Someone's going to die.

We couldn't even enjoy a wedding without someone's life being threatened?

I threw a wide-eyed look at my dad. If he didn't know that I'd heard him, he certainly knew now. My focus went back to Sherlock. He looked like he was about ready to combust. He suddenly broke into a ferocious roar, slapping himself hard across his right cheek.

"No!" he outburst. We all watched in astonishment as he slapped his left cheek. "No!" I was very tempted to get out of my seat and go to him. "Not you! Not you!" He pointed at unrecognizable male guests. "You." He was facing our table, most likely looking—and pointing—at my dad. He walked towards the table. "It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right." From the corner of my eye, I saw Dad get to his feet. I watched them as Sherlock was at the table.

"What do I do?" Dad questioned.

"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life." Sherlock spun around to face the guests, an unusual grin on his face. "Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" He clapped his hands together. "Let's play a game. Let's play Murder." I saw Dad sit down again. Sherlock stalked forward.

"Sherlock," I heard Mrs. Hudson say in a disapproving tone.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear."

Sherlock gestured behind him towards his landlady. "If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?" He was now looking at all the guests. "Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of my friends and colleagues."

I swallowed, wondering if he'd ever planned my murder.

Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "Now John I'd poison. Sloppy eater—dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds—that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Lestrade is so easy to kill; it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation." He slunk to the back of the room again. "I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house—I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him...if, if the whim arose."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom whispered. My eyes snapped to Molly, who just stabbed her fiancé with a plastic fork. Tom grabbed his hand. "Ow!"

"So, once again, who could you only kill here?" Sherlock faced the guests once again. "Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. And since killing someone in public is difficult...killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security. Possibly someone under threat." I looked where Sherlock had his eyes.

Major Sholto could feel Sherlock's gaze on him. They momentarily locked eyes. I couldn't see what Sherlock was up to as he went to another table.

"Ooh! A recluse, small household staff. High turnover for additional security." Sherlock passed by the Major. "Probably all signed confidentiality agreements. There is another question that remains, however—a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public? There has to be a way. This has been planned."

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!" piped Archie, the ring bearer. He was bouncing from his chair.

"Oh, hello again, Archie." Sherlock bent forward to be more eye level with Archie. "What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."

"The invisible man could do it."

"The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?" Sherlock said all this in what seemed to be less than a second.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman."

My mouth dropped. Sherlock straightened up. He had to be running the boy's theory through his head. I saw Major Sholto head for the door.

"Oh, not just planned. Planned and rehearsed," Sherlock murmured. Sherlock glided back to our table, snatching a champagne glass from off the table. He turned around to face the guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude. The bride and groom!"

"The bride and groom," everyone repeated, a little uncertain as they rose.

I tried to listen to what Sherlock was saying to Dad, but he went too fast. Before I knew it, he was pushing through guests.

"'Scuse me, coming through!" he announced.

I realized Major Sholto had disappeared entirely from the reception room. Sherlock must've gotten it through to him that he was in danger. I felt Dad brush past me. Instantly, with the need like a puppy, I jumped out of my seat hurrying behind him.

"Rachel, go back," he hissed.

"No chance. Sorry, excuse us," I told people as we made our way through. "I go where you go."

"People will get suspicious."

"People are too confused to be suspicious right now."

"Now isn't the time to be reckless. Go back."

I grabbed a hold of my dad's arm. "Like I said, no chance."

With Dad leading me, I followed him, and together we went after Sherlock. We found him quickly; he was partway up a staircase.

"We need to find out which room he's in," I suggested.

"Sherlock should know."

Sherlock had his eyes shut tight, his fingers at his temples. "I can't remember the room."

My nails bit into my palms. "Really? The time when you need to remember a room number and you come up blank?"

"How can you not remember which room?" Dad added. "You remember everything!"

"I have to delete something!" Sherlock growled irritably.

"Two oh seven." Out of nowhere, Mary came into the picture. She held up her dress with a hand so she wouldn't trip over it. She hustled up the stairs. We three exchanged a second look before we all trailed after her. Sherlock took lead, while Mary grabbed a hold of my dad. I was left in the rear, picking up some of my dress.

