On The Banks Of Loch Lomond
Disclaimers: I don't own anything, not even a honeybee.
AN: Not part of the Death Series! Another Sherlock BBC. This is actually a dream I had. Set well after the series. Contains Sherlock/Irene & Sherlock/John.
Summary: When Sherlock rescued Irene, both started living double lives from that point on. But during a case, another incident happened with the Woman, forcing Sherlock to choose between his current life with John, or life on the run.
(1) On The Bonnie Bonnie Banks ...
(Lines in bold are not mine but from 'Scandal In Belgravia' unless otherwise noted.)
Mycroft thought he was rather clever at keeping Sherlock in the dark. Unlike him, his little brother wasn't part of the Secret Service, preferring to hang out with a war doctor, bothering police for case work. It kept Sherlock out of his hair. It was fine. All fine. Until the Woman showed up. Sherlock surprised everyone by falling in love with her. It would have been so easy to dispose of her if it weren't for that. Now, he was setting her up to be killed. Get rid of her for England's sake. But he would have to tell Sherlock something else entirely. He had some time to come up with some story or other. Sherlock had been gone doing not even the Queen knew what for a few days & neither had John heard from him.
Sherlock was following her. Irene's latest client so far had connections to a terrorist group & she had once again gotten mixed up in things she shouldn't. What was it with this Woman & criminals, anyway? First James Moriarty, now this. He waited for the inevitable. She was eventually caught & sentenced to death by beheading, but he was ready. Dressed as one of them, he slipped into the group & went up to her as if to make the killing strike. She sent him one last text. His phone went off a moment later. Irene looked up at him, almost unable to believe he was there.
"When I say run," Sherlock began in a low voice. "Run!"
Irene stayed still, keeping her eyes ahead. She heard screaming & confusion behind her. When he yelled at her to flee, she bolted forward like a deer. She didn't look back or stop for a moment as she headed down into the streets & disappeared into the night. She turned one corner into another alley & ran up, zig-zagging through until her breath hurt. She had to slow down. Had to get some air. Irene went into another road & leaned back against the wall of a building, heart pounding. Her lungs screamed for a break. Just a short one. She knew it wasn't safe to stay here.
When she could half-breath again, Irene glanced down the road lit up with streetlamps that she had come, but no one seemed to be following her. She turned to run again & slammed into someone's arms. "No. NO! Let me go!" She began beating at whoever held her.
"WOMAN!" Sherlock yelped as he dropped her.
Irene froze. "Sherlock? Oh! I'm sorry!"
"Don't mention it," Sherlock stepped into the dim light as he rubbed his face in one hand. In his other, Irene noticed the sword. It was dripping with blood. "Two ran. I'll get them later. Do you know how to swim?"
"What? Swim? Um, yes. Why?"
"Good," Sherlock grabbed her hand & pulled her along to the river. Neither could really see it in the dark, but they heard it. Next moment, Irene felt a cold rush. He had thrown her in & then dived beside her.
"Oh my God! This is cold!" Irene exclaimed.
"Let the current take us down before we cross," Sherlock came up behind her & wrapped one arm around her to pull her along.
The current pulled them quickly downstream. Sherlock never let go of her as he slowly dragged them both across. He held her head above water so she was able to lay back onto him. As they drifted along, Irene thought again of the screaming & the bloody sword, which Sherlock was still hanging on to. She tried to think it through, but there was no other explanation. Had Sherlock really just beheaded almost a dozen people & planned to get two more? He didn't seem the type. But then again, no one, not even his brothers or sister, or John, seemed to understand this man. He was full of surprises.
She felt the ground come up as Sherlock finally pulled them both to the opposite shore. They lay on the sand for a few minutes before slowly standing up. Both shivered from the cold wet water soaked into their clothes.
"This river brought us past the border," Sherlock said at last. "I have a hotel room ready. We need to get warm before we both catch our death out here." He put the sword under the cloak he was still wearing & led her forward.
"Sherlock?" Irene asked after several minutes of walking to the town ahead in silence.
"What?"
Irene hesitated. "Um, what did you do back there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I saw that sword, Sherlock," Irene began. They both stopped walking to look at each other. Irene looked the man up & down. In a quiet voice, she finally said, "You killed a lot of people, today. Didn't you?"
"Just terrorists," Sherlock shrugged. "File it under who cares." He turned & walked away from her, expecting her to follow. Irene gaped at his retreating back for almost a minute before running to catch up.
It wasn't until they got to the hotel room that Sherlock finally pulled off the outer robe & cast it aside. Underneath, he was wearing his usual black vest over a white shirt with the black trousers to match. He began stripping that off as well. Irene shivered violently. Sherlock paused, looking her over.
"I'm-I'm soaked to the b-bone," Irene chattered.
"Hurry up & get undressed," Sherlock replied. He was suddenly standing naked in front of her for the first time. "We both need to get under a hot shower for a few minutes. Come on." He disappeared into the washroom without a backwards glance. Irene could only stare at the open door. She heard the shower turn on. Sherlock suddenly appeared in the door again. "Are you coming? Not like I haven't seen it before or do I need to remind you of when we first met?" He actually smiled quick at her before disappearing again.
Irene suddenly wasn't so cold anymore. She wondered if the time had come where she would have the elusive Sherlock Holmes all to herself. Or would he even allow that? She tried to remember everything she was told. He had Asperger's. He was Asexual. He wouldn't care. Well, she had looked all that up, studying this man. Truth was, no one knew for sure & each individual was different. She finally stripped down & went in after him.
She stepped into a cloud of steam. It was as if Sherlock didn't even notice, unlike the first time he saw her naked, which also happened to be the first time they laid eyes on each other. He handed over the shower head & finally, she felt the warmth of the water pouring out.
They only stayed in the shower for a few minutes, mostly to warm up. Sherlock took two towels from the counter & gave her one. He quickly dried off, then went into the main room, letting the towel drop to the floor. Irene glanced down at the discarded towel. Ok. What was he up to, now? She put her own towel aside & followed him.
Of course. Bed sheet. Sherlock was wrapped up in a spare sheet he had taken from the cupboard & here Irene stood all naked & feeling foolish. She watched as he tossed the robe into the fire. He pulled the headband off from the head covering & laid it aside, then placed the veil into the fire as well. Next, he took out a small bag from a pocket in the trousers & opened it. He held up his mobile for a few minutes, then put it onto the nightstand by the bed. Irene could here soft lilting violin music coming from it.
