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"What happened in Montenegro?" I asked, dropping the pocket watch into his lap. He picked it up, holding it like a precious diamond, examining it in the light. I flinched and waited for the inevitable brisk remark that would close the subject forever. Strangely, it didn't come.

When he spoke, his voice was filled with wonder, tempered with some deeper emotion I couldn't quite pinpoint. "I had forgotten about this. How strange. Where did you find it?"

"In a hidden compartment in your desk," I replied evenly.

"Ah, you've been doing some investigating, I take it?"

"Yes, into your past. You can't go all sentimental on me suddenly and expect nothing to come of it. If you don't speak about your past, I'm forced to take less direct action."

"And how can this minor event in my past have any effect on the present?" I nearly quailed before his keen gaze, but forced myself to remain firm.

"Is it minor?" I asked sternly, "It seems to be affecting your work, and whatever affects your work, affects me. Holmes, this is the 22nd century. The concept of what is and isn't appropriate has changed drastically. What was naughty in the 19th century is a common occurrence today. You had an affair, didn't you?"

He sighed and got up from his chair, walking away from me to lean on the fireplace, his back to the room. When he spoke, he spoke quietly and resignedly, like a man confessing a mortal sin.

"Yes, as you have deduced, I had an affair with Irene Adler. Ha! What would Watson's readers do if they knew?" He chuckled to himself. He was right, though. Any fan would pay lots of money for a confession like that from the mouth of the detective himself. I marveled that he was telling me. I decided to push my luck and question him further.

"When did it happen?"

"We met in Montenegro during the three years I was presumed dead. No one knew, not even Watson." He laughed mirthlessly. "The world saw me the way Watson wrote me, a cold thinking machine. But," he turned to me, emotion filling his eyes, "I am a man, and as such am heir to all the trials thereof. I am not a cold thinker, nor am I a perfect reasoner. Irene was so different from people of her time. She lived with an independence and disdain for conventions that I admired. And she was intelligent, god was she intelligent! She beat me at my own game in London, pulled the wool over my eyes and fled to France with her photo. And then, years later, she saw through my disguise when I was presumed to be dead." He began to pace in front of the fireplace and I sat mesmerized by his tale.

"We had a brief and rather rocky affair. We were both very strong-willed people and when our wills clashed, we would both dig our heels in stubbornly. But for all that, I loved her company. It was refreshing to converse with someone whose intellect rivaled mine. We would walk through the park deducing the lives of the people around us, as my brother and I did when we were children. It was a wonderful, carefree year we spent together. I felt as if I had been granted new life. But then, Mycroft contacted me. Colonel Sebastian Moran had escaped the nets of Scotland Yard and had regrouped with the few men that were left. He knew I was alive and planned to finish his master's work. So I prepared to escape to the east in her Majesty's service. I asked Irene to accompany me in the guise of an explorer and his wife. She declined, and I left for Tibet in the beginning of the new year. She departed for Prague at the same time, and I never saw her again. I wrote her at first, but then it became too dangerous. In the end, we completely lost touch."

He dropped limply into his armchair and I let his words wash over me in shock. He had just told me a secret even Watson had not been privy to. He had confided an enormous amount of trust in me, bared his heart for me, and I was afraid about what he expected in return.

I was also slightly apprehensive at the feeling his confession had aroused in me. On the surface I felt shock and pity, for he obviously missed her greatly. Much deeper down, however, so deep I could barely admit it, another feeling lurked. I was jealous of Irene Adler. She had been the only woman to break that severe, intellectual shell he hid behind. She had broken down his defenses, and he had broken down hers, and they had shared a bond. A bond so strong it had lasted over 200 years.

We sat for a long time in silence, Holmes lounging in the armchair, staring at the ceiling, I furiously trying to crush the emotions that welled up inside me. The silence was not one of the comfortable silences friends often share. It was oppressive, and I longed to break it, but I couldn't. For the first time, I was afraid in the presence of, well, anyone, and I hated it.

Holmes broke the silence first. He looked over at me, that quirky grin on his face that signified he was about to make a snide comment. "Too bad you didn't bring her back as well."

I jumped in my chair, surprised. "You want her brought back?" That jealous voice was screaming now.

He actually laughed at this. "Oh god no! Make no mistake, that year was one of the best of my former life, but I could never repeat it now, and I do not wish to. If Irene were here today, one of us would kill the other before the day was out."

"Now, wait, I'm confused. I thought you just told me that you were in love. Don't you miss her?"

"Oh certainly I miss her. She was a wonderful woman, truly one of a kind. A fortunate thing, for if there were more than one Irene Adler in the world, it would be the death of my career. Imagine how my reputation would suffer if I were outmaneuvered by every lovely woman of my aquaintence." I snorted at his chauvinism, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "But, however much I may miss her company from time to time, I would not wish her back, nor even wish to be transported back to that time. It was enjoyable, but it was not perfect and it came to an end in a suitable way. I never regretted that parting. It was the natural way of things. We were neither of us well suited to wedlock, and we both knew the relationship could not continue forever the way it was."

It was a good explanation, but I was still unconvinced. "Why have you been moping around for the past few days acting like your dog had been shot?"

"I was not 'moping around' as you put it."

"Then what were you doing?" I was pressing him, but I deserved an answer, I told myself firmly.

For a long time he didn't answer. He merely frowned at a point somewhere above my head. "Well?" I asked, annoyed. He wasn't going to get out of this that easily.

"I was meditating on the stubbornness of women. How curious that in 200 years, despite all the 'advancements,' nothing has changed." He stood up and headed with purpose towards the door.

"Where are you going?" I rose quickly.

"Out for a walk. I have been indoors too long today, I need some air."

Oh god. The way he looked at me. Something stirred inside that had been hidden a long time. An emotion I had squelched almost subconsciously out of long habit made a very strong appearance. I turned away from those blazing eyes angrily. It had been a long day. I was exhausted and he had shocked me with his revelation. It was merely a reaction. But all the same, I was afraid to let him see my…weakness. Stop being ridiculous, Lestrade I told myself forcefully.

Holmes spoke to me from the door. I could almost hear his eyebrow arching, questioningly. "What ever is the matter Lestrade?" That makes two of us who want to know I thought.

Out loud, I replied, "Nothing at all, Holmes. Enjoy your walk." There was a moment of silence, and then I heard the door open and close quietly. He left. Just like that. You're making a fool of yourself that angry voice said in my head. Why did it my inner voice always sound like my mother? You're looking for something that isn't there. You're not Irene Adler. You never will be, especially not to him. He said himself there is only one Irene Adler, and she's dead.

My fists clenched in frustration. I felt the urge to beat something. If I had been able to beat that awful nagging voice inside my head, I would have done so mercilessly. Instead I contented myself with shouting into the silent room.

"Dammit!"

Review, review! Chapter two is up, and there's at least one more coming, maybe more depending on how far I decide to carry this. You like? You hate? Let me know. I'd love your thoughts because this is new for me. I usually do rather dark, complex (and sometimes angsty) mysteries, so fluff is not something I have mastered. How am I doing so far? Cookies and love to all reviewers, and a BIG thank you to Martianlightsaber (great name, by the way). The next update will be longer apart, as I have to pack up and move out of my dorm room in the next two days and won't be able to get at a computer for a while longer than that.