Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

I promised pancakes and so here they are! Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated!


Besides the processing of facts and projection of their indications, Sherlock found trivial thought distasteful and worse, boring. He was however, as the taxi pulled away from Ms. Roswell, finding himself intrigued by the differences between his own mind and hers. There was no doubt she was brilliant, sensible and abnormal. But she was obviously disappointingly slow and infantile in applying her skill to such work as he had. Being sick after seeing such a mild homicide almost inclined him to be shameful of her. But she had recovered in a timely manner and made some helpful contributions.

Night was settled and London beginning it's long hours of insomnia. The cab stopped at a crowded street and pedestrians began to flow around the cars. A yellow post it note appeared on the window next to him: Dinner tonight? It read. He turned around, scanning out the window but whomever had stuck it there was lost in the swelling crowd and the car inched away.

It had been three months and 20 days since he had seen Irene last in Budapest. In front of the Pest Redout along the waters of the Danube, she had gotten into a taxi without a word and left. Sherlock quickly ushered the emotion-twinging thoughts out of his head and returned to the relentless yet comfortable ideas and solving processes of investigation.


Glancing down resentfully at the foam cup of coffee, Gareth walked swiftly through the hallways of Westerham. His nerves were raw but he did not plan on resting tonight. This was his fourth coffee in three hours and he felt the speed of his heart racing. He had spent four solid hours in the security office watching the footage of the previous early morning hours for any clue of what had happened to Honor Roswell. There had been nothing. He had kept her in that area because of the lack of surveillance so his comings and goings to her room wouldn't be documented. But there was no way she could have passed through the main building halls without at least one camera catching her in one of the foyers. It was a secure facility! There had been nothing on the recordings, simply desolate halls and an identifiable worker patrolling every so often.

Now orderlies backed out of his way when they saw him coming, he had failed miserably in hiding his anxiety and fired two people already today. The pressure was building and he had to find an outlet.

He fumbled with his keys to unlock his office door and entered the dark room scowling. Turning on a lamp light on his desk he looked at his watch, 9:00pm. So preoccupied, he stepped over to his compounding station and took a long drink of the hot liquid.

"I had to have missed something." He mumbled to himself.

"Indeed." Came the glossy response from behind him.

Spinning around Gareth sloshed half of the coffee onto his hand but kept from dropping it completely. James lay on his couch watching him with a crooked smile.

He knew. Gareth didn't know how he had found out or the extent but somehow Jim knew about Honor's disappearance.

The scalding coffee was running down his arm, into the sleeve of his shirt but he hardly noticed.

"Jim. I didn't expect you. How did you get in here?" Gareth tried to sound casual.

Moriarty was looking at one of the thick reference books taken from the shelves that took up the entire wall.

"Stockholm syndrome...was that what you were going for? Oh anyone can get in here Sean. Honestly." He was wearing thin leather gloves and tossed the book onto the seat beside him then stood up energetically.

Frowning, Gareth sat the dripping cup down on his desk and found a handkerchief. Dabbing at his hand he watched Moriarty approach, looking around curiously.

"You could have called. I have a lot of things to catch up on." Said Gareth, trying to hide his fear.

James poked about at the solutions and vials on the compounding table.

"Yes. It's rather inconvenient when people don't call when things happen." His implied meaning obvious. Jim picked up a vial that Gareth had just mixed.

"I can't even pronounce this!" Moriarty grinned as he looked at the label, "But it doesn't look like it is your average psych med. Who were you going to knock off with this?"

The fact that Moriarty could recognize a poison, mislabeled or not, when he saw one didn't surprise Gareth. As a genius of the criminal persuasion he obviously knew something of adverse chemicals. But now Gareth knew he was just toying with him so he sighed.

"She's gone. Vanished." He confessed and unbuttoned his sleeve to wipe his forearm down to his elbow.

The same grin remained on James' face, but his eyes had changed to unstable seriousness.

"I know." Was all he said. "Don't you watch youtube?"

A sudden thought took Gareth and he asked hopefully. "What? Wait...was it you? Did you take her?"

