Chapter Thirty-Six

"I had heard Sherlock was playing house," Irene said, a tiny smirk playing on her lips. "I had to see for myself."

"I think we're a bit past playing," Violet replied, resisting the urge to pull the other woman's hair from her head. "We married months ago."

"Congratulations." Irene's eyes widened in false enthusiasm. "You must be very happy."

"What do you want?" Violet asked again. She most definitely did not want that woman in her home, much less wearing her husband's dressing gown.

"I told you. Have you forgotten already?" The words coming from Irene's mouth oozed false concern, grating on Violet's waning patience.

"We both know that can't possibly be the only reason. If it was, you'd have come when you knew Sherlock would be home, not when he's out on a case."

An amused curl of the lip slipped out before Irene sighed. "I owe Sherlock, for saving my life, you know. He went all the way-"

"Yes, he saved you from terrorists who had very understandable reasons for killing you," Violet interrupted. "It was terribly romantic, and you've been unable to think of another man since. Now, back to why you're here."

"Well, I have half a mind not to tell you after that," Irene huffed, not used to being cut off (or, dare she say it, dismissed) by anyone. Other than Sherlock, of course.

"Then why waste the time to come here? Tell me just what it is you think you know so you can leave." Violet fixed the other woman with a very determined glare, which the other simply returned. "Or I can take it from you, and you'll leave, anyway."

"It's rather rude to read one's mind, you know."

"It's far ruder to enter one's home and wear one's husband's dressing gown, but here we are."

"Hmm. Anyway, there are some whispers, within a certain group of people, about a boy. A boy living with Sherlock Holmes, and it would seem that there are people after him. People who may want to kill him."

"This is nothing new to either me or Sherlock," Violet said dismissively, though her heart froze at the thought of someone trying to kill Harry.

"But these whispers all seem to be about two very specific people, a rat and a snake."

"A rat and a snake? The rat must be Pettigrew, but a snake? You couldn't possibly be more specific than that?"

Violet began pacing as she thought aloud, unconsciously mimicking her husband. Irene noted it with a slight twinge, somewhere in her chest area. She shook it off with a blasé shrug. "It's all I know."

Being pinned under Violet's rather searching gaze was a new and alarmingly uncomfortable experience for Irene. After a long moment, Violet nodded. "You know the way out. Make sure you leave Sherlock's dressing gown. It may need an exorcism, though."

"You'll never be rid of the ghost of me," Irene smirked, heading toward the stairs, noticeably still wearing the dressing gown in question. In fact, she tugged the ties more securely around her waist.

"You're confused, darling. Exorcisms are for demons, not ghosts," Violet quipped back.

Just before leaving, Irene turned back to the other woman. "Do you really love him? And do you really think he could possibly love you?"

"Have you ever kissed him?" Violet asked, turning the tables. "Rather, has he ever kissed you?"

"And more," Irene replied promptly, a broad smirk painting her red lips.

"Then you'll know how, with something as simple as a kiss, Sherlock can pour his entire attention, the entire focus of his whole being, into that kiss. You'd know exactly how exhilarating it is to be the whole focus of someone like him. Well, really, just him, because there is no one else like him."

Irene stared at her for a moment, before silently turning back to the stairs. The door opened, far too soon for it to be her leaving, and Violet heard her greeting Sherlock and his puzzled reply. The door shut just about the time Sherlock emerged from the stairwell. "Why was she here?" he asked, looking adorably confused.

But Violet was not appeased by his adorableness. "Why didn't you ask her? She's clearly comfortable enough here to not only find your dressing gown, but to mysteriously lose her clothing, as well."

"I haven't seen Adler in years, Violet. I have no idea what she was doing here."

"Did you ever make love to her?"

"Vi, what is-"

"Answer the question, Sherlock!" Violet almost didn't recognize her own shrill voice.

"Sex, yes, make love, never." Sherlock crossed the small room to take her hands. "You are the only woman I have ever loved, the only woman I will ever love, with my mind, heart, and body. Yes, I slept with her. It was your birthday, and I'd just seen some picture of you and LeStrange," he spit the name out like a poison. "I was missing you terribly, and Adler offered a… distraction. She reminded me of you, in the tiniest bit, but failed to compare in the end. Badly. It really only highlighted the differences between you, and it never happened again."

"Did you love her?"

"No, Vi!" he cried, dropping her hands and shoving his through his hair. "I only ever cared for how she reminded me of you!"

But Violet's abused heart wasn't quite ready to believe him just yet. "John said you mourned when you thought she was dead."

"John doesn't know everything," he said, turning to the window. "I mourned because I- I almost felt as if I'd lost you again, and I couldn't- I didn't handle it well, though better than Mycroft had evidently expected."

"So, you never cared for her?" Violet knew she was being needy, and terribly insecure, but she needed to know, needed that reassurance.

"Absolutely not!" Sherlock replied vehemently, then went stock still for a long moment. "I'm not in love with Adler, Vi, any more than you are with Sirius," he finally said, looking at his wife intently.

That stopped her in her tracks. "Oh."

"I love you, Violet Isabelle Holmes," he continued, taking her hands in his again, kissing her fingertips. "It's only ever been you. Anyone else was a distraction from you, or me desperately trying to replicate you, or any combination thereof. You are the love of my life, and there will never be another."

Violet pulled her hands from his, but only to use them to pull his face closer to hers. "I love you," she whispered. "I'm sorry I… reacted badly."

Sherlock didn't say anything, simply kissed her. And, as per usual, he focused his entire being on kissing her, on making her happy.

AN: We had to have Irene make an appearance. It's practically a requirement. And kudos to those of you who figured it out. I enjoyed your incensed reviews immensely! Thanks for reading, and a huge thanks to all of you who review. I still can't believe how many reviews this story has gotten, and I can assure you that I read each and every one of them. They make my heart so happy!