Sherlock awoke with a start. He shook his head a little, trying to remember the nightmare that had awakened him, and realized that he had fallen asleep sitting at his desk, trying to defeat boredom. He found himself thinking of her, the woman who beat him, that night in Karachi, passed calling old contacts and creating a new identity for Irene Adler. He thought that one kiss they exchanged when they had finished to have their plan sorted out, and she had asked him the reason for that one illogical act that was rescueing her, just to make him blush, before thanking him with a proof of her sentiment. Before he have had time to go on, she was already gone to her new life. He thought of those three years together when the world thought he was dead, of homesickness, but also of how he had gotten used to be with someone like him, someone who posed a challenge, as Moriarty did, although this time it was often an ally, not an enemy. He thought of the nights when they had the opportunity to prove to each other their chemical defect, as they couldn't in the daylight, and go back to being Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, and not Mr. and Mrs. Sigerson (despite their similarity that would have made it credible that they were brothers, they continued by pretending to be married). He thought of calling her, but it was too soon, only a week had passed since their parting in Montenegro, and it would have been foolish and too much sentimental return to the past, when he had time to contact her later, if they were going to need the other's help. He eventually returned to his old cases, and a message remained unsent into the mobile phone of the great detective:
TV says I'm not dead, let's have