A/N: My apologies for the dreadful lateness of this chapter. Real life can be such a pest sometimes. Next two chapters are practically done though,so I hope to redeem myself this month :)

Holmes sat and picked at his dinner, wiping his fingertips on his napkin quite fastidiously every couple of mouthfuls. I couldn't help feeling that he was terribly ill at ease, and I scratched around for a way to settle him, desperate for that easy companionship we used to enjoy. Then Caroline spoke, and a calm descended. Holmes listened to her, and as he listened, he ate, his hand travelling automatically back and forth to deliver food to his mouth.

'Sherlock, John has told me so much about what you have done for him. Your remarkable abilities I already recognised, of course, but your consideration towards John, whether or not you intended it, is quite wonderful.'

Holmes' eyebrow rose, and he looked straight at me. I glared back at him, mortification at his having been told this making my face burn. I wanted quite desperately to explain that all I had said was that Holmes had helped me to find my place in the world again after the army, had given me a new meaning, a new purpose. Not, I wanted to add, not, and absolutely not, that I had told her anything about what else he had done for me. Not about our comparatively recent discoveries about each other. Not even about the closeness of the friendship we had enjoyed before, which had perhaps masked what we truly felt.

'I hope, Sherlock, that you will always feel able to come here whenever you like. And I also hope that I will never be so jealous of John's time as to stop him going with you whenever you truly need him.

Not knowing him so well as I, I am sure she could not have interpreted the fleeting twitch that passed across his face. To me it said 'Thank-you, my dear lady, but I need him all the time.' I frowned at him – I wasn't convinced that was true. It was true of me, but not hi– Oh, no, that was not a thought I wanted in my head anywhere around my wife. I sent him a warning look, received an arrogant tilt of the head in return and, horrifyingly, felt the raw shudder of pure lust shaking me from head to toe. I looked purposefully back at my wife, taking in her feminine attractiveness, reminding myself of her charm and tenderness.

'You have been so very good for John over the years, it is clear. I almost wish I had known you sooner.'

'John is perfectly capable of looking after himself.' Something in his voice highly doubted that. I prayed fervently that Caroline would not leave the two of us alone together at any point this evening.

When we had finished our main course, I excused myself for a moment, leaving Holmes and Caroline at the table. I suspected that it was unwise, but I did, in fact, need to relieve myself, and apart from that, I thought it might be as well to look in the glass, and check how innocent the expression I was currently wearing actually looked.

I leant on the washstand and stared at myself. I was a little pink about the cheeks, but no more than a good meal might promote. As far as I was concerned, my eyes were full of confusion, but apart from that, nothing seemed to show. I returned to the table to find my glass filled and my companions finishing a conversation I could not quite extrapolate.

'...You would be surprised, given how few of your deductive skills I possess...' My wife trailed off and smiled at me. I sat and took up my drink, carefully restraining myself from throwing the whole glass down my throat in one go.

Our conversations thereafter managed to stay on safe topics, as far as I was concerned. The latest in a series of murders which, for a change, Holmes thought the police were dealing with in a competent manner; Holmes' latest case, which seemed to be keeping him just occupied enough to stop him descending into depression, without making him manic in its own right.

Holmes left just before ten, shaking my hand and kissing that of my wife. I shut the door on his retreating back, and Caroline took my by the arm, walking us back to our chairs by the fire, and planting a kiss on my forehead as she sat me down.

'He really is wonderful company, John.'

'In certain moods, yes, you wouldn't enjoy him so much when he's feeling argumentative.' She tutted at me, and I gave her an affirming look.

'I could not possibly ask him outright, of course, but you know he truly thinks the world of you.' I had no answer for that, not being certain of how much, or, indeed, how she knew. So I pretended not to have heard.

'You don't miss him too terribly, do you, John?'

'Miss him? When I have such excellent company in my wife?'

'One can enjoy the company of one person, yet still yearn for the company of another.'

