(Sherlock comes up behind Irene Adler shortly after one o'clock in the morning in a dingy ally near London's Red Light district, almost a year after the fall. She doesn't even turn around as she starts to speak)
"You're dead."
"So are you."
"Fair point. What happened to your suits? Plaid doesn't suit you, Junior."
"At least I'm not the one dressed as a streetwalker."
"How politically correct of you. Better a prostitute than…what are you? A mechanic?"
"Hydraulics engineer, actually."
"Oh, of cores you are."
"Seems you've fallen in life. Wealthier men of London not keen on chatting up a dead woman?"
"Darling, you're getting slow. How many times in a lifetime do you think a woman like me gets such a chance to change her career path?"
"And yet you're dressed as an underclass prostitute roaming the streets. You haven't had a decent mean in a few days, a man about six feet tall landed a punch on your right eye about…six minutes ago? And – oh."
"As I said, Junior. You're getting slow. Can't expect much from a dead man, though, can I?"
"A case. You're on a case."
"You would call it that. Not a case, darling, just taking care of business."
"Anything I should be worried about?"
"Not in the slightest. I, however, have a feeling you're going to bring this conversation around to my hanging debt."
"And why is that?"
"You wouldn't break your grave just to say hello."