Elementary... Sweetie

It's a busy day, Sherlock finally has an interesting case, and John is wasting time by needing to eat. It had been six in the morning when Sherlock had gotten the call. Lestrade had given the usual spiel, "This case is impossible. I have no idea what to make of it. Care to give it a look?" And as soon as Sherlock had seen the case, he was immediately interested. At first glance, it seemed to be an open and shut case; wealthy family, gambling son, stolen heirloom coronet. The son stole the coronet to pay off his debt, case closed. The son had even been found holding half of the coronet, the other half broken off and missing. But he had sworn up and down that he hadn't stolen the coronet, he had been protecting it from a burglar. However there had been no sign of a break-in, and after scouring the entire house, the other half of the coronet was nowhere to be found. And that's where Sherlock came in. The police wanted him to find the missing half. Usually Sherlock would scoff at such a menial case, but he had been bored. The newspapers had said the half-coronet would stay missing forever, and the wealthy heir would most assuredly be sent to prison. So naturally, Sherlock had to prove them all wrong.

Sherlock had wanted to go straight to the scene of the crime, but John had insisted on getting breakfast first. Sherlock had scoffed at John's need for sustenance, but had finally agreed. So here he is, in a sleepy diner, John in the bathroom, and poring over the facts and pictures Lestrade gave him. "The maid's boyfriend stole it." Says a woman's voice. Sherlock's head whips around. The woman is blonde, with extremely curly hair that went just everywhere. Sherlock suddenly has an intense desire to pull a curl to test its springiness. He immediately dismisses the thought as utterly ridiculous, and tries to figure out this curvy enigma of a woman. She is a little on the short side, muscular, and over all completely mysterious. Her clothes are ambiguous, she could have gotten them anywhere; her face is timeless, her eyes were young, but so very old; her fingernails are painted red, well-trimmed, and ultimately give nothing away. Her gaze is light and her posture immaculate. Sherlock can barely decipher anything about her. She has to be older than thirty, but he can't pinpoint a specific age. She is aesthetically pleasing, but more than that, she is interesting to look at. Sherlock has almost perfect memory, but he feels as though he could stare at this mysterious woman's face for a very long time and still discover something new. His observations only lasted a moment, but when he finally finds a clever reply, she is already leaving. John comes back from the loo and sits across from him. "Who was that woman?" He asks. "No idea." Sherlock replies, puzzled. He looks over the details again, and falls back into his chair, awestruck. "She was right. The bloody woman was absolutely right!" "Right about what?" Asks John as he sticks a forkful of eggs in his mouth. Sherlock throws money on the table and walks out the door. John takes another hurried bite of his half-eaten breakfast and rushes to catch up. "Sherlock, right about what?" He asks again when he finds his friend. Sherlock hails a cab. "No time. I'll explain it when we get there."

The woman was right, it was the maid's boyfriend. After looking for that solution, (if only to prove the woman wrong) Sherlock discovered it was correct. The maid had said her key to the family's house had been missing from her person the night of the theft, and the only person she had been in contact that day had been her boyfriend, and though her boyfriend had a fairly believable alibi, (drinking at a bar with several witnesses) it wasn't water tight. Sherlock had also noticed a bit of blood on the broken coronet, and sure enough, the boyfriend had recently gotten cut. The forensics report came back positive, and the boyfriend was arrested. The police searched his apartment, and the other half of the coronet was found. Another case solved. But Sherlock wasn't satisfied. That woman had barely looked at the files (over his shoulder, he might add) and she had immediately figured out the whole thing. She had a mind as quick as, well, his. This has almost never happened before, and Sherlock is intrigued, annoyed, and slightly flummoxed. He was so perplexed about this mystery woman that he had retreated into his mind palace to study his memories of her more closely. He realized he had never seen her in the diner before. She hadn't been sitting at any of the tables or booths when he and John had come in, he had been facing the bathroom and she had come up behind him, and he hadn't ever heard the door behind him open. It had been like she had appeared out of thin air.

It has been a month since the mysterious woman encounter, and Sherlock is bored. No interesting cases had come up, not even a good murder, and there is nothing to do. He solved a few easy ones, just to be distracted from his boredom, but they never lasted very long. John did his best to distract Sherlock, but there was nothing that seriously caught his attention. John had left to run some errands, and Sherlock is left alone with his thoughts. He paces, stomps about, and plays his violin. Nothing is working, he's still bored. He's in the middle of a concerto when his phone buzzes. "What." He says into the phone. "Sherlock. It's Lestrade. There's a pair of earrings missing from a museum and-" Sherlock cuts him off. "Why should I care? This is the second time you've called me about jewelry. If you're that interested in jewelry, change your profession, George." "It's Greg. Why can't you get my name right? It's not that hard! It's one syllable, one little-never mind. I'm not calling you because I want your opinion on my life decisions, I'm calling because a pair of earrings were stolen, and there was a note left with your name on it." "I'll be there in five."

