Wrote this first chapter, if you like it we will carry on. Enjoy :)

John woke up with a start. His pyjama bottoms were sticking to his legs and his back and hair were damp. It had been 7 months and this nightmare seemingly refused to stop. John heaved himself off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Barely awake, he turned on the taps to the bath and sat on the toilet seat waiting for it to fill up.

Every night was the same. John had just grown accustomed to not sleeping at night and being thoroughly knackered in the day. John closed his tired eyes, relieving them from the sharp pain. Almost instantly, images flashed in front of him. The sight of Sherlock dead on the pavement surrounded by his own blood forced John to prise his eyes open. The bath was almost overflowing but he reached it in time to turn the taps off. John stripped off his bottoms and pants and gently lowered himself into the hot bath. The feeling of hot water relaxed John's tense muscles immediately and he felt himself calming. John sunk into the bath and let his head go under. He closed his eyes and held his breath as the water started to rise over his face. Even though he was completely submerged in water, John felt very safe. He was away from the harm of his own mind as it was concentrating completely on the task of not breathing. He waited until his lungs were close to bursting before rising out the water again. He took a deep breath and rubbed the water out of his eyes. He gulped all the oxygen from around him and rested back into the water. He kept his head above the water and rested his back against the edge of the bath.

Sherlock clouded his mind again. This time though it was of memories John didn't want to forget. All the conversations they had, the playful bickering that they would get into. John felt his chest thump painfully as he remembered Sherlock's smile; the genuine smile that he seemingly only ever did for John, and the smile he only ever returned for Sherlock. The unspoken bond between them was the one most powerful. It wasn't surprising that people presumed they were a couple, they never left each other's sides and John and Sherlock shared something that they couldn't with anyone else. Sherlock would laugh at John's jokes and John was the only one who continued to get amazed by Sherlock's observations. John missed those observations. When he was out he missed Sherlock being by his side and telling him about the people he could see.

"What about him then?" John would ask.

"24, lives with his mother, dead father. Has a cat. No, two. This is the first time he's been out all week. His mother forced him. He has no siblings so he is spoilt. He shares his short-sight with his mother who also wears glasses. His phone is barely used so he is obviously a social outcast. He spends most of his time at home on the computer playing video games and watching porn." Sherlock said every word easily. The deduction flowed off his tongue and always left John entertained and speechless. John would chuckle and mutter an almost inaudible 'Fantastic' before continuing with their walk.

John smiled to himself. His life was just a big memory. The only thing he ever did anymore was remember Sherlock. He'd lost contact with everyone. However, a few months ago; John went in search of Irene Adler. For everyone else, she was dead, but John knew better. Irene was the only woman Sherlock had shown an interest in and John knew for certain that he couldn't have sit back and let her die. It didn't take long. In fact, John could have sworn that she wanted to be found. She was hiding in the Indian state Andhra Pradesh in the city of Tirupati. As soon as he found out where she was he instantly got in touch with her. He didn't know what this would accomplish; whether it would make him feel closer to Sherlock or not or in some way make him feel better, he wasn't so sure, but he didn't hesitate when he thought that it would help the pain. Irene stayed out of the way of the British government. Avoiding Mycroft, evidently, so John didn't question when he found out that she'd changed her name to Annabelle Triffid and pretended to be out in India researching and studying Indian culture.

Irene was shocked when she first saw John. He was so changed from the person he used to be. Whereas before he was full of life and had colour in his cheeks that made his sandy coloured hair fit perfectly into his overall appearance of a very genuine and all-round good guy; now he was thin and his gaunt cheeks gave the illusion that he was half-dead. The colour from his cheeks was gone and his hair had faded into a washed out blonde. Even the way he carried himself changed. Irene, before, saw a confident man that walked casually and when talking would change his body language so he looked open and trusting. When she had the first conversation with him after Sherlock's death he would walk and turn with military precision. He would close off his body movements to make him seem distant and cold with the person he was talking to. Irene felt instantly sorry for the changed man in front of her. She admitted that she, in a way, loved Sherlock; but she couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain John must have been in.

…

John twiddled his thumbs as he waited for Irene, most of the time he wanted to be alone but not today. He needed to speak to someone about everything; to share memories and talk about his nightmares. Unlikely as it may seem, John had quite the friendship with Irene. They had gotten to know each other very well in the few months they had been in touch. Irene lived at 221B most of the time but she had work (changing to a low profile dominatrix) and trying to stay away from people she knew would recognise her. She wasn't exactly finding it easy being in hiding but she would rather that be the case that letting the government find out and sending her to be executed again. This time Sherlock wasn't there to save her. John heard the door open and close and the distinct footsteps of a woman coming up the stairs. John got up and flicked the switch to the kettle. As he let go of the switch Irene came through the doorway of the flat. She stepped in front of the kitchen and smiled at John. Even though she was trying to be inconspicuous, she still felt the need to wear her bright red lipstick and white clothing. She was in every way beautiful but John couldn't see her in any other way than a friend. He didn't know why he didn't fancy her but that was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

"Did you survive without me?" She casually slipped off her white jacket and threw it onto the armchair behind her. She joked a lot about John missing Sherlock, that didn't make her any less concerned.

"I'm fine." John knew that Irene could see through his responses but continued to lie anyway; never been one to make a fuss over something.

