Sorry it is very slow to begin with, but hang on in there and it will get better! Enjoy!
The loud, relentless banging at the front door startled John out of his doze on the battered couch. He looked pointedly at Sherlock, who was plucking harshly at his violin, competing with the pouring rain outside. "Would you like to get that for once, Sherlock?" But John knew the answer before it had even slipped out of Sherlock's lips. "No, not particularly John." Sighing deeply, John heaved himself out of his comfortable dent in the couch. Stumbling down the stairs, still slightly dazed from his recent sleep, he opened the creaking front door. For a minute he thought he was hallucinating, because in front of him, was the beautiful Irene Adler, who he had met only 2 weeks ago, and here she was again. After the immediate thrill of seeing her angelic presence again, he realised that her immaculate appearance was disgruntled, her hair in a disarray, her face distraught with fear and her breathing heavy. "John!" she cried in relief.
"Irene! What's wrong?" he didn't question what she was doing here, he was overwhelmed with the feeling to help and nurture this lost sheep.
"Oh, Jon, I'm so sorry to be convenient to you, but I have nowhere else to go! You see, someone who has a particular...grudge against me, has been after me for several weeks now, and I'm desperate, alone and I'm so scared!" She looked up at him, eyes awash with fright and innocence, and John melted unconditionally. "Of course Irene, come in." She gratefully stepped into the enveloping warmth of the cosy house, and John helped her remove her soaking coat. She shivered, and John realized she was only wearing a thin pink t-shirt underneath. Her arms were covered n goose bumps. She stared to cough, bending over.
"Oh my god, you must be freezing! Here, take my jumper," before she could protest, he pulled his beige woollen jumper over his head, and gently handed it to her. She didn't protest anymore, merely glancing gratefully at him and pulling the jumper over her head. His jumper completely enveloped her, and she pulled the sleeves over her frozen hands. She gave him another genuine, dazzling smile. John smiled back. Then her face glazed over with weakness and pain, and the words, "John..." slipped from her mouth and she fainted. John, military instincts still intact, darted forward and grabbed her before her body crumpled to the floor. Clasping her innocently around the waist, he gave her a once over medical assessment. Her complexion was beyond pale, and he could feel her ribs even through the jumper and t shirt. She must have been starving. What kind of monster would drive this beautiful woman to such extremes? Carefully, he cradled her body, now as light as a feather, and began a slow ascent up the narrow stairs. When he opened the door, he completely ignored Sherlock, all his focus on bringing Irene back to the health. He rushed around the tiny flat, making tea, dumping blankets on the couch, turning up the heating and when he finally managed to sit down, he perched on the edge of the couch where he had lovingly laid Irene's unconscious body and began to stroke the hair away from her face. Only then did he realise that Sherlock had been bombarding him with questions from the moment he had arrived.
"John? JOHN! Who is she?"
"She is Irene Adler. I've met her before."
"And how was that exactly?"
"I bumped into her on the street. All her shopping spilt open, so I helped her."
"Ah, so that was the new cologne. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well I didn't think it was necessary at the time. What would it mean to you anyway?"
"Nothing."
"Okay then. Let's leave it at that."
Sherlock huffed, and stalked off to the kitchen. God, Sherlock was insufferable when he was his in one of his moods. Just as he was about to follow him, Irene stirred. Her deep blue eyes gazed up at his, and for a moment he thought he would be forever lost in that deep blue ocean. She reached out for his hand, and clasped it, giving it a gentle squeeze. A warm shiver went up his spine.
"Thank you for this John," she smiled weakly, releasing her grip on his hand, but still looking up into his eyes. He did not say anything, just smiled and allowed himself to sink in the deep blue ocean. Sherlock chose this moment to enter the room. John looked up resentfully at him. He just couldn't stay away could he? Irene looked up as he entered the room. "So this is your flatmate John?" John nodded. "The one and only. Irene, this is Sherlock, Sherlock, this is Irene. Sherlock stretched out his hand. That was strange. Sherlock never did that. Irene accepted it graciously, and shake it as best she could in her awkward position, but holding it no longer than was necessary, John noted appreciatively. But why was he so jealous over a woman he'd only met twice? Sure, she was stunningly beautiful, but he barely knew anything about her. However these thoughts were forgotten as he allowed himself to return to the deep ocean that were Irene's eyes.
