Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Twas a joy walking down London streets with my wife, Mary Watson, in the middle of winter. Christmas was rapidly approaching, bringing with it the frigid winds that swept through the country and the snowfall carried by the breeze. Mary shivered underneath her thick, woolen shawl that was draped over her shoulders. I held her tight by the arm in hopes of encouraging warmth.

As we continued to stroll past the many citizens of London, I took note of the fact that I had stumbled across the doorstep of the old flat I had lived in prior to my marriage; 221b Baker Street. I paused for a moment, staring at the engraved characters upon the door label. Mary waited beside me patiently.

With a small sigh, she squeezed my arm. "Do you wish to visit him?" My free hand clenched in such a tight manner that my knuckles turned white. I hadn't seen my old friend, Sherlock Holmes, in quite some time after my work had increased. Though I was sure he was getting along just fine in his solitude, my own emotions regarding the subject of the detective were gloomy and saddening, for I did miss his incredible intelligence and quick quips.

I peered at Mary with a hopeful cock of my head. "May I?"

"Of course. Just so long as you bring me along. I wish to see him as well. When he is not doing anything outlandish, he can be quite a delight." I nodded in agreement as I faced the door once more and began to walk up the steps to the door with Mary beside me. The anxiety blossoming in my chest choked me, and my usually heavy knock on the door was subdued to a nervous tap.

All the same, Mrs. Hudson opened the door wide, her eyes expanding in pleasant surprise. "Doctor Watson! Mrs. Watson, oh lovely to see you!" she cried. "Come in, come in!" We hurried inside, the warmth drifting through the flat embracing us.

The small chat at the entrance was lost on me, for my gaze traveled to that pain-stakingly familiar staircase with seventeen steps upon it. My distraction must have been quite apparent, considering Mary tapped me lightly on the shoulder with a sweet smile.

"Go on. I'll keep Mrs. Hudson company."

"Oh, but do be careful, dear," the older woman blurted. "He's been quite wired recently, and he's refused to let anyone enter that flat save Mycroft the one time he visited." I couldn't tell what was more shocking; the fact Mycroft had come willingly for a visit, or the fact Sherlock had let him in.

Nonetheless, I adjusted a button on my vest and nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me." I swiftly departed, the stairs creaking below my weight. From my spot on the flight of stairs, I could already hear the detective's rhythmic tread as he paced restlessly. My guess was it was due to a particularly draining case.

My hand knocked on the wooden door and was greeted with an angry shout. "Go away! I'm busy!" My lips curved into a smile.

"Holmes-" I started, but I was rudely interrupted as the door flung open and a hand wrapped itself around my arm in a vice-like grip, yanking me inside and slamming the door behind. I stumbled a moment, blinking rapidly to adjust to the shadows which cloaked the room as well as the draft from the lack of a fire crackling in the hearth. "Why are you living in the dark, pray tell, Holmes?"

"Helps me think," he muttered, turning away to pace once more. His fingertips pressed against each other in concentration, and his lips were pulled into a grim line. I locked onto his moving figure, curious as to the cause of his agitation. "The Woman," he growled, answering my unspoken question.

My eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Irene Adler?" He nodded solemnly. "I thought she went away with her husband, Norton." The statement elicited a chuckle from him, prompting me to cock my head. "What?"

"She married him for some other purpose. Why else would she write, "very truly yours"? It was quite obvious that she had some other plans for marrying him, and clearly with this note," he murmured, producing a neatly folded piece of thick paper from his bosom, "she has returned to England to toy with me again."

"I'm sorry?" I voiced, taking the paper from his lithe fingers.

"Read," Sherlock said. Taking great care not to injure the note, I unfolded it and began to read the flawless print, which went about something like this:

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I’ve recently returned from my excursion with Norton to my old home here within London. I currently have no plans. Would you like to have dinner? You know my address, after all. Come on December 17th at 7:00 p.m. 

