Unbelievable.

Here I was, on my way to fetch Dad and Sherlock thanks to their stag night. Unbelievable. And people wondered why they ended up in trouble after a night of drinking.

Greg woke me up this morning, telling me the lovely news. I'd told him I'd be right there, so I quickly got dressed and caught a cab.

I looked out the window out of boredom, pondering what I was going to say to those two when I saw them. I'd especially take it out on Sherlock, since it was his bright idea. I kind of blamed myself, though, at the same time. I hadn't gone with them despite every bone in my body telling me to.

Maybe I could have prevented them from being locked up.

"Keep it running, this won't take long," I told the driver. I got out, waiting by the idle car. I didn't have to wait long, as by the time five minutes came around, Dad and Sherlock came stumbling out. I shook my head at them both. Dad caught sight of me first.

"Had a fun time, did you?" I snapped. I pulled the door open. "Both of you in, now." There were no complaints, though Sherlock attempted to fight me.

I sat between the boys as I told the driver the address. I texted Greg to tell him thanks for keeping them from doing more. He told me he'd had a little fun with them once they both finally woke up. I could only imagine how much fun I'd have once we got back to Baker Street. I can always start now.

"So, what happened that got you two locked up?" I murmured.

"Rachel, I really don't want to talk about it," Dad muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"I should have gone with you both, but no, you two thought you could handle yourselves." I snorted.

"Can you stop talking?" Sherlock groaned.

"No, I can't. You both deserve it."

"It was just a night out to have fun," Dad protested, resting his head against the car.

"And look how it turned out." I grimaced. "I bet this is the reason why you two never drink. Can't hold much either, from what Greg told me."

"If you don't shut up, I'll make you," Sherlock threatened.

I rolled my eyes.

I shoved Sherlock out of the cab first once we got to 221B. I thanked the driver before they sped off. I made sure the boys ushered themselves in. Dad went to visit Mrs. Hudson while Sherlock and I went up to our apartment.

Once inside, he seemed to be getting back to normal, getting himself something to eat. I remained in the kitchen while he went to do what he did best.

"So, did you find the mysterious ghost?" I called from the kitchen.

"Let's not bother about last night," he retorted.

"Why not? All I know is that you two ended up in Greg's care." I peeked through the fridge, finding it almost skeletal. "We've got to go out again."

"You do. I have more important things to do."

I sighed. "Leave a woman to get the groceries. Why don't you try that sometime?"

I wasn't answered. Shrugging, I went digging for breakfast. I stole a bagel and some butter. Yeah, we really needed to restock. I was debating to drop by Mrs. Hudson's, knowing she'd feed me if I asked. But she already had Dad there with her, so maybe she had enough mouths to feed.

Once breakfast was done, I hopped in for a quick shower, as I hadn't had the time to because of Greg's call this morning. I wondered how Mary would feel if I told her what happened. I'm sure she wouldn't be as upset as I was—had been—about last night. She didn't seem like the kind of person to get extremely angry about something, let alone hold a grudge against someone.

It was like Mary was made up of everything nice in this world. I doubted there was a bad bone in her.

I ruffled my hair dry with a towel before I slipped out. I came back to find Sherlock having various laptops out on the coffee table. I didn't question where he got them from, because maybe some of the answers would bother me. He had his personal laptop on the dining table. All devices were open. I squinted to try and see what the other laptops had on their screens.

Sherlock sat with his laptop, looking up something involving Tessa's case. It kind of fascinated me. How could a man pull that off? Why would he?

"There are going to be others," Sherlock stated.

"Others?"

My voice was in unison with my dad's. I walked deeper into the room to realize he'd dropped by. He threw me an attempt at a smile, I scowled at him.

"Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house—this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look." Dad and I came closer to see a map laid out behind Sherlock's laptop. There were quite a few pins jabbed in the map, looking as though they were forming something of a circle.

Sherlock moved away from his laptop to the group of laptops on the coffee table. Dad and I looked over Sherlock's shoulder to see each of them were on a similar thing: a chat room. These have to be the other women. My eyes darted back and forth between the screens, seeing that Sherlock was asking them all the same questions.

First were the women's names. All different. Where did they meet this man? All different places. What was his name? All different names. They all met at his place, but all the addresses were different.

As I was reading each individual conversation, I realized Sherlock was muttering all this under his breath. Dad and I exchanged concerned looks, green meeting brown. I didn't know if this was normal for Sherlock, as I didn't know him as well as Dad did.

I focused back on the screens.

"You okay?" Dad asked him. "Let your food go cold. Mrs. Hudson'll pay hell."

"Not now, John," Sherlock waved him off. He squatted near the table, continuing his conversations with the women. I could see there was a common website: I DATED A GHOST.COM.

When asked to describe the man, the four women all said different things.

"He's stealing the identity of corpses," Sherlock whispered. I made a face. "Getting names from the Obituary columns. All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while. Free love nest."

A beep sounded from another laptop on a chair. I peeked to see that Tessa was now in on the conversation. How is he doing all this?

"Meanwhile, back to business," Sherlock muttered. "No-one wants to use a dead man's home. Least not until it's been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."

"But only for one night," Dad added. Sherlock turned to look at him. "Then he's gone."

