A Scandal in Belgravia (Part 1)

(Jared's POV)

Swimming pool...

Sherlock is aiming the pistol down at the bomb jacket as he and Jim Moriarty stare at each other, the introduction to The Bee Gees' song 'Stayin' Alive' begins to play tinnily. Sherlock, John, and I look around, confused.

Jim briefly closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation, "D'you mind if I get that?"

"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Sherlock said, nonchalantly.

Jim takes his phone from his pocket and answers it.

"Hello? ... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Jim asked, mouthing 'Sorry' at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouths 'Oh, fine' back at him.

Jim rolls his eyes as he listens to the phone, turning away from Sherlock for a moment, then he spins back around, his face full of fury.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" Jim said, loudly into the phone as Sherlock frowns before the consulting criminal spoke venomously into the phone. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you." He hisses out the 's' of 'skin.' Sherlock briefly looks round at John and I with Jim talking into the phone again. "Wait."

Lowering the phone, Jim begins to walks forward. Sherlock looks at the bomb jacket and fretfully adjusts the grip on his pistol as Jim approaches. Jim stops at the jacket and gazes down at the floor thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to Sherlock.

"Sorry. Wrong day to die." Jim said, sadly.

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked, casually.

Jim looks down at the phone, then turns and slowly starts to walk away.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock, Jared." Jim said, strolling back around the pool towards the door through which he originally came, lifting the phone to his ear again before talking into it. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

Reaching the door, he raises his free hand and clicks his fingers. Instantly all the lasers focused on Sherlock, John, and I disappear. As Jim walks through the door and vanishes from sight, Sherlock looks around the gallery but apparently can see no sign of the retreating snipers. John and I sighs with relieved breaths.

"What happened there?" John asked.

"Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?" Sherlock asked.

"Spoilers." I said, closing my eyes to imagine a woman's hand lowering her phone and switches it off. "Finally. I can rest and relax in this case."

"And what is this case called?" John asked, looking at me.

"'A Scandal in Belgravia.'"

Wearing a pair of black Brazilian knickers under a sheer lace robe, she walks from the landing into a bedroom, lashing a riding crop against the door jamb as she speaks, "Well now. Have you been wicked, Your Highness?"

Inside the bedroom, a pair of naked legs can be seen lying on a bed. The person's ankles appear to be tied to the foot of the bed.

"Yes, Miss Adler." A sultry female voice said.

221C BAKER STREET...

It is now May 30th and the day before my birthday. I've decided to move in to 221C Baker Street with my friends from Japan visiting from time to time.

Mikoto Misaka, Shirai Kuroko, Saten Ruiko, and Uiharu Kazari helped me make this apartment my own after the whole thing with Moriarty.

I went downstairs and out of the apartment, loving how homey it feels after redecorating.

221B Baker Street...

"Morning." I said, smiling.

"Tomorrow is your birthday." John said, sitting at the dining table in the living room, updating his blog on his laptop. "Want a night at the pub?"

"Nah. I was thinking of going to Academy City later." I said, happily. "Good morning, Sherlock."

"Morning." Sherlock said, wearing a red dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is standing at the other side of the table drinking from a mug while leafing through a newspaper. "What are you typing?"

"Blog." John said.

"About?"

"Us."

"You mean me."

"Why?"

"Well, you're typing a lot." Sherlock said, as the doorbell rings. "Right then." He walks towards the door. "So, what have we got?"

Over a period of many weeks, people are coming to 221B to consult with Sherlock. Each of them sits on a dining chair facing the fireplace as he or she speaks.

"My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office." A man said.

"Boring." Sherlock said.

"I think my husband might be having an affair." A woman said.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"She's not my real aunt. She's been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash." A creepy guy said, holding a funeral urn.

"Leave." Sherlock said, pointing to the door.

"We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files." A businessman said, sitting on the dining chair while two aides stand behind him.

"Boring." Sherlock said.

JUNE 16...

"We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, 'cause people miss a lot of the themes." A geeky man said, sitting on the dining chair while two other geeky young men stand behind him.

"Okay..." I said, and Sherlock is already walking away, disinterested. "Is that it?"

"But then all the comic books started coming true." The geeky man said.

"Started coming true? What?" I asked, sipping on some bubble tea. "How?"

Sherlock comes back, "Oh. Interesting. If Jared is interested in it. Comic books isn't out of his league either."

Later, John is sitting in his armchair and updating his blog again. He has titled the entry 'The Geek Interpreter.'

Cardcaptor Sakura stopped by earlier with her cousin Tomoyo and we had sweets together at 221B Baker Street. I am eating the leftover Japanese rolled omelet Sakura made for me since I said I liked them.

"I can't believe you had your friends visit, Jared. The ones from Tomoeda, Japan." Sherlock said, leaning over his shoulder. "'Geek Interpreter.' What's that?"

"It's the title." John said.

"What does it need a title for?" Sherlock asked, as John smiles tightly.

"For people to know what the case was called." I said, and Sherlock straightens up and walks away. "Gah! Why don't you know that Sherlock? It's for organization purposes and for us to remember what happened through the titles."

Morgue...

It is now July 13th and we're at the morgue at St Bartholomew's Hospital. Sherlock is using his magnifier to look at a woman's body lying on the table. John and I are standing at the other side of the table and Detective Inspector Lestrade is nearby.

"John, do people actually read your blog?" Sherlock asked.

"Where d'you think our clients come from?" John asked.

"He thinks they randomly appear." I said, laughing a lot.

"No. Of course they don't randomly appear, Jared. I have a website." Sherlock said, looking at me.

