A/N: I am such a b*tch! So sorry for making you guys wait so long. (Special mention to Stardust, Faery, and Creed XD) then again I warned in last chapter it would be a while. hehehehe. Here it is. I have to tell you, since it's an 'apology chapter', it's long. XD

Then again you guys like reading so I see nothing wrong. :D ENJOY 3


Old Habits Die Hard


Holmes lay on his back in the darkness of his room with feet propped on the bed while the rest of him sprawled on the floor. He didn't have a bed back in Baker Street for years now; he had forgotten how soft it was to have a bed as a foot stool. After he had set fire to the goose down mattress provided by Mrs. Hudson she didn't get him another one, so he resolved to sleep on the tiger rug.

He had just consumed another pipe-full of his favorite vice, but this time he experimented on mixing the tobacco leaves and cocaine powder and smoking them together in the pipe. Oh the marvelous transcendental bliss it left him after only a dose. He lay like that for quite sometime not minding, not thinking and just stoning out…

Without knocking or any form of warning, Watson barged into the room.

His face was set and he stormed right past Holmes and straight into the closet. Holmes heard the hurried ascending footsteps above, silence, then descending. Watson exited the closet and spotted him on the floor, one hand on hip and the other to his now grown mustache, trying to hide embarrassment on his face.

"You- have you… were you-" he stuttered.

"Have I been just here the entire time?" He finished the other's sentence.

"Well, yes basically…"

"Pretty much…" he replied groggily not taking his eyes off the ceiling.

Watson sighed inwardly. His friend had been in this stupor for more than a week already, but the usual diagnosis for his boredom which is lack of a proper case was not the reason for his recent gloom, and he knew very well that it was Ms. Adler's engagement no matter how the detective would deny it.

Today was the 6th of January of the new year, and experience has learned Watson that despite Holmes' almost limitless stores of knowledge, he never took note of his own day, and that was why John Watson stood there hovering over Sherlock Holmes' head as he slipped off in his drug induced day dreams.

"Thirty-seven." Watson said.

"What?" Holmes replied nonplussed.

"You are thirty-seven years old as of today, and you're making a bad lot out of it."

"Is it today? I haven't noticed at all."

"You never do…"

"So if I am seven and thirty, then that makes you," he ticked numbers off his fingers, "five and forty!"

"Five and thirty, Holmes." He laughed it off; Holmes never seemed to like the idea that Watson was younger than him.

"Potato, potahto."

He walked over to Holmes' trunk and started fishing for a walking jacket. "Get dressed, properly dressed, we're going out."

"You've set up a party? No wonder I had a feeling of impending doom."

"Don't flatter yourself; it's not for your birthday. Lord Barrington has invited us both to Meldowney by chance that some of his friends from the Hijos Tropicano are in town. He's heard of our exploits in the tropics and he would like it if we came by." He dug deeper in Holmes' trunk.

"The elite sons of the tropicsare here?" Holmes sat up on the floor.

"So it seems and we are invited to tea," he found a decent looking apparel, it had a hole just above the breast-pocket but it would do, "now get dressed and I shall wait for you downstairs, oh, and while we're there please, please, behave yourself."

"Lord Barrington awaits you in the Glass Room sirs; a couple of his companions in the Hijos Tropicano have already arrived."

The butler led them from the grand foyer and down a wide brightly lit corridor flanked by white marble statues on both sides. The place looked different with winter sunlight streaming in from the large windows compared with the candle light of the Masquerade Ball.

"Chives, is it not?" Holmes said.

"Yes sir, that is my name, please feel free to call on me anytime for your needs while you are here in Meldowney and I shall be prepared to serve."

"Very good. Now tell me, it is the height of winter and you master has called in a small gathering of the Hijos Tropicano?"

"Yes sir,"

"Gentlemen of the Tropics some call it?"

"Yes sir,"

"These men including your master, as I believe, have spent a considerable time of their lives in tropical countries?"

"Most certainly sir,"

"And yet at the height of winter where the cold is most bitter we are to be led into a Glass Room in the Garden wing?"

"That is correct sir." Chives said with what sounded like a smirk to his voice.

"Hmmm…" Holmes touched his fingers to his chin, a look Watson easily recognized that he was deep in thought. But as they made a left into another corridor Holmes had said nothing more and started to loosen the buttons of his jacket.

