Author's note: I'm so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. From now on there will be at least one chapter per week.

I will be covering all the episodes from the show but I won't go into many details about them otherwise this fic will be insanely long.

Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading!

"Look at them," Their eyes fell on the family waiting outside. They were crying and it was obvious they had just been told a close relative had died. "They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

"All lives end. All hearts are broken," Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

Sherlock remember one particular Christmas day. Actually, he only remembered that Christmas when mummy finally got him that human skull he had always been asking for. He got that plus interesting books, a new microscope and something that looked like a silly green jumper.

He really missed mummy but he was not saying it. Mummy had been the only person who understood him just like he was. Father was always busy either on his office or cheating on mummy with his secretary.

Mummy was soft, warm and she was always there to caress his dark curls, the same ones he had inherited from her.

"This is low tar."

"Well, you barely knew her."

Sherlock started to walk away, not really caring it was past midnight, already Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"And a happy New Year."

Sherlock Holmes was a very difficult man to live with. John had already quite an experience, he had lived with Sherlock since he was eight and he hadn't changed a bit. Sherlock was still that child who would sulk if he was bored, if there wasn't enough frogs in the garden to experiment with, if mummy was busy throwing tea parties with her noisy friends or if Mycroft was home and was an insufferable teenager.

Often John found himself living the exact situations all over again. It was funny, certainly funny to see Sherlock Holmes, a thirty something year old man curled into a ball on a sofa, pouting, staring at the ceiling and wishing the boringness would go away.

Sherlock was still composing sad songs about that woman and staring at his blog for long days. John really wished he could made that woman disappear. Ever since Irene Adler had appeared in their lives Sherlock had become more and more quiet, distant with him and everyone.

But sometimes it wasn't enough to deal with Sherlock because now he had to deal with Mycroft. And John couldn't remember when was it that Mycroft started acting like a drama queen.

Now he was in a desert factory and waiting for his big brother to have the decency to show up.

"He's writing sad music. Doesn't eat. Barely talks – only to correct the television," John said pacing around the place, his eyes looking for Mycroft to appear. "I'd say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that any- "

"Hello, Doctor Watson."

It was The Woman.

Irene Adler.

"Tell him you're alive."

"He'd come after me."

John snorted. "I'll come after you if you don't."

"Mmm, I believe you."

"You were dead on a slab," the doctor bellowed. "It was definitely you."

Irene smiled at him. "DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep."

"And I bet you know the record-keeper."

"I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear."

"Then how come I can see you, and I don't even want to?"

Irene shrugged just slightly. "Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help."

What? "No."

"It's for his own safety."

"So's this. You have to tell him you're alive."

"I can't."

"Fine," John started walking to the place where he came. "I'll tell him, and I still won't help you."

"And what do I say?"

"What do you normally say? You've texted him a lot."

At this point Irene took her phone out and started typing. "Just the usual stuff."

"There is no 'usual' in this case."

"Good morning," Irene started reading. "I like your funny hat. I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner." She looked up at John before continuing. "You looked sexy on 'Crimewatch'. Let's have dinner. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner."

John couldn't believe this. "You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?"

"At him. He never replies."

"No, Sherlock always replies – to everything. He's Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word."

Irene paused for a moment and smiled, curling her thin yet perfectly red lips. "Does that make me special?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Are you jealous?"

"We're not a couple."

"Yes you are," Irene took two steps forward and smiled at John.

John clenched his teeth but remained silent.

"There," Irene pressed sent. "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner."

"Who... who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay."

"You're lying Doctor Watson. There's something you're not telling him."

John was about to say something when he laughed, sarcastically. Who the hell was this woman and how come she knew about him and Sherlock?

Before he could say something, they heard it.

The ringtone. The orgasmic female moan on Sherlock's phone.

He was there.

Sherlock was there and he listened to everything.

John walked and only saw Sherlock's coat disappearing.

"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"

John shrugged. "I don't know."

"Neither do I... but initially he wanted to be a pirate."

John couldn't help but smile at the memory of a little Sherlock close to his teenage years wearing a pirate hat and calling their dog Redbeard all across the garden.

"I'll be the brave corsair and you John will be my buccaneer."

John smiled and put on his pirate hat and called their dog Redbeard so he could play with them. "And Mycroft gets to play too?"

"Yes," little Sherlock smiled mischievously. "Mycroft will be the annoying fat pirate who wants to steal our gold."

"She's in America," John lied. "Yes, America."

"America?"

John nodded. "Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."

"I know what?"

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

"Why would I want to see her again?"

Because you might like her? Because for the last months she played with your mind and made you into a complete dick? John faked a smile. "Didn't say you did."

"Is that her file?"

"Yes," John looked down at the file in his hands and wished he hadn't taken it. "I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft."

"I will have the camera phone, though." Sherlock said, holding his hand out.

John frowned. "There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped."

"I know but -" The detective shrugged. "I'll still have it."

"I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it." John lied, but Sherlock held his hand out,s till waiting for it. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give -"

"Please."

John closed his eyes and for one second he remembered the day they had to put their dog Redbeard down.

"But it's not ill, John! Redbeard can't die!"

"I know, Sher," John said, taking his brother's hand and both looking at their dog sleeping on the floor of Sherlock's room. "But Redbeard is very old and tired."

"It's not fair!" Sherlock cried.

Mummy cried too and knelt between her children. "Sher, John, I know it's hard, but Redbeard needs to rest."

"Please, mummy," Sherlock begged. "I'll behave, I promise! Please don't kill Redbeard!"

John had no other choice but give Sherlock Irene Adler's old phone.

"Thank you."

"Well, I'd better take this back."

"Yes."

"Did she ever text you again, after... all that?"

Sherlock looked at John, leaving his experiments aside. "Once, a few months ago."

"What did she say?" John asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

John smiled and left.

Sherlock went through the old messages Irene had sent him months ago and smiled.

But soon that smile disappeared from his face when, from the windows of his flat, he spotted John and Mycroft talking.