"In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody's reading your website." John said, while Sherlock straightens up and glares at him.

"They'd rather read John's website due to him saying how annoying you are." I said, as Sherlock pouted adorably momentarily. "Did I say annoying? I mean, how amazing you are."

John continues to look at the body, "Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are."

"Hmm. This blonde is rather speckled." I said, and John pointed at the tiny red marks on the woman's body. "How does 'The Speckled Blonde' sound?"

"Maybe." John said, while Sherlock had already turned and flounced out of the room. "That works. Then again, we could discuss other titles for this case."

221B Baker Street...

Later, back at the flat, John is updating his blog again. I am eating some peanut M&Ms as a snack since it is  one of my favorite candies. Sherlock walks past eating a piece of toast. He stops and looks at the title for this entry.

"Oh, for God's sakes! This is the worst title you two could come up with yet!" Sherlock said, with his mouth full.

"What?" John asked.

"'The Speckled Blonde'?!" Sherlock exclaimed, as John purses his lips. "I heard you two talking at the morgue."

"So? It's not like you put any input to these." I said, and Sherlock walks away again.

On another occasion, two little girls are sitting together on one of the dining chairs while Sherlock paces in front of the fireplace.

"They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?" A little girl asked.

"People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special room and burned." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!" I said, while the two girls look at each other in distress. "They're too young to know that."

"He's right." John said, reprovingly. "Sherlock ..."

Field...

"What happened, Greg?" I asked, drinking a bottle of Baja Blast Mountain Dew.

It is now August 1st and Lestrade is leading Sherlock, John, and I across some open ground.

"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead." Lestrade said.

"Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news." Sherlock said.

"You said, 'Boring,' and turned over." John said.

"More like you changed the TV channel." I said, rolling my eyes. "You changed it to Chugga's Let's Play of Luigi's Mansion 1."

"That's because that is almost finished." Sherlock said, while Lestrade leads us to a car which has its boot opened. "I wanted to see the final battle where Luigi battles King Boo."

There's a body inside the boot. While Lestrade continues to speak, Sherlock looks all around the rear of the car.

"Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here's his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark." Lestrade said, looking at a bag of evidence.

"Lucky escape!" John said.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Eight, so far." Sherlock said, examining the man's hand with his magnifier before straightening up and looks at the body again, then frowns momentarily. "Okay, four ideas." He turns to Lestrade and looks down at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger, John Coniston, who was meant to be travelling on Flyaway Airways, Straightening up again, he gazes up into the sky. "Maybe two ideas."

The shadow of a passenger jet passes overhead.

221B Baker Street...

Sherlock is wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other – has come to the living room table to look at John's latest blog entry which is titled 'Sherlock Holmes baffled.'

"Of course you're eating something your friend endorsed." Sherlock said, looking at me.

"Gura isn't wrong in saying that this is good." I said, as I am now eating some Nacho Fries with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell. "She knows good food."

"Fast food." Sherlock said, indignantly. "No, no, no, don't mention the unsolved ones."

"People want to know you're human." John said.

"Why?"

"'Cause they're interested."

"No they're not. Why are they?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're well known across all of time and space." I said, and John smiled at his laptop. "You are famous, Sherlock."

"Look at that." John said, looking at the hit counter on the front page of his blog. Its count is currently 1895. "One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked.

"I reset that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash."

"Two hundred and forty-three." Sherlock said, sulkily.

"I'm with John." I said, with Sherlock firing up the blowtorch and he puts his safety glasses back on and heads back towards the kitchen. "Your stories being told is your life, Sherlock."

THEATRE...

It is now August 12th as Sherlock, John, and I are walking across the stage of a theatre while police officers mill around nearby.

"So, what's this one? 'Belly Button Murders'?" Sherlock asked.

"'The Navel Treatment'?" John asked.

"How about 'Cutting the Cord?'" I asked, looking between Sherlock and John.

"Eurgh! We're not calling it 'The Navel Treatment' or getting rid of cable!" Sherlock said, walking backstage and meeting up with Lestrade as we head for the exit.

"There's a lot of press outside, guys." Lestrade said.

"Well, they won't be interested in us." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."

"For God's sake!" Sherlock said, exasperated, glaring at John and I.

"I don't have a problem with it since I am one of the Avengers." I said, with John and I quirk quick smiles as we walked on, then Sherlock spots some costumes on a rack just inside a nearby dressing room. "Internet fame isn't that uncommon for me."

"But it is for me and the Avengers isn't a thing yet." Sherlock said, walking in and grabbing a few items off the rack. "John. Jared." He tosses caps at John and I. "Both of you, cover your faces and walk fast."

"Still, it's good for the public image, a big case like this." Lestrade said.

"I'm a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image." Sherlock said, putting on the third hat that he had picked up – a deerstalker – and heads out the exit door pulling the hat as low as possible over his eyes and tugging up the collar of his coat. "I am not Tony Stark, who is Iron Man or Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. Both of which are worldwide celebrities."

"So this is how Tony found out about me." I said, while photographers start taking pictures of Sherlock, John, and I outside. "Through this."

Later, some of the pictures have been used in various newspapers, together with headlines such as 'Gungnir, Ame no Habakiri, and Ichaival: FIRST LOVE SONG', 'Sherlock Net 'Tec', 'Sherlock, John, and Jared: Blogger Detectives' and 'Sherlock Holmes: net phenomenon'. The last of these newspaper reports has caught the attention of Irene Adler, who slowly strokes her hand over the photograph of Sherlock, then runs her hand along her riding crop before laying it down on top of the photograph. She picks up her phone and dials.

