The magical entrance immediately drew cheers from the wedding guests. They first cried out in surprise, then quickly began clapping in time with the rhythmic bursts of sparks, until the explosions had ceased entirely and four newlywed couples appeared on the red carpet between the rows of pews.
They're finally here... Monica, the travel writer, stopped discussing those vaguely familiar novel plots with Alesu. Her gaze swept through the slowly dissipating smoke, taking in the eight men and women getting married today, and she was surprised to discover that she knew most of them.
Closest to her, and also nearest the altar, were Sherlock, the young private detective who had concluded that the church mural theft involved "inhuman actions" two days earlier, and his female assistant, Irene.
He looked completely different from his usual unkempt self. Most of the thick beard along Sherlock's jaw and upper lip, which had made his face look overly mature, had been carefully shaved away, leaving only a faint, even layer of dark stubble that accentuated his youthful features. His signature plano glasses still rested on his nose, but their frames had been replaced with a more refined gold-rimmed pair. In place of his trench coat, he wore a well-tailored white wing-collar shirt and a silver jacquard waistcoat. A gold watch chain emerged beneath his collar and looped toward his left breast pocket. Below were brown trousers that exposed half his ankles and black leather shoes.
Standing right beside him was the female assistant who loved to argue and trade barbs with him, yet displayed astonishing concentration and rapport the moment they began working. Irene's slender figure, usually hidden beneath loose everyday dresses, was now gently enveloped in an immaculate white wedding gown. Its long skirt was simple and elegant, adorned with delicate lace and