Still very truly yours,

Irene Adler

I glanced at Sherlock, befuddled. "Do you plan on going?" He faced me, an amused glint sparkling in his eyes.

"Of course. Why shouldn't I?" I opened my mouth to speak, but Holmes quickly cut me off. "Don't answer that. It was rhetorical." We stood in the dark flat together, Sherlock glaring at the wall in deep thought while I drummed my fingers against my thigh. At last, he sprung from his idle mold and tore the curtains open, letting light flood across the flat's red carpet, immediately illuminating the diamond-patterned walls and messy papers scattered about. My hand flew up to my face to cover my eyes from the sudden influx of sun.

"My goodness, be careful with me!" I cried. Sherlock only laughed.

"I apologize, my dear Watson. I'm simply very antsy for this meal and the outcome of it all. I believe she has no plans to harm me; though, of course, she's quite a tricky one." Sherlock Holmes paused, his brow furrowing. “I’d like you to remain here at the flat while I’m out.” He turned to me. “Is that too much to ask?”

I hummed thoughtfully. “I would have to ask my wife, of course. If she consents, I will gladly wait here for you, my dear fellow.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Holmes’ lips. 

“Splendid.” He flipped ‘round on his heel and yanked the door open, calling down the stairwell, “Mrs. Watson! Your presence is required!” I stifled a chuckle when he strode back into the room, and he peered at me with a slightly judgemental expression.

“What?”

“Nothing, Holmes.” He opened his mouth to reply, but my wife entering the homely flat cut him off. She frowned ever so slightly. 

“What do you two need?” I glanced at her, offering her an apologetic smile.

“Holmes would greatly appreciate it if I stayed here at the flat tonight. Is that alright with you?” Mary let a quiet laugh escape her lips as her originally tightened posture loosened.

“Of course, my dear. Just don’t injure yourself. Or you, Mr. Holmes.” She flashed her blue eyes in his direction. He simply nodded, though his own gray eyes twinkled with an amused light. I stepped towards my wife and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“I love you, my dear.”

“I love you as well, darling.”

Mary, with a graceful smile playing on her lips, left, leaving Holmes and I alone. The chill from the room had decreased only a smidge, so I decidedly trudged to the fireplace and began lighting a flame. Sherlock stood by, watching my every move like a cat watches a mouse.

After I had finished, I sunk into my armchair, beaming contentedly. “You should probably get ready. You have around an hour and a half to prepare for this dinner.” Holmes muttered something under his breath.

“Quite right, Watson…quite right.” 

In an instant he had disappeared into his room, leaving me to sit idly by the flame. I bit my lip, a feeling of apprehension draping itself overtop of me. Sherlock was a very clever man, though Irene was equally as cunning, verging on seductive with her movements and words. Despite the fact that Holmes had never been one for emotions such as compassion or, heaven forbid, love, I had heard the way he talked about her and seen his eyes soften whilst he did so.

It worried me a great deal; so much so that when he emerged in the most handsome attire, I voiced my opinion on the matter.

“Holmes…” I started.

“Hm?”

“Are you not at all stressed about Miss Adler? She’s quite intelligent and witty…I know you know this very well, but...” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and gave me an irritated look as he adjusted his suit jacket cuffs.

“Why? Are you worried?” I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off. “Don’t be. She’s beaten me once before, yes, though I can guarantee she won’t beat me again. I have a plan, old boy. It cannot go wrong.”

Still, the anxiety was gnawing at me. “But, Holmes-”

“Watson,” he said in a stern tone, “she will not seduce me. I don’t indulge myself in love or anything of the sort and you know it. She will not beat me.” I sighed, my eyes moving to the floor. 

“Alright…whatever you say.” Silence enveloped the two of us and Sherlock groaned, coming to stand beside me.

“Watson. I will be fine. Do not worry yourself over so trivial a matter.” My head shot up in a spurt of annoyance.

