A/N: Hello there! I'm writing another fanfic, yes. But don't worry, I won't abandon this like my other story, The Girl, *sob* I will continue that though, hopefully inspiration comes to me to fix my chapter 3. Also I'm still continuing The Fox to His Hound. I am working on chapter 21, but this idea came to me, and I simply cannot let it slip away. So while I bash myself with making a proper case plot for TFTHH, I have written this, to let you know that I have not forgotten about my readers and fellow Sherlene fans. This will be a short fic though, probably at least 10 chapters, yes, 10 chapters is short for me. XD

Ex Mrs. Norton

"It is three o'clock in the afternoon, and it is spring time, yet London is bleak and dreary as always." The young divorcee commented on the gray view outside her room window in The Grand as the chambermaid poured her some tea.

The maid simply smiled. "Always has been this way, mum. Although it is just early spring, it'll get better in a few days." She assured. "If you have no more requests for me, I shall take my leave."

With her attention still at the light rain pattering at the glass panes, she dismissed the maid and went back to her musings. It's been a month since the case was closed, a month since she's seen his face, a month that she's been rid of him, and a month since she regained her surname. Irene Adler was married at a young age of 20, and now a divorcee at 22.

It was a new life, a rebellious life, one that her mother would have never imagined for her. Not that she followed orders or anything, but Irene had been her own woman since studying ballet in Warsaw, and is still her own until now. Godfrey Norton and the foolish king before him never knew what hit them the moment they met her. Irene was independent, and she loved the free life. Her being present in London for her tour was evidence of that.

Oh Godfrey, wonderful Godfrey. He served another purpose than just being her lawyer consultant, he was her ticket out. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have escaped the blue blooded buffoon. Despite being a barrister, he was easy to fool and manipulate, and within just two weeks of flirting and gentle persuasion, she became Mrs. Norton. Irene had a way with men, and she knew fully well how to use it in her favor, and most of the time, she got herself out of trouble with it. Sure he was a friend and he was sweet, but Irene had more pressing problems than dealing with the guilt of fooling him. But Godfrey was the resilient kind. He was terribly possessive and jealous, and he choked her despite the fact that the marriage was a sham, well for Irene it was, Godfrey Norton did in all his power to keep his wife on a leash, and Irene Adler did not like that.

For all the things he did to her in two long years, Irene would have killed him without regret. But that was America, and women were looked down on by society, more so a woman whose husband dies by suspicious means, she would be suspect no. 1. Divorce may be difficult, but it was the cleanest way out, and with a little planning, she had framed him with adultery, and her case won. But in the eyes of society, a divorcee was a used toy, and that was why Irene went back to her theatre tour group and found her escape in London.

She wanted to be in Paris, but funny how whenever she escapes from a man, she lands in London. It'll have to do for now, after all, she was a divorcee, and divorcees where treated better here than in America.

Yet she cannot keep her mind off that spot on her left ring finger where the weight of a diamond ring once sat, and now her hand simply feels a little too light for her liking.

Irene adored the attention lavished upon her by her admirers. She was a prize that any man would fight over to win, and there is nothing more she could ask for. It was not that she found it difficult to socialize, even when she was married Irene was surrounded by men, but it was the feeling of being alone in a familiar place that dampened her spirits, and the bleak, dreary London climate did not help at all.

The rain had stopped, and setting her thoughts aside with a sigh, Irene donned her walking clothes; a light gray Ulster and a pair of pinstriped trousers, picked up her brown bowler hat and decided to enjoy the English afternoon.

Holmes ran as fast his legs would go, keeping a tight hold on his fedora, he dodged civilians and slipped through narrow alley ways. It was another day on the job, and his culprit this time ran faster than a jungle cat. The current case is nearing its end, and the capture of this thief would ensure him this and last month's rent, it was a simple case that he usually wouldn't entertain, but Mrs. Hudson had stopped supplying him food for a week to remind him of his dues, and he needed the money.

Watson had not been around to help him with the rent as he was in Paris. He said a university there had requested his expertise for a medical research and he simply cannot refuse the offer. Although Holmes was pretty sure it was not a research grant, but Watson's current French belle beau that kept him there.

