A/N: This is a one-shot, I tend to do better with one-shots. I hope you guys enjoy this, as always let me know how I can improve ;p
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It wasn't long after Sherlock's failed attempt to open The Woman's phone that she started coming around the flat quite frequently. It shocked John to no end but as always, Sherlock acted as though he had expected it. What really baffled him, though, was their normalcy and domesticity with each other from the very start. He'd wake up and Sherlock and Irene would be discussing a case over coffee and toast. He'd see Sherlock do very un-Sherlock like things such as opening doors for her, holding out her coat, or fetching her mobile for her. John felt as though he would feel much more at ease if they had ever openly discussed Irene's initial betrayal. If they had discussed it, Sherlock hadn't told him about it which wouldn't be surprising. Most of all, he didn't understand why Sherlock didn't seem too bothered by the fact that someone had beaten him. The great Sherlock Holmes had been bested and although he had an initial two week sulking period, it seemed as though he was over it. He had even asked John when he was putting the case up on his site! No, he didn't suppose he would understand Sherlock and Irene any time soon, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

He was utterly mesmerized by the pair. There was one particular night where Irene had a party to attend and somehow coaxed Sherlock to come with her. They were a vision, he in a proper tux, she was in a strapless, floor length, black gown. They were all high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and mystery. It wasn't until Irene chided him to tell them what he thought, that he snapped back to reality and stuttered out a completely inadequate compliment. How could he tell them he thought they looked like royalty? That they put Kate and The Prince to shame? Irene would only laugh gently and smile indulgently at him, and Sherlock would scoff and turn away. John sat down back at his laptop after the two had left, feeling very much like the 10 year old boy being picked last for teams again.

He didn't try and hide the fact that he loved observing them. It didn't seem as if they noticed because most of the time they were too busy with the other to notice his staring. Most of the time they wouldn't even speak to each other, as if doing so would be superfluous and when they did it was as if they were speaking their own language. It always seemed as if they were picking up a previous conversation but John knew that they were just picking up on each other's thoughts and continuing them aloud or talking through their own thoughts aloud in a very confusing stream of consciousness. John would listen wistfully and try to decipher the meanings. Sometimes he was able to puzzle out what the two were talking about but he was always too nervous to say what he thought without permission, as if he'd be intruding on an intimate act between the two. Much like Sherlock, John craved the days Irene would come at stay at Baker Street because when he was in the room with the two of them, he felt as if he were a part of something special. He felt like he was studying a new species, one that communicated in chaste kisses, gentle touches, eyebrow raises, and smart remarks.

More than anything, he craved their attention. Those precious, shining moments when he was their "conductor of electricity", making his own observations for them to expand on with their brilliant minds. Irene would beam at him and he knew that only when she smiled at him and Sherlock would her eyes light up. Sherlock would nod his head appreciatively and tell him he was brilliant and in those moments John thought he knew what love felt like. It didn't matter how many women John went on dates with or brought to his bed, none of them could ever make him feel like his two companions did. John tried not to think about the fact that most of his newest girlfriends were lean and blue-eyed.

John knew his love for the two was borderline reverent but that was nothing compared to the love the two held for each other. Sherlock held her word as gospel and even though Irene tried to act flippant, John knew she did the same. Her body was his temple and one he prayed at daily from what John could hear from his upstairs room, he didn't know if they were even trying to be quiet but decided he didn't care as he stared at the ceiling and slipped a hand down his pajama pants. When in John's presence they were more mindful, keeping it chaste. From John's observations, Sherlock couldn't be near The Woman at all without running his fingers over her smooth skin. She was more controlled, allowing him to come to her but even then John noticed whenever Sherlock touched her, she let out a deep breath as if she was holding her breath until the next time their skin met. No, for Sherlock Holmes the Earth didn't revolve around the sun, or a teddy bear, it revolved around a women. The Woman. John knew that the opposite was true as well. As for himself, John knew that if Sherlock and The Woman only had one sun, he must have two and even though this scared him, he told himself that two suns surely must be better than none.