"Hello. I think it's time, don't you?" Irene asked, her phone near her ear.

221B BAKER STREET...

Mrs Hudson picks up a mug and an almost empty bottle of milk from the mantelpiece and walks into the kitchen, tutting in exasperation at the mess in there. Putting the mug onto the table she takes the milk across to the fridge door and opens it, recoiling from the smell emanating from inside. Putting the milk into the fridge door she picks up the offending smelly item and drops it into the bin, then pulls open the salad crisper at the bottom and takes out a clear plastic bag from it. Peering at the contents, she cringes when she realises what's inside.

"Ooh dear! Thumbs!" Mrs Hudson said, dropping the bag back into the salad crisper, then turns as an overweight man stumbles into the kitchen from the landing and stares at her wide-eyed and confused.

"The door was ... the door was ..." The man said, breathing heavily, then drops to the floor in a faint. Mrs Hudson stares at him in terror for a moment, then calls out. "Boys! You've got another one!" She bends down to the unconscious man. "Ooh!"

Later the man – whose name is Phil – has regained consciousness and is sitting on a dining chair facing the fireplace, staring rather blankly in front of himself. John is sitting on the sofa behind him, I am drinking a mint chocolate chip milkshake, and Sherlock is out of sight but presumably pacing.

"Tell us from the start. Don't be boring." Sherlock said, sternly.

I closed my eyes to think of fourteen hours earlier. Somewhere out in the countryside, Phil's car has broken down in a quiet country lane. He tries to start the engine for what is apparently the umpteenth time but it just whines and refuses to start. Phil slams his hands angrily onto the steering wheel and gets out again to stare uselessly down under the open bonnet and tweak a few connections hopefully. He looks around but there is no sign of any other traffic. He looks into the field at the side of the road. The field stretches down to a river some distance away and a man wearing a red jacket is standing at the edge of a stream which leads down to the river. He has his back to the road. Phil peers at him for a moment but he's too far away to have even noticed what's happening on the road and eventually Phil gets back into the car again and tries once more to start the engine. It whines ferociously and then loudly backfires. Phil sighs, then looks across towards the river and realises that the man is now lying on the ground. He gets out of the car and stares.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Phil asked, calling out to the man who doesn't respond or react, before he started to walk towards him. "Excuse me! Are you all right?"

As yet unseen by Phil, the man has fallen onto his back. There is a lot of blood underneath the back of his head.

Judgment 177 Branch Office...

I am busy making a cup of coffee for myself and hanging out with Mikoto, Shirai, Uiharu, and Saten inside the office. I know that Sherlock and John are working on the case and he has time to kill before heading to Buckingham Palace.

"I see that you've been busy with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Uiharu said.

"You said the case you're working on involves what? A hiker and a car backfiring?" Shirai asked.

"That pretty much sums it up." I said, picking up the mug full of coffee. "Sherlock hasn't solved it yet."

"Oh. But you know the answer, don't you?" Mikoto asked, looking at me.

"I do. You know, Kuroko, you and Misaka are made for each other."

"Thank you! Oh, someone finally acknowledges my romantic relationship with sissy!" Shirai said, excitedly.

"Honestly, I prefer you and Misaka together than her and Touma."

"Her and that rapscallion aren't meant to be together!" Shirai said, angrily. "Oh, since you had that money from 'The Blind Banker', do you have some money?"

"I do."

"How about using it for you know what?" Shirai asked, before getting shocked by Mikoto.

"For the last time. No!" Mikoto said, angrily.

"But sissy! He has the money to make our dreams come true."

"No! We are not using him for your perverted interests, Kuroko."

I then walked away from Mikoto and Shirai, towards Uiharu and Saten, knowing that this is going to get resolved quickly.

"Love hotel, huh." Saten said, looking at me. "Why those two? Why not Kamijou and Misaka?"

"That's because that is a boring ship!" I said, angrily. "You get a boring male protagonist and everyone ships them with a tsundere."

"Haven't you forgotten about the Kamijou Faction? That Misaka is also a part of." Uiharu said.

"I haven't. But how do you know about it, Uiharu?"

"I have my sources."

"What sources?"

"Melody Pond." Uiharu said, smiling.

"River Song was here?" I asked, walking up to Uiharu to study her face closely. "When?"

"It was a couple of months ago." Saten said, sadly. "She was worried after finding out about 'The Great Game'."

"Who told her?"

"Team RWBY."

"Of course it has my other quartet. Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long."

Mikoto and Shirai then called me over since I got a phone call from Buckingham Palace.

"Someone from Buckingham Palace is calling you." Shirai said, her phone in her hand.

"Do I have to?" I asked, sitting down on the couch. "Why can't I stay here?"

"Because you need to do this case." Mikoto said, looking down at her Gekota phone. "You got something for me?"

"Yeah." I said, taking out a pink Gekota finger puppet from my pocket. "Here you go."

"How long?"

"Took me in between the cases with Sherlock to get that one."

Mikoto walked up to me and snatched the finger puppet from my hand quickly, "After I had to give the old one I had to Febrie..."

"I know." I said, smiling. "I care about all my friends, you know."

"Thank you. Now the collection's complete again."

"You're still into that, aren't you, sissy?" Shirai asked, looking at what Mikoto was holding.

"Gekota is cute." I said, happily.

"It is." Mikoto said, giving me a hug. "Why did you waste your time to get me another one?"

"It is because I know how much Gekota means to you. Touma might not know why you like it so much, but I do."

"You were into Pokemon." Shirai said, frowning. "That is also a kids show."

