An Uninvited Guest

6:38am.

That was the time according to the old grandfather clock nuzzled in a smarmy corner of the room and the news triggered a bout of ferocious eye-rubbing which did nothing to relieve Ruby of her itchy eyes.

She wasn't really awake, but she wasn't really asleep either.

Sleeping wasn't an option; her thoughts were hounding her tired brain into that dusty zone which only insomniacs were familiar with. Finding solace in the land of dreams was a luxury bearing a price beyond any means of current payment. Fingers tapped impatiently on the expensive armrest of a plush armchair which didn't belong in her bedroom. But then again, none of these furnishings should reside in her chamber seeing as this wasn't her room. If sleeping wasn't an option, then spying on a certain tall, dark, mysterious man whom she'd grown overly fond of would surely pass the time.

Her jaw clenched from jealousy as she watched the gentle rise and fall of Sherlock's chest, ignoring the thread criss-crossing the room which as she'd predicted, had driven Carson into a rare fit of fury. There had been mention of resignation, which was as shocking as Carson conducting a vile killing-spree and utilising cannibalism to hide his victim's corpses.

Ruby would be very annoyed if she fell asleep now, not because of her fear of being discovered, (she needed to talk with Sherlock anyway,) but because of the urgency of what needed to be discussed. Plans needed to be made and set in motion, though it was beyond Ruby's current skillset to unceremoniously jerk the detective from slumber. He looked so peaceful, so at ease. It would be beyond cruel to devoid his brain of the few hours rest which it desperately needed.

Why can't I drag him from bed as he did with me yesterday? Oh that's right, I have an all-consuming, heart-aching crush on the man and it makes me do incredibly stupid things around him. Most excellent!

Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in disgust. These destructive trains of thought had to stop veering into such uncomfortable territory.

'Ruby.' A voice commanded quietly.

'Mhmmm….' She muttered.

'Ruby Smith, wake up.'

'G'way Sherlock, lemme sleep, get outta my room, you shroom.'

'I would, but I believe that you are in fact encroaching on my own personal space. Would you mind explaining why you find yourself sleeping on an armchair in my chamber?'

It took a moment for Ruby's sluggish brain to fully understand these words, but after a few seconds, she jerked upright, a painful ache residing near her neck. She blinked rapidly, taking in Sherlock's room which was now devoid of the multiple layers of intersecting thread and had sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Her attention returned to Sherlock who perched on the side of his unmade bed, wearing his usual tailored black suit with a wine shirt one size too small pulled enticingly over his lean frame. Ruby hurriedly dragged her attention away from this pleasing display and was horrified when her skin went through piloerection beneath his watchful gaze. Goosebumps were hardly going to escape his attention. This was not helped by her own gaze watching her naked arms, drawing even more curiosity to this anomaly.

'It's no wonder you're cold, the human body's temperature always drops upon falling asleep, hence why the use of blankets to maintain steady warmth is such a popular trend among society.' Sherlock remarked pompously, his eyes glancing at both of her arms before returning to her face. Sherlock rolled his eyes before springing to his feet and flinging something in Ruby's general direction. After closer inspection, she realised it was a certain electric-blue dressing gown.

'Why –'

'Something's changed. It involves me personally as you let me wake of my own accord in order to find me in the best possible form when you delivered this news. Put on the dressing gown and tell me what it was about yesterday which allowed you to arrive at such a startling conclusion which has inflicted short-term insomnia.' He rattled off, choosing to stand and observe her from his considerable height.

He knows.

Ruby temporarily lost control of her limbs and found the very idea of donning a dressing gown absurdly impossible. She was paralysed by the fear that he already knew, had probably known before she knew and had made it perfectly clear to her as their relationship evolved that nothing of a romantic nature could ever exist between the two of them.

A dull ache flickered in her chest, but with it came the return of her bodily functions. The dressing gown was soon folded around her and after focusing on her breathing instead of the cold, intense gaze watching her, she began to speak.

'The Mastercard… I –'

'You're not going to help me catch her.' Sherlock finished quietly before striding to the opposite side of the room and flinging the wardrobe doors open with a THUMP! 'Can't say I wasn't expecting a betrayal from you sooner or later, but even I must admit that the timing, not to mention the rationale behind such a move remains less than satisfactory. Letting true justice slide in favour of spite, that's a new low, detective.' Rage flared in Ruby's gut as Sherlock began pelting the contents of his wardrobe into the rest of the room, she even had to duck when a shoe came hurtling towards her head.

