Like Wire (A BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

[twelve]

It had been weeks.

Even Anderson had worked out Johns soft spot for Sherlock - so if he wasn't being called gay he was being mocked for being friends with the schools sociopath, by his former friends.

This was one of those days where he just couldn't be bothered.

His calm and steady manner was because he'd gone tired, the lack of sleep because he was worried for Sherlock and Mycroft would speak no more of it.

John trooped to the toilets - where he would proceed to spend the rest of his lunch, just because he had little interest in finding someone to hang out with at that minute.

One of the cubicles were - annoyingly - occupied, John waited several minutes to see if the person inside was going to leave but the person was (quite obviously) not in there to take a piss.

"Hey," John called out, just because it felt like the right thing to do.

There was a cough from the cubical, it sounded... feminine? There was a pause and then a click from the unlocking door before the frame of it was filled with the outline of a small yet elegant girl.

Her skirt was extremely short and her shirt was tighter than the 'teachers outlook on uniform', she had carefully curled black hair and her red lipstick coated lips starred on her moderately gaunt face.

"Hey," she slurred, pressing her body against the doorframe.

"You... okay?" John murmured, raising an eyebrow in worry and judgement.

"I've been waiting for you," She giggled, "somehow, John Watson, we haven't met yet, but your still the new kid. I knew you'd end up in here,"

"Who-?"

"I'm Irene Adler," she grinned, approaching John.

"You're drunk," John pointed out, backing away.

"Obviously," Irene laughed, flailing her arms as if she was centred on a dance floor.

"Oh, you. You are Irene Adler," John realised.

"Of coarse," she hesitated, "and I assume you've heard lots about me?"

"Yeah. Too much," he grumbled darkly.

Irene leaned towards him, her alcohol stained breath wrapping like a snake around John's stomach. Her lips brushed across the hairs on his neck, making him shudder and realise he didn't have anywhere to retreat to.

"Where's Sherlock," she purred.

Was Sherlock one of her weakly clients? What did she want with him?

"I don't know," He whispered, "I don't know,"

"If you see him again," she smirked at the thought of him, "tell him we still have unfinished business,"

John nodded - obeying - and then ducked out of her clutches.

"I don't need you," she growled, "You're of no use to me, yet. Don't think I jump into peoples beds for nothing," Irene winked and flounced out of the bathroom, the door swinging violently back and fourth.

"Right," John murmured after her, just genuinely overwhelmed.