A/N: I decided to jump a bit because otherwise I feared it really would start dragging. Figured the past chapters gave some idea of what's been happening between first meeting Irene and the Christmas Eve party.
Like previous chapters, some sections of dialogue have been stolen from "A Scandal in Belgravia" but some bits and pieces will deviate from the original.
Her eyes settled on the package neatly hidden amongst Kate's garments. If she hadn't been looking for that key she'd hidden weeks ago, she probably would never have seen it. But there it was. Confirmation of how few days she had left. Kate would never realize what a burden such a small thing could be.
A month. She'd had a month. And she'd gotten nowhere. With the CIA on her tail, she'd had far too few opportunities to really work on Sherlock Holmes. She'd moved a few pieces on her chessboard, but she'd never gotten so far as to actually force his hand.
John was on the third girlfriend. Fifth partner if you wanted to count the dalliances he had with men. And Sherlock continued to pine and brood. In fact, many of his actions had only driven John further away if anything. They were working fewer cases together. Perhaps she'd been wrong in some of her methods, but really the two required a hands on method she simply didn't have the time for.
And without having her plan in motion to force Sherlock's hand on the issue of love…she didn't have the ability to play her move of achieving his help. It was one more reminder why she so often preferred women over men. Less afraid to voice their feelings. Unlike her two stubborn boys.
"One day," she murmured, turning to look at the feed that she had continued to watch. Nothing of interest had happened, but still, seeing Sherlock and John in their daily lives was interesting. Like watching two animals in their natural habitats….
Her phone rang. Irene paused and looked down at it. Moriarty. She didn't dare pick up. All it would be was a threat. And at the moment she simply didn't have time for those.
Irene turned the gift from Kate over in her hands, admiring the smooth paper, put together with perfection and clear attention to detail. A silver rope had been used instead of ribbon. Lovely. Perfect. Just like Kate herself.
It only made Irene's decision more painful.
She knew it was necessary. Moriarty and the CIA were both closing in. Neither would care about Kate really. Not so long as Irene wasn't with her…not so long as Irene was…
She banished the thought, not eager to dwell on it. It was Christmas, she should be a bit more cheery she supposed. She had her plans made. Kate would live. But perhaps death would be kinder than…
The package was becoming crinkled in her hands, so she set it aside. Perhaps she should open it. Perhaps she shouldn't. There was no right answer. In the meantime, all there was left to do was to treasure the last moments she would spend alive.
And also lay her last few plans for the brilliant Mr. Holmes.
John was doing his best to keep his mask in place. But honestly, every day it was becoming more difficult.
It's Christmas Eve, just put a smile on for a few more hours and it will be fine.
Mrs. Hudson was fussing over everything. Getting the decorations up and making food for all of them. John finally managed to convince her to just leave a sign on the door telling people to come upstairs in order to get her to sit down for a bit.
As he helped himself to a drink, he couldn't help but reflect on the past few months. They'd felt like eternity.
He'd been dumped by Cindi. Dumped Shannon. Tried internet dating in order to meet some blokes (see if that made a difference). Hooked up with a man in a bar. And he'd now been with Jeanette a little less than a month.
John glanced at Sherlock who was over by the windows with his violin. If Sherlock had figured out he was experimenting with men he hadn't said anything. Then again, Sherlock had seemed rather self-involved lately. He hadn't seemed to notice much of anything around John. It had taken him two weeks to realize John had broken up with Shannon.
"But why?" Sherlock had asked.
"Oh…um…decided I didn't like her…nose," John had said, cursing himself for not coming up with a better excuse.
"Oh yes, well too much plastic surgery can do that to a person."
After Shannon John had actually gone on a few dates with Andrew, who he'd met through a dating site. He was a decent fellow, but he wasn't what John was looking for. They'd mutually agreed to not see each other again after a third date.
And then the bloke at the bar who he'd ended up snogging and gone home with…it had been quite pleasant over all. But it just confirmed for John that the problem wasn't about needing men. It was about needing Sherlock.
He watched Sherlock's hand on the violin again. The man's eyes were closed, concentration fully in playing a short little round of Christmas carols. Mrs. Hudson looked positively gleeful on the couch, still drinking. John sighed and decided to go make himself useful and make her some tea. The party had barely started and she was already tipsy.
Lestrade arrived while he was in the kitchen.
"How are you?" Lestrade asked.
