Damn, Sherlock. I scowled, hearing him and John arguing upstairs after Sherlock had begun to play screeching notes on his violin. I had been two seconds from going up there myself if it wasn't for my leg. It had been a while since I'd been shot, but—though the wound had healed and scared—the aches still bothered me and physical therapy could only help so much when it came to getting around. I can walk, but I limp pretty bad now. I frowned at the thought, stubbornly standing from the couch and limping over to the kitchen for a drink. I'd been banned from attempting to fix up my flat more after the incident and Sherlock had offered to have people come over and do it for me, as a sort of repayment for what happened, but I stubbornly refused. Fixing this flat had become less of a job and more of a… pet project. It was mine and I was determined to get it all set up on my own. That being said, Sherlock complained constantly while I was stuck staying with them while my injury healed enough for me to freely navigate the stairs. As soon as I could, I stayed in my own flat downstairs, but they continued to place rules on me. One of which I was thinking about now.

Can't leave the flat until they're certain I won't collapse somewhere. John does all the shopping, Mrs. Hudson cleans, but I can't even go out and visit Irene. I gulped down some of my drink, eyes watering at the burn briefly as I hobbled to the couch and plopped down with a sigh. I want to tell her how I feel about before. I'm determined to try and get her to love me as well. I won't let her go easily. I'll make it work and I'm fine with a fling for right now, even if it doesn't work. I won't be happy if it doesn't, but… I brought a hand to my mouth.

"Damn, I've really fallen for her, haven't I?" I muttered to myself, setting down my drink and standing. "Screw it. I'm not going to let them stop me from telling her." I said determinedly, moving to grab my coat and put it on and walking out of my flat to the door.

I paused, glancing upstairs, but still hearing the two shouting at each other I went and opened the door. Needless to say, I was surprised to find the very woman I was about to go to standing there.

"I-Irene?"

She smirked mischievously at me. "I did tell you I'd hunt you down if you took too long, dear."

The sound of shattering glass came from overhead and she raised a brow as I hurriedly shuffled her inside.

"Sorry. Neighbors are arguing." I explained simply. "They should be nearly finished by now. We better hurry."

"Oh, sneaking about behind their backs then?" She hummed, snaking her arms around my neck as we entered the small hallway leading towards my flat. "How did you know I was a fan of secret rendezvous?"

I growled deep in my throat, wanting nothing more than to take her right here if it weren't for the noisy duo upstairs and Mrs. Hudson in her own flat a few feet away. Irene smirked, undoubtedly sensing that and quickly taking advantage of it by trailing soft kisses up my neck.

"Well?" She whispered against my skin as we both heard the door upstairs slam shut.

I smothered her in a heated kiss briefly, smirking back. "Come on."

I snuck her swiftly into my flat and she didn't give me a chance to say a word before her lips were on mine and we were soon tugging at each other's clothes. I paused in my assault, allowing her hands to roam over my back as we looked at one another.

"I take it this is your answer." She hummed, voice soft as she pressed short kisses to my lips and jaw.

"I love you." I murmured in return, finally getting a chance to explain myself. "And I don't care that you're not interested in long term. I'll make sure you stay with me."

"Oh, will you now?" She chuckled softly.

"Most definitely." I breathed into her ear. "You're mine and I won't let anyone take you away from me."

"Well then, you better get started." She said, yanking my hair and forcing my head back away from her ear with a wicked smirk. "Because I'm not going down easily."

Dominatrix is right. I mused with another smirk. But damn it all, I love it.

Sherlock stared straight ahead, gun in hand aimed at the wall above the couch where a spray painted smiley face smirked mockingly at him. One shot, then two. He was bored. Terribly bored. The last case he did was even more boring. The idiot had the grammar of a five-year-old and he didn't have the patience to keep dealing with the man any longer than he had. A trip wasted. He thought with a scowl. Not only that, but it's quiet. Far too quiet. Where's Jess? Surely she should have come up here by now. That's when his ears picked up something. Footsteps in the basement flat. Footsteps that weren't just Jess's. He sat up and frowned, standing and moving towards the door as those steps made their way to the front door. He too, left his flat, near silently to see who it was Jess had snuck in and questioning how she'd done so without his knowledge. Earlier today then, while John was arguing with me, most likely.