"What are you thinking of?" Watson asked, not able to contain his suspense any longer.

"Don't ask, just wait and we shall see if my speculation is correct, and I advise you to take off that thick coat."

"But it's cold."

"Take it off before you become a baked potato."

He had hardly slipped out of his coat when Chives stopped in front of a white double door. Then he took off his right glove and with his bare knuckles, tapped on the door once and drummed his fingers twice. Watson looked at Holmes in question who simply shrugged. A single drum of fingers sounded from the other side of the door after which Chives opened it and led them in.

"What the-"

They had only stepped in for a few seconds when Watson felt the sweat break on his brow and his jacket uncomfortably warm. Holmes felt a little cooler since he had taken off his winter jacket and waist coat. The place was so bright he thought they had stepped outsideWhen they had adjusted to the light, Watson saw that the place was filled with foliage and smelled strongly of flowers and the humidity was entirely contrary to the outside. Stunted palm trees grew in huge garden pots towered over their heads; bushes of plants that he did not recognize made a hedge on either side of a small path. Bromeliads grew big and small in clusters, huge colorful orchids hung and clung to the trunks of the taller trees, hibiscus trees grew in abundance and their flowers gave a touch of scarlet in the green surroundings. Watson looked up and realized that the walls and the roof gave the room its name; vines crawled and crisscrossed on some parts of the glass.

The curious knocking of Chives had been answered by a servant who stood by the door, all servants in the room were in their summer uniform. Obviously the furnace provides the room with the steam and warm air but there were also two fire places that roared generous flames and on the fire a huge cauldron of water simmered and steamed, adding to the humid atmosphere. From behind some plants they can see a set of rattan sofas and armchairs.

"I was right." Holmes muttered to Watson. "You are now a baked potato."

"Ah! There they are!"

Lord Barrington's voice boomed from where the sitting was, he stood in greeting and they saw that he was clad in summer clothes, his face flushed and pink with the warmth but nonetheless looked comfortable. "Welcome gentlemen to my favorite room in the entire mansion!"

"Good afternoon Lord Barrington," Holmes said and shook the other's hand. "I believe you invited us over to meet the Gentlemen of the-"

"Ah yes! Yes! To meet my fellow club mates of the Hijos! Of course do take a seat first and refresh yourselves with Chives' special iced tea."

Holmes did so and gulped down his drink as if he had spent all day out in the sun. But his pleasure was cut short when he realized that an old man sat across him looked at him with calculating beady black eyes behind a pince-nez. The man has a tuft of white hair on his balding head and was garbed in a black habit and a golden crucifix hung from his neck; it was the parson from the church last Christmas.

"By the looks on each others' face, you seem to be acquainted with each other." Barrington said.

"Only by sight and conduct but never by name, Lord Barrington." The old parson said with a low croaky voice.

"Yes… what he said." Holmes added feeling rather uncomfortable. Watson also recognized the parson and looked over at Holmes with a smirk.

"I might as well introduce you then! Mr. Holmes this is Parson Merryweather of Heather Village, a close friend of mine and a member of the Club. Dear Parson, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the sole consulting detective on the face of God's earth, he is the brother of Mycroft Holmes."

"Of course, I had the pleasure in meeting Mr. Holmes here last Christmas Eve; he had a few words to say about religion." He said stolidly.

Holmes warily shook the reverend's hand who still fixed upon him a look he didn't like. Another man walked into the room, his footsteps had a flopping sound to it. A stout man appeared before them with a trim ginger handlebar mustache and a monocle, his cheeks were ruddy and his head seemed to connect instantly with his shoulders for his face was so fat. When Holmes looked, he had very huge and wide feet.

"Oh, Bob, I see your other friends have arrived already!" He had a thick American accent, "Hello gentlemen!" he shook their hands, "I'm Mr. Ralph Brian Osmond from California, do forgive my earlier absence, I was looking for the lavatory, but let's chat on that later, introduce them to me Bobby!" He said with a boyish laugh.

When the introductions and other sorts of propriety were done with, the five gentlemen lounged into their rattan chairs with drinks in hand and settled into casual conversation.

"This Glass Room of yours Lord Barrington is quite ingenious I should say. Who would have thought a mansion in the country deep with snow could secret a place that echoes the rainforests of the tropics." Holmes said.

