A Night In

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A/N (PLEASE READ): Hello, my lovely readers! Just wanted to clear something up really quick. A couple of readers were a bit confused a few days ago when I released the last chapter "Clever Girl." Some of you thought that one of the characters in that chapter was Irene and Sherlock's child: namely, the wild-haired young man who gave Sherlock Irene's note to meet her in her hotel room. He is *not* Irene's son. Irene isn't a mother, nor is Sherlock a father. The young man calls Irene "mum" because that's a form of address that young people use for elders in England. He was not calling her his mother. I have changed him calling her "mum" to him calling her "ma'am" to erase any further confusion on reader's parts, but I am so sorry to have to disappoint any of you who thought this was their secret child. The young man was not Irene's son. Or Sherlock's son. If any of you have any further questions about this mixup (I once again apologize profusely), please private message me and I'd be happy to clear up any confusions you might have. :)

I hope you enjoy this chapter!


Mycroft still had Irene's things brought from her hotel, and he believed he had every right to. She was his agent, and he wanted her back at Baker Street regardless of whether or not she had intentions to be there. His brother was willing, and that was what mattered. Besides, he needed them together for tomorrow.

He would contact her once her belongings were situated at 221B.

Despite everything she had, there was not much time taken in packing her things away. Two large suitcases full of all her possessions were all that resulted; Sherlock decided that she was used to being ready to leave.

Driving his brother home from The Langham, Mycroft said nothing to him the entire way. Sherlock just stared at the streets, which flew by like phosphorescent blurbs of colorful light. London was a show at night.

When they reached 221B, the lights shone in the upstairs windows, and Sherlock wrinkled his brow. Checking his watch, he realized it was a quarter till midnight. Had John stayed up to wait for him the entire time?

He ran up the stairs two at a time, discovering that John was indeed still there, reading a book in his armchair.

"I'm assuming it went well, then?" John asked, looking up from his novel with a look playing on his face that said all too plainly: "well done."

"Yes...why?" Sherlock asked, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the rack by the door. John chuckled, shaking his head at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked, a bit nervous.

John was about to open his mouth when someone else spoke for him.

"Doctor Watson was a bit surprised to see me here. Is he the only one?" Irene came out of Sherlock's bathroom, wearing his blue bathrobe and her hair lightly cascading down her shoulders in elegant waves.

Sherlock smiled subtly. "I'm afraid he is."

"Am I becoming too predictable, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

"Only to some, Miss Adler," he replied. She laughed. This time, it was a pleasant noise. Mycroft came up the stairs at that moment, leading two men carrying the suitcases.

"What's this?" John asked, eyeing the luggage with some apprehension.

"Those are mine," Irene replied, going to pick them up. Turning to John, she managed a smirk and said, "You see, Dr. Watson? I'm home."

John's eyes nearly flew out of his head. As Irene disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom lugging one of the suitcases, John turned to his friend with eyes like that of a frightened horse. "Did she just—?"

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