Sherlock was toweling off after his shower when he realized he wasn't alone in the flat. John was at work, and besides, he knew it wasn't John. There were no John-like sounds: no typing on the computer, no banging around the kitchen for the tea kettle, no inane shows on the telly. Sherlock dropped his towel on the floor and stuck his head out of the bathroom door. He hadn't heard the intruder come up the stairs because of his shower. Silently he crept down the hall to the living room. He saw the intruder sitting in an armchair, looking at something on the floor.

"A little early for dinner, ins't it?" Sherlock said as he strode into his living room.

"Yet you seem to have dressed for it." Irene smirked at him as she uncrossed her shapely legs and stood up from the armchair. "Unfortunately, I don't have time for dinner today. I just came to bring you…a gift."

Irene leaned over to pick up something from behind the armchair. She came up with a bundle of blankets, which she carried over to Sherlock. As she walked towards him he saw a small baby wrapped in them.

"I named him Hamish," she said quietly. "It just seemed like the right name."

Irene pressed the baby into Sherlock's chest, and he had no choice but to take it in his arms. Hamish was asleep, and only squirmed a little as Sherlock took him.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Sherlock asked, glaring at Irene.

"Remember when we caught that jewel thief in Paris together last year? It was an exciting case. We had dinner to celebrate," Irene smiled seductively at the memory, but she became serious as she continued. "Then nine months later I had Hamish."

"What?!" Sherlock did not like what she was implying. He was trying to look for clues, but Irene was as enigmatic as ever. After all this time he still couldn't deduce her. And the tiny baby had no clues about him at all either. All he could tell was the blue blanket he was wrapped in was new. He hated not having any data. "What are you talking about?"

Irene sighed and brushed Sherlock's wet curls back from his forehead. "Sometimes, dear, when people have sex, the woman gets pregnant."

"I know how babies are made," Sherlock hissed. "How did you let this happen? You're a professional sex worker, I would think you could avoid an unintentional pregnancy. What were you thinking?"

"Calm down, you'll wake him up," Irene answered. His insult stung, but she kept her face emotionless. "Ten years ago a doctor told me I would never have children, and in all my years of "working" I've never had the slightest problem. You apparently have the magic touch."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't believe her for a moment. "Fine," he said, "so I assume he's mine. Why are you telling me now?"

Irene pressed her lips together and swallowed. "I can't keep him," she whispered. Then she quickly pulled herself up, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. "I travel the world and interfere with dangerous men in dangerous plans. I misbehave. I can't keep him, he's yours now." She turned on her heel and walked out of the flat. She paused at the doorway and turned her head slightly to the side. "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," she said, then hurried downstairs and out the door.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Even were he not stark naked and holding an infant, he wouldn't give Irene the pleasure of him rushing after her. He looked at the sleeping child and smirked slightly. He still had no idea what the Woman was up to, but at least she had made the game interesting.