"You...you...you're dead, you were dead! He said, Mycroft said, you were beheaded in Karachi!"
Irene dismisses him with a casual wave of her hand. "All in good time, my dear. Sherlock?"
As if he's been cued, Sherlock wanders in, eyes darting round the room, taking in the scene. "You might want to close your mouth, now, John."
John does so.
The consulting detective turns his gaze back to the dominatrix, currently making herself at home in his armchair. She raises one eyebrow delicately, as if challenging him to move her.
"Ah, Irene. I was wondering when you might drop by."