"It is a recording of me playing my own music," He said as he picked up the sword, cleaned by the river. Irene knew Sherlock played the violin & wrote his own music, but this was the first time she heard his own material, not just Christmas music several months ago. She watched as he pulled the belt off his trousers still lying on the floor & took the sheath off it, then put the sword in. He stood the covered sword against the nightstand.
Irene felt a sudden nervousness, watching him handle that sword. He wouldn't kill her. She knew that much. But he had just used it to kill others & it didn't even phase him. What kind of man was he, anyway?
Sherlock tossed the headband & belt onto the bed, then turned to Irene. "You will never set foot in England again!" He declared rather sternly. "Do we understand each other? Mycroft did this. He is the one who wants you dead."
"Mycroft?" Irene gasped.
"Yes, Mycroft," Sherlock sighed. "He sent you that client to get you mixed up with terrorists & destroy you. But you are also a traitor to England. You can never come back."
"What about you?" Irene began. "If Mycroft finds out about what you just did & I don't mean saving me. I mean killing them all."
"He might turn a blind eye to the killings," Sherlock replied. "But for saving you? He won't. He would just go after you again. Or send Sherrinford. Both are in the Service. There are only so many times I can stop either of my brothers from coming after you. You understand what I'm saying, right?" He went on. "Your life, as you know it is still over, just in a different way. No more clients. Considering the high class kind you like, Mycroft will know. Also, you will never see or contact Kate again, either. She is safe for now, but any more from you could make her a target." He paused as he noticed Irene's silent tear. He lifted a hand to wipe it away. "You are dead to everyone, except me. You are completely destroyed & there is nothing either of us can do about it." A moment of silence went by as he sat down on the bed, letting the sheet fall open around him. "I am sorry," Sherlock added, looking up at her.
Irene could see him clearly. He was completely uncovered, sitting there with the sheet spread back upon the bed, looking up at her, almost near tears himself. The reality of their situation was crashing down upon them. Both were now criminals. He was now a murderer & as for her, the list of crimes was too long.
Irene realized something. "This is the last time I'm going to see you, isn't it?" She said. "Unlike me, you're not caught. Not yet. You get to go home to your brothers. Your sister. John. Your country-land. I can't follow."
"I know," Sherlock muttered. "But I do not think this is our last time. I am your only contact in life, right now. I do not see how we can fix this, but maybe, someday. Ultimately, I think we would have to wait for us all to get old enough for at least Mycroft to ... to die off." Irene gasped as Sherlock added, "Or, you know, he could get killed in the next five minutes, considering he is a top spy in the Service. Both my brothers are very dangerous men, more so than I, yet you were foolish enough to get involved."
He lay back across the foot of the bed & stared at the ceiling, off in his Mind Palace. Irene had a fantastic view of his exposed features. She let her eyes roam up his body, only to find that he was still watching her. After a moment, he pushed himself up so that he was lying back on his forearms. "So," Sherlock was suddenly eyeing her like a predator eyed its next target. "This will be the night, won't it? My night." Irene blinked at him. He talked so strangely, sometimes. Sherlock moved around to lie on the bed properly, then pointed at something on the floor. "Check the right pocket of my trousers. Something there for you."
She pulled out a ziplock bag, inside which was a folded paper. She took that out & scanned over it, then slowly lifted her eyes back to his icy pale ones as she understood him at last. "This is a clean bill of health."
"Yes & I've already looked you up," Sherlock said. "You're still clean, as well."
Sex. This man wanted sex. From her. Now! After everyone telling her good luck, he'll die a virgin, here he lay, waiting for her. His night, for sure! Irene had nothing to use on him. No whip. No chain. On the other hand, he was virgin, still. Perhaps it was best not to break him in so harshly. She noticed that his other hand rested on his belt & headband he had put on the bed earlier & in that moment, she figured it out. He was expecting her to improvise.
Irene dropped the bag & paper to the floor as she moved to the bed. Keeping his eyes on her, Sherlock stretched out on the bed, putting his hands up over his head, wrists crossed, silently asking to be put in bondage. "Are you really a virgin?" Irene wondered. He was rather confident for a first sexual encounter.
"Yes."
"Alright," Irene began. "I'll be gentle with–"
"Do your worst, Woman. I know what I like."
"How?" Irene asked incredulously.
"I'm not a child. I'm old enough to know. I have studied sex a lot & had always been drawn to the darker side. But I never came across anyone with the same interest. Then Mycroft showed me a picture of this Dominatrix who can't stay out of trouble. It is as if I was waiting for you. So now, here we are."
Irene shuddered. Full of surprises, indeed! She looked over his naked body, eyes coming up to the waiting wrists. She picked up the braided headband. It would be long enough. "This requires a safe word."
"Honey bee."
"What?" Irene failed to hide a laugh.
"Honey bee. It is my favourite animal."
"Alright," Irene wrapped the band around his wrists & tied the ends around a piece of the headboard. "Alright. Honey bee." As she leaned forward over him to secure the knot, her breasts came close to his face. She felt his lips latch on to one. He was gentle but for a moment. Then, he slowly bit in harder. Testing her until she moaned. He let her go.
Irene looked down on him. She slowly put a hand through those black curls, then slid it down over his face to his throat. She stroked down further to his chest. She put one hand over each nipple, squeezing hard for a moment, feeling his breath quicken & catch in his throat. She bent her head to suck on his right nipple while pushing one hand ever downward until she grabbed hold of his very erect, very hard, member. He bucked his hips into her groping hand. He wasn't wearing a condom, but they didn't need it. They were both clean & her IUD worked much better than a potentially failing condom. She had always used an IUD for she was a whore, after all. Was. Now it was just them.
She moved up to kiss his lips before gazing into his eyes. Their soft pants & his recorded violin music were the only sounds. This really was the night she would claim this man's virginity. It was really happening. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could only think of the fact that he didn't pay for it. This would be free. But Irene knew, she would have given it to him for free anyway. He was her most favourite client she had ever met.
Irene sat over his hips, hovering above, barely touching. He instinctively thrust upward to connect to her, but she kept herself just out of reach & watched him squirm for a moment. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I think I'll have to punish you for that. You didn't wait for permission." Sherlock merely smiled at her. It was what he had wanted. "I could whip you so hard with your own leather belt, you'll be screaming our safe word."
"You really think you can get me to say it?"
"Would you like me to try?"
"I said do your worst!"
