Dr. John Watson was bored.

This thought came upon him as he sat in his small examination room, eating his lunch and watching the midday news. A recent bank robbery had sent the media into their usual frenzied panic, trying to convince the all of the retirees, stay-at-home mothers, and anyone else who had the time to watch the telly during the day, that the world was ending and the only way to stave off the apocalypse was to stay tuned. As he watched the baffled Detective Inspector assigned to the job give a halfhearted press conference, spouting all the standard issue police jargon; pursuing suspects, following up on leads, exercise reasonable caution, he wondered about what his old friend, and former flatmate, Sherlock Holmes was up to at the moment.

Although John and Mary had promised Sherlock that they would stay in touch and visit often, and they had sincerely meant it, the arrival of their first child had changed things quite a bit for the Watsons. John had found he really enjoyed fatherhood, and treasured every moment with his son, Henry, and looked forward to the new one on its way, but being a parent took a lot of time and energy, and before he knew it, it had been six months since he had seen Sherlock. The last time John had visited 221B Baker street, Sherlock had been out on a case, and John had been subjected to an hour of Mrs. Hudson's latest news, and of the world renowned detective's many talents, returning calls was not one of them. The last he had seen of his friend was at his son's first birthday party, which he attended only long enough to give his favorite nephew a rattle which he had lifted from the scene of a grisly triple murder he had been working on earlier that day, leaving John to find his son giggling and chewing on a bloodstained piece of evidence.

But even for all his domestic bliss, and his insistence to Mary that he did not "some time with his boyfriend" as she put it; deep down, as time marched on in its steady, everyday pace, John felt more stagnant and ill at ease with each day, and occasionally longed for the days back on Baker Street, where he could drop everything at moments notice to take off on some wild, death defying adventure with the one and only 'consulting detective'.

John was shook from his reverie by a faint knock on the door to the exam room. Quickly putting his food down, he turned to face the door.

"I'm sorry, but I'm on my break right now, but if you'd like to come back...later…"

John's voice faltered, then fell away completely, shocked into silence by the last person he would have expected to show up in his exam room, someone he thought he would never see again.

Irene Adler.

Although undoubtedly her, somehow she seemed changed. Tall and graceful as ever, she wore a perfectly tailored silk dress that framed her buxom figure perfectly, the colour bringing out the feline green of her eyes. Her red hair was in a low ponytail over her shoulder, and under the carefully calculated veneer of makeup she wore, she looked tired. She quietly shut the door and surveyed both the office and it's owner with scorn, a patronizing smirk on her elegant face.

"I must say Doctor, I never had much faith in your talents as a physician, but even I thought you'd do better than this." she drawled slowly, her smiling widening at the obvious shock she had caused her unassuming victim. John simply still there, frozen, sandwich still in hand, completely and utterly stunned the appearance of Irene in HIS doctors office. It what isn't just that he had thought her dead, John never ruled ANYTHING as impossible mean Sherlock was involved, but WHY would Irene come to see him and not Sherlock? John had never been of the slightest interest to the Woman, why should it suddenly change now?

His mouth fell open. Dumb shock was not his usual dish for lunch, but it seemed to be cropping up more and more nowadays. An intercom buzz stirred him.

"John, are you okay? This lady blew right past me. Should I come in there?"

He almost considered letting Mary take care of this, amusing as it would undoubtedly be, but it didn't seem prudent. She was here for something, and must be not at her best to have not noticed the dangerous force that was his wife.

"No, Mary, we'll be fine."

What possible need of him would she have now that he was no longer living with Sherlock? How could she possibly still be alive when he had SEEN her die? Questions swirled through John's mind, most of them containing expletives, and all of them concerning Sherlock.

"Speechless, are we doctor? I do find that to be such an unattractive trait in men." She said, now standing no more than 10 feet from him, examining her nails cooly. Her barb broke John out of his shock, and he replied

"That tends to happen to me when I see the dead come back to life."

"Really? After Sherlock's stunt at St. Barts, I would think you would be used to it by now. " She said laughing; John refrained from joining her, as he got the distinct feeling she was laughing at him, rather than with him.

"Why are you here, Irene?" John said, cutting to the quick. He knew she wouldn't have come if she didn't have a reason, and he didn't enjoy her making fun at his expense. At his words, Irene let out a small sigh and shifted on the table, as if she were uncomfortable.

"I need the expertise of a doctor. I have a certain... medical condition, that I need examined." She said

"Why come to me? I'm sure there are a dozen Doctors more qualified than me in London, and with offices you can step into without sullying your designer dress..." John quipped sarcastically, still suspicious of her motives.

Silence, for a few moments, as John waited for her to speak; when she did, it was in a softer, almost vulnerable voice, her green eyes turned up to him for maximum effect.

"Not anyone that I can trust. I can't risk being recognized as Irene Adler; if any of my friends from my old life saw me, everyone I ever cheated would be hunting me again. I need to stay under the radar." Her beryl eyes looked at him with innocent sadness, every fiber of her being radiating the damsel in distress.

"You didn't actually think that would work, did you?" John said, disbelievingly. He may not be as smart as Sherlock, but she couldn't think him stupid enough to fall for that act again. As soon as he said those words, her facade vanished, and the calculating feline was back. Irene smiled at him, slightly impressed with his deduction, her impression of him rising ever-so slightly.

"Actually yes. Most people fall over themselves trying to help me when I play the damsel in need." she said, blasé in her discussion of manipulation, then continued.

"It was true what I said though, I can't go to any high society doctors for risk of being recognized. I suppose I could go to the black market doctors, but you were preferable because you'll work for free." Irene said, a coy smile on her face.

"I will, will I?" John responded hotly. Of course he would've helped her if she had asked, but he hardly appreciated his help being assumed.

"Yes. You will." She said matter of factly, shrugging her aristocratic shoulders.

"After I tell you what my medical condition is, you will give me anything and everything I need, and you will do it free of charge." She continued calmly, in a voice as soft as silk, staring him straight in the face.

"Why is that?" John said through gritted teeth.

She laughed airily, as if the answer was simple, then gestured to her abdomen.

"Because I'm pregnant, and Sherlock is the father."

"Holy…"