He moved to the top of the stairs, clicking his tongue quietly at having missed sight of Jess's guest, though a hot rush of anger filled his chest as the woman passionately kissing Jess turned away without facing him to leave.

Why am I angry? He thought to himself, glaring down at Jess as she stared longingly after the leaving figure. Because she snuck in her newest lover right under our noses? He turned away angrily, storming back into his flat and slamming the door behind him before returning to his previous seat and firing off multiple shots more at the smiley face mocking him from the wall. He then turned to glare at the paint, firing off another shot in the center. As he fired off yet another shot though, he heard John's angry steps come up from downstairs where he'd—at some point—returned home.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Bored." Sherlock scowled, half lying to his flat mate.

"What?"

"Bored!" He sprung up out of his chair and switched hands as John covered his ears and took a step back. "Bored! Bored."

He then fired off a shot and twisted his arm behind his back to fire off another. He begrudgingly handed the weapon to John then, allowing him to dismantle it and shut it back into the drawer of the desk he kept it in.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them. Did you happen to run into Jess on your way up?"

"What? No. She hasn't left her flat. And why are you taking it out on the wall?"

"Ah, the wall had it coming." Sherlock replied, running his fingers over the smiling face before flicking them away and flopping back onto the couch. "And she had a friend over."

"Who, Jess?" John questioned and Sherlock glared at him.

"Yes, Jess. Who else?" He snapped. "Her newest lover, no doubt. Che."

John raised a brow at him, removing his coat and placing it in his chair. "You sound upset."

"Not upset. Aggravated." He corrected. "How am I supposed to show her how she's wasting her talents if she's too busy looking at some woman?"

John rolled his eyes, not wanting to go into Sherlock's apparent jealousy when the man was already 'aggravated' by a number of things. "What about that Russian case?"

"Belarus." He corrected. "Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time."

"Ah, shame." John said sarcastically, moving into the kitchen and tossing his hands up at the mess of beakers Sherlock had left on the table since his absence. Nothing I can do about it without upsetting him. "Anything in? I'm starving."

Sherlock didn't bother warning John about what was in the fridge. He was too annoyed at these sudden feelings about Jess and her lover.

"Oh—" John cut himself off, shutting the fridge he'd just opened only to reopen it again and make sure he saw what he thought he did. "It's a head… A severed head."

"Just tea for me, thanks." Sherlock grumbled.

"There's a head in the fridge."

"Yes."

"A bloody head!"

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it? Jess being in her flat at all times made it impossible to store it there. You don't mind, do you? I got it from Bart's morgue." Sherlock sucked in a breath, pushing away the image of Jess kissing that woman that had popped up into his head. "I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case."

He waved a hand at John's laptop, distracting the man for now so he wouldn't have to hear the nagging.

"Yeah, uh, yes." John said, giving one last look at the kitchen before settling himself down in Sherlock's chair this time.

"'A Study in Pink,' nice."

"Well, you know, a pink lady, a pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

Sherlock picked up the magazine resting on the table. "Um, no."

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

Sherlock lower the magazine and frowned at him. "Flattered? 'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.'" He quoted.

"Now hold on a minute. I didn't mean that in a—"

Sherlock interrupted him. "Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way?" He turned away, annoyed. "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or who's sleeping with who." He scowled at this thought; Jess popping into his head once more.

"Whether the Earth goes round the Sun." John muttered, though not quietly enough to miss Sherlock's excellent hearing.

"Not that again. It's not important."

"Not impor…" John shifted to face Sherlock. "It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

Sherlock pressed his hands to his eyes. "Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it."

"'Deleted it'?"

"Listen." Sherlock sat up, hoping to explain his mental processes in a way John could understand, pointing at his head. "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. Just look at Jess! All that potential wasted on the time it takes plaster to dry or how to repair a kitchen sink. All that useless information makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

John tried—really, he did—but just couldn't understand. "But it's the solar system!"

Sherlock buried his head in his hands in frustration. "Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go round the Sun! if we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear—" He joked, waving his hands about. "—it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots." He ruffled his hair and glared at John, frustration at his thick head and Jess's own idiotic ways reaching its peak. "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

He thrust himself back onto the couch with his back facing John, ending the conversation. He didn't expect John to get up and head for the door though, and turned around in confusion.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I need some air." John replied shortly and Sherlock ignored the noise of him bumping into Mrs. Hudson on the stairs and rolled back over; pouting.