"It is not!"

"It is. That is something you and sissy have in common. Being into childish things."

"Anyway, I have to go now." I said, looking at Mikoto, Shirai, Uiharu, and Saten. "Thank you for this."

"It was our pleasure."

"Don't worry about us!" Uiharu said, excitedly.

"We'll be fine." Saten said.

"I promise I'll look after myself and them." Mikoto said.

"What will you all be doing in the meantime?" I asked, looking at this group of friends.

"Do what we normally do." Shirai said.

"You've seen our adventures on TV." Mikoto said. "Good luck."

"I will." I said, typing in the coordinates for Buckingham Palace into my vortex manipulator before disappearing in a flash of light. "See you later."

BUCKINGHAM PALACE...

Not long afterwards, John has been shown into an enormous ornate hall with massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He looks around for a moment, then follows his escort who gestures him to a nearby room before walking away. John stops in the doorway. On a small round table in the middle of the room is the pile of clothes and shoes which had been put down in front of Sherlock earlier. There is a sofa either side of the table and sitting on the left-hand one is Sherlock, still wrapped in his sheet. He calmly looks across to John. John holds out his hands in a 'What the hell?!' gesture. Sherlock shrugs disinterestedly and looks away again. Nodding in a resigned way, John walks slowly into the room, then sits down on the sofa beside his friend. He gazes in front of himself for a moment, chewing back a giggle, looks around the room again and then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet and particularly the section wrapped around his backside. He turns his head away again.

"Are you wearing any pants?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.

"No." Sherlock said.

"Okay." John said, sighing quietly.

A moment later Sherlock turns and looks at him just as John also turns to look.

"Hey, looks like Sherlock isn't wearing any underwear." I said, when I appeared in the room with a flash of blue light as I looked at both Sherlock and John before jumping onto the sofa. "I know because I do."

"I'm not." Sherlock said, looking at me.

Our eyes met and Sherlock, John, and I promptly burst out laughing.

"At Buckingham Palace, fine." John said, gesturing around the building and he tries to get himself under control. "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray." Sherlock and I chuckle again. "What are we doing here, Sherlock, Jared? Seriously, what?"

"I don't know." Sherlock said, still smiling.

"Here to see the Queen?" John asked.

At that moment Mycroft walks in from the next room.

"Oh, apparently yes." Sherlock said.

"The Doctor and I have had tea parties with Queen Elizabeth the Second. Oh look, she had a complete change in your brother." I said, as John cracked up again and Sherlock promptly joined in with me.

"Weren't you knighted and exiled by Queen Victoria on the same day with the Doctor and Rose Tyler?"

"I was. And the Royal Family since Queen Victoria are werewolves. Hence why they studied magic and were a part of World War Theee. Queen Victoria was bitten by an alien werewolf!"

The three of us continue to giggle as Mycroft looks at us in exasperation.

"Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft asked.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, Jared gives me title ideas for my blogs and hints for Sherlock to use in said crimes, and Sherlock forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John said.

Sherlock looks up at his brother as he walks into the room, all humour gone from his face, "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?" Mycroft asked.

"Transparent." Sherlock said, and John looks startled.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft said, bending down and picks up the clothes and shoes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock who gazes at them uninterestedly, making him sigh. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. A while ago, there was the English Civil War where Buckingham Palace got damaged." He then looks at Sherlock sternly. "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

"What for?" Sherlock asked, shrugging.

"Your client."

"And my client is?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Illustrious ..." Equerry said, while Sherlock turns to look at the man who has just walked into the room. "... in the extreme." John  and I stands up respectfully. "And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous." He looks across to Mycroft. "Mycroft!"

"Harry." Mycroft said, smiling and he walks over and shakes the equerry's hand. "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine." Equerry said, as Sherlock scowls. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes." John said, shaking hands with Equerry.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Equerry said.

"Your employer?" John asked, looking startled.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch."

"Thank you!" John said, looking round at Sherlock, clearing his throat smugly.

"And you must be Jared Shay, scientific advisor for the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, an occasional member of Torchwood Three, and a companion to a man known as the Doctor." Equerry said, as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Hi." I said, shaking Equerry's hand.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your adventures."

"Really?"

"Since your current amount consists of Sherlock Holmes, it also involves the aluminium crutch." Equerry said, walking closer to Sherlock. "And Mr Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat, a fanboy, and a short friend." Sherlock said, walking abruptly past John and I, forcing us to step back, and approaches 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 to the equerry. "Good morning."

Sherlock starts to walk out of the room but Mycroft steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him.

Sherlock's impetus carries him forward while pulling the sheet off his body. He stops and grabs at it before he's completely naked and tries to tug it back around himself, looking furious.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up." Mycroft said, with his back still turned to his brother, Sherlock speaks through gritted teeth.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock said, angrily.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

"Boys, please. Not here." John said, looking between Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Seriously. Not in Buckingham Palace." I said, crossing my arms. "I don't want to make Queen Elizabeth the Second furious at seeing Sherlock Holmes naked."

"Fair point." Sherlock said, almost incandescent with rage. "Who. Is. My. Client?"

"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 said, breaking off and glances at the equerry briefly, trying to get his anger under control before he turns back to his brother again with an exasperated tone. "... put your clothes on!"

Sherlock closes his eyes furiously, then pulls in a sharp breath.

Some time later, Sherlock has dressed and is sitting on the sofa beside John and I. Mycroft and the equerry sit on the opposite sofa. Mycroft is pouring tea from a teapot. Following the old-fashioned superstition that only one person in the household – usually the mother of the family – should pour the tea, and so any person pouring tea is 'being mother,' he looks at the equerry and smiles.