"Hmm? Fine," John said, setting the kettle on the stove. "Can I offer you a drink or anything? Mrs. Hudson's made all kinds of lovely things to eat."
"Well of course she has," Lestrade said with a smile. "How's Sherlock been?"
John glanced back towards the sitting room, but he saw no indication that Sherlock was paying them the slightest speck of attention. He took another drink.
"He's still been…disagreeable. But that's Sherlock for you, isn't it?"
"Yeah, seems like this bout has been lasting longer than normal though," Lestrade muttered. "Especially with you."
"I just handle it better than others do," John said. "Really, he's always a bit of an arse. Holidays don't help either."
Lestrade snorted. "Good point. Well, gonna grab myself a drink and go try some of those sweets Mrs. Hudson made then."
John nodded.
Jeanette was the next to arrive. She came into the kitchen and kissed him.
"Merry Christmas," John said.
"Yeah. Think we can sneak away later for a bit of private gift giving?" Jeanette asked.
"Oh," John said. "Sure. Private. Yeah that'd be fantastic."
"Just figured since you're going to your sisters it might be nice to have our Christmas time before you leave."
John looked across the room at Sherlock again, still playing carols. But he'd turned somewhat, not facing John anymore. Still, it gave a better view of those shoulders, arms working the bow gracefully across the strings. The whistle of the teakettle pulled him away from his thoughts.
"John?" Jeanette said.
"Hmm? Oh yes sorry. Yes we can find some time tonight."
He took an extra long swallow of his beverage before he grabbed the kettle and set about preparing a cup of tea. Once done he headed back to the sitting room, handing Mrs. Hudson the tea before settling down with his glass of wine.
"Lovely, Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cried, giggling. "I wish you could have worn some antlers."
John had a moment of weakness and pictured Sherlock naked with nothing but antlers on. He shook off the thought and quickly chimed in,
"Marvelous."
He ignored whatever Sherlock was saying, trying his best to concentrate on simply enjoying the evening. He needed to simply appreciate the time with his girlfriend and his friends and simply relax. None of that nonsense to mess everything up.
Jeanette offered Sherlock something to eat, and he lost his concentration when he heard Sherlock use the name Sarah. It set off memories of Cindi again…how he'd called out the wrong name. Blast, no. He wasn't losing another girlfriend because of Sherlock bloody Holmes. He and Jeanette hadn't even had sex yet. He wasn't going to have things end so soon.
"He's not good with names," he said, trying his best to pull her away, but Sherlock had apparently decided that he didn't want to drop the subject.
"No no no, I can get this," Sherlock said. "No, Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then…who was after the boring teacher?"
John wanted to groan. Why did Sherlock need to be so utterly insufferable? As though it wasn't enough that John was constantly fantasizing about him, he had to make things uncomfortable with his girlfriends too.
"Nobody," Jeanette glowered.
"Ah Jeanette! Process of elimination," Sherlock said, beaming a very fake smile, eyes fixed on Jeanette with a level of irritation. John's jaw clenched, but he did his best to not do anything rash. He settled on pulling Jeanette away.
"I don't know why you live with him. He's absolutely horrid," Jeanette muttered. "And I work with seven year olds who can be complete brats."
"I'm sorry," John offered. "I know he's awful sometimes. He just takes a bit to get used to. He'll come round, don't you worry."
"Well, you'd better make it up to me tonight," she said, batting her eyelashes.
John offered a half smile. Well, there was a small victory. At least she still was interested in having their "private" Christmas party together. He took another long drink. Maybe alcohol would make the time go faster.
He looked up in time to see that Molly Hooper had arrived. She was offering greetings in her usual cheery tone, a lovely lipsticked smile in place. Her arms were overflowing with bags of gifts. He came over to see if she needed help, not missing Jeanette's glower as he did. And of course as she shed her coat he noted she looked particularly beautiful tonight in a black evening gown.
"Holy Mary!" he said with a grin, unable to help himself. Perhaps he'd had a bit too much alcohol already, but who was he to deny Molly looked lovely? He was so used to her in lab coats and slacks that the sight of her in such feminine attire was shocking. He wasn't the only one anyways. Lestrade's jaw looked like it might just be stuck open.
"Having a Christmas drinkies then?" she asked as he took her coat.
Sherlock muttered something that sounded disdainful before going over to open up John's laptop. John did his best to ignore it as he hung up Molly's coat.
Of course, he was distracted by Sherlock commenting about his blog.
