The bell to 221B Baker Street buzzed loudly through the flat. Doctor John Watson had been sitting in his arm chair, reading medical journals, and trying to pass the time. They had quite a dry spell on interesting cases, and it was trying both his and his flat mate's patience. More so, his flat mate's. Sherlock Holmes, a tall, thin, lanky man was currently hanging upside down from the ceiling from a series of ropes and pullies. His face was beginning to redden, and his dark curly locks were fluttering underneath him.
"John! Did you not hear the bell? Answer it. It may be a client." Sherlock's voice was strained as he was adjusting some more ropes to alter his position.
"Oh, no, Sherlock. I really can't. I think you should get the door." John looked up from his medical journal with a smug smile on his face.
"Don't be idiotic, John. Get the door." Sherlock's tone was flat. The buzzer came a second time, slightly more impatient this time.
John got up from his seat, smiling and shaking his head at his flat mate. He hustled down the stairs not wanting to keep their guest waiting any longer. He opened the door. "Yes, can I he-" He stopped mid-sentence at the sight that greeted him.
Turning to meet his gaze was a tall, curvaceous woman in a flattering burgundy business suit. The skirt fit nicely around her shapely legs and John could tell she had extremely well-shaped hips. Her matching burgundy blazer was well-cut to her hour-glass figure. She wore an appropriate yet tempting black scoop neck top. She had long deep brown tresses that were held up in a clip. It was a casual hairstyle, but very alluring. Her face spoke of all business when John opened the door, but her hazel eyes hinted at something mischievous.
John let out a small gasp.
The woman extended her hand forcibly. "Doctor John Watson?" She was clearly American, judging by her accent.
"Yes. Yes I am. How can I help you?" He was trying to focus on her words and not her beauty.
"My name is Christiane Madrigal, and I would like your and Detective Holmes's assistant on a matter of international importance." She was extremely formal. Business all the way. But there was something different. No one ever acknowledged John's importance before. It was always "I need Sherlock Holmes." That's not what she said, though. She said she needed him and Sherlock. John lifted his head a little higher and puffed out his chest a little.
"Of course. Follow me, and we'll discuss the matter. Hopefully, we can be of some help." John didn't care what Sherlock said or what the case was, they were taking this one.
She followed him up the stairs, her high heels clicking softly on the stairs as they went.
"Where in America are you from?" John asked as they walked.
She chuckled, "am I that obvious?" John shrugged. "Philadelphia. Pennsylvania. I often work in New York City, though. Sometimes Washington, D.C."
"Well traveled." John retorted.
"I'm informed that you are, as well, Doctor Watson." John straightened his back at the reveal of information, but also at the tingle that shot through his spine at the way she said his name. It was like quicksilver. John thought for a second: "a matter of international importance." This wasn't a trick of Mycroft's was it?
They opened the door to the flat, and John ushered Ms. Madrigal in, "We'll just get settled and ask a few questions to-" Christiane had taken a few steps into the flat and cocked her head to the side curiously. John stepped inside and realized why she stopped: Sherlock was still suspended from the ceiling.
"Oh….Hello." Sherlock waved from being upside down.
"…kinky…" Ms. Madrigal muttered under her breath. John whipped his head to her almost causing an injury, his jaw dropped. Sherlock just stared at her for a second, studying. Really not phased by the scene before her, Ms. Madrigal placed her briefcase to the side of the door, hung up her blazer on the hook, and walked up to Sherlock, still upside down and struggling slightly to undo his knot work. She extended her hand.
"Detective Sherlock Holmes. My name is Christiane Madrigal. I'm here to proposition you for a case." He took her hand and shook it awkwardly from upside down.
"Yes, I gathered. If you will just allow me a few moments to free myself, I will attend to your situation. I was simply –"
Ms. Madrigal cut him off, "testing the correlation between suspension and inverse blood flow to rate of loss of consciousness. Clearly."
Sherlock was at a loss for words. So was John whom was still standing by the door. No one ever understood Sherlock or his crazy experiments.
Ms. Madrigal leaned in closely to Sherlock, "And I hate to tell you Mr. Holmes, but if we don't get you down rather quickly? You'll be finding out your personal rate of loss of consciousness from inverse blood flow. I hope you've been keeping a timer." She pulled back and winked at him.