'You weren't there –'

'When you had dinner with your obnoxious parents? No, I wasn't. But it doesn't mean I don't know exactly what went on.' He hissed, stopping momentarily in the pulverisation of his wardrobe. 'You didn't eat much last night, mainly because the dishes served were of the seafood variation and as a child, you had a rather alarming experience when you adopted one of the lobsters in the kitchens and were so happy you had a pet of your own before it was boiled to death in front of you.'

'Sherlock –'

'Foodstuffs aside, it was made apparent to you when you had dinner with your parents the very reason for you being estranged from them in the first place; they're horrible people who should probably be put to death by stoning.'

Would you please –'

'You want the Mastercard to succeed in her endeavour, as you believe this is the punishment which your mother deserves. I'll admit freely she isn't the ideal human being, but do you realise what you're asking of me Ruby? If I allow her to slip by, not only will it result in the loss of a future heirloom for you, it will mean the death of my reputation. I have endured that pain once before and I solemnly vowed to never undergo such unwitting antics ever again. So in answer to your poorly worded question, I completely refuse. Not only is it wholly irrational, the very notion of allowing a criminal to win and gain increasing sympathy from the commonwealth is not something I will allow to be accomplished!' He vehemently threw down the pile of coats momentarily suspended in his arms. 'Good day to you Ruby, I trust I will not be seeing you at the ball.' He returned his attentions to the wardrobe where he continued storming through its contents.

'Sherlock, listen to me…' Ruby cautiously approached the detective within the throes of eccentricity.

'Am I wrong?' He barked, straightening with six different ties slung over his shoulder and refusing to meet Ruby's imploring gaze.

'No –'

'Good. Then get out.' Sherlock said severely, flattening himself on the floor and groping for something he thought to have rolled beneath the bed. Ruby watched for a moment, trying to hide the obvious hurt Sherlock had so easily inflicted. But she wasn't going away that easily.

'You need my help to catch her.' Her voice was rock-steady, the clashing binary of her emotions. Sherlock's scrabbling ceased, and very slowly, he met Ruby's accusing glare.

'You think that I, the world's only consulting detective, the most brilliant man you have ever had the pleasure of knowing, needs… you?' His eyes darkened in a way which made Ruby's heart hammer, but not in the pleasing fashion she'd come to associate with his presence. Sherlock extracted himself from the floor and took his time reaching his full height, making sure to tower over Ruby's quietly defiant form as he regained his six foot status. He took a step forward, his eyes sharply cold as he casually scanned her body. 'What could an ordinary detective possibly have to offer me?' He whispered, his words cutting deep despite his soft tone.

'Oh I don't know Sherlock, it's not like you need a friend to help you out on your cases; you do so well on your own.' Ruby hissed, not backing down from this fight and trying to hide her annoyance at being called "ordinary".

'I only have one friend who I can fully trust where my work is concerned. And as you've so kindly demonstrated, you're not him.' Sherlock didn't raise his voice in the slightest though Ruby wished he had, the disappointment lacing his words made her entire being cringe. To her complete horror, she felt tears well in her eyes as the impact of his words finally sunk in. Sherlock's slight smirk screamed of his merciless triumph and he bent a little closer to whisper one last sentence:

'Be a dear and close the door on your way out.'

Sherlock was keenly observing his disguise, looking for any cracks in his attire before joining the throng of people below. He was excited, the chase was in its last legs and he was very close to finally capturing this finicky Mastercard. He straightened an imaginary crease around his pristine white shirt and idly pulled at the black tie threatening to cut off his oxygen supply. The most extraordinary feature of his disguise, however, was the mask which hung from his bed post, staring blankly at the man observing himself critically in the mirror. Sherlock approached the mask and with elegant swiftness, placed it over his face. When selecting it, he'd made sure to avoid the countless mistakes nearly all males made with masks. It was black, plain, devoid of feathers or irritating sequins but most importantly, it was not a hand-held accessory.

Everything was in place; all that was left was to catch the notorious thief who would be making her appearance in roughly an hour's time. Sherlock checked his mobile which was linked with the thermal imagery cameras which he'd easily attached to the trunks of various trees pointing at the North East wall. All seven cameras were up and running, showing no living activity in the area bar from a few squirrels, the odd doe and of course a number of nesting birds. He straightened his shirt collar once more before snappily exiting the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The murmur of people making arduous small talk made Sherlock grimace as he pocketed his mobile phone. He was grateful for his mask; his identity would remain secret from those who would recognise him from John's website.