"The counter on your blog still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."
"Oh no, Christmas is canceled," John said, unable to think of anything more creative or clever to say. He was secretly pleased Sherlock was looking at his blog. The amount the detective passed it off as trivial had been annoying, but apparently he did think it worthy of a check every so often.
"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.
"People like the hat," John said. He was sincerely glad he'd said the word people instead of the word I. Honestly, he could stare at that picture all day. The hat did look lovely on Sherlock somehow. It suited him. Made those cheekbones look sharper, those eyes look more intense, those lips—
"No they don't. What people?"
Sherlock was thankfully distracted by Molly making a comment about how bad Mrs. Hudson's hip was. John took it as an opportunity to go sit by Jeanette, eager to get away from the tension of having to explain exactly what people liked the hat.
"Don't make jokes Molly," Sherlock muttered, creating even more tension in the room. John sighed and took another gulp of his drink. He'd need to get another soon at this rate.
He took Jeanette's hand in his, trying to focus on the comfort of having her next to him. This was supposed to be a nice evening. Of course, Sherlock didn't help but continuing to make incessant comments about each of them, telling Lestrade his wife was still sleeping with someone else.
"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's?" Molly said.
John raised a brow, wondering where she'd gotten that information. He hadn't talked to her much recently. Sherlock had been doing more cases by himself and as a result he hadn't gone to Bart's quite so frequently.
"Sherlock was complaining," Molly said. And then she seemed to realize what she'd said. "Saying," she corrected.
Complaining? John shot Sherlock a look. With how grumpy the detective had been lately John had figured he would probably relish having some alone time. Apparently it was just the opposite.
"Yeah, for the first time ever she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze!" John said, raising his drink.
"Nope," Sherlock said.
John frowned. "Shut up, Sherlock." He raised his drink back to his lips for another swallow. Why did he need to be so insufferable? Especially during Christmas. Mrs. Hudson was busy saying it was the one time of year they had to be nice to her, but apparently that didn't apply to everyone else. Sherlock just had to make Greg realize his wife was still cheating, and ruin John's hopes that Harry was finally pulling herself together, and make Jeanette feel uncomfortable. And right on cue, Sherlock seemed to realize there was one member of the party who had been left out and his attention fixated on Molly.
"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him."
A groan nearly left John's mouth. Did he have to do this now? If Molly hadn't mentioned a boyfriend clearly she didn't want to talk about it. She probably was still sensitive about the subject after dating Moriarty.
"What? Sorry, what?" Molly said, lowering her drink. John took that as his cue to have another sip of his.
"In fact you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."
Why do you bloody well care? John thought to himself. In fact, some part of him was looking at Sherlock and wondering if this was jealousy speaking.
"Take a day off," John muttered. Lestrade likewise put in his comment, trying to get Sherlock to leave Molly be. Did he have to ruin everything?
This is the man you're in love with, John thought. This arrogant prick is the one you want to spend your life with.
John wasn't quite sure why he even would think such things in the moment. His eyes drifted to his own present to Sherlock tucked neatly under the tree. Light blue with snowflakes. Apparently the shop keeper had thought it was for his girlfriend and had chosen a more feminine wrapping paper without asking him. He hadn't really had the heart to correct her.
Of course, John came out of his thoughts to find Sherlock continuing his deductions, moving on from commenting on Molly's present to making remarks about her appearance.
"And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…"
John prickled at the mentions of Molly's appearance. She looked lovely of course, but Sherlock wasn't the type to remark on those things. Or at least he usually wouldn't. Why was he paying attention to the size of her breasts? Perhaps it was jealousy working after all. Perhaps Sherlock fancied her.
Sherlock had trailed off for some reason. John frowned, but couldn't make out why that was. Molly in the meantime looked near tears.
"You always say such horrible things," she said. "Every time. Always. Always."
It was inarguable. John didn't dare rise to Sherlock's defense. He didn't have the energy or the desire to. He downed another gulp of alcohol and let the pleasant sensations of that wash over him.
But something in Sherlock's expression appeared to have changed.
"I am sorry. Forgive me."
He had to consciously stop his mouth from falling open. Sherlock apologizing? Apparently he was actually dreaming. That had to be it. He was in some awful Christmas nightmare and would wake up any moment.