“Trivial? You’re calling this trivial?” His lips were sealed tight, his eyes displaying a war occuring within his mind. “Holmes, this is a dangerous business, not some trivial, petty issue! She’s a real threat!” 

He grunted, whipping his head in the opposite direction to avoid my gaze. “You worry too much.” Sherlock left the flat without another word, shutting the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood outside the flat door for a second longer before stalking off, nimbly bounding down the stairs. Watson worried too much. He’d be fine…after all, The Woman wasn’t that large of a threat. She was not as dangerous as his colleague tried to convey. And anyways, he reasoned, he was Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in London. No silly woman was going to get him to dance for her.

He fit his deerstalker that was hanging on the hook by the door over his head, fiddling with the hem of his suit jacket before opening the flat complex door, stepping out onto the streets of London. A cool, summer breeze swept through the air, swirling in Sherlock’s lungs and bringing a soothing effect over him. The blue sky that was splayed overhead was blotched with fluffy white clouds, and a glorious sun shone happily down upon the street, reflecting off the white buildings lining the sidewalks that were crawling with people.

Noises flooded Holmes’ senses, drowning out any thoughts. It felt good to take a walk occasionally. It distracted his mind in a most efficient manner, though it could sometimes feel like a sensory overload. Sherlock took one last deep breath and set off walking towards Irene’s previous address, ignoring the nagging to take a cab. It was a gorgeous day, and he had kept himself cooped up in his flat all week. It was time to get out a bit. Besides, if Watson was still annoyed with him when he arrived back, it would hopefully be something to use as cushioning for the evitable lecture.

Sherlock groaned inwardly. He was dreading it already.

The detective strolled onwards, checking his pocket watch to ensure he’d arrive on time. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t as far from Baker Street as he had thought, for within around fifteen minutes, he had already arrived at the estate in which Miss Irene Adler lived. It was settled surrounded by perfectly cut, lush green hedges, with a small fountain placed in the front lawn and a multitude of flowers growing in beds around the outskirts of the walls.

The building itself stretched two stories high with a white brick appearance that glittered in the celestial sun. A massive window was embedded on the first floor, allowing a view into the cleanly furnished yet austere drawing room, where a glossy white piano sat as the main centerpiece. The walls of said room could just be made out as a pastel olive green with white accent furniture. It was quite the place.

Sherlock checked his pocket watch again and shut it with a snap. Five minutes until seven. He glanced to his right and to his left before walking up the gravel pathway that led to the house, seating himself on the doorsteps to wait for the exact minute. Might as well be as punctual as possible. He tapped his fingers on his knee in a rhythmic pattern, occasionally humming a tune to pass the time.

“Wow, Mr. Holmes,” a silky female voice murmured, “waiting outside my door patiently? How courteous of you.” Sherlock froze, his breath lodging in his throat. With a cold, distant, yet polite manner, he raised himself to his feet and turned around to stare at the one and only Miss Irene Adler. His eyes widened at her attire.

She was wearing a long, lightweight, strapless white dress with gems fastened to the hems. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a flawless braided bun, and her lips were a ruby red, contrasting with her aquamarine eyes beautifully. She was the image of a queen.

The pair gazed at each other in silence, a smirk playing on Irene’s lips while Sherlock watched her every move like a hawk.

“Care to come in? The dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” Holmes dipped his head and carefully stepped past her into her home, taking in every sight and committing it to memory. A hand was gently placed on his shoulder, and his eyes darted to Irene. “Mr. Holmes, you seem quite nervous,” she laughed.

“I believe you’re wrong,” Sherlock stated quietly. Irene only smiled.

“Of course. Oh, and before I forget, let me compliment you on your appearance. You look quite lovely.” Sherlock stiffened, his mouth going dry. It took him a few tries to formulate words.

“Then let me repay the favor by complimenting you on yours.” The woman giggled again.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. The dining room is this way.” Irene led the way, and Sherlock followed, keeping his eyes trained on her. “You know, it’s been quite a long time since we’ve seen each other. I believe the last time was during that scandal case, hm?”