Soon he entered the ballroom, the spectacular decoration failing to make an impression on his focused mind. He ignored the waiters floating champagne and caviar around the impressively sized floor, took no notice of the extraordinary range of expensive masks on display by Britain's most wealthy, many sporting jewel-encrusted masks which had belonged to those who once held positions of power and import until they died. Sherlock didn't register the expensive gowns worn by the women or the ridiculously expensive wristwatches of the men. No, his attention couldn't be diverted by such trivial observations, his mind needed to hone in on the case. He checked his mobile but was disappointed by the lack of progress. The Mastercard would have to enter soon if she wanted to make it on time for the grand speech which is where the sapphire would be appraised by an expert jeweller for the pleasure of the crowd before officially becoming the anniversary present of the Smith household.

A mini-orchestra filed onto stage and after a few moments of tuning (the lead violinist was a moron whose g-string was atrociously tuned) began playing mournful waltz music. Sherlock watched mutely from the side of the dance floor, his eyes scanning the crowd who eagerly took to the floor after the "happy couple" had broken the ice and taken to a stiff waltz. His phone was automatically in his hand as he re-checked the data shown by his thermal imagery cameras, but found to his disgust no improvement.

'Where are you?' He hissed beneath his breath.

'Quite the impatient one, aren't we?' So complete was Sherlock's focus, he didn't acknowledge the existence of the speaker beside him. 'Come now, it's not polite to ignore those initiating conversation. It is, however, a sin to ignore those who offer a steamy distraction.' Sherlock was about to explain how that distraction was of as much interest to him as becoming the Pope, when the retort died on his lips as he turned to his unwanted companion.

'Tut, tut. Forgotten yourself again, Mr Holmes?' Sherlock took two very deep, very measured breaths before speaking with one of the most complex people he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting.

'Ms Adler.' He murmured; locking eyes with the now retired dominatrix.

'You seem surprised, Mr Holmes. I was hoping for a more romantic greeting but then I suppose, you wouldn't have an inkling of what that might involve.' Sherlock's eyes flicked over her attire, taking in the black, floor length gown with a slit chasing up her lower body, revealing a desirable glimpse of thigh. The dress elegantly coiled in a halter-neck, exposing delicate shoulders and naked arms. Sherlock's gaze focused for a moment longer than necessary on her hands sheathed in black lace gloves, her blood-red fingernails glinting menacingly through the fabric. High heels finished the polished look along with her signature hairstyle, the brown locks painstakingly arranged atop her head.

'Like what you see?' She asked playfully.

'Interesting mask; belonged to a member of royalty of more recent passing, a woman who was more familiarly known as "The People's Princess." I presume you know a man pathetic enough to procure such a present?' Sherlock observed, noting that the mask was also a hand-held one. He felt relieved upon finding an error with her unexpected arrival.

'I know what he likes.' Irene's crimson lips lifted in a humourless smile. 'Why the interest? One might mistake it for jealousy.'

'You have no excuse to be making such pointless accusations.'

'Looks like I can hit a nerve without shedding my clothes. Hmm, I really didn't think I'd improved but thank you for the surprising confirmation.' She casually twitched her mask aside; her heavily made-up eyes watched him intensely, the signature aquamarine generously lining her upper eyelids. 'Would you like me to defrock you again? You seemed to enjoy the experience during our initial acquaintance.' She eyed Sherlock's mask as if its very existence insulted her.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock asked; ignoring her question and turning away from Irene's unflinching gaze.

'I was about to ask you the same question. A consulting detective at a posh ball with his big brother keeping a close eye on him? Something of interest must be going on to drag the Holmes boys together.'

'The only reason you would return to such a public place would be to send a message. A message which we both agreed after I saved your life would never be sent.' Sherlock said quietly, scanning the people within earshot before stepping closer.

'And you trusted me to keep my promise like the innocent boy you are.' Irene purred, stroking the side of Sherlock's arm for a moment, trying to provoke a reaction from the cold man. She was enthralled with her own success as his hand snapped out and roughly grabbed her insulting fingers, his gaze boring into hers for an unbearably long second.

'Don't.'

'Why?' Irene asked coyly, her lips relaxing into a smirk. What she wouldn't do to have the opportunity to force him to beg for her mercy. Making him uncomfortable would have to do. For now at least…

'Why are you here?' He demanded once again.

'Hush now, I'm in no humour for talking. And you needn't look so worried Mr Holmes; I'm in the mood for something much less strenuous than dinner.' Her eyes glanced to the dance floor then back to Sherlock, a question setting her eyes alight.

