In a relationship. Sherlock Holmes. In a relationship with Irene Adler. A long-term relationship. John could hardly believe his ears.
He shifted back in his seat. He hadn't realized until then he had been on the edge of it. "So you two...are boyfriend and girlfriend?"
Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes as though he were suffering from a bad case of migraine. "Really John. You'd think I'd endow myself and Irene with such low labels?"
Irene. That was the first time John heard Sherlock speak of her name. Not Ms. Adler, not even The Woman, but Irene.
If he had doubts about the seriousness of their relationship, he didn't now. "For how long has this been going on?"
Sherlock and Irene both spoke at once. "Five years."
"Actually, four years, eleven months and three days," Sherlock corrected.
"We broke up briefly a year ago," Irene offered.
John saw Sherlock's jaw muscles tighten. "She was seeing other people."
"Clients," Irene corrected.
"Other people."
John watched in silence as Irene and Sherlock locked gazes. There were unspoken words between them, a strange sort of friendly but provoking banter.
John held his breath until Irene spoke.
"I seem to recall you seeing someone else. That Janine girl. A rather public romance I might say."
"It was hardly romance. She was a source of information."
"She was another woman."
"You did it first."
"I did it because it was my job."
"So did I."
Silence. Again, with the battle of the gazes, John thought, and released a deliberate cough to get their attention. "So you two have been shagging each other in secret all this time?"
"Dear Lord John, could you not use that term?" Sherlock said with a grimace. "It's so demeaning."
"So what have you two been doing then?" John gave them both a tight smile. "Having sex? Banging each other? Playing hide the salami? Or...making love?
Irene and Sherlock both looked startled, their intense blue eyes so full of alarm, John couldn't help but be amused. For two people who have admitted to being sentimental enough to commit to a relationship, they were still very much flustered when it came to the 'L' word.
Sherlock was the first to regain a semblance of composure. "W-We've been engaging in s-sexual intercourse as per the norm between two people who are in a c-committed relationship."
John chuckled inwardly. He felt a strange sort of satisfaction at hearing Sherlock stammer. This was only the second time he became witness to that, the first being after Irene had said 'Brainy is the new sexy'.
Then, another realization hit him. "Hold on. You said you've been seeing each other on and off for the past five years. Which means..." John's eyes widened. Not again! "She knew! She knew you were alive. You were shagging her while you were pretending to be dead!"
"John, really. Must you always go back to using that crude term?" Sherlock shook his head. "And yes, of course she knew. Where do you think I got most of my information about Moriarty's network?"
Annoyed? Angry? Frustrated? Betrayed? John wasn't sure what he was feeling. His best friend had made him believe he was dead for two years while close to thirty other people were apparently aware he was not.
John turned his attention to Irene. Not surprisingly, his mood was still foul, even more so when he recalled an incident the year before. "If you're in such a committed relationship, why didn't you do anything when Sherlock was using in that crack den?"
"Dr. Watson, I actually do not reside in London," Irene explained in a bored manner, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. On hindsight, it was, John thought. "Sherlock and I visit each other from time to time. But to answer your question, no, I didn't do anything because I wasn't there when he was in the throes of his addiction. I couldn't. He had broken up with me at that point."
"Because of those other people," Sherlock inserted. It was obvious to John now that the ice dripping in Sherlock's voice was jealousy.
"Clients," Irene reiterated. "Over three years, we've been seeing each other and he never really set rules and boundaries. How was I to know continuing my line of work would upset him so much?"
"So you two broke up...and that's why Sherlock turned to drugs again?" John nodded. He had to admit it actually made sense. "And exactly when did you get back together?"
"After Mary shot me. Irene came to visit me in the hospital."
"Wait, what?" John was once again, floored. And just when he thought he had already gotten the hang of the day's surprises. "No, she didn't. She couldn't have."
Both Irene and Sherlock looked at John, their heads leaning towards each other, a pair of self-satisfied smiles on their faces.
John had to take a moment to cool his head down. These two can be so arrogant, he thought. "Okay. How?"
Sherlock, as always, began explaining away. "As ever John, you see but you do not observe. In my hospital room I was surrounded by flowers from well-wishers and yet there was one conspicuously placed in my direct line of sight: a lone red-rose on a table with a card that said 'W' using the font from Irene's website and a cut out of the pattern from her website background, which also happens to be the wallpaper of her bedroom in her Belgravia flat. Then there's the simple fact that in the state I had been in, it would have been impossible for me to escape unaided. And who better to assist me in escaping through the window than someone who already has experience on the matter?"
John held up a hand. "Wait...you're saying...Irene Adler got you out of the hospital?"
It was Irene who answered this time. "Why do you think no one could find him in his usual bolt-holes until he planted one for your wife? Who do you think suggested Leinster Gardens and set up the projector?"
"He was still gravely injured!" John fumed. "He could've died."
"I know." Irene nodded, then gave John a smile. "But you of all people should know there's no arguing with Sherlock Holmes once he's determined to do something."
"Indeed, there is not," John sighed, and despite himself, found a bit of amusement creep back in his voice. It was still all so strange, learning about Sherlock and Irene (he still wished he hadn't found out the way he did though), but he'll be damned if he says he wasn't happy. He'd always been a romantic, and even back then, he thought how perfect these two crazy people were for each other. "And you two have gotten back together? What about your job, Ms. Adler?"
"If you must know, I'm no longer in the sex trade." Irene twirled a finger around her hair. "One thing you learn about relationships Dr. Watson is that sometimes you have to make sacrifices."
John almost laughed. "Fancy this. Irene Adler, giving me relationship advice."
"You'd be surprised," Sherlock commented. The pride in his friend's voice didn't escape John, and he had to hold back from smiling widely.
He turned to Irene again. "Where do you work now, if I may ask?"
"She works for me."
The voice made John's breath catch. It wasn't Irene's. It wasn't Sherlock's. It had come from the door leading to the sitting room—a dry, deadpan voice so familiar, he was almost afraid to look.
Even more surprising was that all the colour had drained from Sherlock's face, his wide eyes turned towards whoever was at the door.
For the first time that day since being caught in bed with Irene Adler, Sherlock Holmes was in a state of utter shock.
John finally turned and sure enough, saw the proud form of Mycroft Holmes, the expression on his face like a cat who just got into the creamery.