Holmes frowned in thought, peering at the room. A massive chandelier hung over the table, which had been adorned with a frilled tablecloth and silverware of the shiniest kind. Paintings of all sorts lined the muted olive walls. “Yes…” he said in a distracted tone, “I believe so.” Irene grinned at him.

“I’m glad I could remember it correctly.” A slight lapse in the conversation occurred, though she continued moments after. “I’d like to discuss what’s taken place since then over dinner, if you don’t mind.” The detective’s gray eyes flashed to her, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“Really now?”

“Oh, but of course. I have a very important favor to ask of you, though I’d need to explain a great deal before I can impose upon your blissful peace. Once more I ask if you don’t mind?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed, presumption after presumption flying through his mind. This criminal was about to ask him a favor…what on earth could it be? Maybe something scandalous, maybe something that would have a reward in the end. Possibly-

“Mr. Holmes?” Irene asked, splintering through his concentration.

“Ah, uhm, no, I don’t mind-” He stopped himself, pursing his lips in annoyance with himself as she smirked in triumph.

“I’m greatly indebted to you, Mr. Holmes. Now, feel free to sit down.” He glanced at the table in apprehension, though he sat himself at one end while Miss Adler positioned herself at the other. Then she frowned and hummed in thoughtfulness. “I believe I’m a bit too far off to tell you my story without you missing key parts.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reassure her, but before anything could come out, she had already dragged her chair across the marble floor and placed it in close proximity to Holmes’ plate. She then grabbed her silverware and adjusted them to be directly in front of her chair. Finally, she tucked her dress neatly under her and sat down, smiling sweetly at Sherlock.

“Much better. Mr. Holmes, would you prefer to wait for the food to arrive, or would you like me to begin telling you all that took place now?”

“As you wish,” he answered simply. Miss Adler frowned in annoyance at his boring answer.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, I know you can be much more exciting than that,” she murmured, sliding a hand onto his knee. Sherlock’s heart immediately galloped wildly as he gazed into her ocean eyes, the emotions crashing about in there almost drowning him. “Tell me; now, or later?”

He cleared his throat a couple times, unable to get his tongue to work. “N-now is preferable, Miss Adler.” She nodded and smiled, slipping her hand back into her lap.

“Well then…as soon as I had traveled away with my then husband, Norton, it was mostly for show and a way to get you off my trail. It worked brilliantly, and I swiftly divorced poor, heartbroken Norton in order to get my freedom back. I had a couple different husbands for those years, making extreme profit, though there was a feeling of yearning within my heart, beckoning me to return to London.

“There were two people I longed to make acquaintance with again; you,” she paused, gauging Holmes’ reaction, “and the favor.” Sherlock did a double take, blinking at her.

“I’m sorry?”

“Mr. Holmes, I have a case for you. When I came back to London, I set out in search of a certain friend of mine…a past colleague, to be frank. However, it seems that they’ve mysteriously disappeared…about a week ago is what a few people have told me.” The tall man titled his head, curiosity glowing in his eyes.

“Oh? And what is their name?”

“Samuel Higgins. He’s a tall, white man with black hair. Quite handsome, too. Around the age of…24, I believe.” Holmes paused for a moment, contemplating.

“And you said…past colleague?” he confirmed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. Irene nodded, amusement etched into her angelic features.

“I did indeed, Mr. Holmes. I assume you can imagine what that means.” Sherlock laughed, his rich, baritone voice vibrating throughout the room.

“Yes, I can.” A comfortable quiet fell over the pair, Miss Adler grinning fondly at Sherlock.

“So, Mr. Holmes. Will you take the case?”

“Of course.” Holmes pushed back his chair and stood up, refitting his deerstalker cap. “I’ll start right away.” Irene’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she inquired with a hint of urgency. He glanced at her, amusement sparking in his leering gaze.

“Why?”

