The next morning Irene woke up alone in bed.

"Sherlock?" She called out, but upon receiving no reply decided to wrap a sheet around her and investigate.

"Sherlock it's six am in the bloody morning! Come back to b-" Her words died in her throat as she walked into the living room and found Sherlock sitting in his favourite chair, an elder woman sat across from him.

"Irene, this is my aunt Delilah." He drawled, apparently unfazed by her state of undress. "Auntie D this is Irene my… this is Irene."

The woman in question turned to look at Irene as Sherlock introduced them awkwardly.

She had Sherlock's blue eyes and high cheekbones but her hair was blonde instead.

"Miss Adler, charmed, I'm sure." The woman stood and extended her hand towards Irene. Irene shook her hand, not questioning how she had known her surname.

"You weren't at the funeral." She said plainly, smoothing her hair slightly with one hand as the other clutched the very see-through sheet around her body.

"I don't like them." Delilah replied as she sat back down. "Too many people being overly sentimental just because another life has ended."

"And with that remark I am assured you two will get along just fine." Sherlock said, standing and taking his coat from the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?" Irene asked, frowning.

"I have some leads to follow up. About what we talked about last night before…" He blushed deeply in the presence of his aunt and Irene smiled at him fondly.

"I understand. I'll see you out." She said, following down the stairs and stopping just before the front door. "You're just going to leave me alone with your aunt whom I've never met before?" She asked, blocking his way to the door.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine. You're very similar." He replied.

"Oh, she's an ex-dominatrix too?" Irene joked.

"Yes."

Irene looked at him, trying to work out if this was one of his bizarre jokes or not.

"And since when were you an 'ex-dominatrix'?" Sherlock asked her, taking a step closer as his brows dipped in the centre.

"Since we… you know." She said offhandedly. She gulped and looked up at him, his face was very close to hers and she reached up on her tip toes to brush their lips together.

"I suppose." Sherlock breathed against her lips.

"Does this make us official then?" Irene challenged; a gleam in her eyes.

"Official what then?" Sherlock asked, moving his head back a fraction to study her reaction.

"You know…" Irene's lip curled up. "A couple."

"Oh, um, that. Yes." Sherlock said stiffly.

"Oh soften up dear." Irene cooed, kissing him again but with more force.

"I find it hard when my aunt is upstairs and awaiting your presence." Sherlock said into her lips as he backed her against the door, using his right hand to turn the nob he turned them around and broke away, walking out of the now open door behind him.

"Have fun dear." Irene giggled, biting her lip. She popped her head around the door as he hailed a taxi. "I love you!" She called out as one pulled up at the curb.

"I love you too." Sherlock called back, smiling at her as he drove off.

"You've brought about quite the change in my nephew. He needed it." Delilah said to Irene as the latter re-entered the living room of 221b and sat in Sherlock's chair.

"I'll take that as a compliment?" Irene raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You should. No one else has done it before." Delilah smiled. "I heard him tell you of my former profession."

"Indeed." Irene replied, levelling the woman's gaze, "I'm sure that you also heard we share said profession."

"Oh I knew that before I found out my son had taken up with you." Irene looked at her questioningly. "You're The Woman. You're still in high regard in the industry."

"Good to know." Irene smirked, "Have you an alias I might be familiar with?"

"I doubt it." Delilah replied, scratching at her nails, "It changes so often."

Irene nodded in understanding, "Sherlock never told me his aunt was a dominatrix."

"I think he's ashamed of me." Delilah said somewhat sadly.

"Why should he be? He's not ashamed of me? If he were I'd whip him into shape." She added, winking.

Delilah laughed, "I wouldn't be so sure." Her smile was bitter and fake and all of Irene's warmness to the woman promptly vanished. "I'd better leave anyway."

"Sherlock was expecting you to stay." Irene frowned.

"No he wasn't. Not really. Give him my best." And with that, Delilah stood up and let herself out.

Irene didn't know what to make of the woman; first she seemed nice, then familiar, then cold.

