Bonjour tout le monde! Phew, this one was a monster to write but I'm so glad I got it out before exams start, I didn't want to leave ya'll hanging for too long. I don't have enough time right now to individually thank all my reviewers, so please don't think I'm lazy or ungrateful! The amount of follows, favourites and reviews I've been getting for this story is overwhelming! I can't thank each and every one of you enough for your support.

Exams will be over in two weeks, which means I can go back to more frequent updates - YAY!

Anywhoo, hope you enjoy this mother-fucking beast of a chapter.

It has been seven days. Seven days, and no word from Moriarty. Or his new found bestie. Life in 221B has been, dare I say it, downright boring.

Not to mention the fact that John and Sherlock have been not-so-subtly avoiding me on account of my royal fuck-up.

Which I am going to fix.

Glancing up from my knitting needles, I attempt to make conversation with the curly one. Ahem. 'Sherlock?' He doesn't answer, just nods his head once. I take that as my cue to continue. 'Could you pass me that scissors there, beside you?' Sighing rather dramatically, he wordlessly hands the scissors over to me.

Oh for the love of god.

Sensing that this may take a bit more effort, I begin to aggressively cut the dark green wool.

Snip.

Nothing.

SNIP.

He raises his head slightly, curiosity getting the better of him. 'May I ask what you're doing?'

'Aha!' I exclaim loudly. 'He speaks!' Rolling his eyes he returns to mixing his polyjuice potion-like substance.

Crumbs.

'Euh…since you asked..' I continue, forcing him to pay attention to me. 'I'm making a sweater for Catsby.'

He blinks at me for a moment, then carries on working. 'Of course you are.' He mutters beneath his breath.

'It's cold outside.' I reply indignantly. 'Plus, it's Christmas in five weeks and I haven't got a chance to buy him anything yet.'

'He is a cat, Audrey. Cat's don't care whether you buy them Christmas presents or not.' I open my mouth to retort but he cuts across me. 'And besides, that cat has enough fat stored to keep him warm until next winter.' He sniffs distastefully.

It takes a second to register what he just said. 'Did you just –' I begin but he cuts me off once more. 'Call your cat fat? Yes, I did. Because it's the truth. And do you want to know why it's the truth? Because you feed him eight times a day.' He looks me right in the eyes. 'Eight.'

I shuffle around, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 'He's a…growing boy.'

Sherlock sets his magnifying glass down and turns to face me. 'You need a serious wake-up call, Audrey.'

'I do not need another lecture, Sherlock.' I scoff, sitting back down into the chair.

'Yes,' Sherlock marches around the table, stopping in front of me. 'You do. Do you have any idea of what your actions last week at the pool may have caused? Not to mention the fact you thought you could take on Moriarty, arguably the most dangerous man in England, alone.'

I remain silent for a while, taking in his words. He's right. Absolutely, one hundred percent right. It was madness to have thought I wouldn't need Sherlock's help. And now, we're all going to pay the price for my stubbornness.

I notice him still staring at me expectedly. 'I know, Sherlock. You don't have to remind me.' I rub my face tiredly. 'Believe me, if I could take it all back, I would. Like that.' I snap my fingers for emphasis. His eyes soften at this and he pauses before speaking again. 'I am sorry if you've felt John and I have been acting somewhat cold towards you. It has just taken some time to adjust to the current situation. I promise you, it was not intentional.'

I stare at him wide eyed. 'What?' He retorts.

'Sherlock…Did you just apologise?' His expression immediately turns sour, accompanied with his signature eye-roll. 'You sure know how to turn a conversation around, Audrey.' He snaps, returning to the kitchen table. I snigger, but then feel bad for it. 'Okay, okay I'm sorry! I'm immature, and foolish, and stubborn, and am not worthy of your presence.' He huffs at this, but his expression lightens. 'Please don't be angry with me.' I stand next to him and nudge his arm with my forehead. It's how Catsby always gets back into my good-books when we've quarrelled.

Sherlock gives me the teeniest of smiles. Ah. It's working. He clears his throat and glances down at me. 'Have you seen John? I asked him to fetch me my Bunsen Burner hours ago.' I stare at him incredulously.

Is he taking the piss or…?

'Sherlock, John's been in Dublin...' He sets the metal spoon down. '…Since Tuesday.' I continue slowly. 'He won't be back till tomorrow evening.' Sherlock scratches his head, 'Hmm.' Then resumes stirring.

I laugh and make my way back into the sitting room, when a thought strikes me. 'Hey, Sherlock?'

'Yes?'

'Remember that bet we made?' I sidle towards the table.

'You're going to have to refresh my memory.' He mumbles absentmindedly.

'You know, the one we made about me going to you for help about the whole Moriarty situation…' I trail off, smiling. He stops stirring.

'No.' He replies quickly, a look close to fear in his eyes.