Sherlock texts John on the way to the museum, and when he gets there John is already talking to Lestrade. "There you are." Lestrade says. He gestures to an empty display case in from of him. "The earrings were here, and then they weren't. The camera was on the whole time and didn't pick up anything. The earrings just vanished, and a note popped up a moment afterwards." Sherlock sighed. "Obviously the camera was fed a loop. Really Grant, I expect better from you." "It's Greg! How many times-And I knew it was a loop-Just read the blasted note!" With a frustrated huff, Lestrade shoved a slip of paper in front of Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock plucked the paper from Lestrade's hand with a flair and John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's dramatics. The paper was a yellow post-it-note, Sherlock's eyes skimmed it twice, and blinked. Without a word, he handed it to John. John looked at Sherlock's face, he saw an impassive mask, and looked down at the note.

"Don't worry about the earrings, I'm just borrowing them for a date. Say hello to your handsome friend for me, the one with those gorgeous cheekbones. Sherlock Holmes, hello. I was right, wasn't I?"

"It's her. The woman." Sherlock says once John finished reading. "What woman?" John asks. "Irene?" "Don't be ridiculous! The other woman! The one from the diner." "Who's the woman?" Lestrade asks. "No one." Sherlock snaps back. John gives him a look and turns to Lestrade. "'The woman' is a mystery. Sherlock and I were in a diner and this mysterious woman pops up, no clue who she is, and she solved the crown case before Sherlock did." "She did not! And it was a coronet!" Sherlock says waspishly. John and Lestrade share a smile. "Whatever you say." John says agreeably. Sherlock gives an almost unnoticeable eye roll. "Don't patronize me. Now, if that's all you have for me, I have more important matters to attend to." He walks away briskly and John hurries after him. "She's really got you in a tizzy, hasn't she?" He asks once he and Sherlock are alone in a taxi. Sherlock faces the window. "No, she hasn't. I don't get into 'a tizzy'. That's beneath me." "You're only human." John mutters under his breath. Sherlock scoffs. "She may have been clever once, but she made a mistake. She got me involved."

By the next morning, the earrings had been returned and another post-it-note had appeared. John had claimed he had to work, so Sherlock goes alone. John worries for Lestrade's sanity. Sherlock circles the display case as Lestrade tries to convince him to look at a missing persons case. The display case is virtually untouched. No fingerprints, no marks, and no sign of any disturbance. Sherlock pulls away from his perusal of the case and turns to Lestrade. "Would you stop pestering me and let me see the note?" Lestrade's mouth snaps shut, and he hands the note over with a glare.

"Hello again, handsome. Told you I'd bring them back. Oh, and tell Lestrade the man he's searching for is in a freezer in his neighbor's basement. Domestic fight with the wife."

Sherlock gives a minuscule smirk and hands the note back. "Did you not read the note? The man is in his neighbor's basement freezer. And you call yourself a detective." He says derisively as he walks away. "What about the jewel thief?" Lestrade cries after him. His question is left unanswered.

The mysterious woman must have a thing with 'borrowing', because she steals eleven more times. It's always jewels, but never the same place twice. And every single morning after the burglary, the jewels appear again, as if they had never left. The police guard the targeted places at night to catch the thief, but somehow she slips by them, every time. All they find is the missing jewelry and a cheeky note that solves the cases Sherlock refuses to look at. The more she eludes the police, the antsier Sherlock gets. The notes amuse him, but they drive him crazy because he can't figure her out at all. John has found him muttering about 'the curly-haired, cheeky, annoying, distracting woman' on several occasions. Sherlock spends hours on the computer looking for anything about the blonde enigma, but always comes up empty. He's even hacked into the British government's files, but there is not even a hint of the woman he's searching for. It's as if she doesn't exist.