"Oh ho! I wouldn't get him to telling that story of his Mr. Holmes!" Osmond interrupted with a jesting laugh. "It'll be a long tale!"

"Oh I'm interested in long stories; in fact listening to them provides food to my table." Holmes said with a smile that left a bewildered look on Osmond's boyish face.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. I think maybe I as well ought to tell you as we wait for the other gentlemen." Barrington laughed and cleared his throat as he began. "It was an idea than dawned upon me a few years after I had fought in the Afghan War. You see after finishing university I had traveled and spent years in India, father had a business of trade and a house there and I lived in ease. I was terribly fond of elephants, tigers and monkeys, our wealth managed me to acquire said beasts, I managed to tame the tiger that it would purr against my leg like a kit, and I rode no horse for I prefer my elephant. The monkey I had trained to become my friend and he always got me into trouble, my love of these animals drove me to become a veterinarian, I met my first wife there, when her own pet monkey got sick. We were married and started a young family. When the war started I was recruited as a field surgeon so I left the comforts of my tropical home and fought in the desert; an injury upon my person forced me to bring my family home to my father's estate here and if it were not for my wife, my daughter and my son-"

"Oh, there is a Miss Barrington?" Holmes asked in surprise.

"Yes, my daughter Alice, but she isn't here now, she studies abroad in America."

"Oh, okay. Pray, continue your narrative." He smiled and Barrington continued.

"Where was I? Oh yes, we came here and if not for my dears, my life would have been very cold indeed for I had gotten used to the warm and sunny India and the bitter winters always hurt my war injury. But when my then wife started a green house one spring it came to me to make an even larger green house where I could grow my dearly missed tropical flora. The warmth and humidity of the Glass Room is very reminiscent of my dear India and I seek refuge here every cold winter's day. I had improved this room as a memory to my late first wife after she passed away. Well, there you have it Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I have stated my experience in the tropics, and I think my companions would like to share theirs too."

The parson had spent time as a missionary in the Caribbean colonies while Osmond sought fortune in Central America. When they were done they all looked at Holmes and Watson.

"What about you Dr. Watson? You are young yet look like a man of the world already, the soul of experience shows in your eyes." The parson addressed Watson.

"I'm afraid my journey doesn't have much difference with Lord Barrington's, I was a war surgeon as well and I also suffered the same injury." He indicated to his left leg. "I then came home here and made the acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes; that concludes my short tale gentlemen."

When Watson finished they all turned to Holmes this time who said:

"I sought refuge in Tibet for a year and ran across the borders of India, Cambodia, and Siam then back to India and to France where I hid under the identity of a scientist all on account of an assassin sent after me. Now gentlemen please excuse me as I run out," he rose from his seat, "I need the lavatory, and don't worry Chives I know where it is." He told the butler who stepped forward for him.

The members of the Hijos Tropicano blinked back their surprise as the detective rushed out, but Watson knew why his friend acted so suddenly.

For when a servant had come in with a tray of refreshments while was telling his story, he saw through the door a flutter of a blue skirt pass outside in the corridor and the trail of Parisian perfume.


He caught up with her in the library. Holmes huffed to catch his breath, for a woman in a dress she walked fast, but he had an excuse; the stuffy humidity in the Glass Room exhausted him. She stood there with her back to him, carefully selecting a title from the shelf.

"Not quite used to the Glass Room are we Sherlock?" she said as she took down a book.

"Have you been time traveling, Irene?" He replied. At first sight he thought she was walking around the place in only her chemise, but upon closer inspection he saw it was a Regency gown, the sleek empire waist silhouette hugging her body.

"That seems like a fun idea, if only I could." She laughed. She followed his gaze and said, "I am a betrothed woman Sherlock, don't look at me like that." She smiled. "Or you shall have to answer to my fiancé."

"Your fiancé shall thank me after I rid him of you." He stood his ground as she walked around while flipping through her book.

"Don't be so mean." She laughed.

"Never mind that, I'm actually wondering why you stay here. Isn't that against propriety? You are after all just engaged. Are you sleeping together already?"

"The events in a bedroom remain between the man and the woman, dear detective, but I don't see why not telling you wouldn't amuse me." She glanced him a mischievous grin and turn back to her book. "Ah here it is…" she trailed off as she fixed her attention to the page. Holmes made to speak but she held out a finger to shush him, intently reading the passage.

