Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or, well anything but this fic. All credit goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the bbc.

"I don't understand, John." Sherlock sighed, breaking the long, painful silence between the two men.

John Watson looked up from his paper, and shrugged "that's a first."

"I know and it's irritating. Speaking of being irritating, could you stop breathing so loudly?" Sherlock ran a hand through his curls, and rested his hands under his chin.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You. You're breathing too loudly and it's distracting."

"I'm going to bed, Sherlock." The man muttered, defeated. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Sherlock and John had been working on this case for weeks, and Sherlock was becoming more and more impatient.

It started with a phone call from Mycroft, whose colleague had disappeared. She was seen the Monday of that week by Mycroft himself, and hadn't returned to work on the day that Mycroft phoned, the Monday after that.

"Couldn't she have just gone on a nice little holiday?" Sherlock grunted. "I wouldn't blame her if she had to work with you."

Mycroft ignored Sherlock's scorn, "We've looked at every airport and ferry port in the country, Sherlock. It just so happens she has taken an important document with her which is," he lowered his voice, "government property and strictly confidential."

"Any belongings left behind that particularly stick out for you? Knowing you, you probably had some sort of relationship with her, meaning some Viagra must have been left behind." Sherlock was trying to disguise his obvious interest.

"Jokes are not necessary in the case of a missing person, Sherlock. That's the thing; she left everything behind, except for her whip of course…" Mycroft sounded rather embarrassed at this point.

"My God, Mycroft. What was her name again?"

"See about that…"

"What was her name, Mycroft?"

"Irene Adler."

"What the bloody hell would the government want with Irene Adler? She's dead!" John had said, disbelieving.

"See about that… not dead." Sherlock felt a twinge in his stomach, something known to others as guilt.

"Oh My God why does everyone have to resurrect themselves without bloody telling me?"

"She was never dead though. I stopped it." Sherlock sighed at John's slowness.

That was two weeks ago, and Sherlock was now staring out of the window at 221B Baker Street, thinking.

Irene Adler had returned to Mycroft not long after being saved by Sherlock, and he had given her a job. She was undercover, with the name of Roxanne Price. She was government property, as much as she hated it. She was tracked, and told when and where she could go. Sherlock didn't particularly agree with it either, knowing that Irene- or Roxanne- was a free woman and should be able to do as she so desired.

He had a feeling he knew what she did to persuade Mycroft Holmes for his permission, and Sherlock shuddered at the very thought.

Sherlock was still in his position at the window when he heard a voice behind him.

"Have you missed me, Mr Holmes?" He recognised that voice instantly.

Irene Adler.

Well that was fun! Cx If you enjoyed this please feel free to leave a review or any other constructive critique would be greatly appreciated.

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