"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
And then Sherlock did the unthinkable. He leaned in and kissed Molly's cheek. John felt his stomach drop, his whole body tensing as he stared at the man he loved kissing someone else. Married to his work? But apparently blood well able to kiss Molly after being horrible to her. John didn't even know what to say. Thankfully he was interrupted from having to say anything by Sherlock's phone.
"No! That wasn't ... I – I didn't ..." Molly stammered, looking horrified.
"No, it was me," Sherlock assured her.
Both Lestrade and Molly reacted with shock. Jeanette looked intensely uncomfortable by the whole situation.
"My phone," Sherlock said, pulling it out to look at it.
John felt sick. Between Sherlock's horrible attitude and him kissing Molly, another text from Irene bloody Adler was the last thing he could take. He'd had it.
"Fifty-seven," he said. "Fifty-seven of those texts-the ones I've heard."
"Thrilling you've been counting," Sherlock muttered.
Sherlock was looking at his phone. He frowned and then looked up at John.
"We need to talk," he said. "Alone," he clarified when John didn't move.
He strode off towards his bedroom. John hesitated only a moment before apologizing to Jeanette and following Sherlock into the other room.
"What?" he demanded, as Sherlock closed the door. "What is it?"
Before he could say another word, Sherlock leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
John had no time to think. Suddenly Sherlock's mouth was on his, arms tugging him a bit closer. He felt himself groan, relaxing into the kiss. One of Sherlock's hands had come up to cup the side of his face, and then his tongue was tracing gently along his lips. John felt himself hardening in his trousers. God, no other kiss felt like this. Jeanette's seemed childish in comparison.
It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Sherlock was pulling away, leaving John gasping and alone and confused. The fog of alcohol made it easy to just focus on the sensations, but deep down something in John knew that he needed to say something, not just lean in and kiss Sherlock again.
"Sherlock I…"
"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. He stared at John, those calculating eyes boring into him, stormy and mysterious and altogether beautiful. A shiver ran down John's spine, and he tried to reach for Sherlock again. Another kiss. That was all he wanted. Make Sherlock know it was all right. He was aware of his body continuing to respond, erection showing him to be willing and eager and he just needed Sherlock's mouth back on his…
As he leaned in to kiss his friend again, Sherlock pulled back again. John opened his mouth to protest, to say it was all right. To say he was just relieved that he wasn't going insane and that Sherlock wanted him over Molly or Irene. But before he could Sherlock said the most heart-breaking words of the night.
"Necessary for the case I'm afraid."
And then he was stalking to the door, opening it and heading back into the living room as another orgasmic sigh broke out.
What the…
John was left in confusion and despair. What had that been? Necessary for a…
Oh god. Irene. Her weird fetish with having Sherlock touch him and…he thought back to the kiss in her house and the love bite a month later.
He swallowed, trying to figure out how he could have ever thought the kiss was anything real. His erection was flagging thankfully, which was good news considering he was going to go back into a room full of their friends and have to try to pretend nothing had happened.
Taking a deep breath John ventured back out. None of them were paying attention to him though, as Sherlock appeared to be picking up something on the mantle piece. John caught sight of a red package sitting there. He hadn't noticed it before, but Sherlock had scooped it up and was making a hasty retreat back to the bedroom.
"Excuse me," he said.
"What—" John's voice broke somewhat and he concentrated on getting his words out in a normal tone. God he shouldn't be thinking about that kiss but he was. "What's up, Sherlock?"
"I said excuse me," Sherlock muttered and continued back to his room.
"Do you ever reply?" John tried, desperate to get some kind of answer. Why had Sherlock stopped sharing things with him? Why had this started happening? When had Sherlock decided to start being so bloody secretive?
His lips were still tingling. God he kept thinking back to Sherlock's hand on his face, his thin body right there in front of his. If he'd just stepped a few centimeters closer he could have rubbed his erection against Sherlock…seen if the detective was equally aroused…
But no such thing. Instead Sherlock was busy opening mysterious packages in his room rather than attending to the package John wanted taken care of….God he was so horny. John just hoped Jeanette would make up for it tonight. He downed another large swallow of his drink and tried not to think about it.
After a long moment he decided to follow Sherlock to his room. He excused himself from the company, catching yet another annoyed glance from Jeanette that he ignored. Walking down the hallway, he was relieved to see the door still cracked open. He pushed it the rest of the way to find Sherlock sitting on his bed talking with someone on his phone. Mr. Prefers-to-text actually talking on his bloody mobile.
