This one assaulted me this morning and I've been working on it all day.
Coincidentally, it serves as foreshadowing for my current major project that I hope to post in the near future. Keep your eyes peeled for A Scandal on Baker Street!
Sherlock and John were home that afternoon with no case to pursue. John was taking care of paperwork he had run out on when Sherlock had summoned him with an urgent matter, so the detective was left to stare at the telly, flipping through the channels as he bored with each program in turn.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in!" Sherlock called out, cutting off the man on the TV with a click.
The door swung open and in walked a young woman, casually dressed, her blond hair pinned up. She glanced around, appraising the room and its occupants before finally landing on the famed figure on the couch. His eyes were narrowed in confusion as he tried to examine her in turn.
"For all the speculation, I've never actually seen the inside of this place before." she remarked, her voice distinctly American.
"Have we met?" Sherlock asked sharply.
John glanced up from his work and shrugged in lieu of a reply.
She rolled her eyes and stepped inside, "Would I be more recognizable with dark hair? I considered dying it, but decided 'au naturel' - so to speak - would be more poignant."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Are you some sort of actress?" John hazarded a guess.
She laughed, "I sing opera, but it's been a while."
"If you have a case for us, I suggest you explain it and stop wasting our time," Sherlock cut in.
"What, you can't deduce it?" she asked with a cheshire-cat grin. She shook her head in mock disappointment, "I'm not the only one here who looks a little different, you know. Dr. Watson, here, has lost his moustache and the shape of his face is all wrong. And when did you," - she turned on Sherlock - "loose that 'hawk like' nose of yours and become a model? - you almost look more like Godfrey than yourself!"
"Who's Godfrey?" John asked, increasingly perplexed.
"That'd be Mr. Norton to you," she said with a shake of her head.
"Why the insistence on last names and honorifics?" Sherlock suddenly spoke up, "Your demeanor is otherwise casual, but you referred to John as 'Dr. Watson' and insisted your own husband - is it? - be called by his last name. That would imply a strict formal upbringing, deeply ingrained despite personal rebellion."
"Very good," she replied in mock condescension, with an affected British accent.
"You claim to know us, "Sherlock continued with a frown, "From where?
"Irene Norton (nee Adler)," she said in answering, a hand outstretched, "You were at my wedding, if you'll recall."
Sherlock glanced down at her hand and back up at his face, his expression disdainful, "As amusing as your antics may be, if you do not have a case for us, 'Mrs. Norton,' I request you leave and stop wasting our time."
"Don't give me that! You were watching television when I arrived and will just return to it when I leave."
"Sherlock," John interrupted hesitantly, "That name… How would she know, it was top secret, I didn't even mention it on my blog..."
"Coincidence." he waved it off, not taking his eyes off her.
"You can't really believe that!" she exclaimed, "I really expected better of you, though you did fall for that terrible impostor - that's what brings me here, by the way. A dominatrix, really? I had a bit of scandal about me, sure, and the speculation was more than a little excessive, but this is a bit much, don't you agree, Mr. Holmes?"
"How do you know about Irene Adler?" Sherlock demanded.
"I told you, I am she - the original. And it's Mrs. Norton, if you don't mind," she shot a glare at John.
"What did I do?" he exclaimed, thoroughly confused.
She waved it off.
"You intend to say," Sherlock said, his voice dripping with skepticism, "That the Irene Adler we know is an impostor, passing herself as you?"
She nodded.
"And," he continued, "That we have met you-"
"Just you," she clarified, "The good doctor was absent, and you were in disguise at the time."
"You are also saying that I," he corrected himself, "Was at your wedding to Mr. Godfrey Norton, an occasion which I have absolutely no recollection of whatsoever?"
"Oh!" John suddenly exclaimed, "You mean our predecessors!"
"That's one way to describe it," she replied, "But you are still them."
"Kind of…"
"If you are the predecessor to Irene Adler, then why are you still here?" Sherlock asked.
"Because she's an impostor! That's why I came to see you, you've incorporated her into the cycle! I don't want my line replaced by that. It's enough that poor Godfrey's nearly faded out because of how much it's deteriorated already."
"What do you expect us to do?" Sherlock demanded, "I am not your dear Holmes; we already have an Irene."
She gave a harsh laugh, "That would be Dr. Watson's terminology, not mine. Despite speculation and my reputation, I am a married woman and encountered Mr. Holmes as nothing else. This is what I mean by deterioration. I suppose it would be vain to expect an invitation to your wedding to 'Miss. Adler'."
"There will be nothing of the sort." he replied with a grimace.
"That, at least, is a relief."
"But," Sherlock interrupted, "Why would it matter to you if we did? We are not the same as our predecessors, cycle or none, and your appearance here indicates that is even more the case with you and Irene."
"But she claims to be me! She uses my name, my identity. It is enough that you and I have been made a routine couple, that Dr. Watson has been turned into a bumbling fool-"
"I resent that!" John exclaimed.
"Not now, but until now." she retorted, "What if," she turned back towards Sherlock, "That little Frenchman - with the 'grey matter' - dared to identify himself by your name?"
"Well, that would hardly be accurate - 'Sherlock Holmes' is barely pronounceable in French, let alone a name they would give to their children. And you said yourself, you're 'Irene Norton' not 'Adler'."
"She's trying to take my place in the cycle."
"And? This is the 21st century, things change, we've all changed. Unlike you, John and I aren't the originals either."
"Then why am I back? You don't see the original Mr. Holmes walking around, of course not, because you're him! She's diverged enough that she isn't me anymore. The cycle's been corrupted."
"That's a bit of a jump to make…" John remarked.
"What else could have brought me back? There's a reason you're you and not that man and his 'sobriety companion' in New York."
"How do you know they're not the one's continuing the cycle?"
"Why else would I be back? Why else would I be here?"
"We could both be fulfilling the cycle for all you know." Sherlock put in, utterly disinterested, "Our job is to solve mysteries, not maintain the cycle. I don't know why you're back and I'd say it has about as much to do with my work as the solar system. So if you'd do us all the favor of leaving, that'd be much appreciated."
"You are part of this cycle, whether you like it or not! And the cycle's been corrupted."
"We're not just parts of the cycle," John said, "We're people, we have our own lives within it. Thank god I'm not identical to all of the Dr. John Watsons that have come before me. Does it really matter if Irene Adler - or Norton, or whatever your name is - is supposed to be you or not? The fact is, the role's evolved beyond the point where you can take it and I don't think anything can be done about that…"
"I see this was pointless." she declared, "I have a cycle to fix."
With that she turned and headed out the door.
I swear, I did not intend for this to get so heady, it was just going to be a light little fic about the original Irene Norton (nee Adler) ranting to BBC's Sherlock about her portrayal in the series. But, of course, he would ask questions, and so I had to explain how she was there, and this is where it got me. I may do another chapter where she continues trying to fix the problem - we'll see if the inspiration hits me.
The "cycles" are based on a theory of mine that I hope to elaborate on in a future short fic that's more directly about them.