'Caroline, I assume you–'

'Do not suppose I mind. I have the greatest affection for Sherlock, and I did not marry you in order to separate you.'

'You talk as if Holmes and I were married.'

She looked at me shrewdly, but gave no answer. Later, she took my hands, pulling me to my feet, and we went to bed together. She touched me in a way she had not done before. I left the lights up full, kept my wife where I could see her, and did not shut my eyes once. I concentrated hard on her face, and let myself enjoy her softness, register the love in her eyes, and try desperately to return it in full measure. But when I fell apart, I was in Holmes' arms, and the overriding emotion of the daydream was contentment.

'John?' It was breakfast, a Saturday morning, and I had nowhere important to be, other than at my wife's side. I looked up at her and smiled. Her own expression was benign.

'I don't want you to leave me,' she said suddenly, making me choke on my egg. I used my napkin, then cleared my throat.

'I have no intention of leaving you. Why do you say that?'

'You may not intend to leave me, but you would like to.'

'Caroline? I assure you–'

'John, listen. We have been married for six months. I think I know you well enough to better interpret your moods, and to better articulate what I have always known. Still, I do not wish you to leave me. But if I continue to hold you so far removed from him, I suspect that is what will happen. I would rather share you with him.'

'I don't understand,' I said, wishing it were true. My wife rose, depositing her napkin on the table. She took my face between her hands and kissed my forehead.

'You are a terrible dissembler, Doctor Watson.' She smiled, but there was sadness in the smile. 'You are also miserable, and I hate to see you miserable.'

'I'm not–' I began, but she stopped me.

'No, John. No. I don't quite know what you had with Sherlock before you began courting me, and I don't mind. In a way I am flattered that I was able, however temporarily, to displace him in your thoughts. But, in the end, I am certain you were wrong to do it.'

'How could it be wrong to marry such a wonderful woman?' I asked, listing a hundred reasons why it was wrong in my head.

'Do you wish me to be so blunt?'

'Yes.'

'No matter what your feelings for me, it is abundantly clear that you love him more.' I tried to think of a way to prove her wrong, but I just couldn't. She was perfectly right, and the flimsy pretence I had constructed for myself crumbled. She was still holding my face gently, and that was the only thing that prevented me from bolting from the room.

'Hmm, I'm sorry, I've scared you, my love. Don't worry yourself. If I'm truly honest, I think I knew long before I married you.'

'Then why did you do it?' I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

'Because I fell in love with you, the first time we met, when you were working on that case. And I'll admit that I fell a little in love with Mr Holmes at the same time.'

'You can't have known,' I said, forgetting myself and my natural reserve on the matter. 'I was so careful. I didn't let–'

'Not when you were on your own, no. Or, at least, the amount of time you spend talking about him could be explained away by the amount of time you spend together. But when you were with him, it was so clear, so very clear, and now... Now that you feel safer because you are married again and can afford to relax a little, it is unquestionable.'

When we retired to bed that night, she lay by my side and slept with her hand resting on my chest. I recognised it as a gesture of support, forgiveness, whatever might be required, but my mind felt the pressure, just so, upon my chest, where he had once laid his hand to mean possession and inseparability.

She did not mention it again, and I did my best to forget, but the knowledge that she was aware was a dangerous light of hope in the corner of my mind, making the unsuitable possible and the unthinkable a constant tumble of thought. I did my best to keep my mind on her, keep myself near to her as much as possible, but when the next invitation came, I found myself totally unable to resist.

'Mrs Watson. I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but will you object terribly if I abandon you for the whole weekend?

'And to which lucky soul am I losing you?' she asked, already knowing.

'Holmes wants me to–'

'Well then, you must certainly go.'

'I wish you weren't quite so happy about it,' I said, a little petulantly.

'John, you know perfectly how I feel about it.'

'Yes, but you don't understand what you're saying.'

'John, don't you dare suggest that I don't know what I'm sanctioning.' Her tone was firm, but not angry. I, on the other hand, could not prevent indignation rising in me, even though I knew it was a bad idea.

