Hello! Again I suck for not updating. I'm just keep getting caught up in The Red Headed League, Molly and Half a Century. Yeah. This chapters pretty T but not graphic. Also very short. Sherlock and Irene get naughty! The next chapter will probably be the wedding. Most likely at least. Bye guys! AOR

When Sherlock could stand without fainting and had a considerably lower tempreture, John allowed him out of bed. He still vomited a fair bit but Sherlock told John that this happened frequently when he was in transformations. This, in the past, had caused many 'friends' like Sebastian, to think he had an eating disorder. The first thing he did as soon as he was allowed out was talk to Irene. Their relationship couldn't go on; she was getting married to John's cousin and if anyone found out, John and his family would lose all respect for him. John was his only friend. He didn't want to risk their friendship. He walked slowly down the corridor and knocked on Irene's bedroom, praying that Henry wasn't in. Luckily he wasn't and Irene opened the door.

"Sherlock? Where have you been? Henry said you were ill. I thought you were just avoiding me because of our relationship."

"That's what I came to talk to you about. May I come in?"

She nodded and held the door open. Sherlock walked in and, seing that there were no chairs in the room, sat awkwardly on the end of the bed. The room was painted with pink and gold paint and decorated to the highest extend of luxury. A red velvet sofa sat in one corner and there was a Chinese dressing screen in another. The bed was oak and four poster with a gold eiderdown. The pillows were well fluffed and soft. Irene sat next to him. She placed her hand on Sherlock's bony one, sending a shiver up his spine. This was so wrong.

"Irene, I...I can't."

"You can't what?" She asked, raising her hand, stroking his jaw.

"I can't...do this...anymore. I can't be with you when I know you're getting married. To my best friend's cousin nontheless."

"Yes. I do pick some, don't I? But I'll stop if I can be with you. Only with you."

She ran her hands through his curls. He moaned in pleasure but turned away.

"No. Irene. We can't."

"Why not?" she sighed and removed her hand. "I don't want to run anymore, Sherlock. I don't want to have to hide from who I am. I want to be free to do as I please. You make me feel free." Irene grabbed him again and pulled him into a fiery kiss. It was so good. She began to loosen her jacket. She patted the bed beside her.

"It's not going anywhere."

Sherlock lay down and closed his eyes as she stroked him tenderly. His last thought before he was englufed in her touch was: Oh Crap. Not again.