Glass couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it. Only one other person he knew of could have done it and now this was by far the better scenario in his opinion. Unless...James had the notion he needed to dispose of her. Relief was pushed aside by worry laced with anger. But he kept his face smooth, watching Moriarty rummage around in his drawer.

"No I didn't. And neither did Monroe. Isn't that who you were going to present this toxic little cocktail to? That temper is going to get you into trouble again cousin." He pulled out a syringe and extracted some of the yellow liquid.

Glass watched him nervously, taking a step back. Flicking the barrel customarily Moriarty continued. "If there is any suspicion, anyone nosing around, it would make everything we've done worth nothing. I've worked hard on this. It's going to fund a lot of exciting plans I have coming up."

"I-I haven't told anyone. I mean I told them she was still in London at hospital. But I have to locate her quickly." Gareth stammered.

His cousin's smile slowly faded and he took a step towards Gareth. "There will not be any easy way of cleaning this mess up Sean. There are probably other 'variables' we will have to take care of now as well. Your incompetence has made everything unnecessarily complicated."

Paralyzed, Gareth could only lean back, pinned by his desk. James held the ready syringe inches away from his neck.

"How do you know it wasn't Monroe? I swear no one else had access..." Glass tried to deflect the blame lamely.

A small smile revived Moriarty's face. "I've just had dinner with her. Went back to her place. She's a talker. You know she doesn't like you very much."

Sweat was amassing on Gareth's brow, he felt the tip of the needle prick the skin of his neck.

"Just think Dr. Glass, if it got out in the open about your nasty little past. All that unauthorized human testing gone wrong. Why you had to change your name. I bet Monroe would have a field day with that."

Trying to keep as still as possible, Gareth suppressed the urge to swallow. "Jim. Help me please. I will do anything. Tell me what to do."

Moriarty's eyes narrowed, as if a debate was raging in that exceptional head of his. By and by he pulled the needle away, pointing its tip in the air and then suppressing the plunger. The drug spouted into the air, sprinkling both of them. Gareth still stood rigid, not wanting to instigate his cousin's reconsideration.

Playfully, Jim took the handkerchief from Gareth's grip and loosely wiped at his own face then Gareth's. "Well, family first you know. I have a few things to do then I shall locate your missing pet. But remember you owe me. Oh, I have a lovely little fairy tale video I made on the side, you can play it for your patients, tell me how they like it."

Jim pulled a dvd case out and tossed it onto the desk.

Gareth nodded hastily as Moriarty backed away, buttoning up his coat and going to the door.

"Anything I can assist you with?" Gareth asked, taking a deep breath.

Pausing, Moriarty looked at him mischievously. "No, I'm going diamond shopping."

Even though he felt he had narrowly escaped a possible death, Gareth couldn't help himself.

"Oh? A gift for someone special?" He asked curiously, never knowing his cousin to don jewelry besides his ring, cufflinks and the like.

This brought a strangely pleased look to Moriarty's face and he replied. "Something like that."

Then he opened the door and left.

Gareth slumped into his chair and let his pulse slow. He was beginning to think gaining Moriarty's help would cost more than he wanted to pay.


Dipping temperatures felt even more frigid with the wind chill just after midnight.

In the shadows of the clustered row houses a slight figure scaled a back wall silently. The window above was open despite the sub-freezing temperatures and the woman smiled. With one last effort she slipped through the window into the blackness of the room.

Behind her the curtains swayed gently in the exchange of pressures between inside and outside. She didn't have to wait for her eyes to adjust, she knew the room and its layout. But she still stood quietly, letting the anticipation swell. Now she could see the bed's definition just feet in front of her and a familiar form lying motionless under the duvet.

Smiling to herself she walked softly around to the other side, slipping off her coat, dark trousers and climbing shoes. The bed creaked lowly as she eased into it, the silk nightgown she wore sliding easily. She waited again, listening to the soft breathing of the man so close to her now. Slow and deep, could he actually be asleep?