Ungrateful bastard, he'll be back soon.

Holmes had followed his thief in a very crowded main street and to his dismay; he had lost sight of him. But the thief's appearance was etched in his mind, a short grubby person with a red scruffy face and although his suspect's brown hat was a common sight around, it was fortunate that no one else seems to be wearing a washed out gray Ulster.

Irene walked down the street with a smile, she was on tour with her theatre group and she was undeniably well known, but with her simple disguise, she enjoyed a fuss free walk. A corner stall with a beautiful display of flowers was the only indication of spring and color in the street and she couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Flowers for your bonnie belle, sir?" the shop keeper said. "Tulips are all the rage for them ladies this spring, a good scarlet bloom would do well."

Irene smiled, "No thank you, I like- I mean, my lady likes peonies and roses." She thought about getting a bouquet for her vase. "How much for a bu —Ow!"

"Outta the way, you bloke!" the man rudely yelled as he pushed aside her in a hurry. Irene fell onto the flower stall and buckets of fresh flowers toppled over her.

She got up and yelled back, "Why you—Ow!" for the second time in less than a minute Irene fell face down, as someone had tackled her onto the muddy street.

"Aha! I've got you!" Her offender said as he straddled her and turned her over to face him.

Irene sputtered mud off her lips and squirmed. "Geroffme! Geroffme you bastard! Geroff—" She stopped when she saw his face...

This man… I know this man…

"Wait…" He touched her soiled chin, his eyebrows furrowed, and he hastily got up cursing to himself and chased after the other man.

Irene stayed on the mud, in shock. The shop keeper looked down at her, worried. "Uhm… miss…?"

That man… that man was… Wait; did he just call me miss? Then Irene realized her hat had been knocked off her head, and her hair exposed her gender. In a hurry, she stuck her bowler back on and ran to her hotel with her dignity still intact.

Watson burst into the room just as Holmes was just sitting into his armchair in front of the fire.

"Oh hello, I see you remembered the friend you abandoned." Quite sooner than I though. He gave the doctor a smile.

Watson plopped into the seat across Holmes. "I did not abandon you; I had a research grant in Paris."

"Did you now?" Holmes said as he dried his toes in the warmth. "I didn't know there was a research in Paris called Eloise St. Clair." His sarcasm evident in the look he gave his friend.

"And I didn't know Sherlock Holmes couldn't catch a measly jewel thief." Watson replied, equally sarcastic.

"It's not that I didn't catch him," Holmes turned away and fiddled with his jacket button. "I'm just giving him a good head start, you know, to mislead him. How would you know anyway? Your face and dress screams of a dreadfully failed Parisian courting, without my help mind you, and that ticket stub poking out of your breast pocket says 5.45; my chase was around mid afternoon." He said scathingly.

"For a man with your capabilities of lying, that was a terrible excuse, Holmes." He tossed him the evening paper. "It's on the personal advertising page; Mrs. Olsen doesn't seem pleased with your performance and has relayed her need for a better detective through the papers."

"And to her I say good luck with that!" Holmes flipped through the paper for a moment before stopping on the entertainment page. He stared hard at the paper with wide eyes.

"Holmes, are you alright?" Watson noticed the sudden silence.

The detective threw the paper down, grabbed his coat and hat, and ran out the door.

"What the bloody hell?" He exclaimed before picking up the discarded paper.

In the middle of a page was a poster for an upcoming play down at The Victoria. It read: Carmen, Starring Irene Adler.

A/N: I'll be writing shorter chapters for this story. I mean, shorter than what I'm used to.

Notes:

-This story takes place 2 years after SCAN, and that would be 1890.

-Irene Adler's original age in the canon in SCAN is 30 and would make her birthday 1858. But I altered it to make her younger. I imagine in SCAN that she was a prima dona fresh out of Ballet school in Warsaw, and Norton was her first husband.

-This age change also applies to The Fox to His Hound. I also altered Holmes' age, and instead of 1854 for his birthday, I made it 1860. That's why in TFTHH he's 37 years old and Adler should be 29. I like considerable age gaps like this. Don't judge me!

Reviews please!

-Jacques Sparreaux