Seeing that I got so many reviews for the last two chapters, I thought I would just upload this shorter one. Once again it's a fill in chapter, but it features John finding out. I hope you like it! :)

Irene was in a very good mood the next morning. She untangled herself from Sherlock's arms and went into the kitchen quietly, making herself coffee. She knew that John had stayed at Sarah's overnight and that Mrs Hudson was still asleep. So far she was safe.

Her soft humming woke Sherlock up. He found her in his favourite armchair, sipping coffee and reading the Guardian, laughing at certain scandals. When he playfully chastised her for making so much noise while he was sleeping, she simply told him that he had played his violin while she was sleeping the day before.

They were even.

They both took a shower later in the morning. She let her wet hair fall down her shoulders and walked back to Sherlock's bedroom. She only had a small suitcase with travel clothes and her other small necessities with her, so she opted for sweatpants and one of Sherlock's shirts.

Sherlock wouldn't mind.

He was still in the bathroom blow drying his hair and so he didn't hear the staircase creaking.

Footsteps.

Irene looked up from her spot in the chair, something akin to panic rising within her. She listened carefully, and smiled in relief. The weight of the footsteps and the slight mutterings told her it was John.

She therefore snuggled into a more comfortable position and went on with the book she had stolen (or borrowed) from Sherlock's bookcase, listening as John fumbled with the lock.

He barely acknowledged her as he opened a door. She could tell he was rather distracted.

"Morning" he said slightly sleepily when he saw her sitting in Sherlock's armchair in his clothes. She smiled at him in return, her hair covering most of her face.

John continued obliviously towards the kitchen, calling out loudly. "Listen Sherlock, why did you feel the need to lock the door if you're awa-" he stopped short suddenly, when his brain caught up with him. He froze and slowly turned around and stared.

A woman was sitting on Sherlock's favourite armchair.

Wearing Sherlock's shirt.

And it looked like she had just stepped out of the shower.

Sure enough, he could faintly hear the sounds of a hairdryer coming from the bathroom.

John opened his mouth and tried to say something, anything, but his body seemed to be unable to move or execute any other action.

'Right' he thought to himself. 'Let's take this slowly.'

He knew he looked like an idiot, but he blinked, making sure the woman was still there.

She was. She wasn't even looking up at him, totally unconcerned by his silence. Instead she flipped a page in the book she was reading. That was Sherlock's favourite book he realised.

He took a deep breath. 'Okay. A woman was sitting in their flat, dressed in Sherlock's clothes. Obviously not a client then. But then who? Sherlock didn't have a girlfriend. What a preposterous thought.'

"Sorry" he said, in the same tone he used with Sherlock, the one that conveyed his utter lack of understanding. "But who exactly-"

She looked up at him and smiled, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "Sherlock was right then. Your silence did last exactly 15 seconds. How does he manage it?"

John's heart momentarily stopped beating.

It couldn't be.

No. Definitely not.

She was supposed to be dead.

Irene Adler was sitting in his living room.

"What?"

He hadn't realised that he had said that one out loud until he heard Irene's tinkling laugh. She got up from the chair and smiled. There was something different about her smile he noticed. It seemed so much gentler and natural, not predator-like and flirtatious as he remembered it to be.

"Hello Doctor Watson".

Any reply he might have given was silenced when Sherlock entered the room, his hair still lightly damp. He was dressed in his usual suit instead of his pyjamas and dressing gown but he looked….less regal somehow. And a lot less sullen.

"Ah." He said when he saw him. "Good morning John. How was your date?"

John simply stared. Sherlock didn't seem at all surprised about Irene's presence.

In fact, he seemed very comfortable around her. John stared. Sherlock had recently had a shower, his hair was still damp. So was Irene's.

Oh god.

"Sher…lock" he managed, still staring at Irene.

"You were right" she said, inclining her head towards Sherlock. "Exactly 15 seconds. I don't get how you do it."