"I'll be mother." Mycroft said.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock said, pointedly.

Mycroft glowers at Sherlock, then puts down the teapot.

The equerry looks at Sherlock, "My employer has a problem."

"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." Mycroft said.

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

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?" The equerry asked.

"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust." Mycroft said.

"You don't trust your own Secret Service?" John asked.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." Mycroft said, as John bites back a smile.

"I do think we have a timetable." The equerry said.

"Yes, of course. Um ..." Mycroft said, opening his briefcase, takes out a glossy photograph and hands it to Sherlock who looks at the picture of Irene Adler. "What do you know about this woman?"

"Nothing whatsoever." Sherlock said.

"Then you should be paying more attention." Mycroft said, and I closed my eyes to imagine the palace and footage of Irene who is being driven through London. Her phone trills a text alert and she looks at the message which reads 'I'm sending you a treat'. "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Well, she's Irene Adler." I said, opening my eyes to look at Sherlock. "She's professionally known as The Woman. I've been waiting for this case for a while."

Arriving at an elegant house in London, Irene's female chauffeur opens the car door for her and then precedes her into the house. Irene's phone shows that it is downloading an image as she walks indoors.

"Professionally?" John asked, looking at me.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix.'" Mycroft said.

"Dominatrix." Sherlock said, thoughtfully.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex." Mycroft said.

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"How would you know?" Mycroft asked, smiling snidely at Sherlock who raises his head and stares at his brother. "She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." He takes more photographs from his briefcase and hands them to Sherlock. "These are all from her website."

Sherlock takes the photographs and leafs through them. They are professional-looking publicity shots for her 'services' and show Irene at her glamorous and sexy best. At the same time, walking up the stairs at her house, Irene looks down at her phone and flicks through shots which someone has taken of Sherlock wrapped in his sheet as he left 221B and got into Plummer's car.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." Sherlock said.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes." The equerry said.

"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 angrily at him, Sherlock puts the photographs down on the table.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked, looking at me.

"Well, Irene Adler's friend is young." I said, and John drinks from his teacup. "Young and female. Which is good for you, John."

John's eyes widen.

Sherlock smirks, "How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently." Mycroft said.

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

Without looking round at him, Sherlock realises that John is staring blankly at Mycroft with his teacup still half raised.

"John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now." Sherlock said.

John quickly does as advised.

"Can you help us, Mr Holmes?" The equerry asked.

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Will you take the case?"

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

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft said, while 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."

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, finally interested for the first time.

"Sherlock ..." John said, annoyed.

"I can't believe you sometimes, Sherlock." I said, rolling my eyes.

"Hmm." Sherlock said, turning around and reaches for his coat again. "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently. She's staying ..." Mycroft said, as his brother isn't waiting for him to finish when Sherlock picks up his coat, stands and starts to walk away.

"Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day." Sherlock said.

The other three men and I got to our feet.

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" The equerry asked.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs." Sherlock said, turning back to the equerry.

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

Sherlock looks at him sharply, apparently indignant that he should doubt him. We see a stream of deductions as Sherlock glances down his body.

Dog Lover

Public School

Horse Rider

Early Riser

Left Side Of Bed

Sherlock's eyes begin to rise up the man's body again as his deductions continue.

Non-Smoker

Father Half Welsh

Keen Reader

Tea Drinker

Sherlock looks across to Mycroft, "I'll need some equipment, of course."

"Anything you require. I'll have it sent to ..." Mycroft said.

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock asked, interrupting Mycroft and looking at the equerry as he speaks.

"I'm sorry?" The equerry asked.

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do." Sherlock said, holding out his hand expectantly.

"I don't smoke."

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does." Sherlock said.

After a pause during which John frowns in puzzlement, the equerry reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter which he hands to Sherlock.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes." The equerry said.

"I'm not the Commonwealth." Sherlock said, taking the lighter and putting it into his trouser pocket, he turns away.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you." John said, looking at the equerry.

"It really was. Can't wait to meet Irene Adler!" I said, and John and I follows after Sherlock as he strolls out of the room. "Took us long enough!"

"Laters!" Sherlock said, in an Estuary English accent, not sounding the 't' in the word.

John and I throw apologetic glances over our shoulders as we leave.

Taxi...

Sherlock, John, and I are in a taxi on our way to 221B Baker Street.

"Okay, the smoking. How did you know?" John asked.

Sherlock smiles briefly, then shakes his head, "The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe."

"Observe what?" John asked.

Sherlock reaches into his coat, "The ashtray."

"I have got several of these now from Buckingham Palace." I said, and Sherlock pulls out a glass ashtray. "They're pretty easy to steal."

"Really?" John asked.

"Yeah." I said, while John and I laugh with delight as Sherlock tosses the ashtray into the air, catches it and tucks it back into his coat, chuckling. "That would make ashtray number six now."

"If we had the chance. Do you want to make it seven?" Sherlock asked, looking at me.

The three of us are unaware that someone – presumably in a car driving alongside ours – is photographing us.

"Sure." I said, happily.

(Open POV)

Irene's house...

Some time later, the photos have been sent to Irene's phone. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looks through them, smiling, then calls out.

"Kate!" Irene said, as Kate, the woman who drove her earlier, comes into the room. "We're going to have a visitor. I'll need a bit of time to get ready."

She walks over to her dressing table while Kate bends down to pick up a discarded stocking from the floor.

"A long time?" Kate asked.

"Ages!" Irene said.