'You have no idea–'

'John, don't argue, not about this. If I want to argue with my husband, which I flatly refuse to do, this is not the subject I would choose.'

'You–'

'I know exactly what I'm allowing, Doctor Watson. Do you want me to spell it out?'

'You're mistaken, I–'

'Sit down, my love.' She went to her chair by the fire and sat down, taking my hand as she passed to guide me to my own seat. I sank into it, nervousness playing a jig with my legs as I took the weight off them.

'I am allowing you, or at least, not complaining about you choosing, to go off for the weekend with Mr Holmes, whom you love with all your heart.' I held up my hand and opened my mouth to stop her, but she spoke straight over me.

'I was not entirely certain of my facts the last time we spoke of this, but I can observe. That means is not the sole purview of Mr Holmes. I have been convinced, and you will not persuade me otherwise. You will enjoy your weekend together, even if he is in a foul mood, and if his temper is even moderately pleasant, you will end up kissing him, and quite probably sharing his bed, since opportunities are so scarce these days.'

I simply sat there with my mouth gaping. I felt as if my insides would crawl out of me, straight through my skin. How could I answer that? In all honesty, there is no response possible when one's wife suddenly confronts one with the fact that she condones your arrangements with your dearest male friend.

Caroline leant forward and took my hand, pulled herself up with it, knelt in front of me and kissed my open mouth. She rose and sat herself on my knee, daring me to object or make a fuss. Deep, deep affection coursed through me. I was clammy with cold sweat, but suddenly warmth replaced it, and I kissed her back, wrapping her in my arms, feeling like a complete scoundrel. Then I considered – this was her idea. If she was happy to make love to a man she knew well put her, however unsatisfactorily, in second place, then it was not my place to say her nay.

Besides, by this time she had shuffled back up my lap, until the round firmness of her behind was pressed hard against my groin, and she was moving quite knowingly, so that whatever powers I might have possessed to allow me to put her off, claiming the impropriety of the thing, all leaked out through my shoes, and I pulled her to me more tightly. She fiddled with the clasp at her bosom, letting it fall open, exposing the curve of her breasts over the top of her corset. As I kissed her, she wriggled her skirts up over my legs and fiddled at my belt until she could get a delicate hand down the front of my trousers. I gave up – my mind no longer had much control over my actions – and let my fingers roam over her exposed skin, pushing myself into her hand. Somehow she managed to get the fastenings open and release me from the confines of my suit trousers. Her attentions had worked well enough and she squirmed in my lap, shuffling me to the front of the seat so that she could lower herself onto me. I groaned as she enveloped me and my head tipped back, out of the way of her teasing lips.

'Why?' I managed to ask with the last of my clarity.

'Because,' she panted, 'I don't care. It's my own fault, and I don't want you to feel that we can't do this simply because I know. I'm not going to endure a cold bed as well as a shared husband. I can cope perfectly well with the latter, not the former.' She laid her lips against mine again, and squeezed me with some internal muscle she had obviously spent time exercising.

That was it. It was too much for me. I slipped a hand behind her head and tipped her back and down onto the hearthrug, wrestling my trousers down further and dropping onto her, feeling her legs coming up around my waist, swathing me in the fabric of her skirts. I plunged into her, again, again, until I let loose inside her, hating myself for not even making a small effort to ensure her pleasure in the act.

I rested my chin in the valley between her constrained breasts and felt her chest heaving beneath me as she inhaled against my weight. She ran her fingers through my hair, gasping prettily. I rolled off her and lay next to her, the fire crackling a few feet away.

I felt dreadful. A fiend of the worst order. What kind of man would do this? Her fingers laced themselves through mine.

'My choice John. Yes?'

I simply grunted in reply.

'And you will go with Mr Holmes this weekend? Won't you?' she continued, fierce all of a sudden, and I knew I would. Besides, it what was I wanted most in all the world, even with her dainty fingers wrapped in mine and her moisture drying on my softening phallus.