Chapter One:
Irene seemed perfectly relaxed, sitting with her legs kicked up over the arm of the chair whilst her back lent against the opposite side. She wore a coat, a black, coat, nothing more except for those black slip on shoes which I'd found necessary to point out to her since we were walking. Of course she'd just wear the coat with nothing under it because she was Irene; Irene did these things because she was Irene. But this was different, this was The Coat, this was his coat. Irene had deemed it suitable to wear here.
"It's a story between Mr Holmes and me." Irene had told me as we'd left the squander we'd now been reduced to living in.
I'd rolled my eyes, grinning slightly.
"Please. Spare me the details. I already know them."
Dr John Watson had seemed surprised when Irene had turned up on the door, probably because she was suppose to be dead but as Irene always said, what was death between friends?
He was now serving us coffee, a nasty type of coffee but coffee all the same. I'd been cooped up for a while, I needed to do this.
Electric shaver, not shaven in a couple of days. I couldn't help it, it was an automatic analysis. Coffee spilt on the opening of his jumper and just slopped liberally down his front, wasn't paying attention, to Sherlock? No, that's a ladies perfume I smell. A date then? No, he'd be self assured if it was a date, most army men were, and from what I'd heard about John Watson he certainly was then. A crush then? Yes, recent coffee stains on the chair say the meeting was right here, today, but nobody comes here by the own choice so the lady in question must be interested in Sherlock. John does not know this yet, believing her to be interested in him. Poor bloke.
"So, when's Sherlock getting here?" Irene asked John pleasantly, perfectly at ease even as her eyes shifted restlessly to me every few seconds to check I was ok. I gave her a reassuring nod.
John shrugged.
"Not entirely sure. He's with Mrs Hudson."
"You're supposed to be dead." Came a flat, unemotional voice as Sherlock banged open the door and saw Irene sitting there in his coat.
"Darling, you know I'm not dead. Have dinner with me?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him temptingly.
"Not a chance. And he doesn't know you're alive."
"Well, he does now." Irene laughed.
Sherlock pursed his lips.
"Stupid woman with an inferior mind." I thought I heard him mutter.
Time to bring in the big guns, I though.
"Yes, that can be quite tiresome can't it?" I smiled sweetly at him as he raised his eyes to me. "Imagine me, living between her and three other stupid brothers, honestly, it was hell on earth. At least Irene bothered to try and catch up with me."
Sherlock's eyes shifted to Irene, who shrugged.
"I did, though she still says she finds be tiresomely boring."
John snorted.
"He says that to me all the time." John told us, jerking a thumb at Sherlock. Sherlock cut his eyes to him and glared but didn't say anything.
"Who's she?" He asked instead.
"Don't you know?" I batted my eyelashes innocently.
"Miss Adler."
I shook my head, staring at him from across the room.
"Wrong. You looked at the label at the back of my jacket, good guess but not quite right. You presumed the tightness around the arms was because I wanted to keep up the vague delusion that I was slim, but that's not right either. I borrowed a jacket off Irene, see, just to see how good you are. Obviously not that good."
John gaped at me whilst Sherlock silently looked at me.
"Half sister of Irene then, not full sister."
I inclined my head.
"Good guess."
"You look like her."
"Now that's a lie."
"Ten years younger than her."
"Make that seven."
"Support her through thick and thin? Admire her."
"Yes, but do look down on her academic skills. So boring."
"So, what, half on your mothers side?"
"Yes."
"And three brothers on your fathers."
"So clever of you."
"Boyfriend you're deeply involved with?"
"Not that deeply. He still doesn't know my real name."
"But you like to pretend that you are."
"It brings him and his brothers back to me, and therefore back to Irene."
"So, they've got high power jobs."
"Now, that would be telling."
"Why? Do you bed them? Is that why they keep coming back to you?"
"No."
"Virgin."
"It's the best thing to be."
"At twenty."
"You're twenty eight."
"I'm not a virgin."
"A blow job in university does not count, Sherlock."
Irene glanced across our verbal battle to grin at John's astounded face.
"Looks like we've both got one, doesn't it?" She grinned.
John nodded, glancing between us like he was watching a tennis match.
"Maybe we should meet up later and swap notes." Irene giggled. "It'd save us a lot of time."
At that, John chuckled half heartedly.
"That was interesting. You are like me. But with a lower intellect."
"A higher one, actually, and you have the social skills of gnat."
"And how do I know you don't?"
"I'm related to Irene."
"You're bigger then her."
"Fatter, actually, but it does look like you've got at least some tact."
"Don't hold your breath." John coughed and we both glanced at him.
"Well, that was fun. But now i find your presence here boring. Please leave."
Sherlock started to stride away when Irene called out to him.
"She is like you, Sherlock. My baby sister. You never asked her name."
"I don't need to know it."
"It's Kathleen Arcile."
"Why would I want to know this?"
"Because she knows a lot of things, Sherlock. Things she shouldn't know. A lot of people are after her."
"Then make her vanish. You've done it enough times."
"But now she needs proper protection."
"What do I have to do about this?"
Irene smiled hugely.
"Nothing at all. She's just going to live with you."