'Who is Irene?' Watson grew persistent but Sherlock ignored her and left for bed, sulking like a teenager. Watson had a sense of guilt for asking and possibly triggering a relapse, but deep down she knew it was important to address it. From her question she gathered he had not thought about Irene for some time, let alone in therapy.
Morning dawned, and Watson woke up to a blistering noise coming from downstairs. She washed and dressed as usual, not bounding down the stairs in annoyance again. It felt like payback for touching a raw nerve.
'Watson!' Sherlock shouted.
Watson emerged from the stairs, and saw a freshly showered and smartly dressed Sherlock. It was clear to her that he had made an unusual effort.
'Did Captain Gregson call?' She asked.
'No. I couldn't sleep so I got dressed six hours ago and now I feel restless.'
'This means we have time to talk about Irene?'
Holmes smiled before pacing the floor, again. Watson picked up her satchel, and dug out a stack of wrinkled and old letters that were neatly wrapped in twine.
'Where did you find those? I'm sure I left them-'
'In London, I know.'
'Did my father send them to you, his prank to destroy me?!' He yelled.
'Don't raise your voice; it will only provoke yourself further.' Watson spoke softly.
'I don't care. Wherever you got them, it doesn't matter. Can I have them, please?'
Watson handed the bundle over to Sherlock who glanced at the writing. He only needed to glance at them to absorb them fully. Without any hesitation, he stuffed them into the juicer and turned it on. The metal shredded the delicate letters. It prompted a reaction in Sherlock that he didn't expect—regret.
'Look, I know this is just an act. You obviously cared about this women, was she a girlfriend? Did she break-up with you and did that cause you to abuse drugs more so than usual?'
'My girlfriend? Me? No. Irene didn't have relationships, she liked to destroy them, not forge them. This isn't a fairy-tale romance gone sour, Watson. It is a lot more than that.
With that startling revelation, Sherlock's phone rang and he picked up immediately.
'I'll be there asap.' Holmes replied, before pushing the phone into his jeans pocket.
'Where are we going?'
'I'm going to do my job. You are just tagging along.' He snarked as they left in a hurry, still in a strained mood.