Recreational scolding? Nah. That sounded a bit… loony. He still wanted to talk to Miss Adler though; maybe she had seen Mr Holmes lately. She was, after all, intent on having dinner with him. Yeah, Jim hacked her phone. He does all the work and those News of the World pricks take all the credit. Typical bloody journalists, always leeching off of others. But they can be great help when it comes to, say, defaming your arch-nemesis. But that's all they're good for.

As he walked down the road to Irene's house, he remembered growing up in the area. Whilst most bastard kids were vandalising cars or killing poor innocent kittens he was playing mind games with the elderly and blackmailing his teachers. Well, they have pissed their lives away, so they get what they deserve. "Try to teach me Pythagoras, will you, you pricks?" He thought to himself. He, of course knew advanced mathematics by the time he was thirteen anyway, so what was the point? The highlight of his school years was sneaking out to that Bee Gees concert. He still had that ringtone. Only now was he beginning to think it said Mid-life crisis. He was never wrong before.

He approached the door of Irene Adler's house and knocked. The voice of an old man answered him.

"Who is it?" Asked the oldie.

"I'm here to see Irene. Let me in." Replied Jim.

"Really? I don't know if Ms Adler would-"

"Let me in, you old pervert!"

This seemed to stir the old geezer into action. The door was open in a flash. Jim walked in. he noticed that not much had changed since he last visited for… well… you know… when he was drunk. And everywhere else was closed. And he couldn't find his way home.

"Where is she?" He asked.

"She's upstairs, second door on the right. I warn you though, she hasn't been-"

"I didn't ask for your life story! I only have two weeks before I get chucked out on the street! Out of my way!" Jim still had the power of intimidation, obviously. The old man got out of his way and watched nervously as Jim walked upstairs. "His funeral," He muttered.

Jim opened the second door on the right. The house now had a vague stench of death about it, like someone had died and not bothered to clean up after themselves. Given Irene's credentials, this was somewhat likely. Jim was pondering this when he heard a voice from inside the room.

"What makes you think you're welcome here?" She asked.

"Irene!" Jim said, trying to sound surprised. "You look… well, like you always have, actually. Who pissed in your cereal?"

At this point, the woman stood up and showed Jim her right hand. The problem became immediately apparent.

"Ah, yes." Said Jim. "But look on the bright side, at least your head's intact."

The woman was missing three fingers. "Bright side?" She asked. "I went through an immense amount of pain losing these. And it wasn't the sort of pain I enjoy, either."

Jim thought of something to break the tension. "So… how was the middle east?" He asked.

"Quite thrilling, actually." Was her reply. "You know how it is, one minute you're on holiday, and the next minute a load of terrorists are threatening to behead you on camera. And thing is, they've been sent by one man in particular…"

This made Jim sweat slightly. "Ah! Yes, well. Funny how that sort of thing happens, isn't it?" Irene didn't let him finish that.

"And then, when said man hears that he has failed, he forces the man I really love to jump to his death from the roof of a hospital! Oh, how I wonder what sort of arsehole would have the nerve!" She was totally freaking out now, and not in the good sense.

"Oh, come on," Begged Jim. "It had nothing to do with you, I swear! It's just… look, Is there any possible way I could repay you?"

"Just one." Answered the woman. "One small way."

"Just tell me!" shouted Jim.

"You couldn't lend me a hundred quid, could you?"

For god's sake.