"No, I mean I think you're going to find her dead," Sherlock said.
He hung up and lowered the phone. John hesitated only a moment before stepping a little closer.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, unsure if he should even bring anything about the kiss up. Sherlock's face appeared drawn. He had looked fairly moody all evening, but this…this was a different expression, one John couldn't quite define.
"Yes," Sherlock said as he came over to the door.
John wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss him again. Maybe? Was it possible? But part of him knew Sherlock probably had been telling the truth when he'd said it was just for a case. Married to his work. Yes, that made sense. Kissing John for work. Not for pleasure. Not out of desire for him or anything else.
And then Sherlock confirmed it, and the door slammed in his face.
Tears threatened to break forth. He swallowed thickly and did his best to not give in to his emotions. His fists curled, and John let the anger grow instead of the sorrow. Better to be upset with Sherlock than to be sad. Better to pretend.
He went back out to the sitting room and apologized saying he didn't think Sherlock was feeling well. The rest of them did their best to still enjoy some drinks and food and gift giving. But there were several uncomfortable glances shared throughout the evening. Molly left not too long after the gift exchange, saying she'd been called in to the morgue. She gave her apologies and said goodbye.
"Things just get weirder and weirder," Lestrade muttered. "Say, you know what's eating Sherlock? And that gift? You know anything."
John shrugged.
"I swear, he's been acting weird for months now. And I didn't believe that experiment excuse on the love bite shit. You sure you don't know if he's seeing anyone?"
John swallowed, thinking about Irene Adler and his certainty that she was behind everything that was happening right now.
"I don't know," he said.
Lestrade grunted but seemed to be satisfied with his answer and left it alone.
About an hour later, Sherlock reappeared, but it was only to grab his coat and scarf before heading out the door. John tried to ask if he wanted company, but his answer was no. John did his best to not act too hurt, grabbing his fifth drink of the night and settling back next to Jeanette. It was around that time he had a call from Mycroft. He apologized to the company and went to take it.
"Hello John," Mycroft said. "Is Sherlock with you?"
"No. I don't suppose you know anything about his mysterious disappearance," John muttered.
"Yes, I'm afraid we believe Miss Adler has been found dead," Mycroft said. "For that reason, I'm going to ask if you're willing to do a drug sweep."
"What?" John asked.
"A drug sweep. If she is dead tonight is very likely to become a danger night. Can you do that for me?"
John sighed. "Fine. Fine."
"I'm going to offer him a cigarette. If he takes it…then we'll know."
John closed his eyes and nodded. He sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen.
Mycroft hung up without another word. John put the phone down.
"Er…I…Mrs. Hudson can you come speak with me in the kitchen?"
"It's getting late, I'm going to head out," Lestrade said with a sigh. "Good night. Lovely to meet you, Jeanette."
She gave a very false looking smile. John sighed and stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson following behind him worriedly.
"What is it? Was that Sherlock?"
"No," John said. "Er…Mycroft. We…need to check the place. Make sure he's clean…Mycroft thinks it's a danger night."
"Oh dear," she said, glancing around the kitchen. "I'll start here. You do the sitting room."
John nodded, thankful she understood. He walked out into the other room and began checking the places he'd known Sherlock to keep his stashes before. He could feel Jeanette's eyes on him as he walked around the place. He knew she had to be thinking about their promises to have a private Christmas celebration at her place. Well, as soon as he was done with this he was going to go shag her silly and forget all about Sherlock and his bloody drug problems and his obsession with Irene Adler.
Time passed. The search seemed fruitless. Mrs. Hudson could be heard frantically rooting around in the bedroom. John shook his head as the call from Mycroft came in. Perfect. He downed another swallow of wine before answering.
"He's on his way. Have you found anything?"
John sighed. "No. Did he take the cigarette?"
"Yes."
He closed his eyes. Why did this have to be happening? Sherlock Holmes had to finally have feelings for someone, right around the time John started to realize how much he needed him. Sherlock and his bloody timing.
"Shit." He turned to look at Mrs. Hudson. "Ten minutes."
"There's nothing in the bedroom," she said.
"Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?" John asked, reaching up to rub his temple.
"No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John."
"I've got plans," he said, shooting a look at Jeanette. He had drunk enough that he was almost willing to tell Mycroft exactly what those plans entailed. I'm gonna go shag my girlfriend to stop thinking about your brother.
"No," Mycroft said. And then he hung up before John could get another word in.
