Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters (sadly), but I do own the OC's and the story. Thanks for reading :)
Chapter 1
The Mysterious Woman
Sherlock's phone rang. A shrill buzz sounded throughout the flat. The sudden noise after several minutes of silence caused John to jump slightly in his chair in surprise.
Sherlock casually slipped the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, checking to see who was phoning him. He let the phone ring, not bothering to answer it or ignore the call. For thirty seconds the phone sounded its shrill song through 221b.
"That's the fifth time your phone has ringed in the last hour," John stated.
"Splendid deduction John," Sherlock said sardonically.
John rolled his eyes. "Who keeps calling you?" He asked.
Sherlock merely flipped to the next page of the newspaper he was reading, not bothering to look up at John who was obviously staring at him. "No one of any importance," He finally said, eyes still glued to the paper.
But John wasn't satisfied with his friend's half-assed answer. "Is it Mycroft?" He persisted.
"Surely you can do better than that, John," Sherlock said in his usual monotone voice.
"Okay…" John dragged on. He began to think of every possible clue Sherlock had given him over the past hour. Obviously, he had used this situation to test John though he had always hated Sherlock's little tests. "Well, you have their ringtone as a very annoying shrill sound - and I know that it's been personalized because your regular calling tone is much more bearable than that – which means that you don't particularly like the person,
"but you don't hate them enough to ignore the call. You don't want them knowing that you're purposely ignoring their calls, so you have a relationship that's close but not deep, so probably someone in your family. If it was anyone else you would have simply ignored it, so… my best guess would be… your mum or dad." He finished, looking at Sherlock for confirmation.
Sherlock folded the paper in half, revealing his face, which contained no emotion or telling. "Very close, John. I'm afraid you might be getting better at this," Sherlock said though his voice showed no sign of praise. "But you are incorrect." He pushed himself up from his chair and smoothed his shirt. He began to walk away from John.
"Where are you going?"
Sherlock halted, "I'm going to take a shower, John, is that alright?" he said sarcastically and returned to his path to the bathroom.
He slammed the door behind him, and John listened for the sound of water running before he quietly stood up and walked over to his former flatmates chair, where his phone was currently residing. In the back of his mind, he knew that Sherlock had left it there, and wanted John to look at it, but he pushed the thought aside. He unlocked the phone – which was easy to do since it didn't require a passcode – and checked recent calls. The same number was repeated five times, each with the caller ID as 'HER'.
Was it the woman? Was Irene Adler getting in contact with Sherlock again? But no, that can't be possible, she's dead.
Then who is 'HER'? And why is she so adamant to get in contact with his best friend?
He had gotten so caught up in his questions that he almost didn't hear the shower shut off. He swiftly locked the phone, placed it exactly where he picked it up, and returned back to his seat, continuing to write in his blog.
Sherlock emerged from the bathroom draped in his dark blue bathrobe, drying his hair off with a towel. He walked to his seat and picked up his mobile. "Hope you found everything you needed." He did not look at John, who was mentally smacking himself for falling for Sherlock's trick.
He didn't say anything else, and sauntered back to his room, closing the door behind him.
"There's a woman who keeps calling him but he never answers."
John was pacing around the large sitting room at Mycroft's club. The private room that Mycroft constantly acquired was being filled with the sounds of John's frantic footsteps.
"He has her in his phone as 'HER'," He tells the other occupant of the private room, "got any idea who he might be referring to?"
John trailed off when he saw Mycroft stand up, and pace around the room just as he had done. "So, she's coming back to London," He spoke quietly to himself.
"Wait, you know who it is?"
"Of course, I know who she is…
"She's Sherlock's downfall."
Little ways away, at Heathrow airport, a woman emerged from a passenger jet, the last one to depart from the plane. Her red coat stood out amongst the crowds of passengers ready to board their flights. She walked with purpose, her suitcase trailing behind her. In her free hand, she held her mobile.
She dialed a string of numbers and held the phone to her ear.
"Landed safely, if you were curious," She spoke in a soft, elegant voice, "I hope you've made arrangements."
She spotted a sign held up by a spiffy looking driver. Written on the white Bristol was three bold letters, clear as day, spelling out:
HER
"You could have warned me of your plans to visit." Mycroft stated as the red-coated woman entered the black street car.
She gave him a sly smile, "And what would be the fun in that."
Mycroft gave out a small chuckle. She gave him a small wink, and a smile that followed.
"Am I correct in assuming that Sherlock is aware of my arrival?" Her ruby painted lips moved with a practiced elegance.
"I'm sure you should know, I mean you have called him quite a lot lately."
"Well he's never answered, now has he?"
She reached into her black leather purse, pulling out a small gold tube. She delicately popped off the lid of the casing and twisted the end, revealing a stick of red. She carefully applied the lipstick in a fluid motion, and rubbed her lips together after the application.
"So where are we headed, Mycroft?" She raised her perfect eyebrow at him.
"Home, Alice."