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Marriage was something too much sentimental for someone like himself, Sherlock thought while standing on the balcony of an hotel room in some uknown corner of the world where Moriarty's network had managed to get to. The whole idea of marriage was so much illogical for him to understand it; it litterally made no sense: it was just an expense of money that didn't change things in any way. Not that he cared about money, coming from a rich family had its advantages, but for many it wasn't like it was for him. But he had gotten married, he remembered while looking into the early morning sky: the sun had not risen yet but you could still see some of its light. And he was currently "enjoying his honeymoon" as one would put it. Maybe fighting an intertnational crime web scattered all across the world wasn't the common idea of a honeymoon, but he wasn't even remotly thinking of becoming a "normal" person, like John. He would have had a church marriage, a big party, and a romantic honeymoon with his wife. Who knows what John was doing now. Maybe he was still crying over his death, like he was doing when Sherlock left London; maybe he had got over it, went on with his life and a limp on his leg. If he died during this journey he would never know...Suddently he felt someone hugging him from behind. He turned to see his Woman, his chemical defect. -Still thinking about John? I'm sure he's fine, what could happen to him, especially after your "death"? Or should I be jealuos?- Irene asked him. He felt confused: she never acted that way, all this care and sentiment did not belong to her nature. Before he could think of an answer, she continued:-Don't worry,soon it will be over and you'll come back to London, to the life you belong to.-.-Should I be happy or sad about that?- He said, more to himself than to Irene: he would be glad of going back home, but he would certainly miss his Woman. They had gotten so close to each other over that year and a half, and he couldn't think of how he would have coped without her. -By the way, why are you so sentilmental? You know I consider that a weakness and a disadvantage-. Evidently Irene expected that question, because she quickly answered-Then why did you marry me? And probably it's just early morning sentimentalism, don't worry-.Sherlock didn't know how to answer to that, or maybe he just didn't want to, so he looked outside, at the now beautiful dawn, at the still pale raising sun, and hugged his wife, softly whispering in her ear:-Maybe I've got a bit of that morning sentimentalism too.-.