John sighed and tucked the phone away. Well, that was just perfect. His one good part of the evening was about to be ruined like everything else.
He gathered his courage before stalking back over to the couch and sitting down next to Jeanette.
"I'm really sorry," he said.
"You know, my friends are so wrong about you," Jeanette said. "You're a great boyfriend."
He was perplexed by that. All he'd heard from her before was complaints. This was new. Perhaps she had picked up on some of the Christmas spirit or something. Or maybe she'd been drinking as much as he had. He hadn't been watching her closely enough to tell.
"Okay…that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great."
Jeanette's frown deepened and she glanced at her watch. "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man."
John was so startled for a moment he didn't even know what to say. Sherlock? Wait…but he quickly caught up and realized what she was implying. He groaned. Just what he needed. Sherlock getting involved in one more part of his life and ruining it.
"Jeanette, please," he begged.
"No, I mean it," she spat at him as she slid her shoes on. "It's heart-warming. You'll do anything for him – and he can't even tell your girlfriends apart."
"No," John said, trying his best to salvage the situation. "I'll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I'm not doing. Tell me!"
She pulled on her coat and turned to look at him. "Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes."
You can't compete with Sherlock Holmes, John thought, but he didn't say it.
"I'll walk your dog for you. Hey, I've said it now. I'll even walk your dog ..." John said desperately. He needed something. If he didn't have Sherlock he wanted someone else in his life. Couldn't Jeanette understand? Sure, he might not love her as much, but she was what he could have.
"I don't have a dog!" she said in complete disgust.
It takes him a minute to process that, but soon he realizes his mistake.
"No…because that was…the last one," John mutters.
"Jesus!" she said, turning towards the stairs.
"I'll call you," John called after her.
"No!"
"Okay," John muttered.
Mrs. Hudson was standing there looking at him. "That really wasn't very good, was it?" she said, obvious pity in her gaze.
John sighed and shook his head. "Nope. Not really."
"It was a terrible party," Mrs. Hudson said with a sigh as she went to start picking up glasses.
John went to sit down. "Oh no, it was…lovely. You…did a wonderful job…"
"Oh that's sweet of you dear, but it's all right. Sherlock has been in a mood for quite some time now," she whispered. "What happened with you two?"
John shrugged. "I don't know."
"Well, whatever it is, I hope you figure out a way to fix it."
He sort of doubted that was even possible at this point, but he didn't bother telling Mrs. Hudson. He simply poured himself another drink and sat down with a book.
John kept drinking and reading. Another few minutes passed and then there was a noise on the stairs. He turned to see Sherlock's form in the doorway, eyes passing over the room suspiciously.
"Oh, hi," John said, doing his best to not slur his words. His head felt pretty fuzzy, and he had a good feeling Sherlock would see in a heartbeat that he was tipsy if not drunk.
After a moment of silence Sherlock turned to go to his room. "I hope you didn't mess up my sock index."
The door slammed and John sighed. So much for a thank you. Giving up his girlfriend. Sitting here by himself reading a book while Sherlock possibly got high in his bedroom. Closest he would ever coming to being Sherlock Holmes' boyfriend.
Irene sighed as she watched from the window. She'd been tempted to go to the hospital and see Sherlock's reaction herself. But this was more important. She had to keep an eye out. Make sure Kate didn't do anything stupid.
Currently the little she could see through the curtains was Kate lying on the bed. She should have bugged the place before she'd left. But somehow in the moment her mind hadn't been on Kate. It had been on her. Finishing faking her death. Finding the right body. Bashing in the face. Ensuring it was planted in the right place so it would be found by Kate (painful but necessary) and making sure Sherlock knew of course. She knew the phone would be safe in his possession. And therefore Kate wouldn't be in danger. Of course she'd wanted to make one more attempt at pushing John and Sherlock in the right direction.
Her gaze fixed on Kate. Her poor darling. Alone and mourning the death of her lover. If only Irene could have told her the truth. But that put both of them at risk. It was safer this way.
Irene sighed and pulled her coat tighter around herself before walking back out of the room. She couldn't linger too long. She'd simply have to go into hiding. For now. Someday she hoped she could come back to Kate. It would just take some time.
A/N: Thank you to JessMill, UneFilleOrdinaire, and MycroftTheGingerCat for reviewing! Reviewing helps me know I'm doing something right and keep going!
Till next time!
-elsarenard