Sorry that this chapter took so long but I've been busy going to job interviews and trials and stuff. Hopefully this will make up for it!
Thanks again for sticking with the story & reviews are appreciated and wanted!


When John came back later, he saw the bathroom door wide open and Irene inside, fixing her make-up.

She saw him look through the reflection of the mirror and smiled deviously at him. "Sleep well?" Irene asked.

John could sense a hint of playfulness. Perhaps she heard them this morning. He blushed scarlet. "Yes thanks. You?"

"Wonderfully." She replied in her erotically smooth tone.

John nodded and continued into the kitchen, putting away the shopping. Sherlock still wasn't out of bed, and John didn't expect him to be until he assured him Irene had left. He felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do, especially because he didn't want to say anything. At first he was indifferent to Irene, but he despised her now, more than he had ever done so before.

John heard her heels slowly tapping against the floorboards, aware that she was now standing behind him, watching him make tea. "And the sheets." She continued. "They smell deliciously of him, don't you agree?"

John quickly glanced at Irene and caught her vaguely amused expression. She was playing him, and he knew it. "Well they would, wouldn't they?" He retorted with a blank face.

"Indeed." Irene smiled, walking around John and standing directly behind him, her lips gently grazing his right ear. "But also of you. And sex." She whispered.

He gulped down hard as his heartbeat began to quicken. He forced himself to regain composure, knowing full well that in reacting to her, he was letting her win. He moved away and reached for his and Sherlock's mugs. "Tea?" He asked casually.

"Love some." She smiled, walking back towards Sherlock's room.

John sighed and grabbed an extra mug, pouring the tea. He began stirring the sugar and milk, unintentionally overthinking about everything.

Why did she need to stay here? How did Sherlock know she was coming? Was she flirting with both of them?

All of a sudden, John jumped as he heard a loud slam. It hammered again and again, hollow thumps coming from Sherlock's bedroom. He ran down the narrow hallway and found the window open and slamming against its frame, with Irene nowhere in sight. John caught the window and pushed it open, looking down onto the alley way. She was gone.

"Couldn't use the bloody door like a normal person." John mumbled to himself.

"John?" He heard Sherlock call distantly.

"I'm downstairs." He shouted back, closing the window and turning to leave the room. He stopped and glanced at the bed, noticing a white piece of paper placed neatly on a pillow. He picked it up and frowned.

Until next time,
Irene Adler xo

John huffed and walked out into the sitting room just as Sherlock was entering it, wrapped in his bed sheet. He glanced around the room. "Good. She's gone." He said, and then looked down at John's hand, but before he could ask, John handed the note to him.

Sherlock read it, frowning, before tearing it twice and throwing it behind him as if it were the dullest thing in the world. "Hmm… tea." He smiled with his expression suddenly cheery, walking past John and into the kitchen. Sherlock saw the third mug sitting on the bench and his lip curled as if in disgust before he grabbed it and threw it into the sink, taking his own and sitting at the kitchen table. "When did she leave?"

John chuckled quietly to himself at Sherlock's weird display of detestation of a third cup before following him in. "Just then. Out the window actually... and not without a few comments." He casually added.

Sherlock's head jolted up. "Like what?"

"That the sheets smell like you. And me. And sex. Actually, I think she might have heard us this morning."

Sherlock smirked as he grabbed the morning paper and began reading it.

John sighed and walked over to the counter and placed a few slices of bread into the toaster. "Breakfast?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.

Sherlock hummed, engrossed in what he was reading, not looking up.

John put a few slices in for Sherlock too and pushed the lever, waiting while he was leaning against the counter. "I've been meaning to ask you…"

"She messaged me around midday."

John smiled. "I'll never know how you do that."

Sherlock smirked. "Another murder last night. Surely Lestrade hasn't gained the intellect to solve a murder all by himself. Why hasn't he given me the case?" Sherlock suddenly frowned, sipping his tea.

John shrugged. "Perhaps it's open and shut."

"Clearly not or there wouldn't have been a second."

After a short while, the toast popped out and John put two on each plate and buttered Sherlock's first. He smiled as he reached for the honey he had to rebuy that morning and began spreading it over the toast when suddenly he felt two arms being wrapped around his waist and a warm breath at his ear.

"You bought me honey." Sherlock swooned, kissing gently behind John's ear.

John chuckled. Sherlock was a hard man to please, at least outside the bedroom, but it was the one thing John knew would lift his spirits. "Just a little something."

Sherlock smiled and enveloped John's hands with his own, gently easing the knife out of his grip before spinning him around and giving him a gentle kiss.

"Mmm, Sherlock..." John mumbled through their lips. "We shouldn't."

"Why not?" He asked, now kissing down John's neck.

John thought for a moment, but he couldn't really give Sherlock an answer. At least not one that was coherent.

Sherlock chuckled and moved back, staring deeply into John's eyes as he grabbed both ends of the sheet he was wearing and opened it, revealing everything. "Why not?" He asked again, teasing.