'Sorry, more important things to take care of.' He sharply dropped her hand.

'Oh, I don't think so.' She stepped in front of him, physically barring his way. 'I think it's in everyone's collective interest if you don't walk away.'

'And why might that be?' Sherlock snarled.

'You know how the game works Mr Holmes; you have to work for the information. It doesn't simply reveal itself because you command it.'

'Well, judging from your skillset within the game's boundaries, I was under the impression that's exactly how it worked.' Sherlock whispered triumphantly. It took a moment for Irene to wipe her face clean of insult before pursuing a different tactic. She'd forgotten just how easily Sherlock Holmes could get under her skin; she hated and loved the feeling with equal passion.

'I suppose you're indelicately referring to all of my previous sexual encounters. They were rather fun Mr Holmes, then again, I doubt you could understand the type of enjoyment I speak of seeing as you always skip dinner.' She squared her shoulders, took a step forwards before staring him straight in the eye. 'All you have to do is ask me.' She murmured.

'Ask you what?' Sherlock said bluntly.

'You know what.'

'About dinner? I think we've been here before and you're going to be rather disappointed with my answer.'

'Not about dinner Mr Holmes, though it is promising to see that's where your mind strayed to.' She turned her head towards the dance floor once again.

'Why?'

'Why not? It can hardly do any damage.' She said with a misleading smile.

'I'm more than aware of what little damage you can inflict in the most extreme of situations, though that was not what I asked of you.' He leaned forwards and whispered the rest in her ear: 'Why are you so interested in dancing when all you really desire is to have me, alone, focused only on you and have no distractions? Why ask to dance when what you truly want is to take me to that remarkably sized closet housing thousands of pounds worth of furs and see what happens in the soft darkness?' He didn't need to check her pulse to know it was racing, didn't need to observe her eyes for the unusual dilation of her pupils.

Sherlock didn't get a chance to pull away from Irene's ear; she exhaled sharply, grabbed his hand and roughly dragged him from the ballroom. Upon approaching the extensive cloakroom, she barked at the attendant to let them in, before throwing the detective inside the plush interior, furs whispering as he turned sharply to observe her.

'Let's stop all this nonsense, shall we?'

'Nonsense?' Irene asked.

'Yes. Nonsense.' Sherlock murmured before pulling off his mask in one quick sweep.

'Oh my, what a surprise.'

'The reason as to why you're here, Ms Adler.' Sherlock commanded, his eyes blazing with authority.

'What do you think; would the owner of this coat look as good in it as I do?' She crooned, procuring a luxurious, sleek black fur coat which seemed to float around her with a loving caress as she tried it on.

'Ms Adler.'

'You're no fun.' She replied with a teasing pout, carelessly tossing the coat aside. 'Haven't you figured it out yet?'

'That you wish once again to leave a questionable item in my possession? Why yes, the thought did happen to cross my mind.' Sherlock snapped. 'Now hurry up and explain the finer details, my patience is wearing fast. And I swear I will set this coat room on fire if it's another camera phone.'

'You really don't believe I'm so predictable, do you?' Irene sashayed forwards. 'I do need you to keep something for me, something which as happened to me before; is more danger than protection.'

'Show it to me.'

'I don't have it here…'

'Then why are you wasting my time!?'

'It's in my bedroom, if you'd like to take a closer look.' Sherlock watched her carefully for a moment but he was saved from making this decision by his brain connecting two pieces of information which had been annoying him since Irene Adler initially appeared. He had to try very hard to stop exclaiming aloud in appreciation of his own brilliance.

'The item in question, it's in your bedroom?' Sherlock whispered, full of confidence from his recent deduction.

'Yes, it's in the safest place I know.'

'Really?' Sherlock advanced forwards slowly. 'It's just… I find that slightly hard to believe.'

'That the safest place I know is my bedroom?'

'No Ms Adler. That you have an item which needs concealing at all is what I find rather dubious.' Irene's face flickered for half a second, all the confirmation Sherlock needed. 'You see, I believe you're here for a very different reason and concocted this damsel in distress plea in the hopes that it would work for you again. I am very thorough in learning my lessons Ms Adler and this time, you will not fool me.' He reached forwards and jerked her right hand forward, stripping it of the lace glove with ease. He slid off the ring adorning her middle finger and held it up so it twinkled in the dim light.

'My ring? You're basing all of this hogwash on my ring?'