She shook it off as another odd Holmsian, but found she spent all morning thinking about what she'd said. About Sherlock being ashamed of her. Was he ashamed of her? He never told people about her former profession, but that was for her safety, she was sure.

She spent most of that day contemplating the subject matter and by the time had figured out what she was going to say to Sherlock. She wasn't going to be indirect in the slightest. She would ask him straight out whether or not he was ashamed of her for who she was. But of course, conversations with his man never went according to plan.

Sherlock swept into the flat at about two o'clock, rushing over to his laptop and starting to type furiously.

"Sherlock." Irene was sitting in his chair having changed into some more appropriate clothes.

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock, are you ashamed of me?" She asked bluntly.

"What did she say to you? I knew she would. It was a test. She's an admirable woman really and I'm sure the two of you got along for a while. Until, I'm presuming she told you I was ashamed of you; not so directly of course. You know how difficult my family like to be." He replied, not looking up from his laptop once.

Irene nodded thoughtfully before realising something. She opened her mouth to speak, but before a word could leave her lips, Sherlock continued.

"And no, I am not ashamed of you." He looked over at her and noticed the thoughtful expression she wore and how she was biting her bottom lip. "I could never be ashamed of you." He finished softly and she looked up at him, a small smile gracing her features.

"What was the lead you got?" She asked, standing and walking to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop.

"Thhhhhhhis." He replied, grimacing and opening a page.

The page was from the CIA's deleted archives. Irene knew very few people in the world had access to it.

"How did you…? Never mind." She reached over and scrolled down the mouse pad until a familiar face appeared on a file. "You were right." She stated simply, staring at the face of a very young Harry Pearce.

"Keep scrolling." He said, regret laced in his voice and she frowned but complied.

Her eyes widened as she saw a picture of her father.

"If you read the text surrounding the picture you'll see that Harry targeted him and forced him into the organisation."

Irene was very quiet.

"I believe Harry was in fact involved in this whole situation. I can't say anything to my brother or any of the secret service until I have more proof. I need to go to the hospital. I will obviously need John's help with all of this and yours too if you will oblige me." He looked over his shoulder to see that Irene was no longer there. He saw his bedroom door shut softly and stood, sighing.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sitting on the edge of his bed next to her.

She nodded, not trusting her own voice.

"Do you want to come with me to the hospital?" He asked, taking her hand in his own.

She shook her head.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She shook her head again. "I'm fine." She said quietly. "I just need some time to think everything over."

It was Sherlock's turn to nod.

"I won't be too long." He said, standing and taking his coat from the back of his bedroom door.

He held out his hand to Irene and she took it, looking at his quizzically as he pulled her up so she stood in front of him. He brushed his hand gently over her cheek and kissed her softly, comfortingly.

"I'll see you later." He called as he exited the flat.

Irene sat back down on the bed and bit her lip, trying process everything with a small frown on her face.

John was awake and reading when Sherlock entered his hospital room.

"When are you going to be discharged?" Sherlock asked him.

To anyone else his actions may have been conceived as disinterested or uncaring, but John noticed how his eyes flicked over the monitors surrounding the bed to make sure he was alright.

"I don't know, they keep changing their minds about it." He replied, "Need help with the case?"

"I do." Sherlock looked at him sincerely.

"Well, I won't be out of here for at least another few days apparently so why don't you start by telling me everything you know about it and I'll see if I can help." He suggested.

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am you know." John snapped indignantly.

"As you wish. Thirty bodies hanging off Tower Bridge, thirty security guards missing. Irene's father was among the bodies and was involved in a criminal organisation for many years. He was entered into whichever organisation this is by Harry Pearce –very significant member in MI5 and confidant of my dear brother. He has a previously unknown criminal record mainly involving sharpshooting –he was an assassin."

Okay, this is the first half of the chapter! Sorry this has been so long! Apart from exams and performances I have no excuse! Please forgive me! I will try and write more the coming week as I'm now on holiday but I won't have my laptop with me to post a new chapter this week so please bear with me time-wise. Please review if you are feeling kind!