With the window light on his other side, she could see he was laying on his back, eyes closed. She scooted closer, inching her face into the space behind his ear, the thick curls of his hair brushing her nose and cheek.

The light flickered on. Slightly deflated, Irene brought her head back a little so she could see his face. Sherlock stared straight at the ceiling, his hand still grasping the cord of the lamp.

"Hello sexy." She teased.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly.

Irene couldn't pass this up. "You're the brilliant detective. You haven't figured it out? I could give you a few more clues." She spoke provocatively.

Sliding her hand to him under the covers she paused as she felt his chest.

"Are you still dressed?" She asked, genuinely surprised.

He looked over at her undeterred.

"You said you would be out of contact for some time for a job." Sherlock continued, ignoring her question.

Propping her head up on her hand she smiled, her high cheek bones still red from the night's exposure.

"I got a better offer. Come on Shirley, aren't you glad to see me?" She let her other hand glide over his shirt.

This did provoke a change in his face and his eyebrows narrowed slightly. "Don't call me that."

"Grumpy tonight aren't we? Let's see what we can do about that." She crawled over to look down at him and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. The lack of response made her pull back.

"You know it was cute at first but now it's mainly aggravating that you don't kiss me back." She complained.

His gray-green eyes were undaunted by her intensely azure ones.

"I thought it was made perfectly clear that I had no jurisdiction over your behaviors I don't know why the same wouldn't apply for me." He finished logically.

Irene pursed her lips in irritation.

"You're still on about about my profession choice aren't you." She purred smoothly, her emotional walls rising and she began to slip into character.

Running her fingers through his hair he reached up and took hold of her arm, a strange, sad look deepening in his eyes.

"Don't. Don't start on me like you do...them." He began to sit up, forcing her to slump to the side as he brought his legs over the side of the bed.

"For someone who doesn't want anything to do with attachment you seem to be very sentimental." Irene said to his back. "I think I've offered you the perfect situation Sherlock. Experience people pay me fortunes for, no strings attached. You said it was 'optimal'." She pointed out.

"Maybe I was wrong." The quiet reply came over his shoulder.

Moving over to him, Irene put her chin on his shoulder.

"What do you want? To settle down? Have a dutiful companion who waits for you to come home to them. I don't think so. You would be bored within the week. You need change, just like me. Danger and stimulation. Besides, no normal girl would come near you. You are frightening." She glanced down at the floor. "Are you wearing shoes as well?"

"I don't care for normal, but genuine would be nice. And how long until you get bored of me? Please go Irene." He looked over at her, his voice solid and cold again.

She only hesitated a moment then shrugged. "Suit yourself darling. I won't wait forever."

She returned to her clothing and slipped them on indifferently.

"Mind if I use the front door Shirley?" The question left in the air and she left his room without waiting for a response.

He remained, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening for the front door to open and close. The conformation didn't come and he knew she had seen the sleeping figure on the couch.

Shortly her rash face appeared again in the doorway.

"Who is that?" she demanded.

"Refreshingly jealous? Never mind. She's no one Irene. A 'normal' girl." His reply carrying finality with it.

Irene knew there would be no more talking tonight and she spun on her heel through the door again. This time the main door slammed shut.

Sherlock waited, but there was no further stirring. He felt very tired and laid back down, fully clothed shirt to shoes and turned out the light.


On Wednesday morning, a curious aroma brought John down earlier than usual.

It was his day off and he wanted to allow himself a lay in. But the warm, inviting smell was tempting enough and he jogged down the steps in his pajamas and through the open door to the kitchen of their flat.

Standing silently he saw the american girl and Mrs. Hudson chatting cheerfully over the stove. A steaming pile of pancakes mounting on a plate on the counter.

Honor turned and saw him, bringing Mrs. Hudson's attention as well. The landlady greeted him with a high pitched, "Good morning! You must watch this Doctor! She can flip them in the air above your head!"

Honor was pouring another pancake in the pan and said matter-of-factually. "It supposedly improves the flavor?" She tired with a small smile.