Irene slipped off him & took up the belt, yanking it taut between her hands before using it on him. She struck hard, but Sherlock didn't scream. Not yet. He groaned as his body spasmed to her harsh touch. But Irene was not to be denied. She'll make him beg for mercy. It took almost ten minutes to make him even cry out. Ohh, there was the spot! She struck again, making him pull against the bind around his wrists. Now that she knew where he liked it, she alternated from torturing him to caressing him. She would strike again without warning.
Sherlock was quivering from her touch. He had bruise lines all over his body & some were slightly open. He had allowed her to draw a little blood. He tried to press into her whenever her hips came close to his own, his way of asking more from her. Irene would deny him every time & after nearly an hour of going back & forth, his virginity was still intact.
Irene lay beside him for a moment, kissing his lips. He turned it into a French kiss, nearly making Irene climb on top of him. She wanted him. She had never been with a virgin before & had never been with any client who could even compare to Sherlock, but she held back a little longer. She was amazed he had not mentioned honey bees yet. Irene petted his face, being careful of a few small cuts she had given him earlier. It was as if they had paused for a break. "Are you sure you're alright?" She whispered. He nuzzled his nose into her hair & silently nodded. Irene moved down & finally allowed him some form of penetration. She could taste both his semen & his blood for she had cut him a little down here, too.
"OHH!" Sherlock shoved up into her mouth, feeling a slight release. "Mm." He gasped in a shaky breath, tugging at his binds. Feeling a more urgent pressure, he moved against her teeth. "Mm. Hm." He tried to control his breaths, hoping to hold on until Irene would join to him.
Irene gave up holding herself off & sat over his hips at last. Both lost it at their heated touch. Irene rocked against him as he pulled harder against the rope holding his hands away. Irene let herself go, feeling a burning satisfaction at last. She fell forward over him, holding herself up by her hands on either side of his head, her long, reddish brown hair falling to one side. She worked with his movements to let him finish a moment later. She expected him to thrash about under her when his own desire burned out. But Sherlock did something no other client of hers ever did. While he did move faster inside her, he kept his eyes firmly locked into hers. Irene realized that this man was coming. Hard. With his eyes open & watching her!
"Irene. Irene!" * He gasped out her name. She felt the warm liquid spread inside her as he froze in position under her. She stayed over his hips as they gazed at each other while he drew in one long breath after another. His whole body was still vibrating. At last, he went slack under her & his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. The early morning sun illuminated his skin, marred by her violence against him.
Sherlock looked up at her. "It was worth the wait."
Since she first met him, there had been several moments in time where Irene had thought she had finally fallen for him. But those moments paled in comparison to now when he spoke those words. "Sherlock," Irene gasped, lying down over him & kissing him fiercely, reaching up to pull the knot free so he could hold her at last.
He put his hands on her shoulder blades, holding her on him. His body still twitched uncontrollably under her, still in the after glow from what had been done to it, for several minutes until he finally lay completely still under her. "I have to go." He shushed her with a kiss. "It may be years before we see each other again, before we do this again." He felt her tears sliding down his throat. Both knew it was mostly her fault, but neither voiced it. "I have to deal with the mess back in England. James Moriarty is still at large. He can not be allowed to continue."
"Sherlock, no!" Irene gasped. "He will kill you. He wants you dead."
"I know," Sherlock sighed. He pushed her off. "But so does Mycroft. We will face him together." Irene began shaking her head. "I have to go." He got up to get dressed. Irene buried her face in her hands for a moment, crying uncontrollably. Sherlock put a hand on her hair. "That dinner of ours will just have to wait a bit longer." Irene managed a laugh in spite of herself. He picked up the sword, turned & walked out the door without even a backwards glance. He was gone.
It was the first time for both of them. First time at all for him. First time making love for her. Before, it was just sex for money. But with him, it was entirely different. Now, it was all over as quickly as it had begun. How the hell did it come to this?
Sherlock returned to England. He entered the flat at 221B Baker Street. John was there, waiting for him. John took one look at his friend's face, noticing some scratches. "What happened to you?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock glanced in the large mirror in the living room. "Ah, nothing. Got into a row. I'll be fine. Has Inspector Lestrade called, yet?"
"Yes, he's looking for you," John handed over a file. Sherlock reached out to take it, exposing one wrist for a moment. John noticed some bruising on it. "Should I take a look at that?"
"No," Sherlock stuck his nose into the case work. John gave him a weird look, rolled his eyes & gave up.
Over the next few days, John caught sight of other wounds on Sherlock's body. Mostly bruising. Sherlock even sat oddly for the first day or two. He finally said that he was pushed into a ravine but was fine. John wanted to know more but it was clear the subject was closed. John finally left the flat on some errand, leaving Sherlock alone.
Sherlock laid the case file aside & pushed his laptop away. John didn't know it, but now was not a good time to leave the Detective alone. Sherlock was not in a good place at the moment, but he was a professional when it came to hiding emotion. James was wrong about the two middle siblings of the Holmes family. James had called Mycroft the Ice Man & Sherlock the Virgin. But Sherlock was colder than even Mycroft & he was no longer virgin.
Sherlock wandered aimlessly around the flat, letting the sheet he was currently using fall to the floor. He could see the marks Irene left on his body. They were beginning to fade. It was all he had left of her. Soon, she would be gone completely from him. Sherlock knelt down on the floor in the center of the sheet. He tried not to, but he could feel tears come unbidden. Irene was gone. She was safe. But she was out of his life & neither were happy about it. Sherlock stayed like that until he heard someone coming up the stairs. He stood up, wrapped the sheet around him & found a block of ice as big as an iceberg somewhere in his slightly dark soul. By the time John had returned, Sherlock was back to his usual annoying self as if nothing happened.
It went on for months with no one noticing, not even Mycroft. Cold & emotionless in front of others. Crying & slightly dying when left alone. Like Irene, he was now living a double life. He alone knew she was alive & was protecting her by keeping her out of his life. He was a killer, now. James would be so proud. But none of this could be mentioned to anyone, not even John. No one could know. It would mean the death of the Woman for sure & possibly jail time for Sherlock.
It was the worst year of his life so far, but no one else knew it.
In a few months, Mycroft eventually came up with a story to tell Sherlock, not knowing what was really going on. Worse, he got John to side with him. John eventually went to find Sherlock to tell him the fake story of Irene Adler that he & Mycroft had cooked up. He found Sherlock looking down into a microscope.