Sherlock let the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. "I suppose you may call it talent and intelligence Miss Adler"

She rolled her eyes. "I see that humility and modesty is not you area of expertise Mr Holmes."

John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Was Sherlock flirting?

"How is she alive?" he demanded and suddenly realised that Sherlock now knew that John had lied to him when he had said that she was in the witness protection scheme in America.

Sherlock and Irene just looked at him, waiting for him to figure it out.

"Mycroft said he was thorough this time!" John added, needing to convince himself.

Sherlock laughed lightly. "And I am sure that Mycroft said something along the lines that only I could fool him, am I right?" he asked.

"As always" John muttered automatically, before the whole meaning sank in.

"It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don't think he was on hand, do you?"

John gasped as he realised.

Of course.

Only Sherlock Holmes was capable of fooling his careful older brother, and therefore the whole country.

And only Sherlock Holmes would do exactly that.

But when had he done it? When he hadn't been at the flat sulking he had either been on one of his mysterious cases or on the holiday –

John closed his eyes.

The holiday. Of course.

He'd been so stupid.

How could he not have figured it out? Looking back, it seemed so obvious.

"I have to go somewhere" Sherlock announced.

"Could you at least tell me where you're going? Or why?"

"I just…need to get away. It's all so…dull here, and I just need a bit of a change. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but a few days, possibly a little over a week…maybe two weeks."

Sherlock was barely ever so mysterious. And of course, Sherlock had never been very keen on secluded holidays.

The truth dawned on John.

He had been going to rescue Irene.

"Excuse me" he said, somewhat weakly. "I think I need to sit down."

.

.

.

Irene and Sherlock watched him, with slightly amused smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. John was currently sitting in a chair, still staring at Irene as if he doubted her existence. They had told him the story of her rescue and had talked about Sherlock's visits to New Zealand. It was all painfully clear now.

Sherlock was right. He was an idiot.

He simply couldn't understand how he could not have noticed any of this sooner. Sherlock may be and expert in deception, but his replies in the last few months had been awfully vague and unspecific.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Irene Adler wasn't dead.

Okay.

Time to focus on the next big issue.

Sherlock and Irene were a couple.

As in a dating/kissing/doting/ (possibly dinner having) couple.

Or at least, that's what he gathered from the looks they kept throwing each other. They sat close together, barely touching, and yet something about them suggested extreme intimacy. Their hair was wet, suggesting that they had showered at the same time. She was curled up in his armchair, wearing his shirt, probably just having come from his bed.

Right.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, aware that the two of them were staring at him, probably amused by his slow track of thought and all the time he needed to process everything.

They looked at each other.

"About…six months?" Sherlock said. "I stopped counting."

"But ever since Pakistan" Irene added for him.

"Right." John said, trying to wrap his head around the fact. Six months. Jesus. He snorted suddenly, remembering Sherlock's reaction when he had asked him about the date. The reaction hadn't surprised him, this was Sherlock they were talking about, but all the same, he had to admit that he was amused. To think that Sherlock had said no to the date because he was currently in a relationship with someone who lived halfway across the world.

He cleared his throat. "Okay. You can stop looking at me like that now" he told them. "I know what you're thinking, and yes I know I've been incredibly slow, but I think I've processed it now."

Sherlock smirked.

"You do understand that absolutely no one can know about this." He said, and his tone suddenly acquired extreme seriousness.

Now it was John's turn to smirk. "You mean that no one is allowed to know that Irene Adler is alive or that no one is allowed to know that the famous unattached detective is dating?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Dating?" he asked, as if the word was some strange new food he was trying out and apparently not liking. He looked genuinely shocked at the word.

Dating. That wasn't a word he would use, no.

But what other word was there?

Irene was smirking slightly, but she had a similar expression on her face. John had to laugh at the pair of them. It was so ridiculous. Even now, when it was so clear that they had a relationship they still wouldn't directly say it, for fear of losing.

How ironic that these two unattached people, who frowned upon caring and love as a disadvantage, who hated emotion and sentiment, should fall in love with each other.

John sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Just another typical day then.