It's late at night when he finally meets her again. He had been working on a case in the lab and when he came back to the apartment, the lights were off. That was to be expected, because John had gone on a date. He unlocked the door. "Hello cheekbones." A woman's voice drawls. Sherlock turns on the light. It is the woman from the diner, the woman who's been running the police in circles, the woman who can't be found anywhere, the woman who has been driving Sherlock crazy, and she's sitting in his chair. "You." He says, almost as if he can't believe she's actually there. "Me." She says simply, her eyes filled with mirth. "Don't bother trying to deduce how I got in. You shan't ever figure it out, and I shan't ever tell you. I guess you could call it magic." Sherlock walks over to the chair across from her and stares at her intently. She smiles lazily and watches him think. He sits down and she waits for a few seconds before speaking again. "I could have picked the lock and hidden my tools, not really, you would have immediately found them and I'm wearing a dress, so no pockets. I could be stronger than I look and climbed through a window, but again, dress. Besides, your windows are all locked, and I didn't break any to get in. I could have even asked Mrs. Hudson about her other apartment to rent and stolen her spare key, but I haven't. She never even saw me. You can ask her yourself later." Sherlock gazes at her face and mentally curses himself for getting distracted by her hair. It's just a waterfall of curls, and Sherlock still has the unquenchable desire to pull one. "Who are you?" He eventually asks. "Well, I could tell you, but where's the fun in that?" Sherlock stands upright and towers over her. "Who are you?" He asks again. She stands up as well and gives him a sultry smile. He realizes he's a lot closer to her than he's comfortable with. "I'm a very big fan of yours." She whispers, and then she kisses him. He's a bit startled at first, she tastes peculiar and heavenly, and suddenly the room is spinning. He falls down to sit on the floor, and now she's the one who's towering over him. "I'd imagine this experience will be quite different than the experiences you've had with other drugs." She says softly. The lights are flickering on and off in Sherlock's mind, and she's very blurry. He hears a whooshing sound, and a blue police box appears in the middle of his living room.

"I'm hallucinating." He says out loud, the woman chuckles. She steps into the police box and out of sight, and Sherlock hears a new voice. He catalogues it as another hallucination. "River Song!" It's a man's voice. "Hello Sweetie. You're late and entirely not where you're supposed to be." "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be! You said 221 Baker Street." The man says, and Sherlock , even in his drugged state, can tell he's pouting. "Yes, but I didn't say to land in the living room!" The woman's voice says in exasperated fondness. Sherlock realizes the woman was called River Song. The name rolls around his tongue, and he says it several times before focusing on the conversation that's coming out of the blue box. "You mean he's out there?" The man's voice asks. "Sherlock Holmes! I'm going to say hello!" "No, Sweetie!" The woman's voice says in a slightly panicked tone. 'River', his mind informs him, 'The woman's name is River'. "You can't go out there." River's voice says a little more calmly. "Why not?" The man's voice asks. "Because... He might not be all that lucid at the moment..." "Did you kiss him?!" The man's voice squawks. "River! You can't just go around kissing Sherlock Holmes!" "Why not?" River's voice asks teasingly. There's a moment of silence and Sherlock believes it's because the mystery man is speechless. He is, of course, correct. "Well, let's go then." River's voice says lightly. "All right." The man's voice says sulkily. "But I'm disappointed. I've always wanted to show Sherlock Holmes the universe. But you just had to go kiss and drug him, didn't you?" "It's for the best, Sweetie. Can you imagine Sherlock Holmes, the earth's greatest detective, solving cases throughout the universe? I don't think the universe will ever be ready for that." The blue police box fades away with a whoosh, and the voices are gone as well. There are stars everywhere, they grow brighter, and then all Sherlock can see is black.

It's a few months later, and Sherlock has almost completely put the kissing fiasco behind him. That means not at all. The blue box was a complete hallucination and the mystery man's voice was probably one of River's friends who had let himself in. At least that's what the paramedics had said. John had found Sherlock passed out on the floor, panicked a little bit, and had called the police. It didn't make much sense, the break-in mystery, but Sherlock couldn't rationalize it any better. The one thing he remembered with perfect clarity was River Song's name. And maybe her lips... A little bit... Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. She had tasted divine, but that might have just been the drugs tampering with his memories. He now does his best to forget that night and move on. And he's done well. He's solved a few interesting cases, and tries to stay busy.

He's playing a sonatina when his phone rings. "Lestrade, how many times do I have to tell you I don't care about the burglary case? It's an insurance scam anyways." "Hello to you too. And it's not about the burglary case, I solved that on my own, thank you very much." Lestrade's voice oozes with sarcasm. "Then what is the point of this call?" Sherlock asks impatiently. "The jewelry thief has struck again." Sherlock doesn't say anything, just hangs up and runs out the door. When he arrives to the scene of the crime, Lestrade is already holding out the post-it-note. "What did she take this time?" Sherlock asks as he grabs the note. "A million-dollar choker necklace." Lestrade says tiredly as he rubs his eyes. "I swear, the woman's just doing this deprive me of my sleep!" Sherlock rolls his eyes and reads the note. When he finishes reading it, he smiles, a full-out smile, hands the note back to Lestrade, and walks away with a new strut to his step. Lestrade shakes his head at Sherlock's swaggering departure and reads the note.

"Hello Delicious. I'm back.
xoxo,
River Song"