John walked up the stairs of 221B just in time to hear Sherlock's, "I don't take domestics. Good day." He walked into the flat to see a old, obviously very rich man turn bright red.

"I'll give you any sum you want." He looked up at John when he walked in. "Reason with him, will you?" John snorted as he walked into the kitchen.

"You're asking the wrong person, mate. I'm lucky if I get him to do the dishes. Speaking of which." Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaving John to grin as he put away the milk.

The man got up, fuming through his walrus mustache and started to leave, but stopped in the doorway when Sherlock spoke next.

"Out of curiosity, what was your wife's full maiden name?"

"Cecily Ula Scotts." Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you." Only when the sound of the door slamming echoed through the house did Sherlock allow himself to smile.

John walked over, eyebrow raised.

"What was that all about?" Sherlock looked up at John from the notebook he had been scribbling in.

"Oh, nothing. Just a old friend catching up with me." He dropped it on the coffee table, revealing the woman's name with the first letters circled. "Tea?"

"Your legs aren't broken, do it yourself."

"But you're already up."

"Then we get to watch James Bond later,"He held up a hand to stop him from responding, "No arguments." Sherlock sighed.

"Yes, dear." John turned, grinning as he walked into the kitchen to the sound of his partner (in most senses of the word) grumble about illogical men, crappy effects, and dull plots.

John was doing the crossword, when he heard Sherlock coming down the stairs behind him.

"Case." It was one word, but it was enough to get him up and moving.

As they mad their way to the crime scene, John noticed something...off about Sherlock, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" He sounded fine, at least.

"You seem a bit...off."

"I'm fine, John." He was saved from making any other observations when the walked into the park housing the crime scene. As he watch Sherlock do his usual, he relaxed, since there definitely wasn't anything wrong.

And, yet, he wasn't sure. There was something off.

"Nice try." The squad turned, to much gasping and double takes, to see Sherlock Holmes, normal except for his lack of jacket, gloves, and scarf, standing across the crime scene from Sherlock Holmes. John turned as the first one tsked and then started speaking in the voice of an American female.

"Huh. I could have sworn the sedative would last longer than that." The She-lock sighed. "Oh well. Anyway, it doesn't count until you catch me."

There was a sudden burst of speed as both of them went zooming across the park, the only two having any lock following being John and Lestrade. When they finally caught up, She-lock was up a tree, giggling down at Sherlock, who was standing at the base of the tree and looking annoyed. She grinned at the other two as they walked up.

"Briony Jackson." She pointed down at Sherlock. "We look like we're twins, right?" She waited for Lestrade and John to nod before shaking her head. "Nah, we're not even related, and we've done a DNA test." She had pulled whatever had been keeping her hair up out (John suspected an astronomical number of bobby pins) and had long black hair curling past her shoulders. She glanced at her watch and started coming down the tree in a impressive array of acrobatics, landing next to Sherlock who scowled. She shed the jacket, scarf, and gloves and handing then of him, revealing a oxford shirt under a vest. She smiled widely.

"You owe me Chinese food now."

John had watched Sherlock and Briony act around each other, and it was obvious they were close. They finished each others sentences, they insulted each other in creative ways, and they were more fun to watch than crap television.

And then Briony retaliated against a crack at putting blue highlights in her hair by pointing out that it had looked better than the time Sherlock had dyed his hair strawberry blond. Briony just won the ensuing scuffle.

She had then moved onto John, talking to him about Sherlock as they walked home from the Chinese place, somehow getting to a point where they were comparing stories, some from John and the rest gotten by Briony from Sherlock's numerous exs. When John had raised an eyebrow at this, Bri had explained that most of the female nobility had taken Sherlock as a challenge, and had failed, but not without staying long enough for Briony to be able to extract valuable information from them.

"Has he used the 'aural assault with intent to arouse' voice?"

"Yes, and that is the perfect name for that voice."

"It was voted on. It was between that and 'ovary exploding'. It literally just won."

"You know, I am standing right here."

"Your point?"

As they bickered, John eyed them. One Sherlock was perfect. Two Sherlocks was...words would have to be made.

Both looked back at him, and he blinked.

"What?" Briony raised an eyebrow, and then looked around as she asked for directions, not noticing Sherlock looking her over with a contemplative air.

John invited her up to the flat, and Briony lead the way, collapsing on the couch and smiling at the notebook where it was still on the table.

"I take it you figured it out?" John raised a eyebrow.

"That was you?" Briony nodded.

"My work name is Irene Adler. The fact that I am able to befriend a Holmes and, therefore, weird, helped." She explained away John's confused face. "This is my really accent, even though the first time I set foot in America I was 22. He," She pointed at Sherlock. "Doesn't take up cases with me in them because he can't catch me, and even if he could, he doesn't want to."

John cracked open his beer, handing out one each. He watched as Briony took a sip, and his mind went back to his thoughts as they had walked over.

This time, however, Briony caught him. She looked over at Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow. She grinned.

"Threesome, anyone?" She took a sip and smirked. "I've always been narcissistic."