Author's Note: I'm a bit rusty at writing, so I hope it's good! I also wrote it one in the morning, so excuse any grammar or spelling errors. I've edited it, but just in case I missed a few misspellings here or there sorry in advance :) It's a Sherlock/Irene, and I rated it T just in case of language or any themes.

I do not own any characters in this fiction. All rights belong to their respective owners.

Sherlock walked up the stairs to the door of his flat. It had been a productive day at St. Bart's. Now, it was nearly eleven at night, and Bart's lab closed at ten, though with a little mindless flirting with Molly, Sherlock had managed to stay a bit longer. But now his work was done, another case cracked.

As Sherlock reached in his pocket for his key, he noticed prints of small shoes in the dust on the ground. A woman's, obviously. They were high heels, and the size of the foreprint suggested a very high heel. Not Mrs. Hudson then. He smelled that familiar perfume...

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" he said to the woman behind him, turning around.

Irene Adler sat on the flight of stairs leading to Mrs. Hudson's room above. She was wearing a fitted black dress with red heels and a black velvet trench coat. Gorgeous, as usual. She was without her iconic up-do and red lipstick, though. Her face was soft, naked, almost innocent.

"Well I didn't say thank you properly, " She said standing up. She walked closer to Sherlock, and he turned his back to the door, facing her completely.

"Thank you for what?" he said coldly. Irene stood closer to him.

"For saving my life." She said, like he needed to hear her say it. She was inches from his face. Oh that familiar sexual tension. "It'll be just like old times." Irene whispered into his ear. This caught Sherlock's attention. He knew it was warning. What old times did she mean? Warning him from what? If only Irene was easier to deduce.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"You." She said as she ildy fixed his coat collar and held on to it, as to hold him. She smiled.

"Why are you here?" he replied, not being moved by her flirting.

"I told you. I just wanted to say thank you." Irene Adler said as she leaned in. Sherlock immediately understood what "Thank You" meant.

She kissed him softly. Sherlock kissed her back, to buy himself time to figure out what she was doing. Though, he had to admit it was a little hard to think when he was making out with Irene Adler. His back pressed up against 221B's door as Irene wrapped her arms around him and kissed him more passionately. He wrapped his hands around her lower back and kissed her just as passionately. As far as first kisses go, Sherlock was doing pretty well.

Because the truth was, he missed her. He loved having an intellectual equal. She made him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable. It was a new danger he wasn't used to. He was used to being superior to everyone. But this? He loved it. He loved her. He craved that danger. After all, it was what he was really addicted to, wasn't it?

He started getting lost in that kiss.

She let go of Sherlock with one hand, and reached into her pocket. This Sherlock had enough focus to notice. He quickly caught her hand inside her coat pocket to find, what else, but a gun. He grabbed it and broke the kiss.

"Gotcha," he smirked.

Irene smiled and laughed a little before she made a pass for the black gun, but Sherlock quickly grabbed her arm. She tried to resist, and despite her struggles, Sherlock had her hands behind her back and a gun to her head. He suddenly realised she was working for someone...and that someone was in their flat right now. Why else would she threaten him with a gun? That was the plan wasn't it? Get Sherlock inside with his hands tied and a gun to his head. Ready for a confrontation.

Sherlock pushed open the door, and entered his flat and stopped inside in front of the door. Irene fell to her knees, gun still pressed to her head.

"Expected it to be the other way around, didn't you?" Sherlock said to the mysterious man sitting in his chair. His head was down, so he couldn't recognize who it was. There were two other men standing on either side of him, guns at the ready.

"I told you it wouldn't work," Irene said under her breath, directed towards the man.

Suddenly the man in the chair lifted his head.

Just like old times.

"Oh I didn't expect it to." American CIA Agent Nielson said. The man Sherlock threw out the window was back for more.

"Didn't expect you to be back." Sherlock said, just a little happy.

"Trust me. It's taking much restraint on my part to keep from putting a bullet in your brain. But I was told we needed you alive. I'm not here by choice."

"Oh?"

"I am here on behalf on the President of The United States."

Sherlock straightened the back. Well, this was a surprise.

"The last time I saw you I was on a case for the Royals. Now the President? Ooh." Sherlock said with no seriousness.

"The President has asked you to come to America to solve a little problem we're having."

"Sorry. No can do. Bit busy these days."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Holmes, you don't understand. You will come with us." Nielson turned his head to the third man of defense who had John Watson, hands behind his head, and a gun to his side. There was blood running from a cut on his forehead, and several bruises on his cheekbones. From punches, most likely.

"John!" Sherlock half-shouted. Nielson smiled in satisfaction as he got the reaction he wanted. He knew that John was Sherlock's weak spot.

"Let him go." Sherlock said coldly, sarcasm gone.

"I'm fine..." John started to say. The man guarding him jabbed him harder with the gun, reminding him they were ready to shoot. John moaned a little in pain. "Just help them, Sherlock."

"Okay answer this. Why Irene Adler?" Sherlock asked.

"Well I wanted to torture you a little bit. That fall from your window wasn't very fun. Did she kiss you? Because that wasn't part of the plan." Nielson smiled.

Sherlock fell back from the statement. He just remembered that he had actually kissed her. All those memories from their last encounter came flooding back...

Irene felt Sherlock's grip on her loosen by accident. It was obvious he was did feel a little tortured by her.

Oh god, I owe him...Here goes nothing, Irene thought.

"Well Mr. Holmes," she started, "We did this last time didn't we?" She looked back and smiled. Sherlock half-smiled in recognition as he quickly and discreetly let go of her hands.

"Vatican cameos!"

John laughed.

Sherlock immediatly shot at the feet of the man who held Watson, not actually hurting him, but distracting him for enough time for him to let go of John. John proceeded to immediately hit him with his own gun knocking him out. While this was happening, Irene took care of Nielson. Sherlock went after his second henchman and punched him with enough force to send him to the floor.

The last henchmen remained. He scrambled for his gun, but as he ducked his head down to get it off the floor Sherlock got him at the back of his head.

Irene, John, and Sherlock were now the only conscious people in the room.

"That was fun " Irene said catching her breath.

But Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to her. He was watching John. More spefically the cut on his forehead.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Me? Yeah. Fine." John replied, touching his cut. "Ah," he winced. He saw that Sherlock was still warily watching him. "I'll be fine." he reassured him.

Sherlock looked at the unconscious CIA agents on his floor. "I'd better call Lestrade."