"He's not a ghost, John. He's a mayfly. He lives for a day." His attention went back to the various chats with the women. "So—what was it he was looking for?"

Sherlock went to ask the women about their profession. All were different, like I'd expected them to be. He moved from laptop to laptop. "Obvious. You all work for the same person!" A few minutes later: "No, not the same employer. Damn. Come on. We can do this."

"Does he know we can hear him?" I whispered to Dad.

"Probably not."

"Does this happen often?"

"Not as much as you think. Normally he's quieter about it."

Sherlock then asked the women other questions: their ideal night out, their makeup, ideal man. All of them were different. What did Sherlock expect to find? Nothing seemed to be the same, except that they'd met at the mayfly's place.

"There's a unifying factor. There has to be." I shook my head as Sherlock was tuned into this. "None of you reported anything stolen. Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse. He's romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody's pecking order. Come on, think. Unless..." Sherlock went from one laptop to another, asking all of them the same question: "Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?"

All of them replied almost at the exact same time. No.

"Gotcha."

"What d'you mean?" Dad asked.

"Everyone has secrets, and they all replied too quickly."

But that was when things started to fall apart. Each screen was showing that the women were making a hasty exit, even Tessa. Sherlock shut one of the laptops, straightening up.

"Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?" Sherlock questioned.

"You're missing the obvious, mate," Dad told him.

"Am I?"

"He's a man."

Sherlock proceeded to shut each lid of every laptop present in 221B. "But why would he change his identity?"

"Maybe he's married," I proposed.

Something told me by Sherlock's posture that something clicked in his head.

~*~

*Present Day*

"Married. Obvious, really," Sherlock said.

I wasn't an expert on speeches, but this was the longest running one I'd ever heard. It could easily be a world record. It could also hold a record for being the most unique. After all, how many speeches included this stuff?

"Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity...and instead of endless nights in, watching the telly, or going to barbecues with awful, dreadful, boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise..." Sherlock finally took a chance to suck in a breath. "...to play the field. He was...On second thoughts, I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special—quite frankly, I still do."

I rolled my eyes.

"But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life."

I grinned.

"Trust me on that—I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways."

Sherlock held up his phone. "This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures," some of us chuckled, including me, "of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story—a bigger adventure." His gaze went to Dad and Mary. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."

As one, we followed Sherlock's commands by grabbing a glass and getting up out of our seats.

"Today begins the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us..."

My head turned as Sherlock stopped talking. I heard a few clicks and saw a few flashes of the photographer from the corner of my eye.

Sherlock's full glass of champagne slipped through his fingers, freefalling to the floor.

"...here today."

I blinked as I heard the glass smash. Sherlock picked up his head.

"Ooh, sorry. I..."

I felt a brief breeze as someone passed behind me to get to Sherlock.

"Another glass, sir?" they asked.

"Thank you, yes. Thank you, yes."

I leaned in to get a better look at Sherlock.

"Now, where were we?"

I stole a look at some of the guests, focusing on one table. Mrs. Hudson and Greg were like me, anxious. Bayley's brows were over his eyes, confused. My attention went back to Sherlock.

"Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you. And down again." He gestured for us all to sit down. Sherlock was the only one standing; he put down his new glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech—get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now..." I gasped as he catapulted himself over the table with one hand. "Part two."

I shot Dad a concerned look from across the table. Sherlock was now taking his slow time down the center aisle between the tables.

"Part two is more action-based. I'm going to...walk around, shake things up a bit. Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" Sherlock turned around as he was about two-thirds of the way down. "Well, everyone." I winced at the loud clap echo. "Weddings are great! Love a wedding."

I looked back at Dad again.

"Something's wrong," I mouthed to him. I looked back at Sherlock, now with terrified eyes.

"And John's great, too!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing to my father. "Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his...jumpers." Sherlock was pacing back and forth, making me even more nervous. "And he can cook. Does..a...thing...thing with peas...once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice...or somebody does.

"Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too many!" he exploded. Sherlock stopped, taking in a breath.

"Is he always like this?" Janine asked me. I didn't answer her.

"Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now...Where was I? Ah, yes...Speech!" He pointed towards our table. "Speech." He clapped his hands together once more. "Let's talk about...murder."

I closed my eyes briefly. This cannot be happening right now.

"Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage'—but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them is dead. In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!" Sherlock went to stand behind one of the male guests. "What about this one? Acceptably hot?"

I shot a questioning look at Janine. Was she using Sherlock as a matchmaker?

"More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket, or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone. Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek. They're already tremendously grateful—really put the hours in." Sherlock chuckled.

I messed with the double heart pendant on my neck.

"Geoff, the gents." Sherlock looked to Greg, jerking his head to the door. "The loos, now, please."

"It's Greg," he corrected Sherlock.

"The loos, please."

"Why?" Greg reached into his pocket.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your turn."

"Yeah, actually, now that you mention it..." Greg got to his feet.

"Sherlock," Dad interjected. "Any chance of a—an end date for this speech? Got to cut the cake."

I caught Greg leaving before I focused on Sherlock, who was dancing down the isle—not literally, though the sight would have been funny.

"Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once. Vatican Cameos."

"What did he say?" I heard Mary ask. "What's that mean?"

"Battle stations," Dad whispered. "Someone's going to die."