It started off as a normal day at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Molly Hooper inspected corpses amid casual chatting. "Tom told me the funniest story the other night," she said. Sherlock didn't care to hear any more stories about Molly's fiancee. He knew that she only spoke of him so much to make him jealous. But Sherlock assured himself that he wasn't jealous, and his mistrust of his friend's significant other was only the result of...skepticism. Yes, that was it.
Molly chuckled as she finished up her story. "Isn't that something, Sherlock?"
"Hm?" he said. Then he returned to pay attention. "Oh yes, hilarious." He returned to looking under the microscope, pretending to be doing something. Just then, the recorded sound of a woman moaning could be heard.
Molly looked alarmed. "What was that?"
Sherlock was just as confused. "A text..." he said, "From a woman..."
"A woman?" Molly laughed. "Why, the only women I think that would have your phone number are me, Mrs. Hudson, John's wife, and your mother! It can't be me who texted you because my phone is in the locker room... I think Mary and John are on their honeymoon, and Mrs. Hudson and your mother are probably too old to text!" Realizing he might be offended by that, she took back her words. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it like that. My nan texts me all the time and she's eight-six. Mainly it's her asking me 'Molly, tell my how to text on this bloody thing!' and I have to tell her, 'You're already doing it, Nana!'"
"I understand," he said. "Believe it or not, it wasn't from any of those women you listed. You see, it was from The Woman."
"The Woman?" Molly echoed. "Is she your-"
"Girlfriend?" Sherlock finished. "Sort of. Unfortunately."
"You never told me you had a girlfriend..." Molly said with slight disappointment.
"I don't. But, at the same time, I do. Sorry." Sherlock rushed out of the room so he could open the text privately. Molly quietly followed him.
"What did she say?" She blurted out, startling him, then quickly added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."
"It's fine," he replied. "She says, 'It's been so long, darling. For God's sake, let's have dinner. I need to tell you something'"
"Oh, uhm..." Molly stumbled. "Oh, well. You see, I was going to ask you if you'd like to come along with Tom and I tonight. We're going to a dinner theatre. We wondered if you'd like to come with us, and maybe bring a friend. Maybe Sally Donovan would like to come with you. Or maybe Mary's bridesmaid, Jeanine? They're both lovely people, and I think you should get to know them a bit better. But it seems you're busy... unless this...girlfriend of yours wants to come..."
"Maybe," he replied, "But I don't know if she's...in the country...or continent, for that matter."
"Is she a diplomat?" Molly asked.
"Maybe," he replied as he put on his coat to walk out the door. He thought of how strange and random this text from Irene was. He hadn't heard from her in a few months, or years even. The last time he saw her was in the Middle East, when he saved her from getting beheaded by Taliban. After that, he hadn't known what she'd been up to. Of course, with his older brother being a politician, Sherlock took it up to ask him.
"So, where is she?" Sherlock snapped.
"I don't understand," Mycroft said. "Where is who, exactly?"
"You know who!" Sherlock said irately. "The Woman."
"What woman, Sherlock? I know a lot of them."
"The Woman!" he spoke loudly. "The only woman who...who I've ever..."
"You mean Irene Adler?" Mycroft asked. "I thought I told you, she's in a witness protection program in the United States and her location must remain undisclosed."
"That's bull," Sherlock replied. "I recovered her location after sorting through your emails. Last I saw her she was in the Middle East and I quickly traveled there to save her from Taliban. I don't know where she's been since, so I'm asking you."
"How did you find the password to my email?" Mycroft asked.
"I didn't," he said. "You left it open. Though if I had uncovered your password, knowing you, it would be pretty easy to figure out, cakelover2237."
Mycroft gasped. "Damn it, I need to change it again," he said. "Anyway, Irene Adler. Gosh, what is she up to these days?" Mycroft sorted through his files. Sherlock couldn't figure out if they were his confidential government files or personal emails. Though he was so desperate to know of his admirer's location, he really didn't care.
"Ah, yes," Mycroft said, "Adler, Irene. She got a new job as an opera performer and has relocated."
"I figured that," Sherlock said. "But where?"
"New York City," Mycroft replied.
Sherlock sighed and put his fingertips together. "Do you think you can pull a few strings for me?"
"Of course not!" Mycroft replied. "I have an important meeting to attend to!"
"Mycroft, you need to realize that you are not the Prime Minister. You're just a local polly," Sherlock said with a sigh, "Besides, I know you're only jealous because no woman has ever shown you the same amount of affection."
"What? Why..." Mycroft grunted. "Fine, I guess I can pull a few strings..."
