When she woke up the next morning, the curtains had been opened up. She didn't hear any noise in the bed above her. When she braced herself up to see who was still on the bed, no one was there. Quickly, she straightened her clothing and her hair before she went to find the other occupants of the home. The noise of John, Mycroft, Sherlock, Mummy Holmes, and Winston served as a good homing device for Irene.
The group was in the dining hall, conversing over a nicely prepared meal. If Irene wasn't about to abandon the group, she might have considered this her family. Mummy Holmes was the first to notice Irene's presence. "Oh, come sit," she urged Irene as she gestured to the table.
Irene joined them hesitantly, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. However, she did scan the table to see where Winston had ended up. He, of course, was in his grandmother's lap. She took some solace in the fact that Winston would have a female in his life. Despite Sherlock's stories of his mother's relative absence from most of his childhood, Irene still was comforted by the budding relationship between Winston and his grandmother. At least he would have some sort of a family once she was ousted from the Holmes estate.
Once breakfast was cleared from the table and conversation had died away, Irene slipped out of the dining room and retreated to the room to pack her few belongings. She knew that Sherlock was shipping her back to America, but wasn't sure what he had planned for her.
"I want you to get help," Sherlock's voice said from behind her.
"What sort of help, Mr. Holmes?" she asked stiffly.
"Psychological help. Mycroft has cleared your identity; Anne McKinnon has been legitimized as a British and American dual citizen. You won't have issues getting a steady job; he's arranged for that as well. You start in two weeks. I've done some investigating, and based on where you will be living, there are several psychiatrists who you should consider. But I am serious about you getting help."
"Why?"
"You're, for a lack of a better way of putting it, fucking insane."
She spun around and gaped at him. "Did Sherlock Holmes just curse?" she gasped.
"Oh, shut up. I've done it plenty of times before."
"But you've never sounded so crass when you've done it before. Now, I'm slightly offended by it."
"You should be. It wasn't a kind statement."
She didn't answer; her bags were her only focus at the moment. Fortunately, she hadn't had much time to unpack. Most of the work she was doing was unpacking Winston's things that had gotten packed in the same bags as her things. "One year."
"Must you be so cryptic?" Irene sighed.
"Let's see where you're at in one year. I'm sure I'll be running around after Winston, but I don't want you anywhere near London for one year. Once that year is up, we will reexamine where we are at and then decide from there what we will do."
"You make it sound like I have a say in the matter. All that I've heard you talk about are your plans and how I'm supposed to just go along with them."
"You will. I know you will. Of course, you do have the choice to completely walk away from the situation and live your life as you please. You do have that right. But, I know you won't walk away without just cause."
"You're using Winston as leverage."
"No, Irene. I'm holding you accountable for your actions. And since I can't really do anything else to right the situation, I am taking away the prize. Winston is involved, but his involvement is limited to just being the thing being taken away from you. You caused this, and now you have to figure out how to make it right given the circumstances."
She hated how rational Sherlock was being with this. He had only raised his voice to her a few times, but never in such a way that she was threatened by his actions. He was steady, calm, collected, and insufferably… justifiable. They were Yin and Yang: Sherlock the light, Irene the dark, with a spot of the other influencing the course of their lives. Irene knew that her life was now irrevocably intertwined with Sherlock's life, and knew that, despite her efforts to deny it, she respected him for how he was handling the dissemination of his life.
Their life, really. It really was their life now, with Winston as the center of it.
So, while there would probably never be any proclamations of love or adoration, probably be years of resentment and distrust from Sherlock, and immense amounts of disappointment and sadness, Irene knew that what he was offering her was the kindest form of punishment a human could give. He was asking her to leave so she could learn; he didn't want to destroy her life, he wanted her to pull it together. In his own way, he was showing sagacity and compassion. He recognized that she was simply a shell of the woman she had been when they first met, understanding what exhaustion that love and loss bring about in a human soul. Sherlock was, in a strange way, being her husband. He was serving his purpose as her husband in the sense that he was supporting her, helping her with her demons and helping her to become a better person.
But more importantly, he was being a father. Irene had always heard that men didn't really become fathers until after their child was born, while mothers became mothers the moment they learn of their child's existence. During the time that they had had Winston with them, only a matter of months, Irene had only felt mildly parental towards Winston, whilst Sherlock had taken to the job quite well. He would never admit that he enjoyed it, but Irene knew better. There was no way that a man like Sherlock would put up with a person for that long and integrate that person into his life if he didn't like them, regardless of their relation.
Which is why Irene looked Sherlock in the eye and nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."
"You will?"
"You want what is best for Winston. I want what is best for Winston, and I understand why you want me to do this. So, I will uphold my part of the bargain," she promised.
He drew in a breath. "Thank you," he stated simply before he left the room.
After Irene said goodbye to the necessary persons, she got into the hired car, and was shortly on a plane back to America, back to the drawing board of her life to get everything figured out. She knew a few things for certain: she would be a divorcee by the end of the year came around, she would be in a better place psychologically, and most importantly, she would get to see her little boy again. That would have to be enough to get her through.