John Watson was not jealous. He wasn't one bit jealous of that woman. In fact he was so un-jealous that he was going to get on the phone to his ex-girlfriend right now. If only he could remember her name. He groaned and took another sip of his tea. This was ridiculous. How could he be jealous of a dead woman? He stared over at Sherlock's violin as if it offended him; he bet that Sherlock wouldn't play sad songs for him when he died.
John suddenly slammed his cup on the table, trying to dispel his childish thoughts. Irene Adler: the name that would haunt him for the rest of his life, the name of the woman that Sherlock Holmes was possibly in love with. There he'd said it: Sherlock Holmes was in love…perhaps. He knew he should be happy for his friend, be dancing for joy that the man was finally showing human emotions. But he wasn't happy, not one bit. He disliked the woman perhaps even more than Jim Moriarty, was that even possible?
He could not pinpoint the moment of his dislike for the woman began. Perhaps it was when she'd paraded herself naked in front of Sherlock and he'd noticed his friend's eyes lingered on the woman's curves. Or perhaps it was the way that no matter how many times John had washed Sherlock's coat (fifteen to be exact) that her perfume still clung to the fabric. Or how she'd slept in Sherlock's bed, or how she'd kissed him in such a blasé manner right before John's eyes. He could feel his face getting redder and redder the more he thought of the woman and her actions.
'John, are you okay?'
He blushed, realising those grey eyes were now fixed upon him. 'Yes, sorry. I was miles away.'
Sherlock did not respond and instead carried on staring into his microscope. John sighed in relief; he couldn't let Sherlock see that he was jealous. Sherlock now seemed to admirer intelligent, buxom brunettes. How could John ever compare to that?
John hadn't lied when he told Irene he wasn't gay. No it seemed he was fast becoming S-Sexual: Sherlock Sexual. He was almost sure Irene had figured out his feelings and then decided to rub it in his face. He resisted the urge to break something, or throw Sherlock's blasted phone out the window. Anything to be rid of any memory of that frustrating woman. He quickly stood up; he needed to get some air. He needed to do something, anything to get his mind off Irene Adler. He left through the door and didn't say a word to Sherlock as he passed.
John had only been gone a few seconds before the smirk spread across Sherlock's face. John was delectable when he was jealous. The whole Adler episode had been worth it in the end. He had found Irene his soul mate in many respects and Sherlock was sure if he'd met her first… But it did not matter now. Moriarty was right that John was his heart, the one person whose untimely death would burn and destroy him. But John didn't have to know this yet. His jealousy was far more delicious.
He was distracted from his musing by the sound of Irene Adler's highly inappropriate text tone. He quickly grabbed it from its strategically placed position on the table.
'The green eyed monster only makes him more sexier'
When he thought of Irene Adler it was like placing a mirror in front of his own face. He hoped this would mean that she would understand that Sherlock Holmes did not share.