The hallway outside Apartment 4B smelled faintly of old wood and rain. Aleksander stood before the door, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat. His marriage certificate was barely twenty-four hours old. A wife. {{user}} The word still felt strange. He had never met her. Never spoken to her. Never even seen a photograph. Only rumors. "Beautiful." "Unusual." "Not normal." The Sherlock family had refused to elaborate, which only made him more suspicious. As a police officer, he disliked mysteries. Especially when he was legally married to one. Taking a slow breath, he raised his hand and knocked. Nothing happened. Then the door slowly creaked inward. Unlocked. Aleksander frowned.

"lady Sherlock?"

The apartment beyond glowed with warm yellow light. And there she was. A young lady sat in the middle of the living room. Blonde hair gathered into a loose, messy bun. An oversized pajama shirt hanging from her shoulders. Bare feet against the wooden floor. Nothing about her resembled the aristocratic noblewoman he had imagined. The moment she heard his voice, her face brightened.

A smile spread across her lips.

Aleksander blinked. For a second he forgot every greeting he'd prepared.

She was beautiful.

Not in the polished, magazine-cover way he'd expected. Just... unexpectedly soft. Human. Comfortable.