Sherlock twiddled with the stress ball in his pocket that he had kept since he leapt off St. Bart's. He watched the security footage of 221b Baker Street from an app on his smartphone that he had had an underground friend write. He swallowed, nothing, per usual. It had been two months since his death and he had been watching John everyday, making sure he was safe and out of self-harm's way. Twice he had had to sneak in and remove the bullets from his gun. John, was managing, however. As best as could be expected.

He glanced around him and pulled his collar up to cover his face, though the shadows of the alleyway surely provided enough closure.

He had been living underground for the time being, but it was getting more than stressful and his funds were running low. He only had one option, one person he could potentially turn to. Her. The Woman. The Woman. And God help him, his woman.

His mind raced back to their last encounter, a brief one at that. He smiled sadly as he recalled the famous 1950s film, by the same name. Their night had been loving and sweet. They had consummated months of frustration and, yes, love that night. However, his fairytale ending, was not to be. He frowned as he recalled Jim's ugly words about every story needing a good, old fashioned villain. Well, Sherlock had definitely had his. His damsel, his princess, his love, however, he had had to let go. He closed his eyes, remembering her last words, "I'll always love you, Mr Sherlock Holmes. And I'll always be with you. Just close your eyes and think of me. And I'll be there." She had winked, though a tear had fallen. He swallowed again, looking up so as to avoid getting...emotional. Too late.

He bit his lip, exiting the security camera app and scrolling through his contacts to her name: 'The Woman.' He began to type a text, pausing before deleting it. She had made it clear that night, that they could never be. Their twisted love/hate relationship was not meant for a world as tender as theirs. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Fuck it." He thought, suddenly.

"I need help. SH" He hit send, swallowing as the bar loaded before telling him, 'delivered.' He waited five minutes, nothing.

He checked back to his flat, hoping John might do something funny that he could distract his mind with.

He frowned as he watched the video. A woman carrying what seemed to be a baby basket was leering outside his front door. He squinted his eyes, making sure he was seeing the image clearly. He nearly dropped the phone as he saw her jawline glance around before sighing heavily to herself, or so it seemed, knocking on the door and departing as quickly as she had come.

It had been 18 months since Irene had last seen Sherlock and all that she had been left with was a head full of memories and a tiny bundle of nine-month old 'joy'. She swallowed as she looked down at her baby. She couldn't do it. Not anymore. She had tried so very hard. As soon as she had found out she was pregnant she had sworn to have an abortion, but when she saw him on that monitor, something melted inside of her and she had to try. For him. For Sherlock. She spent the next nine months in eager trepidation and when her baby had finally arrived, she was happy. At least, for the moment. It had been a beautiful baby boy and Irene had recalled a memory spent in 221b Baker Street with a wry smile. Hamish. She called him Hamish. Deep down, she had always known that motherhood was not for her, even after having had her child, she was still not maternal. However, she had persevered as she always did. It was too much.

She couldn't do it anymore, it wasn't fair on either herself or her baby. He deserved better than her half-hearted attempts at false motherhood. That was how she had found herself that average March evening outside 221b Baker Street. She set the basket down and leaned down to press a kiss to her son's head, tears rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry. One day you'll understand." She whispered softly. "But you'll have your Daddy, and I know that despite everything, he'll be better for you than I ever could be." She said softly before forcing herself to stand up. She set down two envelopes into the basket, one addressed to Sherlock and one to Hamish before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. She then gave one last glance to her baby before hurriedly retreating into the shadows.

John made his way down the stairs and opened the door with a frown. He looked down and upon seeing the infant immediately started. He stepped out of the doorway and looked around. He frowned before reaching down to pick up the baby carrier. He noticed two notes and read the names. He closed his eyes and sighed, knowing exactly who must have left her child at their-his flat.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he realised just what was going on. His mind raced back to their night in Karachi. The one, single night of love they had shared. Sweat married with passion and tangled limbs and sheets, and moans...oh, how the moans haunted him. He swallowed at the memories, his eyes glistening.

Without thinking, he jumped up and raced down the street the where John was confusedly standing. He caught his eye and shouted, "Look after it!" Before racing past him and down the alleyway he had seen her enter. He slammed against the wall at the end, the only way he was able to stop himself after having sprinted so fast. He glanced around him and above him, looking for how she could have escaped. "Irene! IRENE!" He yelled, his voice desperate and shaking. He spun around, like a madman, his heart racing as he caught his breath. "IRENE ADLER!" He shouted again, he could feel the sobs begin to bubble. "Miss Adler..." He tried, slowly overcome with defeat. He banged his fists against the brick wall before sliding down it slouching his back against the cool clay. He dropped his head into his hands and cried, before letting out a guttural yell of outrage, sorrow, and loss.

Irene was perched on the roof. She closed her eyes as she heard his yells, his screams, and his sobs. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she held a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. She couldn't stay a moment longer and so stood up quickly and walked away from the two most important people in her life.

Sherlock took a moment before slowly collecting himself and picking himself up off the ground. He wiped his eyes and walked slowly back to the main street. He made his way down baker street keeping his gaze downwards. He looked up at at a haunted John Watson, "Well, what on earth are we supposed to do now?" He asked quietly.