'Oh but you see, this isn't just any ring Ms Adler, this was one of the few undocumented steals by a certain jewel thief who goes by the name of the Mastercard. We both now her by her real name: Sabrina Milton, sister of up-and-coming politician Chloe Milton. The family this was taken from wanted no fuss and decided to cash in on the insurance policy instead of recovering the almost priceless ring. They let me see a picture of it to satisfy my curiosity, but that leads to the question, why do you have it Ms Adler?' His gaze sharpened on her.

'There's no such thing as coincidence you see. I was monitoring the thief's moments carefully until one day, she disappeared. Gone like a puff of smoke, I presumed she was dead and would have continued labouring beneath this misapprehension had it not been for some rather interesting information I received from some reliable sources of mine. So if not dead, where could she be?' Sherlock took another step forwards, his eyes blazing into the now uncertain depths of Irene Adler's.

'She was at your place of residence where you made her feel special, where you tainted her mighty principals and values and brainwashed her into believing that you cared for her. You knew about her obsession with John Watson and used it to your advantage in order to force her to project those intense feelings onto you. This ring is evidence of that; it is a gift from her to you, cementing her unflinching admiration. Then you set up tonight, goaded her to steal in front of a crowd; claimed that the Sapphire around Lady Smith's neck would make you the happiest woman in the world. She'd also get to divert all of the attention from her elder sister finally onto herself, attention which you most likely claimed made poor little Sabrina feel as if she were neglected from birth.' Sherlock rolled the ring around in his broad palm, admiring the tedious craftsmanship which went into its creation.

'You were to distract me when the time was right, leave the pathway clear for her to carry out her job. But once again Ms Adler, you've underestimated me.' Sherlock withdrew his phone and flicked to the live screening of his thermal camera images. 'And right on queue; here she comes.' Sherlock murmured, watching as a fuzzy-shaped, orange human gently dismounted from the only unmanned corner of the extensive Smith estate. He pocketed the device and straightened his suit, preparing to leave the expensive coat-closet.

'Well, this was mildly entertaining, but it appears you've failed in trying to hood-wink me. You should know by now, tricking doesn't work with me.' He whispered, gently pocketing the ring for safe-keeping. Sherlock then brushed past a completely dismantled Irene Adler who gaped after the detective, confounded by his accurate analysis.

'Sherlock.' She whispered. Under normal circumstances, his stride would have remained uninterrupted. He was a little surprised as this was the first time Irene Adler had ever used his first name, so it was with a rare sense of hesitation that he turned around. The woman came striding towards him, heels clattering, cheeks flushed. Sherlock thought she was going to throttle him.

He'd never made such a perfectly wrong analysis in his life.

Irene Adler didn't hit him, she threw herself at him, her arms flying around his neck as she smashed her lips against his in a desperate, aggressive kiss, one which tried to convey the sheer complexity of feelings she harboured for the dark-haired detective with the funny hat. Sherlock stood stock still, his mind blank as he tried to process the data his senses were sending him – and failing miserably. A second later, his mind rebooted and he realised with a sickening jolt what would happen next, and he was in no position to stop it. His suspicions were confirmed when Irene Adler withdrew, her lipstick smudged but her lips split by a manic smile as he felt the needle hidden in her right arm pierce his flesh and eject a foreign substance into his veins. As the cold paralytic began pumping around his body, he dully realised he had fallen to his hands and knees. Sherlock was also surprised to find himself laughing. With a hard kick to his ribs, he was flung onto his back, Irene towering over him.

'What's so funny?' She demanded, bending down so she could take a fistful of Sherlock's hair and pull on it painfully.

'Oh… you know… heh, you. Ms Adddler.' Sherlock slurred, smiling dreamily at the dominatrix who was very much out of retirement.

'What about me?'

'You kiss…. I can't believe…. Soo funny!'

'Sherlock Holmes, you tell me what is so funny, or I will slap you into unconsciousness. I've done it before.' She threatened.

Sherlock experienced a brief moment of lucidity where he calmly looked Irene Adler straight in the eye and spoke a sentence which sealed his victory in this particular round despite his near unconscious state:

'It's disappointing… that of…. all….people. You. You….' He broke off into another chuckle, and tried very hard to remain focused on what he was saying.

'Irene Adler… you kiss… the boring way.'

Hey guys, I have been planning to write this chapter for a long time now and for me, it really worked. I hope you enjoyed it, keeping Irene Adler in character was tough indeed! But I enjoyed the challenge and she was incredibly fun to write so that's definitely a plus! This chapter and that last line have been in my head for a long time, it makes me feel so relieved to know that it's finally published. Hurrah! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they give me the strength to continue writing.