The coat
The minute he put it on after she gave it back, something similar to a chill ran down his spine. Sherlock sensed something in the fabric, something hers that he hadn't noticed on their first meeting. As impossible as it may sound, the genius detective had left something unnoticed about Irene Adler.
A scent.
It wasn't perfume. Miss Adler was far more cunning than that. A drop of scent could reveal too much about someone and she was well aware of it. That's why she chose not to apply a single spray of her favourite Rose de Nuit. An alien smell still managed to lingere.
To Sherlock's fine senses it was as if the coat had been…altered in some way. It did not wrap itself around his body as it used to. Perhaps the thought of the dark tweed against a woman's bare skin had a subliminal impact on Sherlock's mind. It was second-hand touching.
But the feeling soon drowned to Sherlock's disconcert on how he could have overlooked a mere thing as a scent. Form it he could have deduced the sort of clients she offered her services to, the possible fabrics and brand names stored in her wardrobe, the places she frequented…the methods she used.
Damn it.
Perhaps Mycroft was right mentioning to Sherlock the case had something to do with sex. After all it was the only area completely blacked out of his psyche.
He wrapped his navy scarf around his neck slowly. Miss Adler had once again managed to give him a surprise of sorts.
Of course Sherlock would never admit that.