We finally got to our destination: second floor, room 207. Sherlock was the first to reach the door. He knocked and tried the handle.

"Major Sholto?" He rattled the handle. "Major Sholto!" I cringed as he slammed his hand repeatedly against the door. "Major Sholto!"

"Christ, Sherlock!" I shouted. "I know it's life or death here—"

"Now isn't the time for a smart remark, Rachel!"

I clamped my mouth shut.

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time," the Major said through the other side of the door. "I'm ready."

Dad tried his attempt, walking to the door. "Major, let us in."

"Kick the door down," Mary suggested.

"I really wouldn't," the Major warned. "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there," I piped.

Sherlock went to the door again. "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"'The invisible man with the invisible knife,'" Sholto echoed Archie's words.

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then."

"I—I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

I smacked my forehead. This was becoming immature.

"Please," Dad said urgently, "this is no time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here."

I watched with a rapid heart as Sherlock paced, Mary joined my watch.

"Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."

"Solve it," Mary told Sherlock.

He halted, looking at her. "Sorry?"

"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said," I sided with Mary.

"If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now," Mary pressed.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock looked at my dad. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right," Dad voiced.

"Oh, you've changed!"

"No, she is. Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver—you never have been. You're a drama queen!"

I couldn't help but gasp. The look on Sherlock's face pretty much summed up my shock.

"Now, there is a man in there about to die." Dad raised his voice. "'The game is on.'" He pointed to the door. "Solve it!"

Sherlock went into his solving-cases mode. First, he looked upwards. Once his eyes were closed, I knew his mind was working. If anyone could solve this, it was Sherlock Holmes. If Dad had asked anyone else to solve this case, Major Sholto would most certainly be dead and have no chance of survival.

With Sherlock, he did.

A few very tense minutes passed before Sherlock opened his eyes again. I beamed, knowing what this meant. With a glint in his eye, he grabbed Mary's head and kissed her forehead. Didn't I deserve some acknowledgement? Whatever.

"Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too," Sherlock said, pointing towards my dad.

"Yeah, I know," Mary agreed. Dad frowned. I tried to lighten his mood with a playful punch to the shoulder. I guess he could be more open to the gesture after his friend's life was saved.

Sherlock slid towards the door. "Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What did you say?" the Major said.

My eyes narrowed in confusion. How was that possible?

"Don't take off your belt."

"My belt?"

Sherlock whirled around to talk to us. "His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

"The belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight—" Dad added, catching on.

"Exactly."

"And when you took it off—"

"Delayed action stabbing," Sherlock concluded. "All the time in the world to create an alibi." Sherlock tried the door handle again. "Major Sholto?"

"So—I was to be killed by my uniform," the Major said softly. "How appropriate."

"He solved the case, Major," I crowed. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose—give the circumstances—I don't have to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

Silence fell. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it, right now," Dad snarled. "I will kick this door down."

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

"Yes, I think we are," Sherlock agreed, replacing Dad at the door.

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes—like a soldier."

"Of course one should." Sherlock said this firmly. "But not at John's wedding. We wouldn't do that, would we—you and me? We would never do that to John Watson." Sherlock backed off, and Dad took his place.

"I'm gonna break it down," Dad declared.

"No, wait, wait," Mary pleaded. "You won't have to."

Relief washed over me as the door opened, revealing Major Sholto. His eyes went to Sherlock before falling onto my dad. "I believe I am in need of medical attention," he said.

"I believe I am your doctor," Dad replied.

Major Sholto went back into the room, with Dad right in tow. Mary looked at me.

"You better go back to Bayley, things are going to be okay now," she said, touching my arm. I nodded, smiling. "We'll see you soon."

I went back to rejoin the guests as the trio tended to Major Sholto. The minute I got back into room, Bayley found me, hugging me. I let out a squeak of surprise.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" He checked me over.

"Easy, Bay. I'm fine." I smiled. "Nobody's hurt, nobody's dead. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure?"

I laughed. "Positive."

"Everyone was worried and confused."

"Well, that's what happens when you're around Sherlock."

"Please tell me our wedding won't be like this."

I kissed him. "I can't make any promises."