“The dinner hasn’t even arrived,” she murmured, shoulders curving inwards slightly in disappointment. The detective smirked. What a ruse.

“Miss Adler, I was already aware this dinner wasn’t a social call. I believe we’re on terms that wouldn’t permit that, no?” She didn’t respond, though her upset facade swiftly melted to leave an irked woman. “I’ve got the case. I’ll be seeing you in the future.”

Irene sighed, slowly and suavely rising to stand directly in front of him. She took a deep breath. “Well then, it was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Holmes. I’ve had the pleasure of working with you in the past, and I’m ever so grateful to be able to again.” His brow crinkled.

“I’m sorry? I-”

“Farewell, Mr. Holmes.” She leaned forward, removed his hat, and allowed her full red lips to meet his forehead. He blinked, stuck on his spot. Irene smirked and nudged him a little towards the exit, handing him his cap back. “Goodbye.” He gulped, forcefully shoving his deerstalker back on.

“Farewell, Miss Adler.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the dining room, navigating his way to the front door. The sun outside was setting, giving the entire world an orange hue that tainted everything as far the eye could see…all the way to the horizon. And though this blissful atmosphere would usually relax his nerves, it only heightened them.

Maybe Watson had been right. Maybe he should have worried a twinge bit more than he had…which was close to zero, but nonetheless. Miss Adler was certainly dangerous, and this case could be even more daring than he had thought. And what could she have meant by “she had the pleasure of working with him in the past”? To his extensive knowledge, he’d never worked with her before…

He took a shaky breath and started walking back towards Baker Street.

Chapter Text

I had fallen asleep on my armchair positioned by the fire when I was awakened by hearing the tell-tale creaking and moaning of the wooden steps. They weren’t as heavy as a usual client, but certainly not as light as a woman’s, so the only being who could possibly be entering the flat was-

“Holmes!” I ejaculated as he stepped through the door into the dimly lit flat. His brow was knitted in thorough concentration while his posture was tight and stiff. I waited patiently for my friend to respond, although all I received was silence. “Holmes?” 

“Hm?” he distractedly hummed, moving away towards his bookshelf. He pulled out a thick, forest green leather-backed book which was his index full of people. 

“What are you doing?” He looked up at me and flashed the index's cover before shifting through it once more. I scoffed, stalking over. “I figured that out,” I muttered. “I mean, why are you going through that?” 

“Case,” he answered. My jaw dropped.

“A case? From Miss Adler?” He nodded. “Huh.” I took a few steps back, watching Holmes’ facial expressions. “So…what kind of case?”

“Searching for someone. Ever heard of anyone called Samuel Higgins?” I clicked my tongue thoughtfully. 

“No…?” Sherlock sighed, slamming his index shut and startling me. 

“Well neither have I.” He stood in the same spot for a minute or two, his gray eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth. “I’m going to get some rest. I recommend you do the same. I plan on going out tomorrow to see if anyone around Irene’s home has heard of him. Would you like to come with me?” 

I smiled. “Of course, my dear fellow. I’d have no greater pleasure.” Sherlock smiled back. 

“Excellent, Watson. I’ll see you in the morning.” He spun on his heel and headed towards his bedroom, but I stopped him.

“Holmes,” I started.

“Yes?” He turned his head to gaze at me curiously. 

“Did she…describe this Samuel Higgins?” The detective waited a second, staring at me.

“Tall, white male with black hair and a handsome face. Around the age of 24.” I grinned in understanding. It faded, a particular yet vague question finding its way into my mind.

“One more thing…” My stomach did a flip before I asked, “Are you…alright?” 

“...what do you mean?” he inquired, cocking an eyebrow. I could see him stiffen just a twinge, but it was enough for me to notice immediately.

“It’s what I asked. Are you alright?” Sherlock didn’t reply as fast as I had hoped, and his eventual answer was short. 

“Yes. Goodnight, Watson.” He entered his room and softly clicked his door shut, leaving me to stare after him again. I sighed.

“Night, Holmes.”