This story follows on from Loss, you don't necessarily have to have read that before this but it might help :) Hope you enjoy it anyway, as always let me know! And as always, I own none of the characters here…they all belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle- Music97 xx

A Privilege.

Chapter One.

Holmes was anxious to return to the place he had left Irene. It had bothered him since the day he had returned to Baker Street, that place was not fit for rats to live in, let alone a woman of her standing. He raced through the London streets in the first cab he could find, the cabby obviously unaccustomed to taking such a well-dressed gentleman to such questionable parts of town. Eventually, after what had seemed like an eternity Holmes reached the east end, which to him always seemed dark and mysterious even on the brightest of days. He shuddered as the cab rattled away and he was left alone. He glanced over to the derelict pub where he had first seen her after so many years and so many tragedies had separated them. He glanced nostalgically at it for a few moments before spinning on his heels and retracing his steps to Irene's last place of residence.

The door was ajar and the windows of the bottom floor of the appalling house blew open. Holmes approached slowly and gently pushed the door, his feet treading silently over the threadbare carpet. He approached Irene's door and paused, he was almost afraid to enter, scared of finding Irene's lifeless body before him. He could not bare the thought. He drew a deep breath and pushed the door open, it resisted him, he pushed harder and it gave way practically throwing him into the room beyond. As he regained his balance, his eyes focused on a huddled lump in the corner of the room. He approached it with caution, not wanting to be surprised by some vagrant animal that had wandered in during the night. He bent over it and pulled away a part of the rag that covered it. He gasped and his eyes momentarily filled with tears as he recognised the dishevelled features of the only woman his broken heart would ever love. He picked up her slender body and held her close to him, he could feel soft wisps of breath against his body and he sighed with relief, she was not dead. He rushed out into the open air and found again the cab that had brought him to this evil place. He glanced up speechless at the cabby.

"Well Sir, I dain't want to leave you 'ere. Not the likes of you, a gentleman like you ain't got no business in the east end unless it were trouble like, so I thought you might need a quick getaway so to speak, an' by the looks of the lady I was right to wait warn I?"

Holmes smiled at the man, who suddenly looked like he had been sent from heaven,

"Thank you." Was all Holmes could think of to say, he leaped into the cab, pulling Irene across his lap and gave the man directions to Watson's surgery.

Watson was busy with a particularly troublesome patient, the man insisted he was dying when Watson could find no discernable illness; he was in the middle of ushering the man out of the room while promising faithfully that all was well, when his maid appeared at the door, blushing and fidgeting. Watson raised an eyebrow at her, while pushing the man out with one hand and Hattie, his maid, in with the other. He let his hand remain on the girl's shoulder.

"What is it Hattie?" His voice was gentle and he felt the girl relax under his grasp.

"It's Mr. Holmes Sir. He's in the waiting room carrying an awful looking lady in his arms, saying he must see you immediately, it's causing an awful fuss Sir." Her eyes took on a pleading quality, willing the doctor to help. As always he rose to the occasion,

"Alright, you can show him in, thank you Hattie. Oh. And Hattie," the girl paused at the door, "Don't let him bully you."

Hattie smiled, gave a quick curtsey and rushed back into the waiting room, within minutes Holmes was standing before Watson with the woman, looking more desperate than Watson had ever seen him.

"It's her Watson." His voice was strained and his breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps. Watson approached him and gently took the woman from him, Holmes looked into his friend's eyes and he reluctantly gave her up to him. Watson placed her on his examining table and gasped when the features of the woman's face registered in his memory.

"Oh my Lord, it's Irene Adler!"

"Watson. Please." Holmes' voice was urgent at Watson's side. Watson looked at his friend and for the first time in his life felt pity for him. He placed two fingers on the side of Irene's neck and pressed, her pulse was slight and racing but it was definitely there. He gently pulled open her eyelids and examined her pupils, slightly dilated but nothing to really be concerned about. Watson turned to Holmes,

"I'm admitting her to the hospital." He began to turn away to fetch a nurse, when Holmes grabbed his arm.

"Is she going to die?" Holmes almost had tears in his eyes. Watson smiled,

"No, Holmes. She's not going to die, she's merely exhausted and malnourished, and with proper bed rest and a proper meal she will be fine." Watson placed a reassuring hand over his friends. Holmes' eyes did not relax but remained fixed on Irene. Watson walked away, deciding that it was best not to tell him that if she had been found a mere twenty four hours later she would have been dead.

Irene was safely admitted to the Royal London Hospital; Holmes did not leave her bedside. He remained stroking her cold hand, willing life into her. Watson made his rounds, lingering a little longer than he ought to by Irene's bedside, checking on his friend. He sighed as he watched Holmes reluctantly leave her to eat at the Matron's request. Watson did not let himself be seen. He walked over to Irene's side and placed a fatherly hand on her forehead, she was surprisingly warm. Slowly her eyes began to flutter open. She attempted to cough but her body was too weak. Watson stroked her head and soothed her. She focused her brilliant eyes on him and he smiled.

"Welcome back Mrs. Norton."

"Adler." She corrected in a weak voice.

"I apologise." Watson said meekly. She smiled.

"Dr. Watson, I don't believe I have been more glad to see anyone in my entire life."

"Holmes is here, he is eating, but he hasn't left your side since he brought you in."

Irene's eyes seemed to shine at the mention of Holmes but her face betrayed nothing. Watson heard Holmes' distinct footsteps behind him and he released Irene's hand.

"Irene." Holmes was breathless.

"Mr. Holmes," she smiled beautifully at him and Watson decided it was his time to leave, neither of them knew he was there. He turned to go but Holmes took his hand and drew him to his side. Quietly, Holmes whispered in a voice that was so unlike his cold, emotionless self that Watson was sure he was dreaming;

"Thank you, with all my heart, thank you."