"How do you come to that-" Sherlock sudden felt a whoosh of dizziness and blurred vision come to his head. "Um, John…John!" Sherlock was pleading with some urgency. "Knife! Cut me down John. Now."
As John was grabbing a knife from the kitchen and about to run to the living room to cut down his detective friend, Ms. Madrigal held up a hand. She stepped back for second, studying the ropes.
"This is not a game, woman! John the knife!" Sherlock was holding his head. Ms. Madrigal started clicking her tongue. She reached above Sherlock and tugged on a few ropes. If Sherlock had his wits about him, he would have had a lovely view of her rump. After the third or fourth rope tug, Sherlock was falling rather rapidly from the ceiling. However, he was suddenly slowed as Ms. Madrigal guided him safely the rest of the way down until he was collapsed on the floor. His feet and legs were very much tangled in the ropes. But Sherlock was very much dizzy from the blood rush to his head. Sherlock thunked his head on the floor.
"Some juice would be good if you got it, dear, for poor Mr. Holmes here," she turned to wink at John standing in the kitchen doorway. She took a few steps towards him. "And I'll be needing that knife now, if you don't mind." John was still standing there with his mouth open.
Sherlock shot daggers at Ms. Madrigal. "You're an incorrigible woman."
Did…Did she just outsmart Sherlock Holmes? In his own flat? At his own experiment? Who the hell is this woman, and can I marry her now? Can she at least move in and make my life peaceful. And oh my, did she do it with sex appeal.
"Um…Doctor Watson…" Ms. Madrigal was trying to get his attention.
"Hm? Yes?"
"The knife, please."
"Oh, right, the knife." He turned it and handed her the handle.
"And the juice for Mr. Holmes." John just turned and busied himself in the kitchen. "One more thing, Doctor Watson…" He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her while he poured the juice. "Keep your mouth closed or you'll let in flies." John coughed at that and spilled some juice on the counter. Grabbing a cloth, he cleaned it up immediately and brought the juice out to Sherlock.
"Thank you very much for impeding my escape, John!" Sherlock shouted from the floor. Ms. Madrigal sauntered over to Sherlock and gingerly knelt beside him, careful not to be indecent.
"I would have gotten down." Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms at his chest.
"Mhm…" Ms. Madrigal started cutting the ropes at the ankles with a firm hand planted on his shin.
"Don't patronize me! I know my own rigging!"
"Oh, I know you do…" Ms. Madrigal continued placating him and worked her way on the ropes.
"And I had it perfectly calculated so I would escape before I blacked out."
"Aww, I know. Bad luck." Ms. Madrigal made pouty faces while she inched further up his leg. Her hand was now resting on his thigh as she cut the ropes in between his knees. She applied slight pressure to the thigh as she adjusted her position on the floor, using him for leverage. It sent a jolt through Sherlock's lower half.
This is an odd feeling. I've never had a physiological response to a female's touch like that before. That warrants further experimenting.
She noticed him lost in thought and that time did purposely squeeze his thigh. That time all the electricity centralized in his groin.
Clearly, that's arousal. This woman arouses me. Why….My body is simple a vessel of transport. I do not give in to carnal pleasures. But she…..is intriguing. Much more so than Irene Adler. This woman is a solver like myself. Perhaps much better than myself.
She squeezed again, noticing the distance in his eyes.
"Damnit, woman! I was trying to think."
"One: I have a name. Calling me 'woman' is exceptionally demeaning. I don't know about in England, but in America there was a Women's Rights movement, say about hundred years ago, 'kay? Two: I know. That's why I did it." She grinned at him, untangling the last of the ropes from his legs. She stood up with the assistance of the chair. And offered a hand to Sherlock. He refused it. Ms. Madrigal shrugged and instead pointed to the juice on the table.
As Sherlock was standing, shakily, Ms. Madrigal went to retrieve her briefcase from the other side of the room. She sat in Sherlock's chair and crossed her legs in front of her. Sherlock shot daggers at her again. She shrugged and made pouty faces at him. John came over and sat in his chair.
"Now….about my case…"