John returned the smile reassuringly and sat down at the vibrantly clean table. Hesitantly his hands lingered over the surface.

"I bleached it Doctor." Assured Honor with a wink.

He was unable to contain a chuckle and leaned forward confidently. A tall shadow fell over them and they all turned to see Sherlock's swaying figure wrapped in his blanket shoulder to foot. His barely cognizant eyes squinted at the scene groggily.

"Has anyone seen my bloody phone?" He inquired.

Mrs. Hudson and John shook their heads and cast their eyes about in search.

"You took it to your room last night." Honor said flipping the pancake with one hand and held up the phone with her other. "Then I think it was tossed on me in the middle of the night."

"Ah." Was all he responded but it was understood Honor knew it hadn't been by him.

As if suddenly aware, he sniffed the air with a pinched face. "Is that...breakfast?"

Mrs. Hudson answered with enthusiasm. "They've got blueberries in them Sherlock. Do have one! She's made a 'whole mess of them'." The woman tried to imitate in a yankee accent.

"And go put on some clothes while you're at it mate." John threw in lightly.

Defiantly, Sherlock let the blanket fall to the ground, earning some gasps and shocked faces. He still wore his clothes from yesterday, even down the the shoes. Retaining his stony facial expression he gave no indication of satisfaction at their initial reaction.

John began to laugh. "Well that took a turn for the better. Oh look, real maple syrup."

Mrs. Hudson was setting the table while Honor flipped a pancake into the air, catching it with ease.

"I had to go to two stores to find it. Maple syrup isn't very popular?" Honor inquired conversationally.

About to answer, John was spoken over by Sherlock. "Pesky Canadian tariffs possibly." He said facetiously and picked up a pancake, folded it and took a bite. "Where did you get the money for this?" He added suspiciously.

Averting her eyes, Honor shrugged. "From the lining of your violin case where you hide your cigarettes."

John's head snapped towards Sherlock who was looking back to where the violin case sat seemingly undisturbed.

"Sherlock..." John began, but Sherlock leaned against the table coolly defensive.

"I suppose I shouldn't have high expectations of your manners." He said.

Honor flipped the last pancake onto the pile and sat the pan down. "You're one to talk about manners. You left me on a street corner after you knew I had had a severe withdraw episode and let me walk almost ten blocks back here. But if it makes you feel better, there is the window. Mrs. Hudson has told me you have a proud tradition here at Baker Street of throwing Americans out of them." She suggested resentfully, her brown eyes daring. She tossed the phone at him and he caught it easily.

"Only the violent ones dear." Mrs. Hudson interjected quickly.

"And the mouthy ones." Sherlock's voice remained irritatingly calm but he was game.

John stood up and stepped around the table to confront his friend. "Back up a bit. You told me to help you quit smoking..."

"Oh John drop it please." Sherlock snipped but John continued.

"And you never told me she had been having withdraw symptoms. I told you to let me know. I have to agree with 'the american', you're one to talk about manners anyhow." He reprimanded.

Sherlock stood his ground, still glaring at Honor. "Well John, it seems I remember you saying something rather rude recently, 'daft american bird' was it? And Mrs. Hudson, this one qualifies under both categories, mouthy and violent. When she was suffering from her 'episode' she tried to hit me again. Seems you have a very good swing for a helpless country girl. Training perhaps?"

"My dad taught me to box a bit." She sat down and drizzled syrup on her pancake.

Mrs. Hudson wrung her hands in the intensity of the conversation.

"Sherlock, not the window." She fretted as if she was unsure of what he might actually do.

John turned to Honor. "Look I'm very sorry about that, remark. Very poor choice of words. Do you mind if I monitor you for a few hours today? Severe withdrawal can be very dangerous." He said.

Changing quickly from anger to embarrassment, Honor looked to John. "Oh don't worry about that Dr. Watson. And I feel better now. Really."

"It's no trouble, Just a quick look over and vitals. Basics."

Sherlock had gone to his violin case and assessing it said, "You'll have to follow her to Bart's then Watson. We'll be leaving in a hour or so."