'Oh yes.'

'This is the most ridiculous film I've ever seen, they can't even act!' Sherlock exclaims loudly for the ninth time since Dirty Dancing has started.

'We made a deal Sherlock.' I reply smugly.

'Right now, that's just plain idiotic. Practising the lift in the lake is certainly not going to make the task any easier - Her clothes are just going to weigh her down! Not to mention the added buoyancy they're not going to have on the night of the performance. It doesn't even make – '

'Sherlock, will you please be quiet!'

'Why are they rubbing their bodies together like that…Are they mating or are they having sex?' Sherlock mumbles disgustedly. I sigh loudly.

"…Nobody puts Baby in a corner." I sneak a peek at Sherlock out of the corner of my eye. He groans and buries his face in his hands.

As the credits roll, I mute the television and finally let out the laughter I'd been holding in. 'Well?' I ask through the giggles. 'What did you think?' Sherlock blinks slowly. 'That was ninety minutes of my life I shall never get back.' He replies dismally. 'Oh come on!' I poke his shoulder playfully. 'Didn't you like any part of it? Not even the dancing?' He ponders for a moment, and then nods. 'Yes, the dancing was its only saving Grace.' He leans in close to me, as if about to divulge a secret. 'You know, I'm actually quite fond of dancing.' My eyes widen in surprise. 'You? You like dancing?' He grins crookedly in response. 'Can you teach me some moves?' I ask eagerly. He stands up, bones cracking as he stretches. 'Maybe sometime.' He offers his hand towards me and pulls me up from the sofa.

I begin to pull my hand from his but his grip tightens, holding me in place. 'How are you, Audrey?' His eyes search mine, flicking from left to right. 'Really?'

I stare back at him, thinking. 'Ashamed.' I finally reply. 'I'm embarrassed that Moriarty got to me so easily.' I break eye contact and look at the ground, adding softly, 'And that I let both you and John down.'

Sherlock drops my hand and strides towards the bookshelf, running his finger along the spines of several books before he stops at one. Pulling the small book out, he leafs through the pages. 'Read it.' He says, holding the book out to me. I take it and flip the cover over. Red Dragon is typed across the front. As expected, the exact passage I read at the pool is printed on the marked page. I smile sadly, and shake my head. 'I don't think it's going to be as simple as this, Sherlock.'

'No harm in trying.' He insists.

I gather myself before reading, taking in a deep breath.

"Just to yourself, what do you call him?

He's a monster. I think of him as one of those pitiful things that are born in hospitals from time to time. They feed it, and keep it warm, but they don't put it on the machines and it dies.

Hannibal Lecter is the same way in his head, but he looks normal and nobody could tell."

I shut the book softly. It wasn't the same. There were no whispers, no flickering images. It had not worked.

'Hmm.' Sherlock removes his hands from beneath his chin. 'Just as I thought. If we're going to read Hannibal Lecter back into his story, we need the same book he was read from.'

'So, you think there's a chance I can fix this?' I ask hopefully. 'That I can send him back?'

'Well, if you could read yourself here…' Sherlock grins, shrugging his shoulders. 'Anything's possible.'

I grin widely in return. We both just stand there actually, smiling like idiots. And in that moment, I feel an enormous swell of affection for Sherlock Holmes. Forgetting myself for a second, I step forward and wrap both my arms around his middle. I feel him stiffen and lift his arms slightly, as if unsure of what to do with them.

'It's okay.' I reassure him. 'You don't have to hug me back, I won't be offended.' I sense him pause before resting both hands lightly on the small of my back.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, I pull away soon after, smiling up at him once more. 'Goodnight Sherlock.'

'Goodnight Audrey.'

Brriiiiing. Briiiiiing. Briiiiiing.

The shrill sound of a Skype call rouses me from my sleep. I reluctantly roll out of John's bed, (I had taken to sleeping in it when he was away) and grumpily make my way into the sitting room, hell-bent on destroying the source of that incessant noise.

Yawning loudly, I plop myself in the seat at Sherlock's desk and answer the video-call. A charming close-up view of John's nose hair is the sight I'm greeted with.

' 'Lo John.' I mumble tiredly, my voice still thick with sleep. I hear some fumbling as the screen is tilted upwards and brought away from his face.

'Audrey! Hello 'ello, how've you been?' He asks cheerfully.

'Good, good.' I rest my head on one hand, attempting to keep both eyes open. 'How was Dublin?'

'Eh, great yeah.' He sniffs and looks around. 'Was almost mugged on O'Connell Street but apart from that…' He trails off.

'Ah, yeah I told you that might happen.' I nod sympathetically.

'Anyway.' He clears his throat. 'Is Sherlock about?'

'Yeah he is, gimme one sec.' I swivel around in the chair and holler out for Sherlock, three times for good measure. On the fourth shout I hear a faint 'Shut up!'. Twisting round to face John again, I smile sweetly. 'He is now.'