John gulped hard. "Jesus Sherlock!" He gasped as his breath was knocked out of him. Sherlock moved closer and wrapped the sheet around John, kissing him again. John inhaled a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's hips and grabbing his arse, intensifying the kiss by biting Sherlock's lower lip slightly.

"John, you're already hard." Sherlock panted, wrapping one hand at the nape of John's neck, the other on his hip and tilting his head for a better angle, but John's body had strangely become rigid.

"Sherlock."

"John…"

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock leaned back slightly and followed John's gaze to the wide mouthed man standing in the sitting room. He sighed. "Lestrade."

"I… You didn't answer your… I can come back…"

"No need." John smiled, looking back at Sherlock and kissing him quickly on the lips. "Cover yourself up." He whispered, stepping out of the sheet, wrapping it back around Sherlock and joining Lestrade in the sitting room.

Sherlock frowned and sat in his usual chair, crossing his arms. He didn't like the interruption, but he took amusement in the fact that John was sitting rather uncomfortably in his chair, trying to hide his erection.

"Now Sherlock, about this case…" Lestrade began.

"Double murder… so far. Same weapon, same bullet wound… and now you need my help."

"Yes, but there's something you should see. Unless… perhaps you have other things to do?"

"To… do?" He shot a glance at John, smirking as he saw a blush cross his features. "Certainly. But we will help, as always. I'll go and get changed." He said, standing up, Lestrade following suit. "Perhaps a shower, John?" He smiled.

"Right." Lestrade spoke after a moment, seeming flushed. "I'll send a car to take you to Scotland Yard. That should give you enough time to… right. I'll just… right." And with that he turned and left the flat.

John burst out laughing. "Really Sher, was that necessary?"

Sherlock began to laugh along with him. "Alright, I'll get changed. But we'll finish this later." He smiled, giving John a quick peck on the cheek before going to his room.


As John and Sherlock entered Lestrade's office, they found him sitting at his chair going through evidence. He looked up at them and gestured for them to sit down as John closed the door behind them.

Sherlock quickly looked around the room. "You've slept here about twice in a row." He mused out loud.

"Sherlock!" John whispered chidingly, but he continued.

"Did she kick you out? You aren't here willingly."

Lestrade stood from where he was sitting and pointed at Sherlock angrily. "Now look here, that's my bloody business, not yours. It might come as a surprise to you, but some people would like to keep certain things in their life private from others, got that? I brought you in on this case to save your arse…"

"What?" John asked, suddenly curious. Sherlock's eyebrow rose inquisitively.

Lestrade sorted through the bags of evidence and stopped at one, handing it to Sherlock. He picked up the bag and saw a small polaroid picture of him, walking along a busy London street and adjusting his glove.

"Must have been taken two days ago." Sherlock said, examining the photograph.

"No fingerprints." Lestrade frowned. "If it wasn't polaroid we could find where the photo was developed but…" He shrugged.

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, putting the photo back down. "Victims?"

"Elinor Klemp, 42, husband, no children, worked in real estate." Lestrade replied, handing Sherlock two files. "And Megan Stollings, 23, lived with her mother and worked at Tesco."

Sherlock sat and read through them while John looked back at Lestrade, shocked. "Megan?" he asked.

Both Sherlock and Lestrade looked at John.

"You knew the victim?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, yes, sort of. I go to Tesco a lot and I've seen her there. She usually says hi." John's face slackened in sadness. "How did she die?"

"Bullet wound from the back of the head suggests through the mouth and into the brain." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "Both victims."

John flinched. "And the weapon?"

"Not recovered, but the bullet definitely is from the same gun. We found the bullet not too far from the body." Lestrade added. "Do you need a moment John?"

"No. No, I'm fine."

Sherlock looked over John, noticing that his hands were a little unsteady. "Where's the second photograph?" Sherlock asked, looking from John to Lestrade.

"It's being analysed at the moment for prints."

"I need to see it." Sherlock frowned.

Lestrade nodded and walked to the door, opening it and shouting, "Howard!" before leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Sherlock frowned.

Lestrade sighed and put his hands into his pockets. "We didn't notice the photo until later when we examined the victim's clothes. It seemed like coincidence at first, it looked as if the first victim had seen you from a distance and took your photo. You have fans everywhere Sherlock." He shrugged. "But then, we found the second and I came straight to you."

Suddenly, a dishevelled young man came through the door and looked at Lestrade. "Yes sir?" He asked.

"Is the photograph recovered from Megan Stollings' body out of analysis yet?"

"No Sir." He replied, threading his fingers through his hair, pushing away the loose strands. "But it should be finished soon. Would you like me to check?"

"Yes, thank you."

"And perhaps some water for John." Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"Yes sir." He nodded and walked back out.

"He's new. Transferred from Wales." Lestrade smiled. "He's a good one. Doesn't cause as much trouble as Donovan did."

"Did?" John asked, incredulously. "You mean, you fired her?"

Lestrade quickly checked outside the door for eavesdroppers before closing the door and returning to his seat. "No. Although I would have liked to after all that bloody nonsense she put me through over Sherlock. Could have lost my job because of her. But no, she's on maternity leave."

