Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

AN: Thank you to floratang for reviewing, and sorry for the wait. Hope people still read this…enjoy!

Chapter 8:

Irene smiled at the memory, and then at Sherlock's recount of the mystery, before speaking again. 'Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing was wrong. He came off duty and a few minutes later was nearly dead form a wound to his stomach, but there was no weapon.

'Where did it go?' Irene smiled again. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to consider this – a murderer that can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish. But in all of this, there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable.' Irene's grin grew. She had helped Sherlock with this part...well, she had helped him with the whole speech, to be honest.

'George?'

Irene tried to hide her snort, seeing Lestrade sigh in exasperation as he crossed his arms. 'It's Greg.'

'Well, you are a detective, or apparently one. How'd you think this murder was done?'

'Grating in the air vent, maybe a ballista or a catapult, um,' Here he hesitated. 'um, somebody tiny could crawl in there. So, we're looking fo dwarf.'

Irene wanted to laugh at the answer.

'Brilliant.' That surprised her slightly, before she realised what he was going into, and before she could warn Lestrade with a text, Lestrade fell into the trap.

'Really?'

'No.' The answer was instant. 'Next!'

'He stabbed himself.' Irene could hear Tom whispering to Molly.

'You.' Tom looked up in surprise. 'Yes, you.' Sherlock nodded. 'What's your theory?'

'Um, a blade, carefully structured of human bone. Bainbridge killed himself in the shower.'

'Uh, nope.' Sherlock frowned, looking confused as to why there should be such a theory.

Molly stomped her hand on Tom's as he slowly sat back down. Then Mary spoke up. 'Irene?'

All turned to the attractive woman, who, until a few days ago, had remained annonymous. Right now, she was thankful that Mrs. Hudson was currently carrying the baby as she smirked, predator-like. As she looked carefully at Sherlock, she noticed the way his pupils dilated as he saw her smile, and was sure that hers also did so.

'Since explanations of Bainbridge being killed during the shower and after he came off guard duty were all dismissed, the only thing left could have been if someone had done it before all this happened, concealed the wound somehow without Bainbridge noticing, and had expected for Bainbridge to die the moment he stepped into the shower.'

Eyebrows were raised at this. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Close.' He then returned to his speech.

'There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling.' He looked at Jon. 'The best and bravest man I know and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff.' John laughed. 'Except for wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those.'

Mary and Irene exchanged a discreet grin as everyone in the room laughed or giggled quietly.

'The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder or attempted murder I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. The most perfect locked room mystery of which I am aware. However,' He looked around. 'I'm not just here to praise John – I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some...'

Lestrade interrupted. 'N-n-, wait. So how was it...how was it done?'

Sherlock looked at him blankly. 'How was what done?'

'The stabbing.' Lestrade frowned, as if was obvious.

Irene knew the answer would be a stab to Sherlock's pride, but smiled as Sherlock answered, ducking down his head. 'I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's..' he paused for a while. 'It can happen sometimes. It's very...very disappointing.' He sighed, before continuing. 'Embarrassment leads me onto the stag night. Of course, there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits.'

Irene remembered it well. She had brought Mary out on their own stag night.

'So where're John and Sherlock going again?' Mary asked, looking up at Irene.

'They're having a stag night.' Irene pulled Mary up. 'Which is why we're also having one.'

Mary frowned. 'I'm not even dressed yet.'

'Hurry up then!' Irene shoved her jokingly into her bedroom, where Mary slammed the door shut.

'Where's Nero, by the way?' She called through the door.

'Mrs. Hudson's volunteering to take care of him for us.'

'She adores him, doesn't she?'

'Who doesn't?'

This earned her a laugh in response as Mary came out, following Irene down to where there was a pub. Both walked in, and Mary turned slightly envious towards Irene, who immediately attracted stares from both men and women alike.

Irene seemed to notice her discomfort and grinned. 'C'mon.'

She led them to the table and soon enough, they got chatting with the bartender, who gave them a discount, practically free of charge.

Not long after that, they started on the dance floor, before returning to Mary's apartment for the night.

'Wonder what the boys are up to?' Mary asked. Though slightly drunk, her speech was still clear.

Irene shrugged, her liquor-holding abilities higher than Mary's from countless clients. 'Not sure. Though I hope that John doesn't try and sneak something into Sherlock's drink. He doesn't hold his liquor well.'

'No?' Mary looked confused, though she giggled a bit. 'Well, given that he doesn't exactly have social encounters...'

Irene smiled sadly. 'His favourite aunt died from drinking while drunk, coincidentally crashing into another driver who was also drunk. He stayed with his drunk uncle for a while when younger, and let's just leave it at he didn't have the best of experiences.'

Mary winced. 'Okay, so bad experiences with alcohol. Got it.'

After that, they separated, with Irene sleeping on the spare bed (she really couldn't be bothered to go home, especially seeing how Sherlock and John were probably staying over there), and fell asleep.

The next morning, both found out that their partner had gotten arrested, because John, indeed, had snuck in a few shots more for Sherlock's cup. Well, cylinder would be a more appropriate term.

They had missed an interesting case, one which Sherlock was now looking into...if locating dozens of laptops counted as looking into it.

John was downstairs eating breakfast with Mrs. Hudson, and Mary decided to join them. Irene looked as Sherlock closed down the site that he had previously been looking at, only to look at a new one, with a picture of Major Sholto, with the strap line beside the photo saying "He destroyed us all. And he gets a medal for it."

Irene peered over Sherlock's shoulder, reading the article with him, before gently messaging his neck, which was stone hard from the pressure of sleeping on a hard surface last night.

Sherlock relaxed into her grip, unintentionally purring as he leaned back into her touch.

Irene smirked, before gently replacing her hands with his neck, while placing her hands on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock once again leaned into her touch as Irene planted kisses down his neck, unbuttoning one of his shirt's buttons, and sucking particularly viscously at the joint of his shoulder and neck.

Sherlock moaned but before either of them could go on, they heard the unmistakeable footsteps of Mary and John coming up, talking about their stag nights.

Irene walked over to the sofa and reclined in it, watching as Sherlock opened another tab – I DATED A . John walked across the room to join his friend, while Irene pulled Mary along to go out.

'Nero needs some fresh air, and I need company.' Irene said in a way of explanation.