"Thank you, Mycroft!" Sherlock said gleefully. "I know I don't tell you this much, but you're the best brother I've ever had."
"I'm your only brother," Mycroft replied.
Sherlock finally landed in New York and saw a giant light-up billboard ad for a production of Carmen, with "starring Irene Adler" in bold letters. He took a cab to the location on the ad and bought a ticket to the show, despite the fact it had started an hour ago. He caught the last hour of it and waited outside Irene's dressing room after the show.
Irene bumped into him. "Oops, sorry sir," she said.
"It's fine," he replied. She realized who she had just spoken to and said, "Mr. Holmes, long time no see!" and embraced him, though he was a little reluctant.
"Yes, hi Irene," he said, squished. They walked into her dressing room and she put a cigarette to her lips and lit it. "Care for a smoke?" she offered.
"No thanks," he said, "I've been trying to quit."
"Let me get dressed into something more comfortable," she said, "And I'll take you home." She changed out of her costume and they took a cab back to Irene's apartment. Kate, Irene's long-time personal assistant/lover, answered the door.
"Kate, you remember Mr. Holmes," Irene said.
"Which one: Virgin or Ice Man?" Kate asked.
"What?" said Sherlock.
"Virgin," Irene replied.
"Oh yes," Kate said. "Do you want me to put the kettle on for you, Ms. Adler?"
"Please," she said.
"I...didn't know they had kettles in New York..." Sherlock said.
"They have kettles everywhere," Irene said as Kate poured the two of them tea. "So what's new?"
"Oh, not much," Sherlock said, which was obviously a lie. "John's gotten married."
"Oh, really? Congratulations!" she cheered.
"Why...why are you congratulating me? I didn't get married," he said.
"Oh," she said with disappointment. "He didn't marry you?"
"No," he replied, "John married a nice woman named Mary Morstan. I was the best man, but I did not get married."
"Oh," she said. Just then, a faint babbling could be heard.
"What was that?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, let me check the nursery," said Irene.
"Nursery?" Sherlock asked himself. Irene came back with a small bundle in her arms. "My daughter," she said.
"How old?" he asked.
"About six months," she replied as she fed the child from a bottle. Sherlock noted that despite her controversial past, Irene Adler seemed to be quite an attentive mother. "Anyway, what else is new?"
"John's going to be a father, actually..." Sherlock said.
"Well, that makes two of us," Irene mumbled to herself.
"What?" Sherlock said, quizzically.
They sat there silently for a while, and Irene eventually repeated herself. "I said that makes two of us." Sherlock blinked rapidly and his mouth stood agape.
Irene cleared her throat. "Let me clarify: this little bugger I've got in my arms, she's mine, but she's also yours."
Sherlock said nothing. He took a sip of his tea and slowly put his fingertips together.
"You're a father, Sherlock," she said.
He paused and cleared his throat, saying slowly and quietly, "I don't even recall..."
"It was after I put you to sleep," she said. "You were actually the one who asked me if I wanted to do it. And I said yes. So, we did it, and this kid here is the result."
"I was unconscious, how could-"
"You were fully conscious."
"I was?"
"Yes. And I was really gentle with you too, because I knew it was your first time."
Sherlock put his hands together again and thought for a while. "I've never had sex with you, it can't be mine. Besides, look at her! She doesn't even look like me!" Irene showed him the baby. She had dark curls, light skin, and a narrow face with prominent cheekbones. These were features that she shared with Sherlock.
"She looks an awful lot like you," Irene said.
Sherlock leaned back in his seat, trying to recall this intimate moment he had shared with Irene. He gathered a vague memory and said, "I uhm, sort of remember."
"Yeah?" Irene said, "And how'd you feel when it happened?"
"Uh, a little weird actually," he said, "I got all tingly."
"Me too," she said.
"I don't really know if I liked it," he said. "Do people really make such a fuss about doing it? I mean, what's the big deal? It almost feels like...spiders or something. Why does everyone want to do it?"
"Don't ask me," Irene said. "You're the one who wanted to do it."
"I was really only curious," he explained, "You see, everyone wants to do it, and I wanted to find out why they wanted to do it. It was an experiment."
"It was no experiment," she said with a laugh, "You like me, Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, I guess that was...part of it," he admitted reluctantly. "By the way, what is the child called?"
Irene smiled. "I named her after her father," she said, "And her uncle John. This is Shirley Hammish Adler." Irene gave Shirley for Sherlock to hold.
"Uh, hi, Shirley," he said, "I guess I'm your father." She smiled at him, and he smiled back.