A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]

If Brainy Is The New Sexy, Then Sherlock's Out of Luck. *snorts*

     "Always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Adler murmured sympathetically. "No need to worry, I already knew. (Y/N) (L/N) and Sherlock Holmes."

     You stared at Irene blankly, finding yourself unable to make any deductions about her. There was nothing to deduce. She was clean.
   
     Irene strutted up to Sherl, reached forward under his collar, and tugged off the white roman collar. "There. Now we're both defrocked." She smirked. "Look at you. I could cut myself slapping that face- looks like someone already has." She winked at you and looked back to Sherl. "Would you like me to try?" Irene lifted the collar to her mouth and bit down on it seductively.
    
     This was, of course, the perfect moment for John to come walking in with a bowl, its contents unknown.

     He stared at the scene in front of him for a good second. "....I've... missed something, haven't I?"

     Irene grabbed the white collar from her mouth. "Please, sit down," she invited. "Or if you'd like tea, I can call the maid."
    
     "I had some at the palace," Sherlock said.

     "I know." Irene sat down on a chair, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. You scowled. Why was it impossible to read her?

     "Clearly."

     The alarming idea entered your mind that you'd lost your ability to deduce. You looked over at John. Date tonight, had a night out, shaving was electric not razor, hadn't phoned his sister Harry in a while, trying to save money...

     You looked back at Irene.

     Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

     "I... I had tea at the palace, too, if anyone's interested," mumbled John, just to break the silence. You rolled your eyes.

     "Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Irene blurted. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

     "You think he's a vicar with a bleeding face?" you asked.

     "No, I think he's damaged, delusional and believes in a higher power. In his case, it's people like you. Oh, and you must love him."

     "Oh?" You cocked your head, stealing a confused glance from Sherlock.

     "Well, if I had to punch that pretty face, I'd avoid his nose and teeth too."

     John laughed dryly. "Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all." He looked down into the bowl, and then pulled a cloth out of it. "A napkin," he offered.

     "Why? Are you feeling exposed?" Irene taunted.

    Sherlock stood up and started taking off his coat. "I don't think John knows where to look," he said, handing it to Irene.

     Irene grabbed the coat and walked up to John, observing him like he was a museum exhibit. He refused to break eye contact. "No, I think he knows exactly where," Irene murmured. She turned around to you and Sherlock. "However, I'm not so certain about you two."

     "If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop," Sherlock scoffed as Irene wrapped his coat around herself.

     You frowned. "But you do borrow his laptop."

     "I confiscate it."

     Irene plopped back down on the couch. "Nevermind that, I want to know. How was it done?"

     "How was what done?" you asked.

     "The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?"