"Pfft." Irene kicked off her heels and stood near John. She watched him put two tea bags in mugs and pour the boiling water over them. He made it the way she liked it without having to ask. John had become more observant without even realising it. "Look, sweetie, I know there's something wrong." John looked up at her and passed her the mug. He leaned with his back on the kitchen counter and looked into his mug like it was fascinating.

"I had another dream."

"Anything different?"

"No. The same but I woke up earlier."

"Earlier than yesterday? It's getting worse John."

"I know. I've known that for a while now." John had a defeated tone to his voice. Irene looked him over with concerned eyes before John's phone rang. John sighed and placed his untouched tea back onto the counter. He checked the screen which displayed 'Molly'. He put the phone on the counter and let it ring. He turned back around and stared at the wall. Irene raised her eyebrows and picked up the phone. Before John could protest, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, who's this?" Irene heard quite an innocent sounding woman on the other end; obviously a concerned friend.

"I'm Annabelle, John's friend."

"Oh, sorry, is he there?" She stuttered slightly while she was speaking. Bless, she was shy.

"Hmm, but he's otherwise occupied." John waved a dismissive hand to her and she walked into the hallway away from John's ears. Not like he was listening anyway. "You can leave a message if you like."

"Well, I just wanted to know if he's OK. I haven't heard from him in weeks." Irene heard a genuine concern in her voice and softened slightly.

"I'm going to be honest with you and say no. He's not OK. He's got steadily worse every day and it's killing him. I don't see him eat often, he hardly sleeps and he barely registers a conversation. It's like he's not there at all." Molly paused for a while. Irene could practically feel her brain working.

"God, I knew he'd just get worse. Look, do you mind if we talk more about this over coffee or something? I need to hear everything." Irene narrowed her eyes before answering.

"OK, when?"

"Now if that's alright?"

"Yes, why not? Where to?"

"I'll just come and get you. Where-"

"I'm at John's." Irene interrupted.

"That's fine then. 10 minutes?" Irene smirked at her need to check every detail. She was absolutely adorable.

"Yes, see you then."

"OK, bye." Irene hung up and walked back into the lounge. John hadn't moved from his spot and didn't look like he had listened to her conversation.

"I'm going out for a bit."

"Another client?"

"No, just a coffee."

"With Molly?" Irene smiled at John again. Yes, he had definitely got more observant.

"Yes, with Molly."

"Are you going to talk about me?"

"Probably, yes." John frowned at her but continued to stare at the wall; the wall that Sherlock would shoot at. Irene shook her head slightly and walked into the bathroom. She dabbed on a little more powder and re-applied her lipstick before hearing a car outside. She patted her hair and went back to the living room. John was sat on his armchair with a blank expression. The sooner she got him some help, the better.

…

Molly had picked Irene up and drove a little over 3 minutes away before stopping in front of a small coffee shop with sign hung above it reading 'Coffee Bean'. How original. They walked in and Molly ordered a latte while Irene ordered a black coffee with one sugar. They sat down at a table in the corner with their coffees; Molly was the first to speak.

"Is he really not getting any better?"

"Not that I've noticed. He looks terrible."

"Really?"

"Yes, he's really thin and he has the worst bags under his eyes from lack of sleep." Molly tapped slightly on her mug and let her hand go up to her mouth. She started to nibble her nails slightly and Irene couldn't help but wrinkle her nose, she hated that habit in people.

"He really can't live without him." Molly barely whispered it but in the quiet coffee shop Irene heard. She nodded in agreement and took another sip of her coffee. Her throat was quite dry as she drank as that was the second hot drink she had been given that morning.

"It's like he…" She trailed off, knowing that Molly probably wouldn't understand.

"Loves him" Molly finished her sentence making Irene raise her eyebrows. She'd obviously noticed then. "Of course he loves him. You could see it from miles away. No-one could feel like that if they didn't care about them."

Irene sighed slightly as she realised that Molly must have felt that way about Sherlock. She sat back in her seat and reached out her hand to cover Molly's whose was shaking. Molly looked up startled and blushed a light shade of pink.

"I'll be honest with you because I like you." Irene leaned in closer to her and lowered her voice to a whisper. "My name's not really Annabelle. I'm called Irene Adler and I'm in hiding from the British government." Molly leaned back slightly and raised her eyebrows. Irene Adler? She'd heard that name before…

"You're a fugitive?" Irene nodded and leaned back again. She removed her hand from Molly's and put a finger to her lips. "How do you know John then?" Molly asked.

"From Sherlock."

"How does Sherlock know you?" Molly said without thinking. Irene paused; present tense.

"Does?"

"I mean did." Molly looked away and started to chew her nail again. Irene narrowed her eyes but shrugged it off.

"I know him from his brother."

"How does-"

"This could go on all day. Sherlock knew me because he was involved in a case I was in. It lead to all sorts of hassle and now I'm on the run. That's the beginning and end of it anyway."

"Oh, OK." Molly sipped her drink and cleared her throat. "What did you do? You didn't," Molly looked around licking her lips nervously. "Kill anyone, did you?"

"Oh, goodness me no! I'm an escort, a dominatrix." Molly spluttered on her drink and Irene smirked. She loved what she did and loved the reaction she got to it even more. Molly's eyes widened as she realised where she had heard the name.

Irene Adler. Sherlock's Irene.

Molly looked at Irene for a while knowing that she was the only woman that had gotten under Sherlock's tough skin.

"Irene?"

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock's alive."