First of all, I'm sorry about the delay, I wanted to finish this before I went on holiday, but only found time to write the first part of it. Sorry.

Secondly, this is the last chapter. :S

Thirdly, I'm really worried about this chapter.

And lastly, someone (an anon reviewer) asked why Irene simply didn't pick the lock to Holmes' room in the last chapter. The answer is that she's trying to gain his trust and picking the lock to his room wouldn't be the best way to do it. :)

Also thanks to those who have been reviewing this since I started it. You know who you are. x

Holmes stared at Watson for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "I…it's…Obviously it's because of my mother's jewels," he stammered finally.

"Really," Watson replied with a roll of his eyes. "Because a minute ago, it sounded like it was because she kissed you."

"It isn't."

"Don't lie old boy, I know you better than anyone and I've known Miss Adler as long as you have, been around every time she's outsmarted you or been involved in one of our cases. I know how you feel about her Holmes."

Watson's eyes bored into Holmes with this announcement and the detective felt himself begin to panic. He hated confronting his feelings about anything. Emotion was merely a distraction from his work; he didn't need such a distraction. Watson was attempting to make him confront the way he felt about Irene when he had been trying to ignore it for so long. He didn't like it.

Time to change the subject.

"I thought you said that I didn't feel anything 'akin to love' for her when you wrote about the case with her photograph?" Holmes automatically cursed himself in his head. That was not changing the bloody subject.

"I did, I lied. I thought it best to keep the fact that you had fallen head-over-heels for her a secret. Just in case someone tried to use it against you…or hurt her to get to you…" said Watson, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

"I have not fallen head-over-heels for her," Holmes growled.

Watson replied with a gesture in the direction of Holmes' desk and a single word, "Photograph."

"Not relevant," said Holmes dismissively, "I keep that photograph as a memento, to remind myself of Miss Adler's masterful intelligence."

"Of course!" Watson replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Because a photograph conveys a person's intelligence! How silly of me to forget!"


"Yes, just by looking at it right now I can clearly see how intelligent Irene is."


"And it's got nothing to do with the fact that you are very attracted to her and very in love with her."

"I am n-" Holmes didn't finish his sentence though, it was as if he couldn't deny the fact that he was in love with Irene out loud. So he scowled instead.

"You can't say that you're not can you?" Watson asked with a laugh. Holmes glared at him.

"You need to go see her," said Watson.

"I bloody don't."

"She's coming tomorrow anyway," Watson pointed out, "And you need to talk to her."

"I'm going to Scotland tomorrow," snapped Holmes.

"Don't lie, you hate Scotland, you say it's too bloody cold up there."

"So it is Watson, which means she's less likely to follow me up there."

The doctor sighed and stood up out of his seat suddenly. "If you're going to be difficult Holmes, I'm going to leave."

And with that Watson was gone, leaving Holmes alone with his thoughts.

Irene Adler had not been lying when she had told Watson that she had a headache. She often found that she got headaches when Holmes was being difficult and refusing to discuss things of a personal matter with her, mostly because it frustrated her to no end.

On returning to her room at The Grand, Irene ordered some food, (she hadn't been lying when she'd said she was hungry either) and took some painkillers before lying on her bed with a wet towel across her forehead. Her thoughts were plagued with Holmes and exactly what she was going to say to him tomorrow.

After she had eaten, she tried to distract herself by reading a book, but found she couldn't concentrate on it. She finally gave up when she realised that she had actually forgotten what she was reading, (it was some obscure gothic horror novel), and decided to try and sleep instead.

She had just finished dressing for bed when she heard a familiar scratching and scraping noise along the metal of the locking mechanism of the room's door. Irene rolled her eyes as she walked to the door and opened it, revealing Sherlock Holmes trying and failing to pick the lock to the room.

"Why don't you just knock? You know, I think I might send you hair pins for Christmas, you seem to have more success with those than you do that lock pick," Irene said sharply.

Holmes stood up with an awkward cough, trying to avert his eyes from her because he was very aware of the fact that she was wearing her nightclothes.

"Yes…well it is a rather difficult lock…"

"What do you want Sherlock?" she snapped. Irene was a little bit pissed off about earlier, she didn't like being ignored.

"I want to come in so we can talk…" Holmes mumbled.

If Irene was surprised she didn't show it. Instead she continued to glare at him, arms folded across her chest, her bare foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"It is inappropriate to visit a woman at this hour Mr Holmes."

"As if you actually care," Holmes replied, with a hint of amusement in his voice and his wide smile that made his eyes crease slightly.

Irene's gaze softened slightly.

"Fine, but an hour's all I'll give you," she said indifferently.

The detective walked into the room and sat down on the chaise longue. Irene sat down next to him and stared at him hard. Holmes did nothing but shift awkwardly.

Irene sighed and rolled her eyes again. "I meant it when I said sorry Sherlock."

"Did you?" he asked, staring at her as equally hard as she had been staring at him.

"Yes!" snapped Irene.

There was an awkward silence again. Then Holmes shifted and asked, "Why were you in London?"

"My mother was visiting a friend; I broke into your house because I was bored."

"Right…When did you realise it was me?"

"When I first got a proper look at you outside Baker Street during the whole thing with the King of Bohemia," she replied with a careless wave of her hand.

"What! Why didn't you tell me?" Holmes shouted. Irene shushed him.

"There are people trying to sleep Sherlock! Of course I didn't tell you then, I didn't know you did I?"

"You could have said afterwards."

"I was scared," Irene said simply, "I knew how you would react and I didn't want to ruin whatever there is between us…whether it's a friendship or something more. I like you far too much Sherlock Holmes."

She smiled at him. God he loved her smile.

"I…er…I like you far too much too…" he mumbled back.

Irene's smile widened and she leant forward suddenly and kissed him. Their tongues automatically tangled and they held each other tightly in each other's arms. Holmes gave her a little squeeze and pulled back to murmur between kisses, "You know we can't trust each other yet don't you?"

"That's ok," Irene replied a little breathlessly, "we can work on that."

Irene pushed him down so he was lying on the chaise longue and moved to sit on top of him before leaning forward to kiss his neck. She suddenly moved her lips to his ear and teased, "And who knows, maybe I'll get that engagement ring back one day."

"Don't push it," Holmes replied back and not without a hint of amusement, before moving his lips to capture hers again.

Sherlock Holmes definitely stayed longer than an hour that night.

So…what do you think? Apart from the bit where I have them kiss in my story about Gladstone, this is the first time I've written something like this…I wanted to have them be a little awkward about it and not actually tell each other exactly how they feel, but still have both of them get it anyway (they are geniuses after all and neither of them do emotions very well do they?)

Anyway, I will be writing another story about Irene (once I've tied up another of my stories), but it's obviously not going to be connected to this one (seeing as this was supposed to be a one shot lol), it'll also feature an OC of mine who I promise will not be a Mary-sue. :)