Sherlock suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter, making John jump and Lestrade stare in puzzlement. "So the idiots are breeding now?"

John smiled at Lestrade and they all began to chuckle. "Shh, Sherlock. You don't know the child is Anderson's."

Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow.

John laughed.

Then, a knock at the door revealed the same man as before, holding an evidence bag and a cup of water. He smiled and handed the cup to John. "Here you go doctor."

John smiled up at him. "Thank you." He said, taking a sip.

After a moment, John realised the room was quiet. He looked over at Sherlock who was closely examining the young man, now putting the photo on the desk and turning to leave the room.

"Wait a second." Lestrade shouted, gesturing for him to come back. He turned around questioningly.

"I haven't introduced you yet. This is Kenneth Howard, he's working on the case too. Howard, this is Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr John Watson."

"Boyfriend." Sherlock corrected, shaking Howard's hand.

Howard's eyes widened slightly. "Oh." He smiled, turning to shake John's hand. "Pleasure to meet you both. I've heard a lot about you. Seen you in the papers and all that. Read the blog too."

John smiled and in realizing that they had shaken hands a bit too long, took the liberty of letting go.

"I better get back to work." Howard nodded at Lestrade, then turned and left the office.

"He's nice." John smiled.

"Hmmpf." Sherlock frowned, crossing his arms.

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, you had a problem with the last one and look how that turned out. Please try and be friendly."

Sherlock ignored him and took the photo off of Lestrade's desk, examining it, then grabbed the other photo and put them side by side.

As John looked, he saw the second photo was of Sherlock shopping at Tesco, with Megan as his cashier.

Looking between the photos, John realised something. "Why isn't the first victim in this photo then?" John pointed at the first photo.

A light bulb had illuminated in Sherlock's mind. "Of course!" Sherlock quickly opened the file on Mrs. Klemp and looked between the polaroid and the autopsy photo.

"That woman there." He pointed at the back of a figure with long brown hair. "That must be her, in the photograph."

John nodded, turning to Lestrade. "So, what, the murderer takes a picture of Sherlock and kills a person in the photograph? But why?"

Sherlock frowned in thought. "I'm not sure. I need to think."

Lestrade nodded and placed the evidence in a cardboard box before handing it to John. "Well go home and think about it, I have other cases to work on as well as this. Please, be careful. Both of you."


As they entered 221B later that day, Sherlock immediately sat in his chair and ushered John towards him, so John placed the box of evidence in front of him and turned back towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, sounding a little anxious.

"I'm just putting my coat up." John replied, taking it off.

"Hmm." Sherlock shook his head. "I can't be too sure which is the best idea. Staying away from you so you aren't targeted, or being with you at all times so I can keep an eye on you."

John smiled. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'd thought as much." After a short moment, he spoke again. "So the murderer is no older than 40. Statistically speaking it would be a male."

John returned and knelt in front of the box, taking out the photographs. "But why is the murderer putting pictures of you on the victim? I thought you didn't have any more enemies once Moriarty was dead."

"Anybody I've helped put behind bars could be an enemy John, not just a criminal mastermind." Sherlock replied, taking the photos from John's hand. "From the angle he's about 5 foot 9. Average…"

After a few silent moments of Sherlock shuffling through evidence, John stood up and moved towards the couch, grabbing his laptop in the process, realising he wasn't going to be much help. So he sat there, staring at the blog entry he still hadn't uploaded, watching the cursor blink. He didn't feel much like writing, especially with a murderer on the loose targeting Sherlock. Perhaps he finally knew what Sherlock felt all those years ago. But this was different; of course it was, because unlike Sherlock, he was helpless to stop it.

Sherlock's mind on the other hand was fixated on the evidence in front of him, trying to figure out a pattern. Each victim had a photo of him on their person. They also had the same bullet wound from their mouth through the brain. Whoever it was, was targeting him specifically, which didn't help Sherlock in the least because he had put dozens of people behind bars, most of them more than capable of…

"John." Sherlock spoke, standing from his chair.

John looked up and saw the nervous look on Sherlock's face. He quickly put the laptop beside him and stood also, standing next to Sherlock. "What is it?"

"How did I…?" He tried, shaking his head.

John gently touched Sherlock's arm. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock turned to John with wide eyes. He grabbed the files from the box and opened one of them, taking out the autopsy photo. "He put a gun in their mouths John."

John's face frowned in confusion.

"They both died the same way as Moriarty."

John's blood ran cold as he looked back down at the photo, then up at Sherlock. "But... Moriarty killed himself. Besides, who would want revenge for Moriarty's death? You said his gang were all gone?"

Sherlock's mind went into overdrive, sorting through every last person in Moriarty's web. He could never miss a thing like that. Suddenly, Sherlock's mind clicked things into place.

"I need to speak to Mycroft." He said, closing the files and walking out of the flat.

As John was grabbing his coat, he heard Sherlock shout from the bottom of the stairs.

"Alone."

And with that, the front door slammed shut.