There were many things John had learned to expect from Irene Adler in the time he had known her; the sarcastic wit, the lack of personal boundaries, the occasional poisoning. But this was a new low for even her, John thought as he frantically punched the number for Irene's room at St. Barts into his phone. After what seemed like an eternity of droning ringing noises, the Woman's voice finally came over the line.

"Hullo, John. Have you found Sherlock yet? I do hope so, the doctors tell me I'm almost ready to deliver," she said in the happy, overly bright tone only used by those under the effects of heavy medication, or just preceding acts of murder, or in Irene's case, probably both.

"Did you hire assassins to kill Sherlock?" John said, clearly and concisely, trying desperately not to lose his temper like he did with Sherlock. He had long since learned that getting angry with Irene didn't do him any good at all; she used emotions like whips, using their irrationality to play with her victims until the she got what she wanted out of them, leaving them broken and beaten in the process. Nothing but emotionless rationality could get through to her and John knew it, that that's why she and Sherlock got on so well.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I didn't hire them to kill him," Irene said, with a girlish giggle entirely foreign to the Woman. Just as John was breathing a sigh of relief, thinking Mycroft must have been messing with him again, he heard her laugh again, and continue.

"No, no, no. I hired them to bring him here. I planned for every eventuality months in advance, including this one. Their orders are to kill him only if he doesn't show up by the time our children are born."

"Irene, if you have a crew of bloody assassins on his trail, then why did you call me out here ON CHRISTMAS to find him?!" He yelled into the phone. Sherlock and Irene were a bloody pair, weren't they, John thought vitriolically.

They deserved each other, and he had half a mind to leave them well enough alone and allow them to figure out themselves. After all, Sherlock was the one who decided he wanted to have kids with a psychopathic dominatrix. He knew who she was when he got himself into this mess; and how like Sherlock to make huge decisions like this on his own, leaving him to clean up the mess when the great bloody git didn't follow through.

But still; John remembered how scared he had been before Henry was born, how unprepared for parenthood he felt. He couldn't blame Sherlock over much for coping the only way he knew how. After a long pause, Irene spoke again,

"They've hit a bit of a… problem," She said. Even over the phone John could hear the purse in her lip.

"You mean Sherlock."

"They followed him to Hyde Park about 3 hours ago, and were moving in, but he called in a fake bomb threat and got them all arrested. By the time they were able to escape police custody, they had lost his trail."

After a long period of silence, she continued

"For some reason, Sherlock has an inexplicable fondness for you. If anyone can find him, it's you."

Slightly stunned by Irene's sudden vote of confidence, (the drugs at St. Barts must have been much stronger than he thought)he sighed and decided to give her a break, after all she was coping with this situation the best way she knew how as well.

"Well, since I don't have anything else going on today, let me just go sort that out for you." He snarked. Just because he was going to help her, didn't mean he was going to like it and it didn't mean he wasn't going to give both of them hell once this was over.

"Oh would you? Thank you so much darling. I see why Sherlock is so keen on you."

"Irene, for the last time, no one is keen on anyone, I'M MARRIED!"

But she was gone. John kicked at the nearest snow pile, cursed at the sky and his own cursed loyalty, and then hailed the nearest taxi.

The Bank of Scotland was a large building covered from top to bottom in glass, reaching so high into the sky above London, you could see most of the city from the top floor. John had been impressed the first time they had visited this place, when Sherlock had solved the case of the Blind Banker here, but now it just made him feel tired. It had only been a five minute journey, but still it rankled John to spend taxi fare on Sherlock Holmes once again. He really needed to start a fund for these things. The chasing-after-Sherlock-on-a-hairbrained

-adventure fund. Greg would definitely chip in. They could have a walk-a-thon. Make Sherlock ride a bloody bicycle, he would.

With the walk of an annoyed soldier, John set in. As he walked through the polished, metallic lobby, he thought about how strange it was that Sherlock would return here. He almost never took two cases at the same place if he could. Liked to keep his atmosphere 'uncluttered' as he put it. Having lived with him, John could attest to the fact that he didn't like dealing with the same people more than once, and more often than not, the feeling was mutual.

As John approached the police barrier just outside the vault, he saw a young looking policeman on patrol. He internally swore and chided himself; he had forgotten this wasn't Lestrade's territory, no one would recognize him, let alone let him into an active crime scene. He quickly racked his brain for ideas. The officer looked like a new recruit, and John might be able to fool him. A minute later, he walked up to the crime scene line as confidently as possible, looking the officer in the eyes as he was brusquely asked who he was.

"I'm a forensic specialist, here to examine the crime scene." John responded evenly,

"Let me see your badge," the officer said, holding out his hand impatiently.

John pretended to search his pockets, trying his best to look the part of the befuddled scientist with his head in the clouds. His years with Sherlock had made him an expert in lying and assuming false identities, with how often they had to do it to get information on their cases.

"Bollocks, I think I left them back at the station. I won't be a minute though, just verifying data."

The officer shook his head, eyeing John suspiciously, and his heart sank. If he got booked because of Sherlock Holmes, again, it might actually make a murderer of him.

"No badge, no access, those are the rules. What's the number of your precinct?"

Just as John was considering a mad dash for the exit, he heard a very familiar voice behind him.

"He's with me."

Sherlock ducked under the rope in a quick, fluid motion, and John followed him, ignoring the baleful stare of the policeman. As they walked toward the vault, Sherlock shot him a sideways glance, and smirked. But John could tell there was tension there; in his fidgety, mechanical movements, and the small facial ticks, lurking behind the ever present insulting ease.

"Did you really think that would work?"

"Well I had to try something, didn't I? They weren't going to let some random civilian into a crime scene were they?"

"They let me in here."

"You are not a random civilian." John countered. Sherlock smiled, finally turning to face him.

"Come to assist me, Dr. Watson?"

"No, I'm here to bring to the hospital so that Irene doesn't kill you." Sherlock's face went abruptly cold and controlled as he turned away, his blue eyes turning to ice, and began walking again, sighing in annoyance. John followed close behind doggedly, determined to reach his friend.

"What a waste, a perfectly good assistant like yourself, reduced to Irene's errand boy. Like I said on the phone, John. My work here is far too important, I couldn't possibly leave now." his friend said impatiently, gesticulating to demonstrate his point, as he always did when he was anxious.

"You know she has assassins after you?!" John shot at him, hackles raised by his insult. Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorted, only angering John even more.

"Those pests? Yes, I already took care of them. Lost them in a matter of minutes, and they called themselves professionals! The Woman really didn't get her money's worth with that bunch," Sherlock said, laughing derisively.

John stopped dead in his tracks, catching Sherlock as he tried to keep walking, and turned him forcibly to face him.

"Did you ever think about why she tried to send assassins after you, Sher? You're going to be a father, you need to step up." he said softly. Yelling at Sherlock got you exactly nowhere; he would either disassemble your argument with logical deduction, or simply ignore you completely, continuing on with what he was already doing. The key to getting through to Sherlock was finesse; you had to be strong enough to hold your own in an argument with the world's smartest detective, but gentle enough to keep him off the defensive. At times like this, John really wished his wife were here, she was infinitely better at this than him. With a few words, she could make Sherlock see what an hour of shouting could not.

Sherlock looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up to meet the eyes of his oldest, and if he were being honest, only friend in the world. With an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice, said,

"Like I told you. I can't leave until this is finished, John."

John met his eyes straight on, and sighed in understanding. How did the saying go? "If you can't beat them, join them?". If Sherlock wouldn't see sense, maybe solving this case would straighten out his priorities some. John smiled up at Sherlock resignedly,

"Well then, we should get started."