The woman returns
A/N: Hello everybody, thanks for reading! I am a big 'Sherlock' fan, and when I found out that season four wasn't coming until at least 2016, I wanted to write my own ideas down to help me through. And, when I heard that Irene Adler would be coming back, this came to mind. It's taken me a while to get this much done, and it is still a work in progress. However, as I am not Steven or Mark, I will have trouble coming up with appropriate methods of deduction and analysis as well as keeping the content itself as close to cannon as possible, though I will do my best to do the series and our fandom proud. Please enjoy my story, and constructive criticism is appreciated.
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Chapter 1: 'It's been a long time.'
Sherlock wanted to run. But he wasn't going to. The sound of children screaming filled the air and he felt his stomach turn.
How could people stand this?
But, Sherlock had promised John…
"Sherlock?"
He looked up to see Mary sit down at the picnic table while another scream cut the air as what could only be described as a horde of children scrambled for sweets, threw water balloons at each other or jumped, trying to pop the many bubbles floating over the park lawn.
"If you're getting a headache, I don't blame you," Mary whispered sympathetically, "it's hard enough with one."
Sherlock removed his fingertips from his temple slowly, accepting the drink Mary held out for him. Orange juice. Store bought, cheap and over processed, but a welcome distraction nonetheless.
"Who came up with the idea for these things?" Sherlock asked the wife of his best friend.
"Birthday parties?" Mary clarified, "No idea."
"But what's the point?" Sherlock pressed. "You get another year older, so what? My parents tried to give me birthday parties. I hated it every year."
Mary smiled at the man she now considered a member of her family.
"It's a milestone," Mary tried to give her opinion. "Children grow up so fast, so we need to celebrate their birthdays. In a few years, Rhiannon may not even want a party, so we need to make memories while we can."
Sherlock made a non-committal sound through his nose as he watched the three year old girl on her father's shoulders, trying to catch bubbles, which of course was impossible, as they'd pop the instant her fingers made contact, but still, the girl continued to try.
"Okay, time to cut the cake!"
Sherlock moved out of the way quickly as a stampede raced towards the tables.
"What is that?" Sherlock asked slowly as the cake was carefully placed before Rhiannon Watson, who looked so excited, Sherlock thought she'd have a heart attack at only three years old.
"It's a birthday cake," John answered patiently as he lit the candles.
"It's pink," Sherlock commented.
"Well, Rhiannon likes pink," John answered. "We had this made especially for her."
"But she doesn't like pink, she likes green," Sherlock insisted. "Didn't you see her room this morning? On the walls: Every drawing she had done of herself was done using a green crayon or pencil, which means–"
"Shut up, Sherlock," John said quickly.
"Sorry," the consulting detective lowered his eyes, realizing he'd done something wrong.
"I like green," Rhiannon piped up, but upon seeing her dad's face, added, "and pink."
"Brilliant," John mumbled.
"Time to sing 'Happy Birthday," Mary announced.
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Mary carried her daughter through the door of their home while John followed, carrying all the birthday presents.
"I'm getting a bit worried about Sherlock," Mary told her husband as she put their sleeping girl to bed.
"Me too," John answered as he placed the birthday presents on the floor of his daughter's room, "his present was not what I expected."
"It was silly putty," Mary recalled, wondering what was so strange. "Sherlock even made it himself, didn't know he could. And it was green."
"He started to explain how he did it, but I cut him off," John explained quietly as they shut Rhiannon's bedroom door. "But seriously: homemade silly putty?"
"What's wrong with silly putty?" Mary asked. "Rhiannon loved it."
"Exactly," John answered. "One time, Sherlock gave me a copy of an essay he'd written for my birthday, about suppressed hatred in the company of others. He'd based it on my friends."
John's head shot up as he heard a chuckle, and turned in time to see his wife slap a hand across her mouth.
"Sorry," Mary apologised as she lowered her hand.
"Sherlock has always had trouble when it comes to things like this," John continued slowly.
"But Sherlock did amazingly well for our wedding day," Mary reminded her husband fondly, and John couldn't help but smile at how his friend had moved everyone at the reception with his speech before averting a murder.
"And that's another thing," John continued. "Sherlock hates social gatherings, he'd do everything he could to avoid them usually, yet he accepts an invitation to a three year old's birthday party? He never came to my birthdays."
"Not just any three year old," Mary qualified, "Rhiannon's birthday party. Sherlock tries so hard for the people he loves, even when he doesn't fully understand the point of something as trivial to him as a party."
"So you're not surprised that he came today?" John asked.
"No, I'm not," Mary answered, before taking a breath. "Although, it is one of the reasons why I'm worried about him."
"What do you mean?" John asked, pausing in his pacing to sit beside his wife on the couch.
Mary bit her lip, considering how to phrase her next words.
"You said that Sherlock tries to avoid social gatherings, even when it was your own birthday?"
"Yes," John nodded slowly.
Mary sighed.
"When did the two of you last do a case together?"
