Welcome to the 15th and final chapter of "Sherlock's Guest". I hope you have all enjoyed it. To be quite honest, I always start a story based off of a tidbit. And unfortunately, after you've finally written that tidbit and added it to your story, everything afterwards tends not to be as good as you imagined. This is true with this story. Even though I enjoyed writing it, I will always wish it had gone better. So thank you so much for putting up with me and for all your kind words. You have no idea what it means to me. ~ Princess Penelope

Sherlock awoke, in his bed, alone. His body was sleeping on one side of the mattress, and his arm stretched out across the other, as if he were reaching for something that wasn't there. He sat up realizing a woman had been there not but an hour ago. He knew that the basic "romantic" relationship was supposed to be based on trust. At least, that's what he had gathered from John's ex-girlfriends. However, this was Irene and trust would always be an issue. Not that they were together, he reminded himself. They just happened to be two people, attracted to one another, and he may or may not have feelings of love. But nope, not a couple.

He dressed quickly and exited the bedroom expecting exactly what he found: Irene nowhere in the apartment. He let out a breath of exasperation, he found himself doing this frequently when it came to her. He picked up his phone and checked for messages. One, from John, "Went out for groceries, be back in a few hours. If Irene isn't there don't worry. I saw her this morning." Sherlock relaxed a little. At least she hadn't run away. If she had, she would have stayed out of John's way too. However, he still didn't know what she was doing now. He looked around the living room, for some trace of her. If she had eaten, there was no sign. He noticed the clothes she had been wearing were now folded and resting on the arm of the couch. He wondered what else she could possibly be wearing, and then found himself smirking at the thought. He shook it off just as quickly as it had come, and continued musing about the apartment.

Just as he had begun to make his conclusion, she heard her enter the flat. He walked swiftly over to his chair and sat, making it seem as if he hadn't been wondering where she had been. She opened the door, but she paid him no mind as she set copious amounts of shopping bags on the sofa. He glanced at out of the corner of his eye. She met his glance and he turned to face her. "Good morning." She said casually. Whatever she had left in, she wasn't wearing it now. She was wearing new clothes, he could tell by the way they laid on her body. A body he had come to know pretty well. He again cleared his mind of such frivolous thoughts. This constant, unnecessary train of thought was beginning to plague his mind. "Morning", he replied as he got up to go put the kettle on. She watched him head towards the kitchen and as he did, she took a box out of one of her many plastic bags. It was small, so she tucked it into the hidden pocket of her new, navy blue day dress. She didn't know of the proper time to give the consulting detective her gift, but she knew she was going to wait as long as possible. She sat herself down in John's chair. Sherlock returned a few minutes later with hot tea. He handed her a cup and then sat down with his own. He took a sip but noticed that she didn't. He knit his eyebrows as he lowered his cup. She stared at him, almost expressionless. "Considering the mid-west?" he asked slightly confused. This amused her, and she gave a small smile.

"Sherlock." She said. She set her tea down and went over to him, the same way she had that night in front of the fire. She placed her hand on top of his, smirking in that way she lowered his tea and began to lean in towards her. Slowly their lips came together. It was the softest kiss they had ever shared. And when they pulled apart they were both a little dizzy. She opened her mouth to continue her previous thought, but Sherlock's head snapped towards the door. "Sherlock?" she said, with a question this time. He got up quickly and rushed to the window behind him, pulling back the curtain. "Miss Adler. The bedroom please."

"He said unromantically after 10 years of marriage." She replied smirking, as she got up to leave while watching the warning glance from Sherlock. She had found it amusing, at least. She wasn't sure what was happening, and a flashback of the last time Sherlock had told her to stay came to mind. Nevertheless, she went to the bedroom and shut the door.