"Clearly, you've got news," Sherlock began, still staring into the scope. "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener." In a slightly disappointed voice, he added, "Nobody noticed the earring."
John stared at him, hating having to lie. "Hi. Uh. No, it's um ... It's about Irene Adler."
That got Sherlock to look up from the scope. Had they been compromised? Why would John be mentioning the Woman now? "Oh? Something happen? Did she come back?" A thousand scenarios went through his head in a nanosecond, each more unlikely than the last. Surely, they had been so careful!
"No, she's uh," John wondered if it was even possible to lie to Sherlock. That Detective always figured things out. He stalled for a moment. "I just bumped into Mycroft, downstairs. He had to take a call."
Mycroft? The mere mention of his brother's name in a conversation about Irene was cause for concern. Sherlock was not deterred by the topic change. He would get it back on track. Were they compromised or not? He quickly made plans for an escape, especially if Mycroft was involved. He pulled away from the microscope & came up to John. "Is she back in London?" Sherlock demanded as casually as he could.
"No. She's uh," John sighed heavily. It was now or never. "She's in America."
"America?" Sherlock knew otherwise. He understood now, what was really going on. Mycroft was still under the impression that he had won & killed the girl. Now, he was making up a story & using John as the messenger. Sherlock relaxed & decided to play along.
"Mhm," John went on. "Got herself on the Witness Protection scheme." Sherlock moved his eyes away from John, trying to act as natural as possible. Oh yeah, about that. She was under protection alright. HIS protection. He held it in as John went on. "Apparently. Don't know how she swung it. But uh ... well, you know?"
"I know what?" Sherlock nearly laughed at the ridiculous situation. He knew a lot of things, like what was actually going on. Poor clueless John! Was this really what they were going to tell him?
"Well," John began. "You won't be able to see her, again."
"Why would I want to see her, again?"
John cast a nervous smile for a moment, glancing away. "Didn't say you did." He knew better, or so he thought.
"Is that her phone?" Sherlock suddenly asked as he went back to sit down at the microscope.
"Yes," John said. "I was just going to take it back to Mycroft. Do you—"
"No." Sherlock began adjusting the scope again, acting as if he was losing interest in the conversation.
"—want to, hmm," John stopped. After a long moment, he tried again. "Listen, actually—"
"Oh, but I will have her camera phone, then," Sherlock held out a hand while still looking into the scope.
"There's nothing on it anymore," said John. "It's been stripped."
Stripped was such an interesting word, considering what Sherlock had allowed Irene to do to him a few months ago. "I know. But I ... I'll still have it." He continued holding up one hand for it, while still watching the scope.
"I've got to give this back to Mycroft," John explained. "You can't keep it." He let it hang, but Sherlock's hand was still waiting. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's, now, I couldn't give it—"
"Please," Sherlock insisted, still focusing hard into the scope, not meeting John's eyes. His waiting hand reached out towards John. John looked away for a moment, wondering if it would cause trouble. He gave up & finally, slowly, handed it over. "Thank you," Sherlock muttered, putting her phone away.
With his free hand, John tapped the bag with the rest of the file. "Well, I better take this back."
"Yes."
John turned away to leave, but he stood in the doorway for a long time. Finally, he turned back to Sherlock. "Did she ever text you, again? After," He cocked his head sideways a little as he moved closer to Sherlock's desk again. "All that?"
"Once, a few months ago."
"What'd she say?"
"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."
John felt a little weak. What if Sherlock ever found out? After a long moment, he muttered to himself very quietly under breath, "Ohh kay. Uhh ... " At last, he left before he let slip the truth, well Mycroft's truth, anyway.
Sherlock glanced up to see him leave, then took her phone to the window. He began reading through their old texts, mostly from her. The rain poured down. Sherlock laughed a little at last. He knew what was really going on. "The Woman," He placed the camera phone into the drawer, pausing a moment, thinking of her. "The Woman." He looked out the window into the rain. Irene was still safe. It was all he needed, for now.
At the moment, there were bigger problems to worry about. Sherlock & Mycroft went after James, together. They had a plan to trap James in his own game. Only problem was, it would mean the death of Sherlock. He & Mycroft worked out several different scenarios in an attempt to survive, but all the while, Sherlock couldn't help but think that he would end up like Irene. Everyone thought she was dead, apart from him. Could he really go back to her so soon?
Sherlock texted her on their private burner phones they both had in case they needed each other.
"I'm going to kill myself, then I will meet up with you."
"Are you trying to quote Romeo & Juliet? We really should have dinner."
"No, Woman. I'm literally going to pretend to kill myself. James wants me dead, so I will humour him. Then I will come for you. Watch the news."
He didn't text her again. Irene had no choice but to watch the news & eventually, it happened. Sherlock Holmes, Britain's greatest Detective was driven to suicide. He had jumped from the hospital rooftop. Irene gasped. How could he survive a fall from that height? Or did something go wrong & he did end up killing himself? She paced around for almost an hour before the private mobile went off. Only one person in the world knew that number. Sherlock.
"Alright, I am heading out of Britain. I need you for the last piece."
"That last piece better be dinner."
"Not now, Woman."
"Who else knows you are still alive?"
"Only the Holmes family, Molly & a few of my Homeless Network."
"Not John?"
"No. Not him or Mrs. Hudson. Or anyone else."
Irene didn't answer any more. The next day, he showed up in her front yard of a small house he had helped her find in Balloch, a place over-looking the great Loch Lomond. It was slightly out of town in the countryside. Alone. Irene marched out towards him & slapped him hard across the face.
"Ouch!" Sherlock grabbed his jaw. "That was not consensual!"
"That was for John!" Irene shot back. "Do you have any idea how this will affect him?"
"I will apologize to him when he is safe," Sherlock said.
"That's not how it works," Irene rubbed her brow for a moment. "How long do you plan on staying dead?"
"As long as it takes to disable Moriarty's web of criminals," Sherlock replied rubbing the smarting red spot, still recovering from the blow. "I have to remove everyone or a few people will be killed by his snipers." He finally explained the whole plan to her. "I have to take down every last bit of his work. Everyone that's ever worked for him." He paused, considering her. "Except you. You're already destroyed a long time ago."
"It's a good thing you saved me. I know stuff about James that you & Mycroft would never know without my help," Irene said.
"That's why I'm here," Sherlock replied, looking her over. "One reason, anyway."
