"Irene."

"Sherlock."

"Glad to see you alive."

"You're one to talk. How did you do it? That was certainly not a body double."

"A magician never reveals his secrets." He smiled, their noses just millimeters away from touching.

"What about John, your precious flat mate?" Irene brings her hand up to his cheek, feeling the defined bones under the skin.

"Oblivious." Sherlock reported, no emotion in his voice. It was the only way to keep John alive, keeping him oblivious.

"How are you going to stay out of public eye? You're already a celebrity." Irene continues to stroke his cheek, making Sherlock very unnerved.

"I've got you, and Molly. Two sources for living standards, billions of opportunities to stay under cover." Sherlock made no expression at Irene's advancements.

"Two women who fancy you, two women you fancy. I can almost taste the sexual tension." Irene moistened her tongue over her bottom lip.

"Stop it. I'm not looking for pleasure for the rest of my life; I'm looking for a way to stay under the radar. I need a new name, a new look. And I have the queen of disguises ready to do anything she wants for me." He smirked. Irene smiled in return, knowing he was attributing to her dyed blonde hair, cut so short that if you only saw the back of her head and no other part of her body, you'd mistake her for a boy with a feminine haircut.

"Why don't we have dinner first?"

"Not hungry."

"Well, I'm starving." She almost moaned out, staring into his eyes, seductively.

"I've got to run. I'll see you when I need you."

"Oh, you'll need me." She lightly tapped his nose, before running off away down the alley where they met.

They had agreed to meet together in Liverpool, over 350 kilometers from London. It had been only three weeks since his "suicide," and Sherlock was enjoying the freedom to move around. Unfortunately, he was required to ditch his favorite coat, for a duller and less impressive black rain slicker with a fleece lining. Staying in hiding was difficult, especially when he desperately wanted to go and solve cases, which was the only thing he had to keep him sane. Now he had taken up smoking again, much to his distaste, in addition to wearing nicotine patches when he tried to quit. It never worked, in the end. His hair was beginning to grow longer, and he had the faintest hint of facial stubble. Every time Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror, wherever he was, he always thought he looked like he was homeless.

Irene texted him:

You're on your own with the disguise, Sherlock. Let's have dinner sometime soon.

Sherlock texted back:

I'm going back to London. No dinner unless you come too. -SH

Irene did not reply to his message, and he knew why. She couldn't go back to London, not after the many attempts at her life. It was best that she stayed "Amber Less" in Liverpool.

He left the alley, stepping back into the sunlight. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Sherlock proceeded to walk lively down the street, leaving the more shady part of Liverpool. He was hardly focusing on anything else, except how to change his appearance such that John would not recognize him, yet not so big a change that it couldn't be reversed. He was going to prove his innocence, and he needed to be recognizable when it mattered. Sherlock's first thoughts were to simply go to a barber's shop to get his hair cut, but the notion of staying out of public as long as possible told him to simply go to the market and get what he needed.

A store was located only two blocks away from where the motel was that he checked into the night before. It was most likely to have things such as scissors, hair dye, and razor blades. It was just that kind of shop, he could tell by the kinds of people who were entering and leaving at that moment.

As he entered the store, the scent of pine cleaning fluid caused Sherlock to gag. Somebody made a mess in the cleaning isle, Sherlock thought, smiling inwardly at the irony. He pulled his scarf higher, trying to use it to filter out the strong smell of the cleaning fluid.

Walking past the cleaning isle to get to the hair product isle, Sherlock noticed the two men arguing over the ten plus bottles of fluid spilled over the floor. One was an employee; the other was a regular citizen. The employee was a female, short and thick, chopped red hair. Judging by her stance, she was clearly intimidated by the customer. The customer must not have made the mess, as he was taking the upper hand in the argument. She was leaning on a mop, meaning she was cleaning the mess when the two began the argument. The customer was a male, gray hair, in his late forties, possibly early fifties. Average height, no more than 5'8" tall. He's wearing a simple canvas jacket, with dark blue jeans. Sherlock can't help but want to hear what they're talking about, so he pretends that he's browsing the cleaning products, listening intently at their conversation.

"I don't care if you have to get back to work…I've got a missing girl from…reported seen here!" Sherlock only heard bits and pieces of what the man said over the sound of the store's announcing a sale, but he glanced over, and the employee shook her head, as the man turned around to face Sherlock's direction.

"SHERLOCK!" Sherlock instantly recognized the man. Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, stared at him in shock, for no more than a second before Sherlock took off running towards the store exit.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Sherlock ran down the city block, Lestrade in pursuit. Sherlock soon recognized a black car he'd ridden in on too many occasions with other detectives on some of his cases. Taking a sharp left down an alley, Sherlock avoided meeting others who thought he was dead.

The next street had a few closed shops, but there was also a parking garage. Without stopping, Sherlock ran across the street, jumped over the gate, and took shelter in the garage. Peering around a column, he could see Lestrade running out of the alley, crossing the street. Sherlock's heart climbed into his throat when Lestrade's direction was towards the parking garage. He knows me too well. Sherlock cursed, running towards the lift.

The doors of the lift barely closed when Lestrade entered the garage. Sherlock pressed the lift button for the roof, silently praying that Lestrade was taking the stairs, checking every floor.

The doors opened on the sunlit roof, and in no time Sherlock was running to the edge of the roof. Sherlock had just barely jumped over the barrier to the neighboring rooftop, which was only ten feet shorter than the garage's roof, when he heard footsteps on the roof.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled. "I know I'm not crazy, I saw you! Get your ass out here, or I'll make sure you're dead again!" Sherlock's breath hitched when the footsteps got closer. Thinking hastily, Sherlock looked for a door, a pipe, and any kind of cover to stay hidden from Lestrade. There was nothing that this roof had to offer, so he did what he did best; he jumped off the roof.

He landed on the balcony of the top floor, and pressed himself to the door to the inside of the building. He heard Lestrade curse, and retreat back to the lift.

Sighing in relief, Sherlock opened the door behind him. He walked into the living room of a very surprised man.

"My apologies, just trying to get away from an ex. You know, women." Sherlock winked, and dashed for the stunned man's door.

"Good luck." The man said, and Sherlock closed the door behind him.

-.-.-.-

He waited in the hallway for an hour, just to be sure that Lestrade would not come looking around that area again.

Irene texted him:

Smooth move. Better stay undercover the next couple of weeks. Why don't we have dinner, you're not going to London now.

Sherlock grunted in frustration. He banged his head against the wall for letting Lestrade see him. Sherlock replied to Irene:

You're buying. -SH