"For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo…"

She let out a content sigh with closed eyes and clasped the book to her chest. What happened next was expected as the unexpected.

Irene flung the book with full force at him that he almost didn't dodge. It flew straight into the fire of the hearth behind him, the logs crackling and embers flying into the air as the leather bound book smoldered into ash.

"What the-" he exclaimed. "Do you treat all books like that?" he yelled at her accusingly, but Irene just stood there with the same dreamy look.

"I just had to read that last page; I left it out the last time you see." She said eagerly then she turned to him this time with a different tone of voice. "I have a habit of destroying evidence don't you remember? I borrow files and documents and study them, but afterwards I'm inclined to get rid of them. Then I remain the sole intelligence for whom who may employ me. But in this case, what you witnessed was simply a reflex." She turned her back to him and walked towards the wall. "I've spent such a long time in that field that my daily activities often reflect my past…"

Irene reached up to a rapier that hung on the wall and then walked towards him; weapon in hand. Seeing what she was up to, he looked around for his own rapier and found one above the hearth.

"What can I say?" She stroked the dull blade with her fingers and pointed the rapier to his throat. "Old habits die hard."

Sherlock Holmes fell into guard stance.

"En Garde."

It was like the dance all over again. The Game. Irene's game. He knew she was always up to no good, yet he always lets her have her way, kind of. He was used to this, in fact he was so used to it he actually longs for it when it's not there. Eight years, eight years of his life he allowed this woman to dance him of the palm of her hand and she danced with him, he never complained. Sure there are the occasional battles and the usual exchange of sarcasm yet there were those nights that compensated for the fighting, so he never complained.

But now as they parried their swords around the room trying to best each other once more, Holmes realized he wanted something else.

This was getting frustrating.

Ridiculous.

Redundant.

Boring.

But he wasn't complaining, not at all. And when she missed to block his attack; he found his window of opportunity.

Irene Adler found her back pinned to a bookcase with Sherlock Holmes on her lips.

The kiss knocked the wind out of her more than when he tackled her. They've done this before, mostly initiated by her, but this was new.

What the hell is going on? What is he doing? Why is he doing this?

The questions piled up in her mind and they disappeared as fast as they came. She was too distracted to think now, not when his hands cupped her cheek and his warm body pressed against hers, more importantly the fact that he was kissing her like mad. Her eyes fluttered close, her thinking clouded, and she kissed him back.

Why am I doing this?

His arm snaked around her waist and she was pulled closer, deeper into the kiss. Holmes pulled his lips away and she almost complained, only to have him leave gentle kisses on her neck. She didn't dare let a whimper escape her lips.

"An answer," he nibbled on her soft neck and her breathing hitched, "to your earlier question." She hated herself for talking now.

"Hmmm…" was his reply in between ravaging her neck and shoulders with his lips. His hands roamed her back and clutched at her dress. Holmes pulled away from the bookcase. He sat down in the closest armchair still embracing her and pulled her onto his lap.

"We haven't-"

He claimed her lips again.

"-been together yet."

He stopped, and stared into her eyes with a confused look.

"I- I mean, Barrington and I, we don't sleep-"

"Shut up."

And he kissed her again.

It was the middle of winter and Sherlock Holmes felt hot. He continued to ravage the woman on his lap, his reason was lost and everything around them didn't seem to exist except for the chair whose dignity they were molesting. So as long as she didn't pull away just yet, his hot blooded subconscious would remain and the deductive reasoner in him would stay asleep.

"-Why are you doing this?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Old habits," he nibbled on her lower lip, "die hard."

He dipped his head to her neck and bit her collar bone; Irene gasped and entangled her fingers in his hair. He left kisses on her chest, lower and lower and pulled down the front of her dress exposing herself to his hungry hands and lips. Irene arched her back in anticipation and he hungrily obliged...

Footsteps.

Light hurried footsteps sounded from the corridor outside approaching from the Glass Room.

Watson.

It was a mere second when she was still on his lap, sitting up alert, and looking very indecent. The next second the door swung open and there appeared his friend. When he turned back again she was gone like a ghost.

Watson stood there looking serious; he obviously did not see Irene. It was a good thing he didn't because Holmes hated to explain.

"Oh hello Watson, come to join me in reading?" he feigned innocence.

