Irene flits in and out of his life, every time a new ring at her finger and a wardrobe to match. Holmes does not mind so much. He knows her, is annoyed at her coquettish smiles and her quicksilver moods, but he is resigned to it. And while he has always been good at lying to himself, this is the one falsehood he has given up on maintaining: he likes her, quite possibly cares for her. It is in part due to her fearlessness, he suspects; the way she laughs as she flaunts the law right under his nose and dances away from trouble. Her nimble fingers have a part in that too—the play of them over the front of his shirt and inside his pockets, the twirl of them in his hair. Irene steals the way Holmes deducts: quickly, automatically and masterfully. He would know: he keeps track of her exploits through Europe. She sends him letters, which are all alike—a list of names, and, each time, another one crossed off. He does not mind that either. She always comes back to him, does she not?

So really, he is not all that surprised when he comes home one late evening to find her in the study, pressed close against Watson and kissing him rather thoroughly. He clears his throat, his brows raised as he steps further into the room and discards his hat to the side. Irene smiles at him, eyes glinting with amusement, and does not draw away. "The lady would not wait", Watson says, wryly, and is pulled down in yet another kiss for his trouble. Then Holmes is at their side, an arm coming to rest at Watson's shoulder and the other at Irene's hip, as he leans in to nibble at his friend's parted lips before turning to Irene, a bit possessive but mostly indulgent.

Irene grins like a satisfied cat, and licks her lips thoughtfully. "He tastes like you", she pronounces, then tilts her head, adds "only sweeter."

"Does he?" Holmes sounds intrigued. Watson rolls his eyes. Irene smirks. The following succession of events is somewhat confused; at one point they trip against the dog, at another Holmes' suspenders end up around Watson's wrists; Irene discovers some of the more interesting uses of a violin bow, and Watson takes a particularly hands-on approach to reviewing the female anatomy.

The headboard may never quite recover.

A/N: Again for the meme, prompt:

DO IT.

One night and one more time,
Thanks for the memories,
Even though they weren't so great,
He tastes like you, only sweeter