He followed her into the house. The door had hardly been closed before they laid hands on each other, dragging the other down to the floor. She was a hot fire to melt his ice. It had been nearly two years with no contact & they had a lot of pent up distractions to get rid of before they could focus on finishing James once & for all. This time, she had him out cold for a while. He came out of it into a euphoria, feeling her on him, having her way with him. He lay back against the floor, pushing up into her, letting her do what she wanted. He had missed her but both knew it was only a matter of time before he had to leave again.
It was relatively easy to dig out the hounds of Moriarty with Irene's help. The problem was keeping Irene & Mycroft separate. Mycroft still expected Irene to be dead & would slit her throat himself if they laid eyes on each other ever again. Mycroft admired Sherlock's brilliant detective work on the biggest case of his life, not knowing Irene was the one giving his younger brother all the information. In the end, she was the one who mentioned Serbia to Sherlock. That was the hardest part to infiltrate & Mycroft himself began to worry about Sherlock & went in after him.
Unfortunately, going into Serbia meant leaving Irene behind once more, for Mycroft would surely bring Sherlock back to England & it would be another long wait before they would be together again.
As promised by Irene, John did not take too kindly to being lied to about Sherlock's suicide & handed the Detective's sorry arse back to him not once, but three times.
"This really is not consensual!" Sherlock complained to Irene in a text when he was alone in the old flat once more.
"We really should have had dinner!"
It was another long wait before either of them continued the conversation. For the next couple of years, things in England started changing. Though John & Sherlock still worked together on cases, they weren't together as often. John had started a new life while Sherlock was off dealing with Moriarty's shenanigans, but unlike Sherlock, John's life was public. Sherlock still had to maintain the death of Irene & act like he had moved on. He wouldn't admit it, but he was slightly jealous that John could live his life in the open & get to contact or even see his woman whenever he wished. Sherlock also missed having John around working on cases. It used to be just them before James ruined things. Before everyone went their own way. It had only been a few short years, but everyone had gotten older & more settled in life.
Everyone but Sherlock & Irene who were still hiding most of their lives from the world, forced apart by lies. Waiting for their turn, if they ever would get one.
Mycroft had finally noticed something about his younger brother. Sherlock seemed to behave more like an adult. He had lost a lot of his childish mannerisms & more often than not, though he did that dreaded Sherlockian scan on everyone & everything, he started keeping his mouth shut on his deductions unless it was directly related to any case he was working. Once again, Mycroft went to John to try snooping.
"Maybe he's finally growing up," John shrugged. "It happens to all of us, eventually."
"Next, you'll be telling me he's found a new girl & settling down," Mycroft muttered.
"Mmm," John looked away. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."
"I think we are on that bridge, now," said Mycroft.
John stared at him. "Adrian Mycroft Scott Holmes! I am tired of saying it. I don't do men! Just remember that YOU are the queen around here, not me! I'm not sleeping with Sherlock. I love him like a dear friend, not a lover. He is my best friend."
Mycroft glared at him for a moment. "I mean, I found something about his finances." John just stared at him. Mycroft went on. "They're gone from the Holmes Estate. Like he went separate from the family. I can't find any solo bank account in the family name & I know he is not a big spender so that money is somewhere. I asked him once & he said it is not my concern. Which makes me worry even more."
"Maybe it's just part of him claiming some independence," John said. "I know your family is quite rich. It surprised me when I found out. Yet Sherlock insists on renting a flat on his own. I guess he just isn't into fancy things."
"That still doesn't explain why he separated his fortune from our family," Mycroft said. "Or where the hell he put it. Three million just doesn't disappear like that." John blanched at that for a moment. That was quite an inheritance. Mycroft got up as another man came into the small restaurant. "John, if you find anything at all about that brother of mine, do let me know, please. Hello, Sian."
"I'll see what I can do," John replied, watching as Mycroft & Sian firmly locked lips for a long moment, having no shame whatsoever. John looked down into his coffee, then out the window. Anywhere but at the pair. He realized just how screwed up Holmes genetics were. Sherrinford & Enola seemed to have some sense in matters of love. Sherlock was ... well ... his love-life was mostly non-existent, started quickly & ended just as suddenly, by Mycroft's order no less. Then, there was Mycroft. He seemed to get all the raging hormones of the entire Holmes clan dumped into him. Or perhaps he was a bunny in a previous life. Mycroft slept with anyone, man or woman, anywhere. He even hit on his siblings on occasion but didn't take it too far, thank God. Crazy queen. Mycroft left John alone, hand in hand with his current partner. John sighed heavily. Why didn't the four siblings get an even amount of hormones like a normal family?
John made his way down to the police station to meet up with Sherlock & Lestrade. He entered Lestrade's office. Lestrade glanced around. "Oh John. There you are." He sat back in his chair & took a sip of his coffee mug. "Sherlock & I are just waiting for the computer to finish a search on our missing suspect."
"Think we'll be able to close this case, finally?" John asked.
"Most likely," Lestrade said. "Or ... not." He stared at the screen. "Sherlock, he's left England. Last seen around Loch Lomond, just outside of Balloch, in fact."
Sherlock was on his feet before anyone could blink & for once, in a long time, he was almost childlike in his excitement. "I can bring him in."
"It's not even the same country," Lestrade said. "Not my jurisdiction."
"I'm not a cop, Greg," Sherlock pointed out. "Neither is John. We'll go & herd him back here. Then you can pick him up." He picked up his coat & did his happy little jump, something John had not seen for years, then left quickly.
"Did you ... " John lifted a hand & pointed down the hall where Sherlock had gone. "Did you just see how excited he got?"
"Yeah, that was a little weird," Lestrade said. "It's been a while since I saw him like that."
John followed Sherlock to the famous Loch. By the time they got there, it was late into the evening & the sun was nearly set, casting long rays on the dark water. They stood together on the bank as Sherlock looked around. "We will probably be here over night," Sherlock said. "I have a hotel ready for you down near the water."
"Do you think we will be able to find him by tomorrow?" John didn't bother to ask what Sherlock would be doing at night, knowing Sherlock could work through to the next day. He did not know what was really going on this time.
"Most likely," Sherlock began making his way down. He led them straight into a pub, sat down at the bar & ordered drinks for both of them. Once served, he held up his mobile with a picture of who they were looking for. "Have you seen him, recently?"
"Why, yes," said the woman behind the counter. "He comes in here often. I think he lives in Balloch, in fact." Sherlock blinked at that. "But what does England's famous detective want with him?"
