This particular case stayed in my memory not for its extraordinary mysterious or adventurous nature, but for the fact it gave me a most interesting insight in the past of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He was no man who liked to talk about his past or anybody else's for that matter. He would claim it to be nothing, but nostalgic nonsense. If he would talk to me about the things he had experienced before the fortunate day we decided to share lodgings in Baker Street, it always was about cases. Never did he talk about any personal matters. I still believe, would it not have been for the case of The Greek Interpreter, I probably never would have gotten to know his brother Mycroft even existed.
This time, however, he would not be able to escape his past, for it came straight and unavoidable to Baker Street to speak to him.
It had been raining these last few days and today was the first day the sun again blessed London with its warming beams. My old wound had not taken kindly to this dreadful and wet weather and since my friend also had no case, we had both stayed inside these last few days.
Like it usually was during these periods between cases, after his recovery from driving himself to near complete exhaustion, boredom soon had gotten the better of Holmes. I was glad to see he wasn't yet completely devoting himself to his terrible vice that was cocaine, but I already saw by the doleful look on his face that his mind was starting to trouble him by the simple fact of having no complicate puzzle to solve or intricate problem to untangle.
Yet, I doubt even he would have expected the surprise that would enter not long after. Our landlady, being the eager woman she was, knocked on the door and broke the oppressive silence that had been filling the room, like that. I asked her in and she soon announced a lady had come to talk to Holmes, which immediately seemed to lift his spirits, for he told Mrs. Hudson to bring her straight in. Even though, I would have asked him to maybe wash up a bit, for my friend was looking positively dishevelled after these last few days of idleness. Yet, despite his urge to always appear decent in public, he often seemed to care little about his appearance at home, even in front of a possible new client.
I myself already was in positive anticipation for a new adventure as I also am no man for long idleness, but more a man of action, which Holmes also would occasionally use against me. However, right now we both awaited this lady with great curiosity.
Soon she entered. She was a woman in the end of her thirties. Not of remarkable beauty, but her kind eyes held a certain female intelligence, which certainly gave her a quite charming appearance. She was dressed in fine clothes, yet defiantly no noblewoman. The ring on her finger telling she was married, probably to a merchant or other fairly well-off middle-class man. What was most interesting about her though, was the particular glance with which she met Holmes. Somehow, it was the glance of an unforgiving woman, who was still feeling fretful towards a man she felt, had wronged her.
"Sherlock.", she finally said in greeting, giving a polite, but tersely nod of her head.
"Sherlock?", I couldn't help, but repeat. Probably my tone a little too surprised, but I certainly was most startled by this. Why would this lady call my friend by his first name? By the way she had looked at him I had guessed they might know each other, yet, this suggested a far closer relationship they must have shared, than just knowing each other from a former case or something alike.
"Abigail.", Holmes gulped, looking surprised to a degree I just very rarely had ever seen him.
This seemed to please our visitor, for a little smirk played on her lips, when she turned to face me,
"Oh, he never told you about me? Well, that really fits him."
"This was long before Watson's time and is absolutely irrelevant to him.", Holmes returned, actually sounding a bit aggravated.
"Well, I do think he looks fairly interested.", the lady spoke,
"My name is Mrs. Abigail Turner. Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I used to be in a relationship."
"Holmes!", I couldn't help, but gasp. I knew my friend held a high admiration for the charming and intelligent Irene Adler, yet the same time I knew he never had had any romantic feelings towards her, let alone any other woman.
Holmes gave a frustrated groan,
"It was no relationship."
"It was to me.", Mrs. Turner returned curtly.
"But this is not my fault. I never claimed to love you, neither did I ever promise marriage or anything of the like to you.", Holmes sighed in an annoyed way.
"No, you didn't. But you still made me feel like you had feelings for me and not that I merely was one of your scientific experiments.", she huffed.
"Well, also your feelings misleading you in expecting things I wouldn't be able to give you, aren't my fault, Abigail. I merely gave you what you wanted and you provided me the knowledge I was hoping to gain.", Holmes spoke in his nonchalant, cold tone. I actually thought this was a very unkind way to treat the lady and also she seemed angry, by the way her face grew red with anger for a moment.
"Whatever, Sherlock. This lies in the past. I have found a far better man than you. He also means what he makes me believe and does not use me as a sort of laboratory rat.", she cocked her head, before heaving a deep breath, obviously to calm her nerves,
"And this is also why I have come to you. You may be a most inhuman and cold-hearted man, but in the things you do, you're still the best. And even though I hate to say it, I need your help.", she spoke in the tone of a woman pleading, but still not losing her pride.
My friend just gave a smirk, before reaching to grab is pipe and a match,
"Well, then least this time you're expecting something from me I can provide.", he said, while motioning with his hand for her to go on speaking.