The Impossible – Irene/Sherlock/Molly – 846 words
"That's… not… possible," John gaped at the woman sitting in Sherlock's lap. The Woman Woman! "You're dead!" John pointed an accusatory finger at Irene as he took another step into the apartment. "You're dead. You're supposed to be dead. Mycroft said you were dead!"
"Mycroft was wrong," Sherlock piqued, obviously enjoying saying the words.
"Indeed he was," Irene purred, watching the shocked doctor with laughter in her eyes.
"Why are you here?" John asked, dropping down into his chair across from Sherlock and Irene as he made a valiant effort to recover from his shock. "And why are you sitting in Sherlock Holmes' lap?!"
Irene opened her mouth to answer, but Sherlock gripped her wrist lightly and she looked at him silently as he answered, "That's a… bit of a long story."
"I have time to hear it, I promise. I'll make the time to hear it."
"Not yet," Sherlock requested.
John raised his eyebrows, asking, "Why not?"
"Because we're waiting on a third person."
"Is Mycroft coming?"
"No," Sherlock snorted, saying in amusement, "He's still at home with his secretary and the prime minister, sulking over just how wrong he was."
"His secretary and the prime minister?" John repeated.
Still grinning, Sherlock replied absently, "His spouses."
"Mycroft is married?!"
"Lots of people are married," Irene murmured under her breath, and John could've sworn Sherlock pinched the dominatrix.
Judging by the way the woman grinned, he probably had. But… "No!" John cried, cussing colorfully as he was suddenly hit with the thought that maybe – "No!" Sherlock and Irene both raised amused eyebrows at him, and he asked carefully, an edge to his voice, "Who else?"
"'Who else' what?" someone asked from the entryway, and John turned to see Molly Hooper standing there as she shrugged her coat off.
John pointed towards Sherlock, asking irately, "Did you know that Sherlock Holmes was married?"
"He is married," Irene corrected absently, obviously enjoying the drama in the reveal.
"To you - and who else?!" John snapped.
"Oh," Molly whispered, slowly starting to back out the door.
Irene purred, "Oh, don't go, darling! I've just arrived, and I've so missed you and Sherlock both!"
"What?!" John demanded, turning back to Molly again from his chair. "Nope." He shook his head sharply. "Nope, I refuse to believe this one. Sherlock Holmes is not a married man, and even if he is, it's certainly not to two women!"
"Why not?" Molly asked curiously.
"Because-Because… Because he's him! He's Sherlock Holmes, and marriage does not suit Sherlock Holmes!"
"Actually it suits me quite well; thank you for the concern, though," Sherlock said cheerfully.
"Marriage to Irene and Molly?"
"Yup."
"And Molly and Irene are married to each other?"
"That's the way triad marriage works, isn't it?" Molly asked cheerfully.
"How did this happen?"
Irene hummed thoughtfully, Sherlock arched an eyebrow, and Molly inhaled deeply.
"What?" John asked hesitantly.
"We just helped each other, really," Molly offered hesitantly.
"Is that how you would put it, darling?" Irene asked, "Because I was going to start the story off with blackmail twice over."
"But it doesn't really begin there," Sherlock objected.
Irene looked at him a little apologetically. "Oh, but it does."
"Really, I'd say it began in Buckingham Palace – and we can even blame Mycroft, if we want. You were even there with me for that part, John."
"Well then, really," Molly pitched in. "We'd have to say it started in St. Bart's before John was even in the picture – when you and I met, Sherlock."
"No, no, no," Sherlock shook his head. "Molly, let's not kid ourselves. You and I were never truly a couple until we shagged at your place when I died, were we?"
"But Molly and I met before that," Irene reminded Sherlock. "When I blackmailed her into helping me with the original autopsy where you identified my body by 'not my face.'" She shot Molly a sympathetic look, declaring, "I felt so bad for her then, being in love with such an oblivious troll as you."
"I'm not a troll! Nor was I oblivious to love! I caught on when you fell in love with me, didn't I?" Sherlock objected haughtily. "And are we really inferring that our triad started with you two, even though I interacted frequently with both of you long before you interacted with each other?"
"You 'inferred' that, Sherlock," Molly pointed out, finally, slowly, gaining enough confidence to step further into the flat and start to drag a chair over to the area where the others were sitting.
"Oh, don't bother with that thing!" Irene objected, patting Sherlock's knee with a grin. "Come share my chair."
Molly smiled, forsaking the chair where it was as she settled lightly on Sherlock's other knee instead. Her husband kissed her on the cheek in a belated greeting, and then Irene did too.
"Nope," John repeated, unable to make heads or tails of the story the trio had brokenly attempted to tell. "I'm not seeing this. It's not possible."
"But it is," Sherlock replied.
Molly added cheerfully, "And we're glad!"