After approximately one minute, I hear Sherlock shuffling out of his room. Turning around to hand him his laptop, I almost drop it in surprise. There, standing at the doorway, was Sherlock Holmes dressed in a bed sheet. And only a bed sheet.

'What do you think this is, a bloody Prince video?' I exclaim incredulously. He ignores me, sinking into his armchair and replies with a simple, 'Coffee'. Rolling my eyes, I trudge into the kitchen and begin the hunt for two clean mugs. I jump slightly when Catsby's soft fur brushes against my legs as he slinks past me, into the sitting room. He gingerly sniffs Sherlock's toes before launching himself up on his lap.

'Audrey, get your cat off me.' Sherlock glances down at Catsby, annoyed.

'You've got hands, do it yourself.'

Sherlock continues to glare at the cat. I sigh and whistle at the stubborn cat. 'Catsby, allons-y. Vite. ' After three failed attempts, I give up and sit in the armchair opposite him, listening to the conversation.

'…Look, this is a six. There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back and show me the grass.'

'When did we agree that?'

'We agreed it yesterday. Sto – Jesus Christ!'

I jump violently at Sherlock's outburst, sloshing coffee down the front of my nightgown. Goddamnit, this is silk! I look up to see Catsby on the floor and Sherlock standing upright, both hands cradling his…delicates.

'Your bloody cat clawed me!' He exclaims wildly. I hear John's muffled cackling from the computer screen. Rolling my eyes, I scoop down to pick a disgruntled Catsby up. 'Calm down, he was only kneading.' I lift Catsby up into the reverse-Simba position and rub my nose with his. 'Weren't you, mon chou? It's not his fault you decided to dress up as Aphrodite, barley concealing yourself!' Sherlock continues to stare venomously at Catsby, until the doorbell rings. Neither of us answer it.

'Now, show me the car that backfired.' Sherlock returns to the video call. The doorbell rings loudly once more. Sighing at Sherlock's 'Shut up!', I grab a cardigan and make my way down the stairs. I swear to god if it's another smelly hobo wanting to share secrets with Sherlock I'll -

My thoughts are interrupted once I open the door to two tall, suit-clad men. 'Good morning, Miss Dubois.' The one on the left greets me, while the other pushes past. 'Mr Holmes here?' He calls to me, already halfway up the stairs.

'Uh...Y-yeah.' I hurry to follow them.

Once inside the flat, the darker one of the two points in the direction of the kitchen with his thumb. 'His room's through the back, get him some clothes.'

'Who the hell are you?' Sherlock twists around in his seat, affronted.

'Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You're coming with us.' Sherlock surveys the man, and clicks his laptop shut. The man continues speaking. 'Please, Mr. Holmes. Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed.' He glances at me and adds, 'You too.'

I frown, crossing my arms. 'Well thanks for the notice! I don't have enough time to even do my hair!' Running around the flat like a madwoman, I grab a pair of cream ballet flats and wrap a red scarf around my neck.

Sherlock keeps his gaze locked on the both of them, deducing his arse off. I cough lightly and stand in between the two men, shrugging my shoulders. 'It's useless, you know. He does what he wants.'

Sherlock smiles smugly and looks up into the man's face. 'Oh, I know exactly where I'm going.'

John finds the both of us sitting rather awkwardly (Well, I'm awkward. Sherlock's as cool as a cucumber) on a long sofa, me in my nightdress and Sherlock in his sheet.

Oh, and did I forget to mention the fact that the sofa is in Buckingham bloody Palace?

He looks around for a moment, then follows his escort who gestures to him to take a seat before walking away. John holds out his hands in a "Da fuck is this?" kind of way. Sherlock shrugs disinterestedly and looks away again. I just pat the cushion beside me. John joins the both of us and gazes in front of himself for a moment. He then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet, particularly the section wrapped around his backside.

'Are you wearing any pants?'

'No.'

'Okay.'

John sighs quietly, remaining silent until he makes eye contact with Sherlock once more.

Then starts the laughter.

'You're just as bad,' John gestures to me in between chuckles. 'Is that supposed to be a top or a dress?' I scowl darkly at him, pulling the hem down further over my knees. 'Oh shut up!'

John grins at me, and turns to Sherlock. 'What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what? Here to see the Queen?' And as if on purpose, it was so perfectly timed, Mycroft walks in from the next room.

'Oh, apparently yes.' Sherlock remarks, sending us all into another fit of giggles.

Mycroft throws us a withering look as he bends down and picks up the clothes and shoes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock. He gazes at them uninterestedly.

'We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation.' Mycroft warns him sternly. 'Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.'

'What for?' Sherlock shrugs, standing up.

'Your client.'

'And my client is?'

