I was willing to cut all my hair off but Sherlock had refused to let me. He told me my hair was the one thing he refused to sacrifice. I had gotten him to agree to cut it to the middle of my back so it wouldn't be different lengths from when the assassin cut it, though he had done it begrudgingly, staring at the long length of hair he cut off afterwards. Right now his argument was invalid. Knowing we needed to stay hidden I didn't give him time to protest before I grabbed his pocket knife and brought it to my hair, and stared sawing into my pony tail about five inches from the elastic. Sherlock cried in surprise and tried to pull the knife from my hands but I reminded him that hair could grow back and it would help keep us hidden. Everyone knew me as having long red hair. No one would suspect the bony, dirty girl with the chopped hair to be Lexi MacKenna. Sherlock finally agreed but insisted that I let him finish it so I handed the knife to him and let him complete the process.
We went to the nearest hospital after that and we managed to lie our way past the nurses in the emergency room. The entire time I had been on edge and Sherlock was forced to tightly hold my hand as I tried to not let it show. At least it only looked to them that I was in a lot of pain which I was. We passed as a married couple, having cleaned up just enough to look presentable. I got stitched up and was told to rest, not to lift anything heavy, and the doctor gave me a look as if he knew, just knew that I wouldn't be listening to his instructions. We had to move on. At most we could stop for an extra day, but we needed to move on. This was what sparked Sherlock's decision. Without telling me he led me to the nearest registers office and asked if they would marry us then and there. At first they looked at him as if he was a mad man. He looked close enough to one, his hair a mess, mine just as bad, as we were covered in dirt, wearing baggy clothing. I spoke to them in Hungarian and assured the officials that we were serious. We truly wanted to get married. They asked me if I was being held against my will and I told them that I willing was with this man. I told them that our marriage was of the upmost importance, a matter of life and death. They must have seen something in our eyes, some determination as they bent the rules. One of the female workers had pulled me away from Sherlock and into the bathroom, helping me wash up a bit. I was only wearing an oversized hoodie which Sherlock had taken with us to the hospital for me to change into and a pair of ripped cargo pants. The woman took out her hair piece, a butterfly clip with blue stones in it and she had tucked a lock of my uneven hair behind my ear and pinned it back with the clip. I had protested, but she insisted that every bride need something old, and blue, and borrowed on her wedding day. She led me out to the little chapel like room where Sherlock was waiting for me, also looking slightly cleaner and she stood with the only other man in the office as witness as Sherlock and I stood in front of the man who was to marry us.
It was a quick ceremony conducted in broken English. We were given rings which was our something new. They were inexpensive bands that would probably get lost during our travels, but we didn't care. When we were finally told we could kiss, our kiss was filled with every emotion we were feeling, pain, loss, the need for comfort and to comfort one another, and love, so much love. We signed nothing to make it official. What they were doing was not strictly legal. They had no papers to confirm our identities or our ages. We had married under our second first names which were less recognizable. He as William and I as Amelia. Only Sherlock knew of my second first name and I of his. I knew that they could lose their jobs for what they had done, but that was why there would be no paperwork. Sherlock always said a piece of paper didn't make you married. After the rushed ceremony we made to leave and when I tried to give the woman back her hairclip she had closed it into my palm and told me to keep it as good luck. I thanked her and we had gone on our way. Sherlock hurriedly explained to me that coming so close to losing me made him realize how much he wanted to be able to call me his wife at least once and have it be true. I had grinned at him despite the circumstances and we shared another loving kiss as we travelled back through the twilight. The days passed so quickly now that we were in hiding. There never seemed to be enough time in the day. Despite the fact that we were both exhausted and hadn't slept in days, we did not sleep that night.
We returned to our abandoned building and Sherlock carried me over the threshold. He apologized that it was all he could give me, but I assured him it was alright. He had laid me down gently on the pile of our clothes and the few blankets we managed to steal that we had been resting on and I had pulled him down with me, crashing his lips into mine. What started as a soft, sweet kiss quickly grew in passion and need. I pulled at Sherlock's shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine to reassure me that we both were still safe, still alive. His need was as great as mine and with a groan into my mouth as our tongues battled for dominance he helped me sit up. Sherlock made quick work of helping me out of my sweatshirt as I pulled the oversized jumper off of him. It was a tangle of limbs next and teeth clashing and noses bumping as we struggled to help each other out of our clothing. We laid there together, caressing every inch of each other, doing no more than simply holding each other. It was the comfort we needed after everything we had endured. We had cuddled before but never like this, never so closely, never bared to one another. Sure I had seen his naked chest before, but never had I held him this close, his body pressed to mine. Though neither of us had danced before neither of us was shy. We trusted each other completely. I trusted Sherlock with my life. When we finally joined I cried out in surprise and in slight pain and Sherlock kissed me, tracing the contours of my face with his fingers as if he was trying to remember ever inch of it. He bent down and kissed over the skin of my neck and I sighed and ran my fingers through the curls. No matter how long his hair was, I was always fascinated by it. It reminded me of time spent in our flat together when I would card my fingers through his hair as he rested his head in my lap. That was a lifetime ago or so it seemed. We moved together under the darkness of the night, the pale moonlight filtering through the broken window and illuminating the room enough that I could see Sherlock's face. We moved with one another as if we had done this dance a thousand times and at the moment of our release only each other's names were on our lips. I stared back into those nebula eyes, still so captivating and beautiful.
Never once had they lost their shine of excitement. We laid, panting, our foreheads pressed together and I kissed Sherlock repeatedly, first his forehead, then his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin, and then finally his lips. I could not believe that a man like Sherlock had come into my life. I knew him for less than a year before I agreed to marry him and I had married him months later. I had never loved someone as completely and as all-consuming as I did Sherlock. He was the most beautiful man I had ever met and the fact that he was mine was not something I took lightly. I didn't know what would have happened to me if I hadn't met him, but I didn't want to think about it. I could never have gotten this far without him. In the darkness of that night there was no Moriarty. There was no web, no people to take out, no danger…no fear of dying even. There was just Sherlock and I, our souls bared to each other as we gave our hearts to one another. As the light of the early dawn filled the room, I sleepily rested my head on Sherlock's chest as he pulled a blanket over our naked bodies. I felt a deep contentment lying there with Sherlock without one worry on my mind. "Good morning Mrs. Holmes," Sherlock whispered breaking the silence that had settled over us as he pressed a kiss to my sweaty forehead and I smiled at my husband. It was indeed a good morning and with it came the promise of many more.