You and I have worked on a number of cases since the drug den incident. Neither of us mentioned it again. So, far I am drug free, not nicotine free though. You and I finish up dealing with Irene Alder. A smart woman-the woman-the only woman would told me to my face exactly how I feel about you- John Hamish Watson. I am not sure if I hate her or love her for it. The fact is a moot point, for she is gone and you are more out of reach than the Queen's jewels.

After cogitating on these reminiscences, I feel restless bored. "I need a case, John," I shout aloud. "John, JOHN?"

You step into the room. "Sherlock, I know you're bored. I'm doing my best to get a case for you."

I look at you. Your hair is fluffy and your tongue is stuck just a little over your upper lip. Jesus, do you even have a clue what that does to me? In order to curb my emotions I lash out at you. "John, you're not trying hard enough. I swear Anderson could do a better job at finding a case than you. Come on; get your head in the game." I shout. My words have the desired effect.

You leave the room, give me the bird and call me, "An annoying dick head."

I lean back on the couch, satisfied that I made something rise in you, even if it is only your ire, it will have to do. An incoming text takes my mind off of you. I sit up, for it sounds intriguing. The institution that I visit now and then when I need to satisfy my carnal needs has a case for me. I can't tell you about it, so I run up to my room. Once there I rim my eyes in kohl, put on a netted shirt that shows off my nipple ring. I then sneak into your room, grab your stripped shirt and one of your jackets. I put the collar of my jacket up, pull a scarf around my face and run down the stairs. Before you or Mrs. Hudson can question me I am out into the night air-alone.

I have texted the institution. They will have a John Watson, primed for me. I walk into the lobby of my "getting off palace" and approach the front desk. Without a word I hand over your shirt and coat. Then I make my way to the proprietor's office. I knock on the door. It is opened and I am shown into a spacious office. It is cold-sterile, all chrome and glass. The woman behind the desk smiles as she comes forward. "Well, Mr. Holmes what a pleasure. Do I take it that you are on the case?"

I lean forward. "I haven't made up my mind yet. Tell me what you know."

The woman pouted, tossing her lovely auburn curls over her shoulder. "Two of my workers have gone missing."

I nod. "Two prostitutes?"

"Sherlock, I'm surprised at you. We call them sex workers," the woman drawls.

I roll my eyes, time to get her back on course. "Annette, tell me what you know."

She gets up and shows me to their rooms. "They took nothing with them."

I frown as I prowl the perimeter of the room. "How do you know that they didn't just run off?"

Annette walks over and opens a drawer. She takes out a watch and hands it to me. It's a Rolex and it's genuine. "There's one just like it in the room of the other worker." I pace looking, sniffing and then I see it. A tiny scuff mark against the wall and I smile. "I'll take the case, under one condition. I will need to go undercover as one of your sex workers."

Annette raises an eyebrow. "You will be recognized on sight."

I smile at the slowness in which her mind works. "Annette, dear that's what I'm counting on, I will be your Sherlock Holmes look alike sex worker. Is my John Watson a trust worthy ally?"

Annette nodded. " I trust him implicitly."

I nod. "Good, I'll need him for research."

Annette smirks. "Whatever you say, Mr. Holmes." She then leads me to a room where I let my John Watson, work me over, then over then over again. A few hours later I lay in his arms smoking a cigarette as he proceeds to give me a crash course in sex worker 101. I smile. The game is on. I am going to love this case.

It is early morning when I return to Baker Street, I open the door and move to make a mad dash to my room, but Mrs. Hudson is on my trail like a blood-hound. "Sherlock, wait."

I ignore her then stop when I hear another voice. "Brother, dear please come in the kitchen." I don't want to see Mycroft, but then I hear you coming around the corner. Okay, Mycroft it is. I stroll into the kitchen. I throw your clothing on the floor and face down my brother. He opens his mouth and then shuts it. It is obvious what I've been up to. My eye makeup is smeared, my lips and tips of my breasts are swollen, and love bites cover various parts of my neck and chest.

Mycroft takes it all in. He deduces then his lips purse. Mrs. Hudson is the first to recover. "Sherlock, look at you. You've been very naughty. What will John say?"

The moment I dreaded has come on me as I hear your voice-John.

"What will I say about what?" You ask.