"He is a suspect in our current case," Sherlock replied.
"You're working that serial rapist killer case, aren't you?" she asked. "I doubt Thomas has anything to do with that. He's a quiet man."
"Perhaps," Sherlock said as John got up to look around. "But he may be a witness, just as easily as he is a suspect."
John had gone around the whole pub, away from Sherlock, looking around for their target. He glanced back to see the bartender was now out from behind her counter & standing close to Sherlock. They were still talking. John didn't see the man they were looking for, so he slowly made his way back. He didn't like how the girl was getting close to his friend. He stood behind Sherlock.
"After all these years, you are still quite elusive, Mr. Holmes."
"In what way?" Sherlock asked somewhat derisively.
"I've followed you & John for many years," she said. "Unlike him, you still haven't found someone." She leaned a little closer to him.
"Sorry Ma'am," Sherlock began. "But I prefer the violent atmosphere of a sex dungeon & I already have a handler."
"What?" John whispered to himself as he stared at the back of Sherlock's head. He thought hard. Irene was dead. It had been over four years since. Had Sherlock found someone else? Did this have something to do with taking his inheritance out of the family estate? John didn't live in with Sherlock any more. Who knows what the hell went on in that flat when he wasn't there with Sherlock? John pulled himself out of his confusing thoughts & realized Sherlock was already gone. John went outside to find Sherlock already climbing back up the bonnie, bonnie bank of Loch Lomond.
"Took you long enough," Sherlock smiled quickly at him once John managed to catch up. "Our hotel is just over there," He pointed in the direction.
"Sherlock?" John looked his friend up & down, wondering not what, but how, to say what he wanted to say.
"Yes, John?"
"Um," John glanced around. "What you told that lady back there."
"What of it?"
"Uh ... um, who is your ... your handler?"
"You & Mycroft, of course," Sherlock answered without missing a beat. "In different ways. Don't think I don't notice. Both of you working together to spy on me all the time."
"Uh, what?" John stammered. "But, er, uh, you said you liked, um ..."
"The violent atmosphere of a sex dungeon. So?"
"I don't handle you like that," John said. "Wait, does Mycroft ...?"
"Oh he wants to," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He would love to handle anyone like that."
"I know," John grumbled. "He's always flirting with someone."
"Try growing up with him."
"Nope!" John shook his head. "I've got my own problems with Harry."
Both doubled over laughing at their stupid siblings. When they were slightly composed, Sherlock went on with their original topic. "John, the two things I told her do not have to be the same thing. I've seen Mycroft running to you, asking you about me & I know you try not to get in the middle. I appreciate the position you are in."
"Right. Sorry," John looked down at the water.
"It's in his nature," Sherlock shrugged, laying one arm across the doctor's shoulders as they stood together to look into the loch. "Mycroft is a spy after all."
"I know," John leaned against the detective's side. "Sherlock, he worries about you."
"There's not much I can do about that."
John turned to face him. Sherlock's hand rested on his left shoulder. "Um, Sherlock? Are you ... alright?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been different," John said. "For a while now."
"I've always been different."
"No, no. I'm not talking about the Asperger's," John shook his head. Sherlock's hand was still on his shoulder, holding him in place. "I'm talking about the past couple of years or more. It's just ..." John looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, John," Sherlock let his hand fall. He tipped his head a little & smiled at him, somewhat childlike.
"You know, if you do want to tell me something, but not have Mycroft know, just tell me not to speak to him," John went on. "I won't tell him anything you don't want him to know." Sherlock stared at him but remained silent & unblinking. John sighed & slowly turned away to go to the hotel.
"John?"
"Yes?" John quickly turned back to him.
Sherlock put both hands onto the doctor's shoulders. John could feel the leather of the black gloves slightly rubbing against either side of his neck. "There is something I do want to tell you, some day," Sherlock began. "But I need someone else's permission for it. So, not now. Don't tell Mycroft."
"Alright," John said. "I won't. Can I ask you something?"
"What is it, now?"
"You aren't in any danger, are you? Whatever this is, you're alright?"
"I'm fine, John," Sherlock nodded. He flicked his index fingers on both sides up John's neck for a moment, rubbing that warm leather against John's skin, then moved his hands up to hold John's face. "Good night, John." He let go, turned & walked away into the night.
"Good night," John said, feeling a strange sudden rush. What the hell just happened? He turned & headed in the opposite direction down the other side of Loch Lomond's banks to go to the hotel. John expected to see Sherlock in the morning. He expected Sherlock would be out doing his work all night like he usually did (seriously, was this guy part vampire or what?) & have more information on the suspect they were chasing & perhaps a plan already in action to catch him. He could not have known what was really going on that night & for that matter, neither did Sherlock, who had entirely different plans.
But what was planned & what was to be, were as different as a soft kiss was from a whip lash; for that night was dark & full of terrors.
Sherlock headed towards Balloch, slightly to the side of it, to a house in the country. But when he approached her home, he heard her scream. Sherlock ran inside. He could hear a fight going on upstairs & ran up to find the suspect John & he were looking for assaulting the Woman.
"Let her go, now!" Sherlock threw himself onto the man & pulled him back into the hall.
They tumbled to the floor. Sherlock scrambled to stand but the attacker jumped on him & both tipped over down the stairs. Sherlock's head connected with the railing post at the bottom, stunning him. He slowly pushed himself up, sensing the assailant moving behind him.
"Where's the other one?" Thomas hissed, grabbing Sherlock by the hair to yank him up to his knees. He put a blade to Sherlock's throat. "The two best cop dogs in Britain & I've got one cornered."
Sherlock's answer was reaching up with one hand, grabbing the man by the balls & twisting. Thomas yelped & dropped the knife as he pulled away. Sherlock jumped up, wavered slightly from the blow to the head from the stair railing, then threw himself onto the man, shoving him down under his own body. He put all his weight & thrust into the groin. "YOU!" Sherlock was beyond reason with madness. "SHOULD HAVE CUT MY THROAT!" He put his own pistol to the plums & pulled the trigger. Thomas cried out & balled up the moment Sherlock rolled away. Sherlock pulled off the scarf & hauled Thomas to the railing where he tied the man down, practically strangling him by wrapping part of the scarf around the attacker's neck. "Irene ..." He whispered to himself, glancing up the stairs, in a rare moment terrified of what he would find there. "Irene!" He fled up stairs into the master bedroom.
