Sherlock waited on the lavish white sofa in the front room in Belgravia. The door opened to reveal Irene Adler in a floor-length black dress. His eyes swept up to her face.

"Hello, Mr Holmes."

...

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, coat laid across the gold-gilded chair beside the bay window.

"Relax, Sherlock," Irene purred, trailing her riding crop across the footboard, "You're in safe hands."

She walked seductively around the bed, straddled his lap and ghosted the tapered end of the leather across his jawline. Sherlock swallowed loudly and set his resolve face. Irene leaned forward and grazed her ruby red lips against his, softly at first, but then with increasing pressure as he mimicked her movements with less-than-enthusiastic motions.

Sensing that Sherlock wasn't responding to her ministrations, she pulled back and stared into his eyes.

"Why are you here, Sherlock?", she whispered in his ear.

"Because apparently I'm missing something from my life that will complete me as a person and I have been reliably informed that that someone might be you."

Irene stood, walked across to an armchair and draped herself across it suggestively.

"This isn't doing anything for you at all, is it?" She asked, glancing down at her curve-accentuating attire.

"And why would you think that?" He asked before wishing he hadn't asked such a ridiculous question.

Smirking and glancing towards his belt, he nodded in acquiescence & returned her smile. Without breaking eye contact, she yelled in the direction of the door.

"Jonathan, it seems that I may require your assistance after all! Please come in..."

Before Sherlock could speak, a well-built but shorter man with sandy blonde hair walked into the bedroom. Sherlock's pupils dilated visibly at the sight of him. He was wearing desert camo BDU trousers, caterpillar boots & had a set of dog tags hanging across his broad chest.

"Yes, Miss Adler?"

Sherlock shifted imperceptibly and Irene smirked. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest and Irene waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"That will be all, thank you."

"Very well, Ma'am," he nodded, about turned and left the room.

"I wasn't aware that you had men on your staff?" Sherlock said, clearing his throat at the sudden roughness to his voice.

"As you so eloquently put it, I cater to the whims of the pathetic. Occasionally that requires certain appendages that I do not possess." She waited a beat. "Why are you really here, Sherlock?"

"For you to guide me in the ways of intimacy?"

Irene laughed.

"Just what every woman wants to hear from her lover, I'm sure."

"So, should we proceed with the arrangement?", he enquired.

"Certainly. I can call Jonathan back in if you would like to continue?", she countered. "You seem a little more receptive to him than to me."

"If you are referring to the dilation of my pupils-"

"I was thinking a little bit more obvious than that," she cooed, a smirk planted firmly across her lips. "So turns out I was right about you. Shame, I would have loved to have watched you beg for mercy."

"I do not beg," he exclaimed, aghast.

"I have it on good authority that that isn't quite true," she countered. "So, you like soldiers, huh?"

"Their lifestyle and training is of great interest to m-"

Irene laughed, interrupting his flow of words.

"Oh, Sherlock! Are you really so transparent?" He frowned deeply. "Why are you here?" Sherlock shrugged. "Wouldn't have anything to do with that handsome soldier of yours, would it?"

"John is NOT my soldier."

"You're not denying it, I notice."

"I'm not entirely sure why we're having this conversation," he sulked.

Irene stood and walked across to stand in front of Sherlock so that his nose was level with her chest. Nothing.

"Because, my dear, there is only one feature of interest in all of your cases and I wouldn't stand a snowball in hell's chance of competing with him even *if* I had the correct features." Sherlock once again looked up at her face, irritatedly. "Would you care for some tea?"

...

Sitting in the sun room at the back of the house, Irene poured the steaming hot tea into delicate China cups before setting the teapot on the table and offering Sherlock milk and handing him a saucer.

"This is all very civilised," he retorted, lifting the teacup delicately to his mouth and taking a sip.

"A little civility before the day's activities begin is sometimes what the day calls for," Irene responded, taking a sip of her own tea and cupping it in her palms. "And, considering that you are paying me a not-insignificant sum to be here, providing you with what you require is merely proving you with the services agreed."

Sherlock set his teacup down on the saucer.

"I see. And what, may I ask, have you determined that I require which does not require the use of one of your bedrooms?"

"A friend," she offered bluntly. "A listening ear and a sounding board to counter the inexperience you have in this area."

"And what area would that be?"

"Love," she offered, more of a statement than a question. "That is why you're here, isn't it? John Watson is harbouring under the mistaken belief that you and I are - involved - and so you have come here in order to demonstrate both to him and to yourself that what you need is a good dinner with an attractive woman to assist you in finding happiness." She paused. "Am I right?" Sherlock stared at her and picked up his teacup once again. "I thought so. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Sherlock, but that's not how this works. You cannot simply choose who and when you fall in or out of love." She paused & raised a suggestive eyebrow at him. "But then I suspect you are already well-aware of that inconvenient fact."

"Why is everyone under the impression that I'm in love with my former flatmate?"

Irene smiled sympathetically.

"Oh, Sherlock. Is the answer to that question really necessary?"

Sherlock sighed wearily.

"I know a lost cause when I see one," he answered quietly.

"Only because he thinks he isn't good enough for you."

Sherlock responded with a raised eyebrow to which she tutted.

"I know what people like, remember?"

"Nonsense! What was it you said? If I loved you then I'd avoid your nose & teeth too?" He let his words hang for a few moments.

"Perhaps it isn't just about you? You're not the first man in John's life, are you?"

Sherlock drew back from the table and scowled.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because men like John Watson are invariably drawn to similar situations over and over, never understanding why. So who is the other man? I suppose you know him?"

"I wouldn't betray John's confidence with idle gossip."

Irene took a moment to process his words and come up with a solution.

"Fine. Let me try then. He's someone John met in the army, possibly a senior officer. Tall, handsome, well-defined cheekbones at a guess. Reluctance not on John's part but on the other person's. Never came to anything but they're still a question mark that will never be answered. How did I do?"

Sherlock took a sip of his tea.

"Right on the nose then," Irene chirped, "Well that's a good start. Rome wasn't built in a day but knowing that this isn't his first rodeo helps somewhat." Irene reached across to pick up the teapot & hesitated. "You know, you could just pin him to a wall and snog him senseless until he caves?" Sherlock's expression fell in horror. "I'm just saying. I think you'd be surprised what he might be receptive to if you just give him that look I've seen you hide from him on several occasions."

"What look?," he responded indignantly.

"Oh the one that says 'I'd have you right here on this table if you weren't so straight'!" She wagged a finger at him, "And don't even attempt to deny it, Mr The-Only-Person-I'm-Interested-In-Impressing-Is-My-Soldier." At Sherlock's frown, she confirmed, "I know that you didn't solve that puzzle for my benefit. You weren't searching for my approval, you looked straight to John. Congratulations, by the way, he was about 4 seconds away from giving me a quite dazzling territorial display of ownership over you."

"Nonsense!"

"Believe what you will. But I've seen that look a thousand times, you can't beat biology. As a chemist, you should know that."

"Well, be that as it may, he's more likely to run off with the circus than be receptive to any advances from me, I'm afraid. And after what happened, I fear that he's too afraid to ever touch me again."

"It takes time, Sherlock. And it's not really you that he's fighting. It's himself. Give him time, he needs to work these things out for himself. And I'm afraid that's a problem you can't fix with that sexy little brain of yours."