Ms Irene Adler paced up and down her hallway, her heels rhythmically clicking on the polished wood floor. She sighed, glancing to the clock on the wall of her stately north London terrace, before resuming her pacing.

'Kate!' she shouted, growing suddenly impatient with the passing seconds.

'Yes, Ms. Adler?' came the reply, the woman in question leaning on the door frame which connected the kitchen to the hallway.

'I'm going out,' Irene said, grabbing a fur trimmed jacket and slipping her phone into her pocket.

'Do you want me to drive you? Getting a cab is dangerous Ms. Adler,'

'I live life on the edge Kate. I'll be back later,' the woman's voice was dripping in sarcasm. She had no intentions of returning till the next day. Stepping outside, she hailed a cab and gave the address to the driver. As she grew accustomed the leather seat, she unlocked her phone and began typing a text message, a small smile forming on her face.

Sherlock was seated at the table, drinking his fourth cup of coffee and debating whether the caffeine was helping to crack this case or was merely just a procrastination technique. He hadn't spoken to John for at least two days now, possibly more, it wasn't important anyhow. The only important thing was that he hadn't been able to concentrate. He had a nagging thought in the back of his mind and he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Yet it only took a split second for him to work out what it was. The final piece of the puzzle came in the form of a sound, one single sound, and the picture suddenly became clear.

A moan erupted from his pocket. A slow smirk spread across his face and he suddenly snapped out of his daze, eyes ablaze. Reaching into his pocket, he unlocked his phone and read the message.

'Dinner? - IA'

Sherlock felt an unusual sensation; some may go as far as calling it an 'emotion'. He quickly suppressed it. He didn't like emotions, they messed with his work, and that was one thing require any help with right now. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he wandered over to the window and picked up his violin.

John woke to the sound of a violin. It wasn't the worst way to wake up, he supposed, rolling over and trying to figure out the specific melody he was being serenaded with. It was sweet, emotional almost, too intricate to be composed on the spot. John guessed he had last heard this tune about a fortnight ago, when he'd been away for a few days and had returned to the flat smelling strangely of women's perfume.

It quickly became clear. There was only one woman John knew who was clever enough to worm her way into Sherlock's bedroom, and this was her theme-tune being thrown across the violin at this very minute.

Climbing out of bed, John threw on a robe and wandered into the kitchen. Sherlock had taken a break from the violin and was staring vacantly out on the street.

'Irene,' John stated, clicking on the kettle to boil and rummaging for teabags.

'What?' John chuckled as Sherlock's head whipped around so fast it could of caused whiplash..

'Good morning to you too,"

'What do you mean?'

'I meant that you haven't spoken to me in days and...'

'Not that, what you said before' Sherlock said, his tone sharp,

'Oh, Irene. She's text you hasn't she?'

John kept a poker face, inwardly grinning. His deduction skills were clearly improving as he watched Sherlock bristle, before patting his pockets to check his flat mate hadn't taken it.

'How did you know?'

'So I'm right then?'

'How?'

'Violin. It's her theme tune, I suppose, isn't it?"

Shrugging, Sherlock turned back to his violin. Before he had chance to play anything, the familiar noise once again rose from his pocket. Turning on his heels, he saw John sniggering,

'See? I was right Sherlock!'

Sherlock shook his head and sighed.

'Are you sure you couldn't manage Dinner? I'm ravenous. -IA'

'Always so hungry Ms. Adler. You have quite the appetite. Where shall we meet? - SH'