He doesn't understand. And Jess probably wouldn't either. Why do I even bother?

"Ooh-hoo." Mrs. Hudson chimed, knocking on his door. "You two have a little domestic?"

Sherlock rolled off the couch and angrily stepped over his coffee table to the window to watch John head out.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Mrs. Hudson said quietly as she set the groceries on the small space available on the kitchen table; Sherlock pulling back the curtain to see John crossing the street.

"Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful." He grimaced. "Isn't it hateful?"

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder. That'll cheer you up." She chuckled, heading towards the door.

"Can't come too soon." Sherlock muttered, not seeing she'd stopped.

"Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall?!"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that as she stormed out.

"I'm putting this on your rent, young man. I'll have Jess patch it up later once her leg's a bit better. I hear her muttering under her breath sometimes about her leg. Poor dear. This chilly weather's not good for it."

Sherlock ignored her as she moved downstairs, instead moving to the center of the room and grinning at the mocking face on the wall before sighing and turning away. Then, the explosion hit and everything went dark.

I groaned, aching terribly after whatever had knocked me to the ground while limping through my flat. My ears were ringing, making it impossible to hear the footsteps rushing down the upper stairs and I slowly went to roll onto my back only to let out a quick cry of pain and roll back onto my stomach. I took in deep breaths, not appreciating the sharp pain that was going through my leg and cursing under my breath as my hearing slowly returned. Just in time to hear the door slam open and Sherlock's voice reaching my ears.

"Are you alright? Can you stand?"

"I-I'll need help." I admitted begrudgingly. "And my leg is killing me."

A hand wrapped around my upper arm and helped lift me to my feet; Sherlock hanging onto me for a moment before depositing me onto the couch.

"Where does your leg hurt?"

"Where do you think?" I grumbled. "What happened?"

"Explosion across the street. Police and paramedics are already on their way, undoubtedly." He replied, making me wince as he touched near my knee. "I'll get some ice."

I scowled, but allowed him to grab the ice, gritting my teeth and forcing through the aching my leg brought upon holding the ice pack to it. It was slow going and I was slightly surprised when Sherlock patiently waited instead of leaving me on my own. I winced at seeing the mess of glass scattered around my flat. That's one thing I'm thankful for. There's no small personal items in my flat yet. Though I'm pissed, nonetheless.

"I just put in those damn windows." I complained as Sherlock swept up some of the glass on the ground.

"I'll get my brother to pay for replacements."

I raised a brow at him, lying down on the couch so I could elevate my leg. "Why would he do that for me?"

Sherlock smirked. "I'll claim it was for troubling you before."

I snorted. "I'll accept that. Thanks."

He finished in silence and the police came up eventually to question us before departing and he turned to me then.

"You brought someone over earlier."

I immediately frowned. "Yeah, so what? You guys have had me cooped up in here for weeks. You should be happy I didn't leave to see her. I was about to if she hadn't shown up."

He frowned, moving to a chair. "I thought you were done with her."

"No. We were having a small disagreement on some things. She's not sure about commitment and I needed to think about whether I would continue to pursue her knowing that. And I decided I would, but with you lot cooping me up in here, I didn't have a way to tell her."

"Text her."

"I'm not going to text her. It's not right." I argued and he gave me a strange look. "What?"

"Why not? It's simpler to text her, isn't it?"

I was a bit surprised at that response, opening my mouth to get angry with him only to close it. He's serious.

"No, it's…" How to explain… "It's not about it being easier to do. It's just something I felt was important enough to tell her in person. It makes what you're saying more personal. Like… say I broke your violin."

He glared and I rolled my eyes.

"Hypothetically." I pressed and he stopped glaring though was still cautious. "If I hypothetically broke your violin on accident, would you rather find out via text? A quick 'Oops, broke your violin. My bad.' Or would you rather I came to you in person and explained what happened to you face-to-face."

He furrowed his brows in thought, bringing his steepled hands up to his mouth. "I… see."

I nodded, glad he understood. "It's the same thing with this. I needed to tell her in person that I'm willing to still love her if she'd have me and, thankfully, she was. She had some work this evening though, so she didn't stay long. And my leg was acting up." I gave him a look then, catching his scowl. "And it won't happen often, by the way. I'd rather go to her place than do anything here, so there's nothing for you to worry about. I won't even make you meet her. I'm sure you'd rather avoid the trouble and I'd rather avoid it as well."

