Thank you to OntheRun246 for the prompt.

In this chapter: Jealous!John, Meddling!Irene and Fem!John Johnlock relationship fluff.

Be warned. It's a long one.

I own nothing.

Enjoy!

"You know, he's writing sad music!" John stepped into the small room, fully expecting to see Mycroft standing there waiting for her. "He doesn't eat, doesn't talk much."

She couldn't keep the concern and pain out of her voice. As much as she disliked Irene, she wasn't happy about the woman's death.

Or the affect it had on a certain flatmate of her's.

That didn't mean she was happy to see said woman standing across from her, right where she had expected Mycroft to be, a slightly smug expression on her face and her phone in hand.

"Wait, what? You're supposed to be dead," John choked.

Irene raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow, "Indeed." The tone she took wasn't mocking or playful; in fact it was rather resigned and accepting.

"How-?" John began, only to cut herself off. "You have to tell him." Anger bubbled up in her stomach. How dare she show her face now, to John of all people, after making Sherlock as upset as she had.

"He'd come after me," Irene countered. John felt her stomach churn, envy mixing with the anger, as she wondered if that was true.

"I'll come after you if you don't," John ground out. "It was you lying on that slab." John held back a wince as she remembered how Sherlock had ID'd her.

"DNA analysis is only as good as the records you keep," Irene smirked at the young woman across from her.

"And of course you know what the record keeper likes," John gave Irene a sarcastic smile.

Irene nodded, "I needed to disappear."

"Tell him Irene," John felt her anger building up inside her chest. "Or I'll do it for you."

"How do I do that?" Irene asked, adopting a much more playful tone.

"Text him. You do that often enough."

"And what should I text, Johnna Watson?"

"I'd say the usual, but there isn't one with you," John rubbed her forhead tiredly.

Irene rolled her eyes and pulled up her texts. Turning her gaze from her phone to John she smiled impishly, "Would you like to hear some of them?"

John felt her confidence sink into her shoes, "No thanks."

Irene allowed the corner of her mouth to curve into a perfect condescending smile, "Are you jealous?"

"We aren't a couple," John said plainly. She left out the fact that she wished it were that way.

"Yes you are," Irene countered, not missing a beat.

John scowled at her shoes.

Irene noticed the change in atitude and gave John a glance filled with pity. She quickly typed out a text, pushing aside the emotion. Her smile was gone as she showed John the screen, "There. 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.'"

John felt her lip curl in disgust and jealousy, yet nodded her head, giving Irene leave to send the text. After a moment of silence, that sigh that had been the source of envious torture for John echoed around the empty shell of the dilapidated building they stood in.

Both women turned to face the direction it had come from. Retreating footsteps could be heard as Sherlock fled the scene, a new spring in his stride by the sound of it.

John moved to follow her flatmate, but was stopped by Irene's hand latching around her wrist. She looked at her companion, who shook her head.

And John felt her heart break.

It wasn't often that Sherlock was fooled. When it did happen, he had two separate reactions.

The first was to congratulate someone for managing to outwit him, and then sulk.

The second was anger, plain and simple.

In this case he experienced the second option. He was angry that he had been fooled by that woman, The Woman.

He rushed back to his flat as soon as his position had been compromised. It was only upon reaching his rarely used room that he remembered the pain that had been present on John's face upon the discovery of his whereabouts.

That was when he realized the flat had been compromised.

John was in no rush to arrive home and face Sherlock! but when she finally got there, she was surprised to see the door ajar and a little note attached to the knocker.

CRIME IN PROGRESS

PLEASE DISTURB

She rushed into the flat and was shocked to find Sherlock with a phone pressed to his ear and a gun pointed at a man who sat bound to a chair. Mrs. Hudson sat sniffling on their couch.

"What the-?" John rushed over to Mrs. Hudson. "What happened?"

"An American attacked Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock stated. "I'm simply restoring balance to the universe."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson," John sat next to the eldery lady and wrapped an arm around her. "Are you alright?" She examined the cut on the woman's cheek and turned to glare at the man who sat tied up by the fireplace, "Gosh, what have they done to you?"

The motherly figure broke down in tears, pressing her palms to her face. John pulled her closer as Mrs. Hudson sobbed, "I'm being so silly!"

"Oh, no. No, of course you aren't," John rubbed her hand along Mrs. Hudson's arm.

"Take her downstairs," Sherlock quietly instructed.

John nodded and helped the shaky Mrs. Hudson to her feet, "Come on. I've got you now. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mrs. Hudson insisted as she walked towards the stairs. Before she followed after, John stepped up to Sherlock, "Don't go easy on him."