John let out a breath, closing his eyes as he saw what his wife was getting at.
"He misses you," Mary said softly as she met her husband's gaze. "He's on his own now, he's lonely. He updates your blog now, hoping you'll spot a case you want to help him on."
John lowered his eyes. He had to admit, he'd been missing Sherlock too. 'The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the world…'
John smiled.
"It was the two of us against the world, "John said reminiscently. " But now I have you, and Rhiannon."
"But who does Sherlock have?" Mary asked.
"He still has me," John insisted. "He has all of us."
"But not as much as he used to," Mary reminded him gently. "And I know you miss it too."
"Alright," John smiled as he stood up. "I'll go have a shower, then I'll go visit him."
Mary smiled. "He'll be happy to see you," she said proudly before becoming thoughtful for a moment.
"What?" John asked curiously.
Mary shook her head, shrugging slightly.
"You've made me happier than I ever thought I could be," Mary told John lovingly, and John could feel the smile spreading across his face. "I was just wondering, if there could be someone who could do that for Sherlock. He deserves to be happy too."
"Ah," John raised his eyebrows before clearing his throat. "Sherlock has given the impression, on more than one occasion, that something like love is beyond him."
"He loves us," Mary insisted.
"That's different," John countered. "We're different."
"We're special," Mary agreed, "so, if he met someone special…"
"There is only one person I can think of," John said slowly, "that could come close to being 'special' to Sherlock Holmes."
"Really?" Mary sat up straighter on the couch, curious. "Who?"
"Irene Adler," John answered after a pause.
"Irene Adler," Mary repeated as she cast her mind back… "Wait," she said slowly, "she's…"
"Yeah," John nodded.
"The woman you mentioned on your blog?" Mary finished. "The one who 'nearly brought the country to it's knees' and is on a witness protection scheme?"
"That's the one," John nodded. Then he swallowed. "But… she's not on a witness protection scheme," he admitted. "that's just what I told Sherlock."
A small frown formed between Mary's brows in concern. "Why? What really happened?"
John sat back down on the couch. Mycroft had told him this in a crowded café, so John saw no reason why he couldn't tell his wife.
"She's dead," he explained slowly. "She was captured in Karachi and beheaded."
"Oh my god," Mary whispered. "Poor Sherlock."
"Well, she was a world class criminal, "John granted. " She'd made a lot of enemies. Sherlock can't even say her name now, just: 'The Woman'. Mycroft thought it may be a salute to the 'one woman who matters'."
"But you still told Sherlock she was on witness protection, even though you thought he hated her," Mary took her husband's hand fondly. "You did the right thing, love."
"Still," John granted slowly, "If Sherlock did feel anything for Irene Adler, I doubt it'll happen again any time soon."
"Which is why you need to go see him," Mary pushed her husband off the couch. "Go have a shower then head to Baker Street. That's an order, Captain Watson."
"Yes Ma'am," John saluted, chuckling.
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Sherlock got out of the cab, trying to clear his head of the sound of the children's shrieks. Still, the joy on John and Mary's faces as they watched their young daughter playing with her friends couldn't be discounted. He quirked a smile. John and Mary were happy. They deserved it.
Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a couple of sweets that Rhiannon had given him. The girl hadn't liked the blue jelly beans, so had given them to Sherlock. Popping them into his mouth, Sherlock winced slightly at the overwhelming sweetness. Why would people give children this stuff? He wondered as he opened the door to Baker Street. Walking up the familiar steps, Sherlock thought he'd spend the remainder of the day working on that experiment involving the blood samples he'd swiped from Bart's, when something stopped him in his tracks.
The door to his flat was closed before him, yet he'd distinctly remembered leaving it open when he'd left earlier that day.
He supposed that it could have been Mrs Hudson, who was currently out, but he knew that it wasn't her.
It was the perfume that told him that.
The smell was faint, but etched in his memory. At the back of his mind, Sherlock could hear the music from his violin as he composed.
Slowly, Sherlock reached out and opened the door to his flat.
Stepping over the threshold, the detective's eyes were immediately drawn to the woman sitting in his chair.
But not just any woman.
The Woman.
"Hello Sherlock, Dear," Irene Adler greeted. "It's been a long time."
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A/N: So, what do you think? Please review!
Those of you who have read my other stories know that I like sharing my theories and I remember reading somewhere (I think it was Wikipedia) that one 'spin off' from the original stories had Sherlock and Irene having a son, Nero, who grew up to follow his father's footsteps in being a detective. Now, with the series showing John and Mary having a child, as well as showing just how committed Sherlock is to those he loves, as well as being good with kids in 'the sign of three' (I admit I am concerned with that kid, Archie, being so enthusiastic with seeing murders though) I can totally see Sherlock and Irene being together and having a child at some point. They are both separate from normal society and they challenge and intrigue each other, with very interesting chemistry. And Sherlock has proven on more than one occasion that he can care about others while still doing his work, so why not?
