Chapter One
John was at his and Sherlock's flat waiting on Sherlock himself. 'How can Sherlock be this rude and careless all of the time?' John thought to himself. But the truth was that John didn't really mind. He needed Sherlock in his life. He realized it even more after the fall. When the detective returned to him, John was over come with so many emotions. For two years he went without seeing Sherlock's odd habits. Once he saw them again he realized that he missed not only having a friend and flatmate, but having a… Well, John didn't know what to call it.
John heard the door lock turn and Sherlock enter the flat. Sherlock looked up at John and said,
"You know, I do not need you to babysit me John." with a look of amusement on his face.
"I'd like to agree, however we both know better." John said. John himself was not amused at all. It was just like this of Sherlock to be so inconsiderate. But how could he stay mad? Looking at him now, Sherlock was wearing a tight black shirt and pants, his black hair in the usual mess of curls, and he had his adorable amused smile on his face. Adorable? Where the hell did that thought come from? John thought to himself.
"John, you're staring." Sherlock said, breaking John from his thoughts.
"Oh… I um," John stumbled, "I'm tired is all, got lost in uh, my thoughts." John immediately regretted that choice of words. Because the only thing he got lost in were Sherlock's strikingly good looks.
Sherlock looked at John curiously. He stared for about a minute and then said, "Goodnight John." With a distressed sigh. Sherlock then gracefully walked into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
The next morning, Lestrade had asked to meet Sherlock and John at the police station. Sherlock and John were in the car driving there. "So why do you think Lestrade wanted to see in person?" John asked, breaking the silence.
"Well, for a case obviously." Sherlock stated as though it were obvious. And honestly it was obvious. What wasn't clear was why Lestrade hadn't said why they were to meet at the police station. Usually they knew what the case was on or had some sort if idea.
"Oh of course, but why not tell us what the case was?" John asked.
"Oh John, isn't it obvious? The case must be too important to simply call or text about." Sherlock chuckled as they pulled into the parking lot.
As the two of them walked into lestrade's office, Sherlock stopped right in his tracks. John looked up at his taller companion and saw the look of shock on Sherlock's face.
Sitting at Lestrade's desk was none other than Irene Adler.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock barked.
"Oh my, well, is that anyway to say hello to an old friend?" Irene said with a wink. John took in Irene's features. He could easily see why Sherlock was always so befuddled when around her. She was breathtaking. She had long red hair, full ruby lips, and a gorgeous body… to say the least. But Sherlock didn't ask as to why she wasn't in America, and John was quite curious to know two things.
-Why isn't she dead?
-How does Sherlock seem to know more than I do?
"Ah yes, where are my manners, how have you been mate?" Sherlock said sarcastically. "And where is Detective Lestrade?"
"I've been quite good, America has been treating me well, but I just had to come and visit you Sherlock." Irene said, ignoring Sherlock's lack of attention.
"Where is Lestrade?" This time it was John who asked.
"Oh John, do you mind giving Sherlock and I a moment to catch up?" Irene said as she batted her eyelashes. John glanced at Sherlock who was looking out the window, apparently thinking. John nodded, and quickly left, deciding that it was better to let Irene explain to Sherlock why she was here.
"Lestrade didn't need you, I simply borrowed his phone, seeing as I knew you wouldn't come meet me if you knew it was me." Irene said as she poured two cups of tea and handed one the Sherlock.
"Are you bloody mad? Why is it that you just had to come back to London? Because you and I both know it wasn't for myself." Sherlock said.
"Oh, but it was all for you Sherlock." Irene said softly. "All I've done is not only for my protection, but for yours. Why did you think I never wanted you to see the phone? If you'd known what was on there, you'd be long dead by now. "
"Is that what you think? Well why come back now?" Sherlock said as he glared at the woman.
"Because Sherlock. I need your help." Irene said. She looked less confident now, almost vulnerable. She reached out and touched Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked down at her hand and turned toward the window once more.
"What situation presents itself that requires my assistance? You seem restless, which tells me it's something that hits close to home. By the way you are clutching that locket, it shows that it involves a lover or family member. Whomever gave you the locket must've been wealthy, I assume he has gone missing and you wish for me to find him." Sherlock said with a bored tone.
"Close, not a lover. A brother. Yours."
Sherlock spun around and spat out,
"Why would you need Mycroft?"
"Isn't it clear though? The lover in which you spoke of is looking for your brother. As it seems, Mycroft has something that doesn't belong to him. Something of his. All I need is to get him alone and retrieve what belongs to my lover " Irene said.
"What interest would my brother have in some American, what is it, professor or stockbroker?" Sherlock said with a look of distaste on his face.
"You truly are brilliant, and yes, he is professor." Irene as though she was in awe.
"Yes, yes now will you please spit out what you where saying?" Sherlock snapped. Irene remained calm and unfazed as she spoke.
"Their connection isn't relevant, but Mycroft is. Will you please help me?"
"Once you tell me their connection, I'll consider it."
"Your brother has a massive grudge against him. And that is all I can say." Irene said reluctantly. Sherlock searched her face for clues. But as he often found with Irene, there was nothing to read.
"Yes, well I presumed that. What is your lovers name." Sherlock said with a hint of disgust on the word lover.
"So does this mean you promise to help me?" Irene said hopefully.
"I suppose I could assist." Sherlock said with a sigh. He had no idea why he agreed to do this. After all, this woman had drugged him, outwitted him, and made a fool of him. And not only did he agree, he just promised to help. But something made him want to help her. Maybe it was the look in her eyes of total hopelessness. As though without Sherlock, she'd die. Sherlock hadn't ever felt this way before. But he could relate. If he ever lost John, he'd surely would wish to die. "But of course I'll need a name." He repeated.
Irene sighed in relief. "Please don't tell him I came to visit you he'd surely be enraged-"
"Name." Sherlock interrupted. He didn't want to sit and chat about this man.
"You happen to know him Sherlock." Irene said. When Sherlock raised his eyebrow in question, she sighed.
"His name is Jim Moriarty."