Sherlock scanned the street, but saw nothing unusual. Until he heard another someone enter the flat. Not John. He quickly tossed Irene's freshly brewed tea out, snatched the shopping bags she'd tossed about, throwing them into the bedroom, and then proceeded to sit in his chair once again. And again act as if he had been like this the whole time. A man burst into the room, followed by two other men, telling Sherlock immediately that they were about to search his apartment. He tried his best to mask his concern for Irene, as they walked toward him. " ." The first one commanded. Sherlock looked up at him. "No knock?"

"We're looking for a Miss Adler."

"So why are you here?"

The man gave him a look, "She's not here." He replied to the man's silent stare. The man, all three men, were wearing suits. But Sherlock didn't need to notice this to know who sent them. "Where's Mycroft?" he asked them casually. None of them spoke, but the leader nodded at the other two and they began they're search. Sherlock jumped up, "Not the- Not the bedroom!"

"Whatever could you be hiding in there, brother dear?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Ah, but if it's what I think it is, then it most certainly is my concern."

Sherlock stepped toward Mycroft, facing him straight on. " 'Brother dear,' ", he mimicked, "if you don't tell your monkeys to leave me be-" but he was cut off by one of the 'monkeys' re-entering the room. He shook his head at Mycroft, but a second monkey came in holding up all the shopping bags. Mycroft turned back to Sherlock, his eyebrows raised. "It's for a case."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, you may be able to pull that on John. But we both know, well at least I know, it doesn't work that way." Sherlock turned away, heading toward the window. "Where is she?" Mycroft asked, unmoving. Sherlock kept himself turned towards the window. "I don't know." He replied honestly. He then turned his head to look at Mycroft out of one eye, "I haven't seen her since Coventry." Mycroft started toward Sherlock, but suddenly stopped. "I don't really have time for this, little brother. People have gotten in contact with us. People are looking for her. They're going to kill her."

"I thought she was already dead."

"Yes, of course." Mycroft gave an unsatisfied smirk. He lifted his umbrella, to examine the tip; a habit he wasn't sure how he'd gotten into. "If a body isn't found, we have no choice but to look for one. And I received an anonymous tip that you might know where that body is."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Anonymous tip? How often do you really receive those?" Mycroft gave a shrug. "If you hear from her be sure to let me know."

"Yes of course, ." Sherlock bowed his head, in mocking reverence. Mycroft gave a sour face towards his brother and then nodded again at his goons, signaling them to exit. They all looked at Sherlock once more, and then exited single file, the last one carelessly dropping the bags before leaving. Sherlock rolled his eyes, monkeys indeed.

As soon as he knew they were gone he rushed to the bedroom. "Irene?" he circled the room, and then spun himself, "Irene?" He looked toward the window, curtains drawn. The curtains were never drawn. He smiled lightly to himself. He went to the window to close them, but instead he noticed a small box sitting on the sill. He picked it up gingerly, examining it. It looked like a jewelry box and for a moment he assumed she had left yet another one of her new purchases. And then he opened it. He smiled. He couldn't help it.

"Till next time, .I love you.

P.S. I can't believe you thought I would just leave jewelry lying around like that."

Irene smiled to herself as she imagined Sherlock reading her note. She stared out the window of the plane, imagining the look on his face. In truth, she had gotten him a watch. It reminded her of him, so she had bought it. She had slowly come to realize, however, that he would not see it the same way. Now she was on her way to Hawaii. Technically, it hadn't been one of her options, but she wasn't living under his roof anymore. Her smile faded slightly, the stewardess came by offering her a drink that she gladly took.

It was for the best. It had to end sometime anyway, to many people were looking for her. The risk he had taken was great to begin with. He probably had more f=danger coming, she figured but he was a big boy. She loved him. The thought made her scrunch her nose. Oh how sappy she had become. She looked down to check the time, smiling once again. The purple suede of the band was soft on her skin, and the silver of the faces edge and the black of the hands contrasted well. It was like wearing Sherlock on her wrist. Except this version was a lot more compliant.

Thanks again for reading! Reviews are still welcome. And if anyone is interested in Soul Eater, I have another story featuring two OCs and an update coming soon. Check it out! Love you all!