"Fine." He snipped and I sighed, closing my eyes as he left my flat and returned upstairs.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John called up the stairs to the flat, worry and concern filling him and completely blocking out the fact that there was another friend he needed to check on in the basement flat.

Yet when he walked in, he had to suppress the urge to smack the man seated across from his brother; fingers on his violin letting out a 'twang'.

"John." The man said calmly without a scratch on him.

"I saw it on the tele. Are you okay?" John asked nonetheless.

"Hm? What?" Sherlock looked around, remembering then that there had been an explosion. "Yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." He hummed, still plucking at the strings before he lifted his gaze to Mycroft. "I can't."

"'Can't'?" His brother questioned, not believing a word he said.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

John looked at him in disbelief, knowing for a fact that Sherlock didn't have a case other than the identity of whoever Jess's new lover was.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Mycroft pressed and Sherlock made one of his notes a little stronger before changing the subject.

"How's the diet?"

"Fine." Mycroft pressed and then turned to the other occupant in the room. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

"What?" John asked, not too sure what they were talking about as he scanned the flat for damages.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock snipped at his brother's insult and Mycroft raised a curious brow.

"No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time—not with the Korean elections so…" He trailed off before he could give away too much and smiled innocently. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this, it requires…" He grimaced. "…legwork." He then turned a smirk in Sherlock's direction. "Though you seem in a foul mood today, Sherlock. Your neighbor downstairs troubling you?"

Sherlock glared at his brother before catching sight of John rubbing his neck and swiftly latched onto that. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Sofa, Sherlock." Mycroft corrected as he checked the time. "It was the sofa."

Sherlock looked John up and down, begrudgingly admitting his error. "Oh, yes. Of course."

"How…" John shook his head, sitting down on the coffee table. "Oh, never mind."

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became… pals." Mycroft commented. "Your neighbor downstairs probably dislikes his dragging her around. What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."

"I'm never bored." John commented instead, gesturing towards the door and looking at Sherlock. "Is she alright, by the way?"

"Fine. She was knocked down by the blast, but nothing more than bumps and bruises. Her leg was bothering her, apparently." Sherlock said shortly, eyebrows knotted in annoyance.

He's still upset about her lover. John concluded, before Mycroft stood and passed a folder to him, upon Sherlock not accepting it as he prepped his bow for playing.

"Andrew West. Known as Westie to his friends." Mycroft said and John hesitated before taking the folder. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?" john asked.

"Seems the logical assumption."

"But?"

Mycroft raised a brow. "'But'?"

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." John concluded, earning a short chuckle and smile from Sherlock as Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's childishness.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system. The Bruce-Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John snickered. "That wasn't very clever."

"It's not the only copy." Mycroft countered, not very pleased about how Sherlock was rubbing off on his companion. "But it is secret and missing."

"Top secret?" John asked and Mycroft agreed.

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft concluded, turning to Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock took in a slow breath at his brother's threat and placed his violin on his shoulder, giving him a look. "I'd like to see you try."

Mycroft leaned over a bit. "Think it over." He then turned and went over to John to shake his hand. "Goodbye, John. Say goodbye to your friend downstairs for me. And let her know that any medical bills for her leg will be taken care of by myself, since the injury was caused by my brother's negligence."

Sherlock huffed, the bow of his violin playing a few screeching notes of annoyance as Mycroft left; Sherlock only stopping once the man was gone and a loud 'thump' came from downstairs. Sherlock smirked, silently glad he'd woken up the woman from her catnap on her couch; she, undoubtedly, having fallen off and onto the floor in the process. John didn't seem to notice though, staring at Sherlock in slight amusement.

"Why'd you lie?" He asked, giving him a look. "You've got nothing on. Not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock shook his head in a shrug.

"Oh. Nice. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere." John commented, a bit annoyed, but also a little pleased Sherlock had finally given away something about himself.

"Oh, why don't you go check up on Jess?" Sherlock drawled in annoyance and John smirked in success as he stood.

"Alright. But you can't tell me you're not jealous of her newest lover."

Sherlock scowled, playing a few more screeching notes in annoyance, but saying nothing of John's accusation as he headed downstairs to check on their neighbor.