"You're needed back in there Holmes."


The Glass Room had five additional other people in it since he left, minus the servants. Two were members of the Hijos Tropicano, two were local constabularies, and the last one was a grouchy looking old man who turned out to be the leader of Heather Village.

Barrington looked grave.

"What d'yeh suggest I do with them village folk sir?" Peter Simon, the Village Leader, said. "I mean only two women saw the bloody corpse, but yeh cah' 'spect it go quiet. 'Em bloody nights had gone on and this the sixt' 'un yet!" Simon was worried but he spoke calmly. "I'm tellin' yeh they'd been 'spectin' this. Some 'ave moved sir, if we cah' protect 'em people they'd flock out like geese in wintah!"

"Sit down and be calm Simon, I assure you we will have this fixed." Barrington said, not looking up and still looking sullen. "It is our very luck to have Mr. Holmes present in town, he handles these cases expertly." Barrington gave Holmes a weak smile.

Which Holmes didn't return; he was still distracted by what had happened five minutes ago.

"Mr. Holmes here will be assisted by our local police, I assume that's alright with you Inspector Sachs?" Barrington asked the inspector.

"It would be an experience my Lord, but I assure you that every police force within the radius of twenty miles are capable with dealing with our own local problems." Sachs replied with what looked like a half curtsey. "The force is well equipped to handle this case on its own."

"Really?" Holmes interjected. "Then do tell me dear inspector, if you are as capable as you say, then how come the lack of prevention for these crimes?"

The deductive reasoner was awake now.

Sachs looked taken aback but remained composed. "We are on the process of dealing with it now."

"What part of the process? Contemplative?" Holmes sneered.

"Holmes." Watson warned.

Holmes quieted with a smirk.

"I'll handle the negotiations from here." Watson continued.

For some time now, he had served as Holmes' manager in some cases when the detective's hot headedness would get in the way between them and solving the case. He was adept at making arrangements to fit both Holmes and the client (and sometimes Scotland Yard). Something Holmes allowed him to do, since it helped a lot and prevented senseless arguments and law suits.

"What do you propose we do Dr.?" Barrington asked.

"Inspector," Watson acknowledged the man, "would it be of any help to your investigation if we worked along side you as an independent source?"

"By that you mean?"

"Sherlock Holmes and I will carry on our own investigation as you would yours, but without one of us having to answer to the other. We may come up with different results and have different trails, but these we will compare and discuss and with liberty, both sides have access to the other's gathered evidence. It will be twice as fast and twice as efficient, and I believe that if we work this way we will be able to solve the case-"

"There are six." Simon said.

"-cases then, at a good rate and have the job done by early March."

"March?" Barrington said, worried. "Forgive me but, isn't that quite far off yet?"

Holmes shushed Watson. "You had enough talking Watson, now my turn." He faced the rich lord. "My colleague here is not wrong when he said March. There are factors for the delay. One is which; there are six cases, unless we get to look at this present one right away we may be further delayed, and another, these crimes may have different suspects or interconnected all together and we must figure that out, and the last factor is this conversation. If we don't wrap this up now you may as well wait for Inspector Sucks to solve this by September."

Watson shook his head and gave Sachs an almost pleading look. The inspector sighed.

"Very well, you've made you point. But we work independently, not totally, but still. My troops have potential. I guess there's no harm in letting you Londoners take a stroll of the country crime scene."

"Well I guess that's it!" Barrington stood up. "Inspector, if you will, please lead them down to the scene of the crime and everything may proceed from there."

As they made their way out, Holmes said. "Gentlemen I must say, this is the best birthday yet."


A/N: I must say, the kissing part was the one that took the longest to right. XD I'd be lying if I said I didn't ask for help in writing it.(cough*boyfriend*cough)*wink wink nudge nudge*

The game isn't afoot just yet! Holmes will see if this case is of any interest at all, since he is currently interested in doing something (or someone) else. *wink2 nudge2*

Six deaths. related or unrelated?

And does Inspector Sucks- i mean Sachs, prove to be another Lestrade? Worse or better? Never mind, Holmes won't like him anyway.

I'll update again next week! And you'll probably see more of Terry there. ^_^

BTW. Just watched The Avengers and Tony is HOTTTT 3 sorry for fangirling. w

-Jacques Sparreaux