Later, wearing a see-through negligee over her knickers and stockings, Irene opens the doors to her enormous walk-in wardrobe and walks inside, running her fingers along her outfits as she decides what to wear.

221B Baker Street...

John is sitting at the table in the kitchen, Jared is playing on his Nintendo Switch with his AirPods Pro connected to the game console, and Sherlock hurls clothes around his bedroom. With the door open, the noise Sherlock is making is distracting and finally John looks up from what he's reading.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Going into battle, John. I need the right armour." Sherlock said, walking into view, wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket. "No."

"This is going to take a while." Jared said, and Sherlock rips off his jacket again.

Irene's house...

Irene is looking at herself in a full-length mirror, turning side-on to look at the glittery dark purple cocktail dress she's wearing, "Nah."

"Works for me." Kate said, leaning against the door jamb.

"Everything works on you." Irene said.

TAXI...

Sherlock, John, and Jared are on the move. Sherlock is wearing his usual coat and scarf.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked.

"Well, we know her address." Jared said, playing Super Mario RPG on his Nintendo Switch. "Man, this game looks beautiful on the Switch."

"What, just ring her doorbell?" John asked.

"Exactly." Sherlock said, calling out to the cab driver. "Just here, please."

"You didn't even change your clothes." John said.

"Then it's time to add a splash of colour."

Irene's house...

Irene is doing the same thing as Kate carefully applies make-up to her eyes.

London...

Nearby, the boys have got out of the taxi and Sherlock leads John and Jared down a narrow street, pulling his scarf off as he goes. Eventually he stops and turns around to face John and Jared.

"Are we here?" John asked.

"Two streets away, but this'll do." Sherlock said.

"For what?"

"Punch me in the face." Sherlock said, gesturing to his own left cheek.

Irene's house...

Kate runs her thumb over Irene's mouth, wondering what colour lipstick to apply, "Shade?"

Irene smiles, "Blood."

London...

"Punch you?" John asked.

"Yes. Punch me, in the face." Sherlock said, gesturing to his left cheek again. "Didn't you hear me?"

"We always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually sub-text." John said.

"Oh, for God's sakes." Sherlock said, exasperated by punching John in the face.

"And here we go..." Jared said, standing back as John grunts in pain and reels from the blow, Sherlock shakes out his hand and then blows out a breath, bracing himself. "John, just do it."

"Alright." John said, straightening up and immediately punches Sherlock. "If that is what Sherlock wants." However, despite John's anger – and his left-handedness – he does so right-handed and therefore strikes him on the left cheek just as Sherlock had indicated. "Ow!"

Turning away as Sherlock picks himself up, he flexes his hand painfully and examines his knuckles. Sherlock finally straightens up, holding his fingers to the cut on his cheek.

"Thank you. That was – that was ..." Sherlock said, still fighting right-handed with John punches him in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.

Irene's house...

Slowly Kate paints blood-red lipstick onto Irene's mouth.

London...

Sherlock is doubled over with John on his back half–strangling him. John's face is contorted with pent-up anger and frustration, and Sherlock is struggling to pull his hands off him. Jared is laughing out quietly, knowing that he has to show this to Mycroft later.

"Okay! I think we're done now, John." Sherlock said, half-choking.

"You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier. I killed people." John said, savagely.

"You were a doctor!"

"I had bad days!"

(Jared's POV)

Irene's house...

Kate finishes painting Irene's lips, "What are you gonna wear?"

"My battle dress." Irene said.

"Ooh! Lucky boy!" Kate said, while the intercom buzzes downstairs.

Kate goes downstairs and activates it, looking at the camera footage from the front door as she spoke into the intercom, "Hello?"

Sherlock stares into the camera wide-eyed and flustered.

Sherlock talks in an anxious, tearful, posh voice and keeps looking around behind him as he speaks, "Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they ... they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me?"

Kate has been holding back her laughter while listening to him, "I can phone the police if you want."

"Thank you, thank you! Could you, please?" Sherlock asked, tearfully, before taking a step back and the camera now shows that his shirt is buttoned right up to the top and there is a piece of white plastic under the collar which makes him look like he is wearing the 'dog collar' of a vicar. "Oh, would you ... would you mind if I just waited here with my friends, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much."

Holding a handkerchief to his cheek, he starts to grizzle pathetically. Grinning, Kate buzzes Sherlock in. Sherlock comes in, followed by John and I.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, still in character before he briefly looks around the large entrance hall. "Er, ooh!"

"I – I saw it all happen. It's okay, I'm a doctor." John said, closing the door as Kate nods. "Now, have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen." Kate said, gesturing for Sherlock and I to go into the front room. "Please."

"Oh! Thank you!" Sherlock said.

"Thank you." John said, following Kate towards the kitchen.

Very shortly afterwards, Sherlock has taken off his coat, and he and I are sitting on a sofa in the elegant sitting room and looking around.

"Oh." I said, as Sherlock and I are hearing footsteps approaching, the consulting detective sits up a little and holds his handkerchief to his cheek. "She's coming."

"Hello. Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. At least you're with one of your friends. I don't think Kate caught your name. " Irene said, nearby.

"I'm so sorry. I'm ..." Sherlock said, in his posh tremulous voice before turning and looks at Irene as she walks into view and stops at the doorway. "You'd never told me she'd be naked."

"Right, I, um, forgot to tell you that." I said, and Sherlock's voice fails him when he realises that, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, she is stark naked and the consulting detective's jaw drops a little. "Sorry."

