Let's have dinner.

Try to do what?

Sherlock turned his head away and screwed up his eyes...expecting a whip from the riding crop any second. What was her game? What did she want with him?

Just bloody hit me already if you're going to. Then we can all get on with our lives.

((I think now is the right time to get a John in here. What do you think?))

((good idea! do you want to advertise for one?))

((I don't mind. I'll do it))

John surely wasn't expecting to find Irene in the flat once he returned home from his grocery shopping.
He also wasn't expecting to find her threatening Sherlock with a riding crop.

"What the-?" he protested, the bags of groceries falling loudly on the floor. "What are you doing to Sherlock?" he asked furious, this was not happening.

Sherlock was so relieved to see John walk through the door he leapt over the armchair and ran straight over.

"John, thank God you're home. What took you so bloody long? She said she wanted to have dinner...how was I to know it was..." he trailed off, unsure.

John's eyebrow shot up in disbelief when he saw Sherlock run towards him.
"I don't want to know!" he stopped him, he was silently seething, but he knew he had no right to be jealous.

"But Sherlock, you really should know better. Your knowledge on flirting is seriously embarrassing," he said, running a hand over his forehead in frustration.

He wanted to know what dinner means, so I tried to teach him. It's not more than logical.

She rolled with her eyes. This is not how she planned it would be.

I'm sure you know what dinner means, don't you. John?

John glared at her: "Of course I know, I was not born yesterday..." And he was also rather sexual when he could, what did they say, mind in the gutter.

"Sherlock, she wants to eat you as dinner..." And he motioned vaguely at the detective's body. He had never thought he'd be the one to explain him that.

"What?" Sherlock snapped. "Why would she want to...? Oh. I see. Well I did wonder why she kept ordering me to kiss her. She had me pinned down John, I couldn't move!"

He brushed down his shirt, feeling a little violated.

Irene grinned victoriously to John. The smile said soundless: 'Well, Can you say that?'

John grimaced at Sherlock's words, the look on Irene's face didn't help either.
"I don't need to know that, now, do I?" he snapped, and rubbed his hand on his eyes in exhaustion.

"So what now? Am I supposed to leave you two alone?" he asked, looking at Sherlock.

"No, please don't." Sherlock made a move towards John, his hands out pleading. "I'm quite certain she was about to beat me with the riding crop."

He turned back to Irene with a puzzled expression. "Look, I'm flattered, I really am but...I consider myself married to my work. Maybe you'd be better off with John...he's always going on...dates and...things. It's more his scene."

"I don't think she is interested in dating, Sherlock," he said, shaking his head, he couldn't believe Sherlock could be so dense. "She wants sex... not marriage."

He laughed bitterly at the rest of the world: "You aren't possibly suggesting we hook up?" he said, shaking his head.

"Why would you want to have sex with someone just for the sake of it? It's always puzzled me."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and headed towards Irene. He took the riding crop in his hand and gently pried it out of her fingers.

"Because it's fun, exciting, pleasurable?" he provided and then rolled his eyes. "I had no idea you were so old fashioned, Sherlock..." he said, looking at Irene and him.
He still didn't think it was that safe to stay. Maybe he should leave anyway? Go to his room or something.

Irene didn't want to let go of the riding crop, so Sherlock had to struggle it out of her hand. She looked Sherlock straight into the eye.
"You know I get bored. It's the same thing as you and your crimes. This is my way of entertaining myself."
Then she looked at John.
"And of many others"

"And you find sex fun do you?" he cracked the riding crop against his leg. It hurt. "Interesting...Not that I would know."

"Nor would I want to." he added quickly. He didn't want them to think he might be considering such things. He wasn't of course. Was he? No, of course he wasn't! Don't be stupid. Shut up. Stop it. Sherlock continued to argue with himself inside his head, temporarily unaware of John and Irene watching him.

Irene felt a flash of fury when Sherlock broke the riding crop. It didn't actually matter. She had plenty of them at home. She knew it hurt, because in some state of mind, she did that one time as well. She reached out for Sherlock's leg and touched his trousers on the place where the sore skin was. She watched him think.
"No?"

John felt himself blush when Irene leaned down to touch Sherlock's leg, he felt he was intruding on them.

"Sherlock... you say one thing, but your body shows something else..." he said, looking at the groceries, moving to put them into the kitchen. He felt strangely miserable.
He was not going to be the third wheel though.

Sherlock frowned, not quite knowing what John meant. For some reason he couldn't stop staring at Irene. She wanted to have sex with him? Why?

"Umm why don't you...why don't you sit down? John'll make you a cup of tea, I'll...I'll...do...something. Anything. I mean...Nothing. I think." He was vaguely aware that what he'd just said didn't quite make sense.

"She doesn't want tea," John shouted from the kitchen, and then went on putting the groceries away.

"Well make her one anyway!" he shouted back. "And make me one too."

Unsure of what else to suggest, Sherlock went to sit on his favourite armchair, and regarded Irene thoughtfully.

"You can make your own tea!" he shouted back, irked. He put the kettle on though and frowned at himself as he took out three mugs.
He was not Sherlock's servant, he told himself uselessly.

Irene was very well amused. Apparently, she had done something to Sherlock. And in a that impressive way, that John noticed it. On Sherlock's ~I'll...I'll...do...something. Anything. I mean...Nothing. I think.~ she watched him closely. He was totally at a loss. She ran her tongue over her upper lip and looked at Sherlock.
"Thank you, John"
She did not look at John, when she said that. She was totally focused on Sherlock.