Morstan and Adler

Eleven: Irene

IRENE

Irene discussed Mary's fate with Sherlock later, after he'd revealed to John that she was an assassin. Apparently him and Mary had had words. But, apparently, he wasn't too mad at her. Irene was really mad, though. Many a time she suggested something painful as a punishment, but every time Sherlock refused. Irene was confused at why Sherlock could possibly forgive her.

She pondered over this at the café they were meeting at. Well, then John turned up. For some reason, he didn't seem so happy to see her. Now him and Sherlock were... discussing matters... in the men's toilets. Irene sat alone at the table, twiddling her thumbs and thinking things over.

Sherlock strode back up to Irene. "My apologies, Miss Adler, for making you wait." He offered her his arm jokingly.

She took it, laughing. "Ah, Mr Holmes. I'd have much more than your arm if you let me. Or even if you didn't. Just you wait." She smirked. "I'm feeling slightly basorexic."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Basorexic?"

"Oh, I found a word that Sherlock doesn't know!" Irene laughed. "Basorexia. The noun, for the overwhelming desire to kiss somebody. Would you let me rule your head?"

"No," Sherlock said firmly, "But I'll let you have this." He pulled her closer and kissed her. Irene deepened the kiss. It was beautiful.

The feel of him on her, the taste of him on her lips... Irene wished she could stay like this forever, and forget about Mary, forget about Moriarty. Sherlock wasn't that kind of person, though.

"Ah-hem." John cleared his throat.

Sherlock froze and stepped away from Irene, swearing at his old flatmate. Irene just grinned.

"Excuse me, did I interrupt your little snog fest?"

"Well," began Irene, but Sherlock shushed her.

Irene and John raised an eyebrow in unison.

She walked towards the door, motioning for Sherlock to follow. She noticed that he was becoming slightly more uncomfortable now that John had turned up.

Sherlock threw a glance at John, but went with her, leaving John, confused, in the café.

They walked together, and Sherlock was talking about people that they were passing on the street.

"Oh, he's having an affair. With a man. His wife's having an affair too... with the same man."

Irene wasn't listening. Now John had appeared, that meant Irene would have to see Mary soon. No matter what Sherlock said, Irene would hate her.

"She killed her son's gerbil and is on her way to get a new one before he comes back from.... football. No! Hockey."

Irene just nodded, but she was thinking about Mary.

Sherlock pointed to a teenage boy across the street. "That kid's just lost his virginity, and his parents don't know. He isn't planning on telling them that it was with his cousin.... because he was drunk."

"Yeah," Irene agreed. She fingered the bracelet on her wrist.

"And you're thinking about Mary Watson."

Irene halted, looking up at the detective. "Am I that clear?"

Sherlock frowned. "No, I was just guessing. It would have been embarrassing if I was wrong. Miss Adler, you are.... opaque."

"I just can't stand the thought of her!" moaned Irene, falling into step beside Sherlock again.

"Well, make nice, because we're going to be seeing much more of her," ordered Sherlock, with a firmness that surprised Irene.

"Unless she and John don't make up..." Irene suggested.

"They will," Sherlock said forcefully. It sounded more like he was convincing himself.

Irene looked up at his glasz eyes, wondering how he could be so sure. "Whatever. Come on, Mr Holmes," she cried, and walked off.

She heard him laugh behind her, and smiled as he reappeared by her side.