She escorted Mrs. Hudson downstairs, vaguely hearing Sherlock telling Lestrade that the burglar had gotten himself injured. He then proceeded to list injuries that John knew for a fact hadn't been injured by the intruder.

"This'll sting a bit," John quietly informed her landlady. She dabbed the antiseptic against the cut on Mrs. Hudson's cheek.

There was a sudden crash and a cry of terror as a shape flew past the window, causing both woman to jump. The shadow collided with the ground and Mrs. Hudson gave a little gasp, "Ooh, that was right on my bins!"

John bit back a smile and continued to dab at Mrs. Hudson's cheek. The same process repeated, with Mrs. Hudson's assailant being dropped onto the ground and taken back to John and Sherlock's flat to be thrown once more out the window.

Even when the police arrived, John remained in the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson. When Sherlock entered the kitchen after passing the intruder over to Lestrade, John sternly told him, "She's staying with upstairs with us tonight. We need to look after her."

"No," Mrs. Hudson protested.

"She's fine John," Sherlock replied, dismissing John's requests with a wave of his hand.

"No, she isn't," John insisted. "She's got to take some time away from Baker Street, then. She can stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

"John, don't be absurd," Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock, she's in shock. All for a stupid camera phone as well. Where did it go anyway?" John looked over at her flatmate.

Sherlock gave her an odd look she couldn't decipher and held out his hand towards Mrs. Hudson. The landlady withdrew the phone from inside her top and handed it to him, "It was in your second-best dressing gown, you clot."

She let out a laugh, "I managed to smuggle it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Sherlock gave the landlady's shoulder a squeeze and tossed the phone in the air before catching it, "Thank you."

John rolled her eyes.

"Shame on you, John Watson," Sherlock berated his flatmate.

John's jaw dropped, "Shame on me?!"

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall," Sherlock declared as he wrapped an arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders.

"Oh, alright," John said, shaking her head at the stubborn pair. "But she stays with us tonight. She can take your room, Sherlock. It's not like you use it or anything."

"I really am fine," Mrs. Hudson insisted. "I'll be fine, John dear. I don't need anyone to watch over me."

"Well, I do," John crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going to rest easy unless I know we're close enough to protect you."

Mrs. Hudson looked hesitant, but nodded, "If you insist, dear."

Once Mrs. Hudson had settled down in Sherlock's room for the night, John fixed some tea for her and Sherlock, who sat in his chair with his fingers steepled under his chin.

He merely grunted when she placed the cup on the side table.

She sat in the chair across from him and the pair sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. That was when John spoke up, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mm," Sherlock hummed.

"I mean, uh, Irene's return from the dead?"

"A small oversight on my part, I will admit, but it doesn't affect us," Sherlock remarked flippantly.

"Ah," John looked down into the steaming tea. "I thought, maybe, since you were acting down before she showed up that you might've been, I dunno, sad about her death?"

Sherlock looked up at John, "I always act, as you so eloquently put it, 'down'."

John felt herself flush, "I don't know. You just seemed different after that case."

There was a pause, then, "Are you jealous, John?"

"What? No," John scoffed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed, "Okay, yes."

There was another moment of silence.

"Why did you tell The Woman that we weren't a couple?"

John choked on her tea and looked up at Sherlock. His expression was one of pure curiosity, like that of a young child.

"Because, to my knowledge, we aren't. Why do you ask?" John barely managed to stop the warmth from climbing further up her neck.

Sherlock hummed and settled his chin on his fingers, lost in thought. With a sudden burst of courage, John asked, "Sherlock, do you think we're in a relationship?"

"Aren't we?" Sherlock replied a bit too quickly.

John set down her cup down and rubbed her hands over her face. A little warm tingling sensation began to awaken in her stomach as she detected the hopefulness in his tone.

"Sherlock, you need to realize that not everyone can pick up on things as easily as you. If we were to start a relationship, you would have to tell me that you're interested in starting one."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded. "I can do that."

John smiled half heartedly at him, fully expecting him to fall into one of his long silences. What he did next truly shocked her.

Sherlock stood and walked over to his flatmate, standing in front of her, "Would you like to start a relationship with me, John?"

John looked up at Sherlock, her cheeks turning crimson. "W-what?!"

"You do know how I loath to repeat myself John," Sherlock smirked.

"Um, well, that is," John stammered. She looked up at Sherlock's face, his features painted with anticipation.

"Yes, Sherlock," John finally said. "I would like to start a relationship with you."

Sherlock grinned, "Excellent."

Sorry if it wasn't that good. I had difficulty writing this chapter.

Thanks for reading!