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Irene asked, walking into the room and stands directly in front of him and I, straddling Sherlock's legs and half-kneeling on the sofa, then reaches forward and pulls the white dog collar from his shirt collar. "There now – we're both defrocked ..." She smiles down at Sherlock. "... Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I presume." Sherlock said, in his normal voice.

"Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?" Irene asked, gazing down at Sherlock's face while narrowing her eyes, she lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down onto the edge of it.

"Jared, tell Sherlock, I got it." John said, as Sherlock stares up at Irene in confusion, the blonde walks into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. His eyes are lowered to the bowl to avoid spilling its contents. "Right, this should do it. Jared..." He stops dead in the doorway as he lifts his eyes and sees the scene in front of him. "What's going on?"

"It's a long story." I said, and Irene looked round to John, the dog collar still in her teeth with the army doctor looking at her awkwardly, then down at the bowl before looking up again. "I don't know how to respond to this."

"Did you ask Shirai Kuroko for help?" John asked, while Irene took the collar from her teeth. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"Please, sit down." Irene said, stepping back from Sherlock, who fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa as she walks away. "Oh, if you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

"I had some at the Palace." Sherlock said.

"I know." Irene said, sitting down in a nearby armchair and crosses her legs, folding her arms gracefully to obscure the view of her chest.

"Clearly." Sherlock said.

"So you knew I had to beat up Sherlock." John said, looking at me. "And that this woman would be naked."

Sherlock and Irene stare silently at each other for several seconds, weighing each other up.

"Yup." I said, and John looks at Sherlock and Irene awkwardly. "Sorry."

"I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested." John said.

"Early Grey or English Breakfast?" I asked, while Sherlock's eyes are still fixed on Irene while he attempts to make as many deductions about her as he can.

"Earl Grey."

Sherlock's final analysis is as follows:

???????

Bewildered, he turns and looks at John and starts to analyse him:

Looking at his neckline: Two Day Shirt

Looking at his lower face: Electric not blade

Looking at the bottom of his jeans and his shoes: Date tonight

John frowns as Sherlock continues to gaze at him.

Looking at John's right eyebrow: Hasn't phoned sister

Looking at John's lower lip: New toothbrush

Looking just underneath his eyes: Night out with Stamford

Relieved that he hasn't had a brain embolism, he slowly turns his head and looks at Irene again. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he applies all his deductive reasoning as she smiles confidently back at him, and he quickly comes to the following conclusion:

???????

Sherlock frowns.

"D'you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?" Irene asked, as Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at her. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself." Irene said, and Sherlock starts unbuttoning the top two buttons after being fed up with the tightness of his shirt with the dominatrix leaning forward. "Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."

Irene glances across to John momentarily. John forces a laugh.

"Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all." John said, looking down at what he's holding. "A napkin."

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" Irene asked.

"I don't think John knows where to look." Sherlock said, standing up and clicking the 'k' on the last word.

"Can you put on his coat?" I asked, picking up Sherlock's coat and shaking it out before giving it to Sherlock who is now holding it out for Irene. "You're making John rather uncomfortable."

"I know, Jared." Irene said, ignoring Sherlock for the moment, she stands up and walks closer to John, who rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact with her and not to let his eyes wander lower. "No, I think John knows exactly where." She turns to Sherlock who is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted before taking the coat from him. "I'm not sure about you."

"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop." Sherlock said.

"You do borrow my laptop." John said.

"I confiscate it." Sherlock said, walking over to the fireplace opposite the sofa.

"Or we can see Shirai Kuroko be perverted around Mikoto Misaka." I said, while Irene is putting on the coat and wrapping it around her. "She does try to be naked around her while the two are in private."

"Well, never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know." Irene said, walking over to the sofa and sits down. "How was it done?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?" Irene asked, taking off her shoes.

"Spoilers." I said, as the boys look confused except me. "I know the answer to that. But I'm not spoiling it."

"I know, I know. But that's not why I'm here." Sherlock said, looking at me.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's never gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway ..." Irene said.

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asked.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes." Irene said.

"Oh." John said, sitting down next to Irene. "And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

"Positionofthecar ..." Sherlock said, incoherently, making John, Irene, and I stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together before he started to pace slowly. "Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't murdered." I said, looking at Irene.

"You don't think it was murder?"

"I know it wasn't murder."

"How?"

"I have foreknowledge of all of Sherlock's cases. Past and future. Plus I read all of John's blog entries." I said, happily.

"I know it wasn't murder either." Sherlock said. "But in the same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?" Irene asked.

"So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in." Sherlock said, while him and John exchange a significant look, then the blonde gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

"So, you are going to teleport away then." Sherlock said, while I am typing in coordinates into my vortex manipulator. "Where to?"

"Baker Street." I said, as John looks around in the hallway, then picks up a magazine from a nearby table and rolls it up. "I don't want to disturb this event with Irene."

"Of course you don't." Sherlock said, and Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door. "I'll see you later."

I teleported away in a blue flash of light, hoping I would appear when and where I need to be with help from the TARDIS.

221B Baker Street...

I reappeared inside the kitchen and I know that Sherlock is nearby jerking back into consciousness and finds himself alone and in bed in his own bedroom, fully clothed and covered with a sheet.

Sherlock lifts his head.

"John?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head, trying to clear it before speaking louder. "John!"

In the living room, John looks round. Sherlock throws back the sheet and kneels up on the bed, then promptly loses his balance, falls forward and rolls over the foot of the bed and onto the floor. John opens the bedroom door and comes in as Sherlock sits up with me behind the army doctor.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" I asked, looking down at Sherlock.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone." John said.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, getting to his feet.

"Where's who?" John asked.

"The woman. That woman."

"What woman?"