Irene was lying naked on the floor. Unresponsive. She was bloodied & battered beyond what she had ever been before & Sherlock knew there was nothing consensual about it this time. He pulled off a glove & pressed his fingers to her neck. She was still alive but only just. Had he gotten here in time, or was he to lose her again & completely this time?
There was a low steady beeping. Irene half-opened one eye to see white. A lot of white. Everywhere. She moaned a little, turning her head a bit as she opened both eyes at last. She was in a white room. Her eyes landed on someone sitting in a chair beside her bed, staring at her. A violin case lay across his lap. The man got up, put the case on the floor beside his chair, then put a hand on her face.
"You've been out for most of the day," he said.
She recognized the voice. It was Sherlock but with short blond hair & dressed in pale blue scrubs, as if passing himself off as a doctor & his eyes were green. Contacts. "What happened?" Irene whispered. "Why are you here?"
"You were attacked by a suspect John & I have been looking for," Sherlock began. "We had followed him all the way to Loch Lomond. I sent John to a hotel for the night & I came to you."
Irene tried to push herself up a little. She cried out in pain. "I really thought I was going to die & now I kind of wish I did."
"His attack shifted your IUD," Sherlock said. "It punctured you. It had to be surgically removed."
"Where is he, now?" Irene asked. Sherlock looked away. "Oh." He had killed for her. Again. "Where are we?"
"In a hospital in Northern Ireland," Sherlock said. "Once you were stable, I had you transferred to this hospital. We were flown over."
"That's pretty far from home," Irene sighed.
"You don't have a home right now," Sherlock said. "After subduing Thomas, I went to check on you. I called for an ambulance & while they were coming, I dragged Thomas to the basement & secured him there. After you were taken away, I went down there. Tortured him. Killed him. Then set the house on fire."
"Sherlock."
He looked at her. "I do believe I was insane last night."
Irene pushed her hands through her hair. "What are we going to do, now?"
"That's entirely up to you," Sherlock said. "I'm done for. That man was the prime suspect in the case John & I were working on."
"Oh Sherlock!" Irene gasped.
"So, either you turn me in, or," He looked down at her. "We run." They gazed at each other for a moment. "We run far & we run fast. Neither of us will ever come back."
"Both of us?" Irene wasn't sure she heard right.
"We have lived our lives according to how everyone else wants us," Sherlock began. "You don't even have much of a life since you have to play dead. Neither of us will do well in England, now. You're still a target & it would be the jails for me." He carefully sat down on the side of her bed. "We have been controlled by their rules. Everyone else gets to do what they want with their lives, with who they wish, but we are forced apart all the time. If I go back to England now, I won't be out for a long time & you can't come for me. But perhaps, it is our turn to take control of our own lives now. We would have to leave the entire continent but," he put a hand over hers. "We would finally be together."
Irene blinked back a few tears. To be together with Sherlock Holmes at last? It was almost too good to be true. Both of them needed a drastic change in their life of hiding. "How soon can we get out of here?"
Sherlock dried her tears, leaned over & kissed her brow. "Let me get the nurse." He paused in the doorway for a moment & looked back at her. "By the way, you are registered as Irene Scott & for now, just call me William." Irene nodded as he left.
A real doctor came in. It was worse than just a broken IUD. Irene had wounds on her body from being slashed, including a deep cut under her left eye which had required stitches. Due to the damage caused in the womb, her chance of pregnancy went down to about four percent & she had a lot of scar tissue which would most likely make sex any time soon painful.
It was almost two days before Irene was allowed to leave. She was ordered bed rest for at least a month. They both walked out of the hospital, Sherlock still looking like a random doctor & using his first name. He brought Irene to a hotel & cut her long hair down to a bob, then dyed it black. Irene looked sadly down at her long beautiful hair but it would grow back. Getting the Woman to put some coloured contacts on though, was a different story. He wanted to change her look as much as possible to get by public cameras in case any of them had a feed back to Mycroft. But the injury to her face made one of her eyes too sensitive, still. In the end, they settled for a pair of dark sunglasses.
They flew to Australia where they stayed for almost two months while Irene recovered. Sherlock didn't allow their disguises to disappear just yet & re-dyed the hair roots for both of them. He kept them looking the same until they moved again. Sherlock wanted to move them around a few times before they could relax, just in case Mycroft was looking into things he shouldn't. The only normal thing for either of them at the moment was the violin, which Sherlock had gone back in the late night to get after blowing up the house in Balloch. He would sometimes play it for her until she fell asleep.
In the meantime, Sherlock spent a lot of time on the free computer of the hotel. Neither he or Irene had any sort of device at the moment & he didn't dare get one until they were fully settled & hidden. The question was where. His search landed on a country mansion with over twenty acres. It was a type of farmland set behind a long lake. He got up & went back to their room where Irene was.
"Are you up for a long flight?"
"Where are we going?"
"Home," Sherlock said.
Irene knew it could not be Britain, so he must have found something. They left Australia a few days later. When Sherlock finally showed her the place, Irene could only stare at it. The house had six bedrooms, the master bedroom being most of the top floor. There was a huge barn off to the side. It was about an hour away from a small town, very remote. It was actually perfect for their situation of both now being on the run. Then Sherlock said it was paid in full.
"What? How?"
"Remember that case I told you about with the jade hairpin?" Sherlock began. "I never did end up giving it back to that girl who ran off screaming for some reason." Irene could do nothing but gape at him while he stood there & laughed at her. They were rich & it was no wonder Mycroft couldn't find anything. He was looking for three million. With that pin, it would be over twelve million & all of it was under the name William Scott. There were plenty of William Scotts on the planet. Mycroft had no chance!
Irene was still sore & it took several months for her to heal properly. Sherlock spent his time taking care of the animals that came with the place & he seemed to settle in just fine. He left the master bedroom to Irene, sometimes joining her on a rare occasion he did sleep, but mostly using a different bedroom on the main floor. They weren't physical with each other apart from a soft caress to the hair or holding hands in the street. Irene was wrecked & it would be a long slow road to recovery. It didn't bother Sherlock in a sense that he didn't really need sex anyway; though, he hated what had happened to her.
That first year there was different & strange. They had both basically retired from their former lives. No more criminal activity. No more detective work. They were totally unprepared for that first winter. Britain was never this harsh or long. Fortunately, the animals had been set up be the previous owners & came with instructions, so Sherlock was able to keep them safe while they hibernated. It was a whole new life & slightly shocking to them both, for it had literally started overnight.
