(Alice’s POV; MORNING; 221B: )

 Sherlock was standing at the window in the living room and playing a sad lament on his violin. I sat in his chair with my knees up to my chin and a cup of tea in my hands. John walked into the room and sighed as he saw him. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the table and picked up the plates, looking at John pointedly as they both realized that Sherlock or I hadn’t touched our breakfasts. I knew why he wasn’t, and I found myself doing the same. Not because I missed Irene; because I wanted to support him. I know that sounds corny but it was true.

John hummed resignedly as he took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. Sherlock stopped playing and picked up a pencil to make a notation on his music.

 “Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.”Mrs. Hudson complimented.

 “You composing?” John asked.

 “Helps me to think.” Sherlock said simply. He turned back to the window, lifted the violin and began to play the same tune again.

 “What are you thinking about?” John asked. Sherlock suddenly spun around and put the violin down. He pointed at John’s laptop.

 “The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.” Sherlock said rapidly.

 “Yeah, it’s faulty. Can’t seem to fix it.” John shrugged.

 “Faulty – or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.” Sherlock suggested, pulling out Irene’s mobile. He pulled up the security lock with its “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen.

 “Hmm?” John asked.  Sherlock typed, ’1895’ into the phone. The phone beeped warningly and a message came up reading: ‘WRONG PASSCODE. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING’. The enthusiasm in Sherlock’s eyes died again.

 “Just faulty.” Sherlock confirmed. I sighed as he turned away and picked up his violin again. I put my hand backwards over my mouth.

 “Right.” John confirmed, nodding slightly. Sherlock began to play the sad tune once more. “Right. Well, I’m going out for a bit.” John added. I stood up, wanting to go with him. Sherlock turned around and looked at me pleadingly. I sighed and sat back down, closing my eyes; he had had me up since early that morning, just wanting my presence. John turned and walked to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was tidying up.

 “Listen: Has he ever had any kind of...” He started quietly, sighing. “...girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?” He asked Mrs. Hudson.

 “I don’t know.” Mrs. Hudson admitted.

 “How can we not know?” John asked, sighing in frustration.

 “He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?” Mrs. Hudson reasoned. I smiled at that. John did the same, but much more sad.

 “Right. See ya.” He finished. He trotted off down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock playing his violin at the window, and then left the room. I sighed again and  took a sip of my tea.

 “You’re worrying him, you know. He’s never seen you like this.” I said quietly. He stopped playing and turned his head to me the smallest bit.

 “Why would he worry?” Sherlock asked dryly.

 “Because you’re Sherlock. You don’t show emotions. You don’t... mourn. That’s what he thinks you’re doing; mourning.” I replied. He turned his head back and continued to play.

 (Third person POV: )

 Downstairs, John went out of the front door and pulled it closed. As he turned to go to the left, a woman was standing just to the right of the flat. She called out to him.

 “John?” She asked.

 “Yeah.” John confirmed, sounding uneasy. He stopped and turned around to her as she looked at him flirtatiously. “Hello.” He said. It took him a moment but then he realized that she was very pretty and her body language appeared to be saying some seductive things. “Hello!” He repeated.

 “So, any plans for New Year tonight?” the woman asked, walking closer. John laughed as his eyes continually roamed over her body.

 “Er, nothing fixed. Nothing I couldn’t heartlessly abandon. You have any ideas?” John replied, as flirtatious as the woman was being. The woman looked over her shoulder towards the road.

 “One.” She answered.  John followed her gaze and sighed in exasperation as a black car pulled up and stopped beside them.

 “You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.” John complained. They got into the car and it pulled away... and took them to the biggest power complex in the neighbourhood – the empty shell of Battersea Power Station. Pulling up inside the building, John and the woman got out and she lead him through the abandoned structure.  “Couldn’t we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.” John asked. Still walking, the woman typed onto her phone, then stopped and gestured ahead of herself.

 “Through there.” She instructed. John gave her a dirty look, and then walked on. The woman turned and headed back the way she came, lifting her phone to her ear. “He’s on his way. You were right – he thinks its Mycroft.” She added after John had left. John reached a large room and started talking straightaway even though he couldn’t yet see anybody.

 “He’s writing sad music; doesn’t eat; barely talks – only to correct the television.” John told, walking further into the room and finally a figure began to step out of the shadows at the other end. “I’d say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he’s Sherlock. He does all that anyw...” He trailed off as Irene Adler walked into view.

 “Hello, Doctor Watson.” She greeted politely. She stopped some distance away from him and he simply stared at her for several seconds before he finally found some words.

 “Tell him you’re alive.” John commanded, speaking quietly, but with a note of pleading in his voice.

 “He’d come after me.” Irene answered, shaking her head.

 “I’ll come after you if you don’t.” John warned.

 “Mmm, I believe you.” She said truthfully.

 “You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you.” John changed the subject, speaking louder.

 “DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep.” Irene hinted.

 “And I bet you know the record-keeper.” John said dryly.

 “I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear.” Irene confirmed.

 “Then how come I can see you, and I don’t even want to?” John asked.

 “Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.” Irene said, close to pleading.

 “No.” John said sternly.

 “It’s for his own safety.” Irene bargained.

 “So’s this: tell him you’re alive.” John repeated.

 “I can’t.” Irene argued.

 “Fine. I’ll tell him, and I still won’t help you.” John spat, fighting back his anger. He turned and started to walk away.

 “What do I say?” Irene asked.

 “What do you normally say? You’ve texted him a lot.” John said furiously, turning back to her. Irene took her phone out and held it up as John stopped and glared at her.

 “Just the usual stuff.” She said calmly.

 “There is no ‘usual’ in this case.” John argued, still angry. Irene looked down at her phone and started to read back messages she had sent to Sherlock.

 “’Good morning’; ‘I like your funny hat’; ‘I’m sad tonight. Let’s have dinner’...” John looked round at her, startled. “‘You looked sexy on ‘Crimewatch’. Let’s have dinner’; ‘I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner’... those don’t include the ones to Miss White.” She listed. John stared at her in disbelief.

 “You... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!” He cried, bewildered. He shook his head. "And Alice...?" He sighed. 

 “At them. They never reply.” Irene corrected, not looking away from her mobile.

 “And Alice... g*d... No, Sherlock always replies – to everything. He’s Mr. Punch line. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.” John argued. “And why didn’t Alice tell me!?”

 “She hardly tells you anything, Doctor Watson. You don’t know her. And Sherlock not replying... Does that make me special?” Irene answered.

 “...I don’t know. Maybe.” John said shakily, ignoring the comment about his female friend.

 “Are you jealous?” Irene asked smugly.

 “We’re not a couple.” John shot back.

 “Yes you are. There...” Irene argued. She held up her phone to show John the screen, although he was too far away to read it. She told him what she had typed anyway. “’I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.’” She read. She pressed the send button. John turned away momentarily and then turned back to her.

 “Who ...who the h*ll knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.” John said quietly, hoping that Alice didn’t think he was.

 “Well, I am. Look at us both.” Irene joked. John laughed ruefully. Just then a female sigh could be heard a short distance away. In the corridor outside the room, unseen by either of them, Sherlock switched his phone off and rapidly walked away. John started to walk in the direction of the sound but Irene held out her hand to stop him. She looked at him pointedly. “I don’t think so, do you?” She asked.

 I like this part =) Oh, and for the record, Alice does NOT see them as a couple. ;) Enjoy, vote and comment fun peoples! Thank you! =D