A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.

~ Oscar Wilde

"What I'm trying to say is...Sarah, will you marry me?"

Sarah could hardly believe what was happening. Here was John Watson, the man of her dreams, before her on one knee in the middle of the restaurant, asking her to marry him. Words were at a loss.

"But...what about Sherlock?" Sarah couldn't keep from asking.

John looked puzzled. "What about Sherlock? We would live together, as husband and wife. You can't possibly believe I could remain at Baker Street."

Sarah sighed. "No, of course not. I just mean, will he come first? I mean, before me..."

John stood up, and held her face in his hands. Her eyes held back tears and unspoken worry. "Never again." He slid the ringer on her finger, kissing her hand.

"Well that freak was completely useless."

Lestrade looked up from his desk at Sally Donovan in surprise. "He gave us the only lead we have!" He rolled his eyes in annoyance and looked back at his laptop. "You've looked up Jarvis?"

Sally nearly laughed. "Jarvis is dead, has been for several months. Found in Surrey, shot in the head. A perfect dental match."

Lestrade met her gaze, shocked. "Months dead?"

"Yes, months."

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his temples. This case was getting less and less clear.

I miss you...more than you know.

Sherlock put aside his book, pondering. Reading people had always come easy to him, but Irene was complex. She was like Homer in a series of children's picture books. He could stare into her eyes and never tell what she was thinking. It bothered him. Still, he couldn't write her off. He found himself drawn to her slowly, longing to be with her. Just to sit in the same room with her, knowing she was okay.

"We need to talk." He looked up to see her sitting there. He checked his watch. Five thirty pm, she was home from work.

"You know I regard you highly Irene, but you need not barge into my flat every time you'd like to talk."

She smirked. "You never minded before."

Sherlock felt some color rise in his neck, and returned his attention to his book.

Irene realized his bit of discomfort and nearly laughed. She began to pace around his chair, savoring his discomfort.

"Is there something you wanted to say?" He didn't even look up.

"Yes." She looked down at him. "Let's get dinner."

Sherlock looked up at her curiously. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

She pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe, if you play your cards right." She leaned down towards his face.

He suddenly remembered it again. She missed him, more than perhaps he could fathom, and this flirting was a front. He had seen her, broken down, and that was the woman he wanted to spend time with. He put down his book and stared into her eyes. "I miss you." The words tasted bitter and made no sense to his mind, but satisfied him nonetheless.

Her smile turned from flirtatious to sincere. "I miss you too."

She straightened suddenly and headed for the door. "Grab your coat."

He smirked, seeing the college girl she was, not the hardened woman she pretended to be.

I know this chapter is short, but I hope you still like it!