"The woman. The woman woman!" Sherlock said, stumbling aimlessly around the room.

"Irene Adler? She got away from her home. No one saw her leave." I said, while Sherlock stumbles over to the open window and looks through it.

"He's right. She wasn't here, Sherlock." John said, as Sherlock turns around to either fall down again or deliberately drops to the floor – it's not clear which.

"She really wasn't." I said, and while Sherlock's down there he drags himself across the floor and peers under the bed as if looking to see whether Irene is hiding under there, then he squints around as if checking that she's not hidden under or behind the wardrobe. "John! He's checking the wardrobe!"

"Jared, what are you ...? What ...? No, no, no, no." John said, hauling Sherlock up and dropping him face-down onto the bed. "Back to bed." He covers Sherlock over with the sheet. "You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock said, blurrily.

"Yes, you're great. Now we'll be next door if you need us." John said.

"Why would I need the both of you?" Sherlock asked, fuzzily.

"No reason at all." John said, walking out of the room with me and shutting the door behind us.

"Just call us." I said, while Sherlock's coat is hanging on the back of the door. "We'll be here."

A few moments later his pocket lights up as his phone activates and an orgasmic female sigh comes from the speaker. Sherlock opens his eyes and sits up, looking blearily across to his coat. Frowning at it as if realising that it can only have been returned by Irene, he gets out of bed and wobbles across the floor towards it, losing his balance a couple of times en route but managing to stay on his feet. Finally he gets to the door and takes the phone out of his pocket. Bracing himself against the wall he activates the phone. A new text message reads:

Till the next time, Mr. Holmes

Sherlock peers at it for a long moment and then looks around suspiciously, totally oblivious to the fact that the most suspicious thing in the room is the red kiss-shaped lipstick mark just to the left of his mouth.

NEXT MORNING...

Sherlock – now fully recovered – John, and I are sitting at the table in the living room. John is eating breakfast, I am watching Millie Parfait on the YouTube app on my iPhone 12 Mini, and Sherlock is reading a newspaper. Mycroft stands nearby.

"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock said.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." Mycroft said.

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."

"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock said, as John and I smirked. "You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'Get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." John said, smiling sarcastically at Mycroft, who returns the smile humourlessly.

"The noise is the same." I said, and the sound of an orgasmic female sigh fills the room. "Thank goodness."

"Thank goodness...for what?" John asked, while he and Mycroft frown. "What was that?"

"Text." Sherlock said, trying to look nonchalant.

"But what was that noise?" John asked, as Sherlock gets up and goes over to pick up his phone from nearby.

Sherlock looks at the message which reads:

Good morning, Mr. Holmes

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John, Jared, and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess." Sherlock said, and he goes back to the table and sits down again as John looks round at Mycroft.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John said, before he looked at me. "Is that why you time traveled to Baker Street?"

"That was part of the reason. The other is that I knew you three could handle it." I said, while Mrs Hudson brings in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and puts it down in front of Sherlock.

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes." Mrs Hudson said, sternly.

"Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson." Mycroft said.

"MYCROFT!" Sherlock said, furiously.

"OI!" John said, simultaneously and equally furiously.

"For fuck's sake, Mycroft! Don't you dare say that to Mrs Hudson!" I said, simultaneously as Sherlock and John and equally furiously as them. "Apologize now!"

Mycroft looks at the four angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looks contritely at Mrs Hudson, "Apologies."

"Thank you." Mrs Hudson said.

"Though do, in fact, shut up." Sherlock said, as his phone sighs orgasmically again.

Mrs Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turns around, "Ooh. It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?"

Sherlock looks at the latest message which reads:

Feeling better?

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see." Sherlock said.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft said.

"You don't need to. You can follow Irene Adler on Twitter. Her user name is 'TheWhipHand' and I've been messaging her on there." I said, laughing a lot. "Irene and I have been talking about Sherlock."

"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft said, and his phone rings and he takes it from his pocket. "'Scuse me." He walks out into the hall to be able to talk to the phone. "Hello."

Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously.

John looks at Sherlock, "Why does your phone make that noise?"

"What noise?" Sherlock asked.

"That noise – the one it just made." John said.

"It's a text alert. It means I've got a text."

"Hmm. Your texts don't usually make that noise."

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise."

"Hmm. So every time they text you ..." John said.

"Every time they text Sherlock, it's possibly being Irene Adler..." I said, while right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again. "They would want Sherlock's phone to make that noise so he knows it's her."

"It would seem so." Sherlock said.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it's ..." Mrs Hudson said.

The latest text message reads:

I'm fine since you didn't ask

Sherlock puts down the phone again and goes back to reading the paper which is showing the headline 'Refit for Historical Hospital.'

"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it's obscuring his face, "I'll leave you to your deductions."

John smiles, "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.

"Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." Mycroft said, hanging up.

Sherlock looks at Mycroft.

"What else does she have?" Sherlock asked, as Mycroft looks at him enquiringly. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." He stands up and faces his brother. "Much more." Mycroft looks at him stony-faced as the consulting detective walks closer to him. "Something big's coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this." Mycroft said.

"Oh, will I?" Sherlock asked, locking eyes with Mycroft.

"Yes, Sherlock, you will." Mycroft said, and Sherlock shrugs and turns away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love." Sherlock said, picking up his violin to begin to play the British National Anthem, 'God Save The Queen.'

"Jared, did you see this coming?" John asked, while Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns and leaves the room with Sherlock following along behind him while the army doctor and I grin.

"Yeah. I did." I said, laughing as Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing. "Enjoy Mycroft!"