'Illustrious ...' We all turn to look at the man who has just walked into the room. ' ... in the extreme.'

'Harry.' Mycroft stands to greet the man. 'May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?'

Harry laughs, clapping Mycroft on the back. 'Full-time occupation, I imagine.' Sherlock scowls at them. 'And this must be Doctor John Watson,' He continues. 'Formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.'

'Hello, yes.' John extends his hand.

'And I'm sorry,' Harry turns to look at me apologetically. 'I don't think we've been introduced.'

'Audrey.' I stand up to shake his hand. 'Audrey Dubois.'

'Dubois?' Harry raises his eyebrows. 'Parlez-vous français, Mademoiselle Dubois?'

'Oui, bien sûr.' I smile back politely.

Sherlock clears his throat and shuffles towards his brother. 'Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work.' He looks round, nodding once at Harry. 'Good morning.' He starts to walk out of the room when Mycroft slyly steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him, pulling the white cloth off his body. I clamp my hands over my mouth, fighting back the hysteria. Sherlock grabs at the sheet before he completely exposes himself to the world, but not before flashing us a sneak peek of the booty.

Swoon.

With his back still turned to his brother, Sherlock speaks through gritted teeth, 'Get off my sheet.'

'Or what?'

'Or I'll just walk away.' He threatens.

'I'll let you.'

'Oh please, be my guest!' I whisper, obviously louder than I had previously intended, judging by the weird looks thrown my way.

'Who. Is. My. Client?' Sherlock spits out.

'Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake – 'Mycroft breaks off and glances at Harry briefly, trying to get his anger under control. 'Put your clothes on!'

Once Sherlock has returned, (Clothed, I regret to announce) Mycroft begins pouring us each a cup of tea. 'A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.'

'Why?' Sherlock enquires. 'You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?'

'This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust.' Mycroft opens his briefcase, takes out a glossy photograph and hands it to Sherlock. I take one look at the racy picture and make my own deductions.

Ah, Irene Adler. The skank with the bank. The hoe with the dough. The ... nah that's the best I've got.

'What do you know about this woman?'

Sherlock shrugs his shoulders. 'Nothing whatsoever.'

'Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman. There are many names for what she does. She prefers "dominatrix".'

'Dominatrix.' Sherlock repeats, thoughtfully.

'Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex.' I raise an eyebrow at this.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at Mycroft. 'Sex doesn't alarm me.'

'How would you know?' He sneers.

Whoa, calm down there, Regina George.

'And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.' Sherlock surmises. 'You're very quick, Mr. Holmes.' Harry comments, impressed. Sherlock looks blankly at him. 'Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?'

'A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time.' Glaring at Harry angrily, Sherlock puts the photographs down on the table.

'You can't tell us anything?' John asks.

'No, John!' I scold him. 'The poor girl's embarrassed enough as it is, let alone…' I trail off as I notice all four head are turned towards me.

'How do you –' Harry begins but Mycroft cuts him off, smiling. 'Lucky guess.' Harry eyes me sceptically, but seems convinced otherwise.

You know, I genuinely think the world would be better place if I had been born mute.

'How many photographs?' Sherlock enquires, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

'A considerable number, apparently.'

'Will you take the case, Mr Holmes?' Harry asks Sherlock, almost imploringly.

'What case? Sherlock turns and reaches for his overcoat which is draped on the back of the sofa. 'Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, "Know when you are beaten".'

'She doesn't want anything.' Mycroft responds tiredly. Sherlock turns back towards him. 'She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.'

Sherlock's eyes widen, interest sparking within them. 'Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix.' He glances at John and I cheerfully. 'Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?' He turns around and reaches for his coat again. 'Where is she?'

'Uh, in London currently. She's staying ...' Mycroft begins but Sherlock interrupts him, already on the move. 'Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day.'

'Do you really think you'll have news by then?' Harry asks dubiously.

'No, I think I'll have the photographs.' Sherlock replies confidently before striding out of the room, throwing back a 'Laterz.'

Just as I move to follow John, Mycroft takes hold of my arm, pulling me back. 'Audrey, I wonder if I could have a quick word?' He asks quietly, leading me from the sitting room.

'Uh…' I reply, not sure whether I have any say in the matter. Once we're out of sight, he begins talking. 'Sherlock has informed me of the events that transpired at the pool last Thursday. And of the new game-player.' He glances around to make sure we're not heard. 'I do not have enough time on my hands to chase down a psychopathic cannibal as well as run the country. What I really need to know,' He looks almost pleadingly at me. 'Is that there's a way you can fix it. That you can send him back.'

I stare back at Mycroft and nod determinedly. 'I'm working on it.'

Hope you enjoyed! As always, PLEASE review. I love hearing what you guys think!

P.s I'll have Moriarty and Hannibal in the next chapter, don't you worry. I was going to include them in this one but I felt it might be a bit of an overload.