*** Author's Note***

Towel Day prompt: "Capital Letters Were Always The Best Way Of Dealing With Things You Didn't Have A Good Answer To." ― Douglas Adams

I am not a fan of Irene Adler as she appears in ASiB. I don't write her often, and for that reason.

"Hamish." John says it before he can stop himself. It's not really the time for sarcasm, but it's a defence mechanism, and if Sherlock isn't going to end this, end her intrusion into their home, then he'll just have to do it.

The room goes silent as both Sherlock and Irene turn to stare at him in confusion.

"John Hamish Watson. If you're looking for baby names." They're still staring, though there's something fierce and mocking building in Irene's glare. He isn't going to allow that to continue. "What? You too?"

Irene is taken aback at the non sequitur. "I know I'm basically furniture to this one," he motions to Sherlock, who's still looking at him a bit stunned, "but for both of you to forget I'm in the room?"

Sherlock frowns and scoffs, his attention is turned momentarily to John. Irene spots the distraction, tracks the way Sherlock's eyes have gone slightly softer as he's looking at John, and pounces.

"There is a man. An MOD official." She holds up the phone, dangling it like a carrot. The fingers of one hand hover coyly over the screen. Teasing. Sherlock's focus, intense, wanting, is back on her. "I know what he likes," she purrs. "He likes to show off." She taps the screen once.

"Yes." Sherlock's voice is strained. "Give it to me."

John knows Sherlock's only interested in the passcode. Irene does too. The bloody skull knows it. That doesn't deter Irene at all.

"I'll make you beg." She steps toward Sherlock and taps the screen once more. "Twice."

Sherlock leans in, like a moth to flame. "I never beg." The fingers of his right hand twitch.

"Twice." Irene growls. She and Sherlock are staring each other down, her grasp on the mobile is the least of her concerns at the moment.

Enough is enough. "So, your MOD man's a show off?" John stands, and with surprising agility, ducks between them, grabbing the mobile as he goes. "Seems you have a type."

"No!" Irene screeches, and she looks ready to claw his eyes out.

"John? What…" Sherlock is stunned into silence. Again.

On occasion John has been known to truly surprise Sherlock. This is apparently one of those times, and John finds boldness in it.

"A four digit code, hmm?" He looks at the screen.

I AM

. . . .

LOCKED

Irene's already filled in two of the blanks. And John knows there's a countdown. Only one more wrong attempt before the mobile self destructs, or something equally dramatically cliche.

He looks up to see he's got the full attention of the room. Irene's trying to murder him with her glare. Sherlock's gaze is fascination. He's intrigued, and… Something more. John licks his lips and follows a hunch.

"I know all sorts of four letter words." He smirks at Irene. "Dirty ones." He mimics her teasing Sherlock earlier, and pretends to type as he spells a word out loud. "C - O - C - K."

"John. John, no." Sherlock holds out his hand. "Don't." It's the closest to begging John's ever heard Sherlock.

That fact is not lost on Irene, if her ire is anything to go on.

"No. No that wouldn't be your first choice, would it?" John winks at Irene. "Oh! I know. F - U - C…"

"John, I swear. I don't want to kill you, but we both know I can." Sherlock sounds more desperate than threatening. Almost pleading.

That's twice. John can't help directing a cheeky grin at Irene.

"Okay, Skippy, the grownups are talking." She holds out her hand. "You've had your fun, now hand it over."

John hums, and feigns giving her demand some thought, then shrugs and returns his attention to the mobile. "It occurs to me that my name has four letters."

Irene's laugh is slightly manic.

Ah, he's on to something.

"Don't be an idiot, John. She's clearly got no interest in you at all, with the exception of that phone in your hands." Sherlock takes a step toward him. "Please, give it to me."

Three times. Smug, John cocks an eyebrow at Irene. She scowls in return.

"You're right, Sherlock, it's not me she's obsessed with." John types in the next letter, and pauses.

Sherlock gasps, eyes wide. Irene is breathing hard, nostrils flared, looking like a bull ready to charge. She takes one step forward.

John enters the last letter. The mobile pings when the code is accepted and the unlocked screen reveals several file folders. Her background is a grainy snap of Sherlock.

The fight leaves Irene as she realizes the implications. Mycroft will already have been alerted to the phone's activation. She drops into Sherlock's chair and buries her face in her hands.

Sherlock is staring. That's all. Just staring. It's possible he isn't even breathing. And that look, that one, the something more one. It's almost too much, too intense, laser focused on one man as it is.

All John can do is laugh. It's that or spontaneously combust.