I cursed under my breath as I rubbed at my aching leg, glaring at the ceiling where Sherlock's annoying violin had disturbed my nap. Did it on purpose too, the jerk. Why's he so caught up on Irene? I already said I wouldn't bug him about it. There was a knock on my door then and it opened to reveal a smirking Mrs. Hudson.

"You have a visitor." She told me and my eyes widened as Irene sauntered in—yet again surprising me with another visit.

"I-Irene." I stuttered out, standing immediately and wincing briefly at the pain in my leg before attempting to usher Mrs. Hudson out with pink cheeks of embarrassment. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the trouble."

"Oh, no, dear. It's fine. Just try to keep it down." She smiled, making my cheeks go darker before she left and Irene chuckled.

"Did I embarrass you, Jess?" She asked, running a hand down my arm as I gave her a nervous smile.

"A bit, yeah. That was my landlady, though anything's better than being caught by my neighbor." I muttered, before shaking my head and getting to the point. "Why are you here, Irene? I thought you were going back to work last night."

"I did." She hummed, sauntering towards the couch and looking at the broken windows covered with cardboard that I winced at. "Then I saw on the tele what happened. I had to come by and make sure you were alright, of course."

"I'm fine, really." I pressed, attempting to move towards her, but cringing and grabbing at my leg in pain. "Well, mostly. My leg's giving me trouble. I was knocked down when the blast hit."

"I'm sorry." She apologized sincerely, moving to my side and curling around me in support. "I suppose things are off for later then?"

"Later?" I questioned and that mischievous smirk came to her eyes.

"We're having dinner, aren't we?"

The innuendo was quick to catch my attention and the pain in my leg was briefly forgotten.

"Well, now, why wait?" I mused, kissing her lips softly and trailing my hands up her smooth back. "Is it my turn to lead this time?"

"Can you handle it?" She challenged and I smirked against the skin of her neck.

"Oh, I'm sure I can take care of all your guilty pleasures, sweetheart."

We were momentarily distracted though when a pounding came to my door and I dropped my head on her shoulder with a groan.

"Can't get a damn moment of peace, can I?" I complained. "I'm going to kill my neighbors."

"Now, now." She lightly chided me. "Shoo them off politely and I might just surprise you."

I grumbled in my throat, both at the prospect of what her surprise was and in annoyance that I was letting her bully me into answering the door and not get angry with my neighbor. I pulled away from her though, watching her firm backside sashay its way into my bedroom, before turning to the door and answering it. John stood there and my previous anger melted away. At least it's not Sherlock.

"Hello, John. Can I help you?"

"Oh, well, I was just coming to check up on you. The explosion and all."

I hummed. "Hm, that's right. I forgot you and Sherlock had a tiff yesterday. Did you sleep elsewhere then?"

He nodded. "At Sarah's. On her sofa."

"Well, you can't expect things to go perfectly after what happened with the Chinese circus." I told him, knowing he didn't have the best time sleeping on the sofa and much less with Sarah.

"Yeah… Your leg doing okay though? Sherlock mentioned it was bothering you."

"It's just hurting a bit." I complained lightly, not wanting John to have to check it with my guest in the other room. "I'll take something for it later."

"You sure?" He questioned, gesturing towards it. "I can check it if you want. You might have damaged the muscle."

"Ah, no." I shook my head. "See, I'm a bit busy and—"

I was cut off as a soft pair of arms wrapped around my neck and I turned a vibrant pink as I turned to see a fully nude Irene pressing herself up against my side; just out of sight of John. I was frozen for a moment, unable to take my eyes off my girlfriend, before I remembered that John was still standing just outside and could plainly see the pale, manicured hands wrapped around my neck.

"A-Ah…"

I wasn't sure what to say, but John's pink cheeks gave away the fact that he too, was a bit tongue-tied. A kiss from Irene's red-lipstick stained lips pressing itself to the pulse point in my neck drew my thoughts together in a quick Sherlock-esque manner.

"Right. Yes. Bit busy. Sorry. I would, but then again, maybe later. Not now. Definitely not. So um, I'll see you later, John. Yeah?"

"S-Sure." He stuttered out and I quickly closed the door before turning and locking lips with my overly-eager girlfriend; losing myself in her beauty for the umpteenth time.