Well, here's that second chapter that I'd mentioned before - reactions to Sherlock's returning with a wife. Enjoy!:)

On their return to London, Sherlock composed an admittedly short list of people he absolutely must contact within his first twenty-four hours of being in his beloved home city.

First and foremost was Molly Hooper – the woman who had helped him fake his death, and – more importantly – looked after John while the soldier grieved for his presumably dead friend. Sherlock had said – more than once he stressed it – that there was no reason for Irene to be wary of Molly or whatever infatuation she might've once had with Irene's husband. Though skeptical at first, Irene was persuaded when Mycroft informed them that Ms. Hooper had gone and gotten engaged in Sherlock's absence. Any remaining dregs of… worry?... evaporated when Sherlock dragged Irene into Bart's at his side and introduced the two women to one another once Ms. Hooper had overcome her initial shock at seeing Sherlock again.

The second person that Sherlock found was DI Gregory – "not Gerald, Sherlock" – Lestrade, when the Scotland Yarder had conveniently been taking a smoking break in Bart's parking garage. He – like Ms. Hooper – had been happy to meet Irene, though retaining a healthy dose of surprise at the fact that Sherlock had ever married at all. He was accepting, however, and Irene knew that alone was what Sherlock needed from those he trusted most.

The third person that Sherlock revealed himself to was Mrs. Hudson, who had by far had the most… vocal… reaction of them all. Once the older woman had finally settled down and Sherlock had ascertained for certain that she wasn't going to have a heart attack – worried little adopted son of hers that he wouldn't admit to being – she was more than thrilled to give Sherlock back his old flat. And that was even before she was informed that Sherlock had found someone – although Irene couldn't help but laugh when the landlady had expressed surprise at the fact that Irene was "a woman."

"As opposed to a man?" Irene had asked with a barely restrained giggle of amusement at the overly bubbly woman now standing in the middle of 221b.

"Exactly," Mrs. Hudson answered unabashedly. "You have, of course, heard of Dr. John Watson?"

"Oh, I've met him," Irene nodded with the same amused smile on her face, eyes sparkling with mirth as she took the cup of the tea that Mrs. Hudson offered her. "As a matter of fact, I believe I was one of the many people who informed him that he and Sherlock were a couple."

"Sherlock turned shocked eyes to his wife then, objecting, "You didn't!"

"I did," Irene answered cheekily.

"Speaking of John," Mrs. Hudson asked. "Have you been to see him yet?"

"No," Sherlock answered. "I'm planning to head in that direction momentarily; I just wanted to get Irene settled here first."

It was Irene's turn to be surprised, blue eyes swinging towards her husband as she asked, "Don't you want me to go with you?"

"Not for this one. Since he knows who you are, I suspect a whole new set of problems will follow in finding out my wife's identity, and I'd rather deal with one thing at a time – the fact that I am alive before the fact that I have a wife. You understand, don't you?"

Yes, Irene understood, but she didn't like it. Though she and Mycroft had both tried to talk him out of the idea of surprising John in public, Sherlock's mind had remained stubbornly unchanged on the subject, and Irene just knew that he would pay for that accordingly when the time came.

Despite what Sherlock – the bloody breathing git – had anticipated as his reaction, John Watson was not pleased. The fact that the consulting detective was still alive was enough to make John want to kill him himself – and then Sherlock had let it slip at some point during the evening that he had married while he was away. When John had caught onto this particular tidbit of information, he'd demanded an identity – which Sherlock had stubbornly refused to give. So they'd compromised and John and Mary had decided to come back to 221b with Sherlock in order to meet this unknown Mrs. Holmes.

Sherlock stepped into the flat while John and Mary were still coming up the stairs, and that's when John heard a feminine voice from the past say, "Well, someone hates you."

What the bloody… John made it to the flat's doorway and, seeing "The Woman's" sharp profile, burst out, "She's supposed to be dead!"

"Your point?" Irene asked acridly, a tender hand on Sherlock's cheek but ice in her eyes as he looked over the sociopath's shoulder at John.

"You know what? I don't even know. I don't even care. I'm leaving."

John turned to make his exit, moving to grasp Mary's elbow and take her along, but his girlfriend pulled her arm back, softly pointing out, "You wouldn't be acting this way if you didn't care, John."

"Who says I care about him anymore?" the doctor snarled.

"Well, his face wouldn't be in this state if you were actually indifferent to the situation, now would it?" Irene said.

"You said yourself that I hate him, Mrs. Holmes; I heard you when I was coming up the stairs."

"Why do you think that?" The hurt petulance in Sherlock's tone almost made John sorry to have hurt his old flat mate. Almost.

"Your nose and mouth," Irene answered him.

Mary didn't seem to get the reference at all, and Sherlock and John only remembered at the same moment, eyes locking guiltily on one another in the second. The first time the two men had met Irene Adler… Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth, too…

"I…" John faltered, suddenly embarrassed for reasons that he couldn't even identify, and hating himself for it.

Because of his behavior tonight? Well, what about Sherlock Holmes behavior on practically every night of his life?! At least John had an excuse, and a pretty good one, if he did say so himself.

Suddenly the army doctor burst out with the first thing he could think of. Pointing an all but accusatory finger at "The Woman," he asked Sherlock, "Are you actually happy with her?!"

"I am," Sherlock replied placidly, not missing a beat despite the abrupt change of topic.

"You're… you're sure she's not… taking advantage of you in some way?"

"She's been my assistant for two years, John, and my wife for half that time. There's nothing of wrongdoing towards me in our relationship, I promise."

"Well," John bit the inside of his cheek, surveying the picture that Sherlock and Irene made - the detective was clinging to his wife's hand, subconsciously it would seem, in the uncertainty of the emotionally-charged moment, and her other hand had fallen from his cheek to rest comfortingly on his shoulder. Comfortable - and in love - with one another. "Well… good." John took a deep breath, releasing the evening's fury with it so that he could truly mean the words he said. "That's good, then. I'm happy for you, Sherlock."