It wasn't until late summer the next year that they had finally grown out of their disguises. Irene's natural hair was showing again & just down to her shoulders. Sherlock's was starting to curl every which way once more. As the summer got hotter, he once more dressed in his favourite, a bed sheet. It had been many months since he had done that due to the cold winter.
"What if one of your little friends flies up there?" Irene shook her head at him. As if on cue, one of those little friends showed up right then. "No, no, no! You! Out! Now!" Irene raised her arm, flicking a finger quick enough to actually sort of hit the animal. The creature turned away in an instant. Sherlock paused mid-sip of his tea & twitched the sheet more tightly around him. Irene laughed. "I like to see you squirm."
"Oh, really?" Sherlock picked up his drink once more, before adding in a pout, "They never listen to me."
"You just don't know how to handle them," Irene said.
"I'm their keeper!"
"Exactly. You're the bad parent, spoil them rotten with sugar water," Irene teased. "I'm the good parent. Keep them in line."
"Pretty sure that's reversed," Sherlock snarled under breath before finishing his tea.
"Pretty sure I don't care."
"So you want to see me squirm?" Sherlock ground out in an attempt to change the subject about his bad parenting skills. Irene turned to look at him. Sherlock had put the empty teacup aside & was now watching her. Irene couldn't help but remember the night he had saved her from Mycroft's gang. The night he had lost his virginity to her. He was sitting there on the couch now, looking up at her in almost the same way.
"Well," Irene held up her hands.
Sherlock stood up & came close to her. "I know the damage done to you," He began in a low voice. "I am perfectly capable of waiting for you."
"I know," Irene put her hands onto his shoulders, but seemed to hesitate.
Sherlock glanced down at her hands. He slowly let the sheet fall to his hips. "I would never hurt you outside of our consent," He said, letting the sheet fall away completely as he looked away from her, as if suddenly shy; trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "Or push you beyond your limit."
"Sherlock," Irene ran her hands down his arms to take hold of his hands. "I know."
Sherlock pulled her close to him & leaned in to kiss her cheek. Irene moved to catch his lips & they were soon lost in a tight embrace. It was as if a jolt of electricity had gone through them. But still, he sensed her indecision. He pulled slightly away. "Woman, I can wait." He tried to step back but she held him.
"It's not that," Irene began. "I just—I'm not ... Sherlock? I'm not how I used to be."
"I expect things to be different," Sherlock replied. "You barely survived that attack. You wouldn't have, if I was not working on that case. I am not surprised it altered your view of sex."
"Not that," Irene repeated. She raised a hand & touched the scar under her eye. "Whenever I see myself in the mirror, I'm ashamed of the sight. Sherlock, this is not the only scar."
Sherlock sighed heavily, understanding at last. "Oh, Woman. You think I attracted to you for your looks? Beauty fades with age. It is of no concern of mine. I care not for the scars." After a short pause, he added. "I'm sorry. That was not well said." He looked her in the eyes. "I do not like what was done to you, but it does not matter. This still does not sound right."
"I get it," Irene laughed, taking pity on him. She leaned against his bare chest, letting him hold her again. It had been a long time & she had missed him. She felt his hands suddenly start to work behind her back. Her dress came loose & slipped down. She looked into his eyes for a moment.
He kissed her again as he pulled her to the center of the floor where both lay down. Irene watched him as he passed one hand up her right side where two long scars ran from her hip to just under the shoulder. Then he moved his hand to her left breast, feeling the deep scar there & finally he touched the one under her eye. He lay over her & eased himself inside. There were many pauses as she had to get used to this again & it was like pressing down on bruises. But she didn't tell him to stop. She had wanted him for ages. It was the first time he had taken control of her & also the first time that it was just them. No whip or chain or drug. It would be a long time before they would be able to get back to anything remotely convulsive between them again.
After that encounter, Irene was more confident with her appearance. It didn't matter. He still stayed by her side. It was alright now if he walked in on her changing, or shared a shower with her. Though they had yet to come together again, somehow they seemed closer than ever.
Then the sickness came. Irene woke up with it. For next few days, she often woke up with that feeling. When she came down stairs one late afternoon, Sherlock opened her satin night robe, exposing her front. He ordered her to stand still as he looked her up & down, doing that dreaded scan. Irene had a distinct feeling he had discovered something & it had nothing to do with sex right before he suddenly sucked a little on her better breast, the one without any scarring.
Sherlock pulled away a moment later & licked his lips as if tasting something. Finally, he looked into her eyes. "Woman ... you're pregnant."
"WHAT? HOW?" Irene exclaimed. Sherlock stared at her. "I mean, of course I know how ... but ... " She held her hands up, floundering for words. "Are you sure?"
"You are full of milk," Sherlock replied. "I just tried it."
Irene stared at him. "I ... pregnant!" She stammered. " ... But ..." She tried to think of what she wanted to say.
"You do not have an IUD anymore," Sherlock reminded her.
"I am terrified of those things after what happened."
"I know," Sherlock replied. "Neither of us used any sort of protection in our last encounter, so that is the how of it."
"I only had like a four percent chance!" Irene gasped.
"Still a chance & it only takes that one time."
"Pregnant!" Irene blinked a few times. She crashed.
Sherlock looked down at her lying by his feet. "Oh." He seemed rather amused by it all as he scooped her up in his arms & laid her on the couch.
She came to a few minutes later & ran a hand through his curls. "What are we going to do?"
"We are perfectly capable of supporting a child."
"Are you ok with this?"
"Of course," Sherlock said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"It's going to be a whole new life for us all over again."
Sherlock dragged his fingertips up the scars on her side, then over her marred breast & finally touched the one under her eye. "It is our turn now, after all."
Irene gave birth by C-section to a boy. On the record, the name was Nero Wolfe Scott. The full & proper name however, John Hamish 'Nero Wolfe' Adler Scott—Holmes, was only known to Sherlock & Irene for now. It nearly killed her & she was told to not get pregnant again. Sherlock sorted the birth control problem out with a vasectomy, stating that Irene had gone through enough surgeries. They had their one son & brought him home two days later.
* Irene. Irene. While looking around at how long Sherlock Holmes supposedly lived, I cam across these words, apparently his last words when he dies at 103 years old. Not in the ACD books, but the other novels that are a part of Sherlockian lore.
Also, Nero Wolfe is not my character & is apparently the son of Sherlock & Irene in some extra Sherlockian stories, though not by ACD.