Irene's arrival in their life had caused quite an upheaval. She'd shown up halfway through the boys' seventh year, and had all but demanded a place in their lives. Now, four years later, she'd become a fixture in the Holmes' household. Sherlock would never admit it, but he adored her and adored annoying her. John took to her like any loving older brother would. He doted on her, and in return, received aid in pissing off Sherlock when he needed to be taken down a peg.

Today, it seemed that John and Irene had set Sherlock's nose onto some kind of trail. Mrs. Holmes didn't know the details, but found it hilarious when Sherlock had stomped about the house, muttering darkly to no one in particular. He'd brandished a note in her face accusingly and ordered her to sympathize with his current plight. The note read "Ask, dumbass". John knew Sherlock all too well. A sure way to make things difficult for Sherlock was to force him to have to cooperate with others. Sherlock, however, always had to exhaust himself before resorting to human interaction (unless John was involved), so he was currently bounding from room to room and checking every nook and cranny in which John might have concealed himself. Irene had taken to dogging his heels the whole way, taunting about him not understanding the clue. Upon his ignoring her, however, she'd decided to sit with Mrs. Holmes in the kitchen. Now was the chance to ask something that had been on her mind regarding the girl's situation for quite some time.

"Sherlock tells me you're up for possible legal emancipation."

"Did he, now?" Irene chewed a piece of apple slowly, measuring the climate of the pending discussion.

"You know, we have a spare bedroom, if you wouldn't mind helping me keep an eye on the two of them. Unless you have somewhere else lined up already."

She managed to keep her eyes on the chopping board in front of her, and noted that she would need more than the chef knife in her hand to slice through the silence surrounding them.

Irene had been in foster care for years, and it was only by pure chance that she'd managed to stay in one household this long. Now was the chance to give her the stability that Mrs. Holmes thought she needed and possibly, deep down, truly wanted. Weighty offers like this often took children like Irene by surprise, and she wanted to make sure that Irene felt like she was in control of the decision. She knew that Irene railed at the idea of others deciding her fate, but she'd had to conceal it at every turn for the sake of not being labeled a "troubled" child. Mrs. Holmes tried to infuse the silence with as much patience as she could muster.

That is, until Sherlock burst into the kitchen, startling them both. His heated glare settled on Irene.

"Tell me where he is."

Irene's face went carefully blank, then contorted with glee. "No."

"Where. The hell. Is he hiding," he spat through gritted teeth.

Irene snickered. "What was that? Did you finally break down and ask for help?"

"I won't ask again."

"Pity."

Irene began idly studying the apple core in her hand.

One by one, Sherlock's appendages relaxed. He reformed his face into a politely inquisitive mask. Mrs. Holmes had never felt more unnerved in her life, and that included all of her years in the Service.

"Please, Irene. Would you be so kind as to tell me where our dear John is holed up?"

"Of course, darling," came her sickeningly sweet reply. "He's standing right behind you."

Whirling around, Sherlock backed the slightly shorter boy all the way up to kitchen door that was still easing shut from his sneaky arrival.

"What was the meaning of this, John?"

"Really? You haven't figured it out already? You know, for a supposed genius, you sure can be unbelievably unobservant at times," John replied, cheeky grin in place.

"Out with it."

"I've been leaving fliers around for weeks, not to mention that I've been searching online for tuxedo rentals, and I know you snoop through my search history, so there's no excuse."

Sherlock straightened and blinked slowly.

"The winter formal."

"Took you long enough."

"You...you set up a scavenger hunt to ask me to some trivial teenage rite of passage."

"Ah. The genius makes an appearance at last."

"And you actually managed to make it not unbearably easy."

"Hey now, I got you to beg, didn't I?"

Mrs. Holmes silenced Irene's impending interruption with a glance. Nodding her head toward the other exit, both ladies took that moment as their chance to leave the boys to sort out their ridiculous courtship and proceeded to conveniently gather in the living room, next to an air vent that just so happened to carry sounds spectacularly well from the kitchen. They settled in to eavesdrop shamelessly.

"If the offer is serious," Irene whispered after a while, "I would be more than happy to help manage those two."

Meeting her gaze, Mrs. Holmes forced herself not to allow the joy to seep into her features.

"Well, thank you, Irene. Feel free to move your things into your room whenever you're ready."

She dutifully turned away to focus on the row that was getting quieter in the kitchen, taking great care not to let on that she'd noticed the glassiness in Irene's eyes.

"Damn. I think they've finally stormed upstairs to finish pretending to be short with each other," she said, hoping to give the girl a bit of privacy. Standing, she made her way back to the kitchen to resume making dinner.

A while later, after Irene had snuck off (sadly, she was quite good at disappearing), Mrs. Holmes made her way upstairs to drag the boys down to refuel before their next affectionate shouting match broke out. What she hadn't been expecting, but really she should have, was to find that John was so thoroughly distracting her son that, for the first time, Sherlock didn't hear his mother approach the door to his room.

She may have been a celibate widow for some 10 odd years, but she knew what the noises coming from under Sherlock's door implied.

She managed to stifle her laughter until she made it back downstairs. Thank goodness she'd had the talk with him after he'd come home from school several years before, frustrated that the teacher wouldn't explain what he meant by the term "protection" or why he couldn't say the word "penis" without his voice cracking.

The talk had been more of a solidifying of theory and theoretical exploration of comfort zones than an actual informational lecture about the logistics of sex.

The noises upstairs grew louder, as did her giggles. She didn't know if it was appropriate to be proud of her boys in a situation like this. Was that normal? More importantly, did it matter?

It was at milestones like these that she missed her husband most. He wouldn't have hesitated to invite Irene into their home, and he wouldn't have spoken for a week if he'd been the one to happen upon John and Sherlock. He would have left clues though, that demonstrated his love and support. He'd have snuck a key into Irene's purse the next time she was over. He'd probably have left browsers open to explicit sites or hidden how-to pamphlets about safe sex in the bottom of laundry baskets for their son. Sherlock would have understood, too. He was so much like his father that it physically pained her at times. A week after an argument they'd had a while back, Sherlock had come down to dinner and not said a word through the entire meal. His fingers, however, had tapped out I AM AN ASS in Morse code on the dining table the whole time.

John and Irene had been over that night, filling the perceived silence with seemingly idle chatter, and she'd seen their confused looks turn to barely concealed laughter at Sherlock when the tapping had first begun. By the time the meal was over, John was happy to do nothing but sit and enjoy the soft tap-tap-tap, smiling like a loon each time the phrase was completed. Irene had to excuse herself to go laugh openly outside. By the time the meal was over, Sherlock had a grin to rival John's, and Irene had managed to keep her giggles under control.

Laughing softly to herself at the memory, Mrs. Holmes sent up a silent thank you, darling for receiving the most delightful makeshift family she could have asked for in Mr. Holmes' absence. She'd have to remember to phone Mycroft and Anthea to give updates on the children's antics in exchange for news about wedding plans.