The Woman and the Doctor
Disclaimer: I don't own the series Sherlock or any of the characters based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I make no $$ from this.
Summary: John is about leave Irene alone with Sherlock.
Warnings: none, really. Just hints of one-sidde Irene+Sherlock and John+Sherlock if you really squint.
John isn't quite sure if he trusts Irene, but he doesn't object to her staying with them so long as Sherlock doesn't complain (he did say she is a client). Since cracking the code from the MoD official on her phone, Sherlock has resigned himself into his armchair as he enters his Mind Palace. John surmises that he's probably trying to figure out what the encryption means because there's certainly more than what the code is itself.
"Well, I'm going to head out," he says, slipping on his jacket because its useless to stay in the flat, doing nothing, when Sherlock retreats into his thoughts. Sherlock is staring into nothing, violin in his limp hands, and Irene is sitting in John's usual armchair, watching Sherlock with something akin to admiration and fascination (much the way he himself does, he notes with a frown). John was relegated to the couch early on, and he knows he shouldn't feel jealous or upset about it, but Irene's making herself much too comfortable. She's wearing Sherlock's favorite dressing gown, the silky navy blue one. Sherlock didn't mind when she found it in his room and slipped it on, though Sherlock has no sense of personal property. The madman uses John's belongings all the time without permission, as if he owns them.
"Ok," Irene says offhandedly.
"Umm, there's not much food here, so err, just beware of what's edible and what's not." Irene looks at him.
"I'll be careful." She turns back to Sherlock, tilting her head curiously. "What's he doing? It's like he's not even here."
John checks his pockets to make sure he has his keys, mobile and wallet. "He does that when he's in his Mind Palace."
"'Mind Palace'?" she echoes thoughtfully. "Wonder what he keeps in there."
"Relevant things," John replies before he can stop himself. "Sherlock things." She laughs.
"You know him well, don't you?" she asks, clearly implying what everyone implies upon meeting him and Sherlock (though its not the first time she's done it). He rolls his eyes, not deigning to reply because it's useless. She looks at him and smiles. "Definitely a couple. I'm jealous." She turns her attention back to Sherlock.
John wonders why she's shown up here in 221B. Sherlock's been obsessed with cracking the code on her phone. When he wasn't on a case, he was trying to unlock its contents. It was hard to read Sherlock when he discovered Irene was dead, but John did notice the increase in morose violin music at three in the morning. John doesn't think that Sherlock is remotely capable of romantic love, and there is no special treatment he is giving Irene. She's a client, a very intelligent one, and John can't help this nagging feeling that's telling him she's up to something. However, despite this, he feels that he and Irene have something in common. 'Look at us both,' she said. They're both sensitive to Sherlock's gravity, and for that, John doesn't believe that she wants to cause him malicious harm.
"Don't be," he says with a sigh. "Just, if he asks," - because he knows Sherlock will ask - "tell him I'll be out for a bit. When he's like this it's as if reality is on pause for him and he won't even realize that I've been missing for hours."
She hums in understanding, though she's not paying much attention to him, her eyes trained on Sherlock. "Of course. Take your time." Her tone is completely suggestive, and John shifts uncomfortably. He glances at Sherlock then at Irene, feeling as if he's leaving a lamb with a lioness (except that's a horrible analogy because Sherlock is more than capable of taking care of himself and, so far, has avoided Irene's sexual undertones and overtones).
John doesn't give it a second thought and walks out, leaving the door to the sitting room wide open. Mrs. Hudson always lets herself in whenever it's open.
Just came to me while watching Scandal for the 10000000th time.