Chapter 8
The next few nights ended the same way; each night ended in a chess game, Sherlock determined to win this time, Irene determined to…Sherlock didn't like to dwell on that.
No one commented or asked her why she remained in Baker Street, so she didn't mention it either.
In the mornings Irene and Sherlock would battle each other over trivial matters such as who could finish the crossword first or fill in the sudoku that came with the newspaper, pointing out each others mistakes, whilst John struggled to keep up.
One cold evening, Christmas drawing ever closer and the central heating deciding to take the week off, two of them were sitting on the sofa, watching a terrible murder mystery, John fascinated, Sherlock shouting at the TV when the detective made and irrelevant or unproved deduction, while Irene made tea in the kitchen.
Just as the detective was making a dramatic conclusion, Sherlocks phone buzzed off the coffee table. He saw Mycrofts name on the screen as he bent to pick it up.
Outside 221B. A few matters to discuss concerning the arsonist case you previously refused-MH
"Who is-Yes! I knew it was the wife!" John finally tore his eyes away from the screen, grinning, "you owe me twenty quid Sherlock"
"The detective based his deductions on little evidence and stupid deductions. Look at the victims shoe laces John! Suicide is the only possible deduction…" after eventually handing John a forgery of a twenty pound note he'd gotten on a money laundering syndicate case, Sherlock texted his brother back;
That's two dentists appointments in the last three weeks Mycroft-SH
"Just my brother being his usual, inconvenient self-" he stressed the penultimate word as he heard Mycroft slowly ascend to the flat, a discernable note of concern in his voice as his eyes flicked towards Irene. Before he could warn her to hide the door swung open revealing a tall, dark haired man, holding a long black umbrella in his left hand.
"Evening Mycroft" Sherlock adopted a flat, uncaring tone as the eldest living Holmes carefully stepped over the threshold, perhaps worried that he'd get dirt on his new, expensive, well-tailored suit.
Mycroft ignored his brother's acknowledgement and held out a thin, cream-coloured file, disregarding John's existence all together.
"I'm not hear to argue, Sherlock-" you could almost hear the amount of money that had been spent on Mycroft's upbringing as her pronounced each word so everyone could hear each letter, "I skimmed over it. It doesn't seem beyond your area of "expertise"."
Before any dispute could begin, Mycroft sniffed…perfume. As far as he remembered, Sherlock didn't wear perfume and he doubted John would be so desperate he had to smell like…
"The Woman" Mycroft said flatly, glaring at her. His eyes narrowed slightly. He despised her and everything she stood for, even now as she stood there motionless, looking vaguely harmless.
He heavily disliked being beaten, particularly by a woman who now smirked at him. Particularly by a woman who, as far as he had been concerned, had been dead for five months. Mycroft Holmes was not a man who believed in second chances, and he wasn't letting her slip through his fingertips again.
"Sherlock, John, would you mind giving me and Miss Adler a few moments to..chat?" his "friendly smile" couldn't have fooled Lestrade. His voice was calm but his eyes flashed with anger and his gaze remained on Irene. Sherlock had seen this look a few times before, usually concerning him and Mycroft would do a lot to get his way.
Sherlock glanced at Irene quickly but he needn't have worried. Her face was about as flirtatious, as mischievous as it could get. This only infuriated Mycroft more.
"It's been too long Mycroft" her voice was velvety and soft and indicated her amusement at the situation.
Mycroft ignored that and posed a more direct question;
"How did you survive?"
"I was just taking a walk in my favourite holiday destination when a lovely bunch of Pakistani terrorists abducted me and almost beheaded me.."
"But…?" Mycroft waited, beginning to suspect…
"But, luckily, I knew the executor" Irene flashed a smile at Sherlock "or at least I knew what he liked…The rest, is history Mr Holmes"
Mycroft just rolled his eyes and stepped forward, his umbrella in a slightly more threatening position.
"No" Sherlock said simply, stepping between Irene and Mycroft. Several months ago, Sherlock would have merely watched on the sidelines, uninterested in her predicament. Now, however? Maybe it was just that he didn't want a mind like Irene's to be wasted on Mycroft. Maybe it was because he enjoyed watching Mycroft suffer. Maybe he didn't want to lose his chess parter. Sherlock refused to let his mind wonder to whether he wanted her to stay for a different reason. No. Sherlock Holmes had suffered enough just making one friend. Anything more might as well be suicide for the great detective. He resolved, never to tell Irene that he had compared any form of relationship with her to suicide. Most people wouldn't take it well. She wasn't most people.
Sherlock had to blink several times to bring himself back to reality.
"I…what?"
"I said-" Mycroft replied sternly "that this isn't up for debate, Sherlock. At the very least she should be taken in for questioning"
"Oh I don't doubt that" Sherlock smirked.
The next few minutes passed in a bit of a blur for John, half-following the conversation. All that mattered was that by the end of it Mycroft had a bloody nose, Sherlock a bruised eye and Irene was now holding both of the brothers by their ears.
"Mr Holmes, I'm sure you have some important affairs to take care of, back at the office. It was a pleasure to see you again. As for you" Irene yanked slightly harder on Sherlock's ear, "perhaps it's time you went to bed. You'll be busy working on that arsonist case for Mycroft tomorrow won't you?"
Sherlock mumbled something.
"What was that, dear?" Irene was practically holding him upright by his ear now,
"Yes..! I'll be busy…working" Sherlock said reluctantly.
She let go of both of them and Mycroft straightened up, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab his nose,
"I'll be keeping a close eye on this place Sherlock" he called back already nearing the door, brushing non-existent dust off his shoulders.
"I bet you will" Sherlock muttered sulkily, sinking into his armchair as John burst out laughing.