This is my first ever Sherlock fic. Some of you may know me, especially if you're an NCIS fan. I've seen all the episodes, and I think I've got Sherlock down right, but if I haven't, PM me and I'll be sure to change it next chapter.

By the way, this is a series of one-shots in sequential order, they all have to do with each other but they don't talk about the same cases or anything.

Waking up the day after the explosion, Sherlock had a killer headache and was in a very strange sort of mood.

One thing John noticed was that he remained silent during the discharge process. The Sherlock Holmes John knew would have been raving about the doctor's divorce or something like that. Another thing was that, after he got discharged, Sherlock dialled a number and spoke strange words to whoever was on the other end of the line. Two things were strange- Sherlock never called, he texted, and the words he spoke sounded strangely like he were talking to... a woman. Now that was completely unheard of.

Sherlock snapped his phone shut and stared listlessly out the window.

That night, while John Watson was asleep, Sherlock sneaked out of the apartment and tramped off to the warehouse that... she'd wanted to meet him at. Despite the fact that she hadn't sounded dangerous on the phone, he had his gun tucked casually into his pocket- just in case.

Sherlock waited in the warehouse. Then...

"It's a pleasure." She spoke with a thick American accent, something Sherlock could pick up easily. Female, late twenties, American. He heard her heels click on the floor but for some reason, could not determine their height. "Sherlock Holmes."

"No, it's his secretary. Sorry to disappoint you."

The woman stepped into the light. She had mousy brown hair, reminding Sherlock a lot of the old morgue attendant, Molly. Clicking her tongue disapprovingly, she stated, "I thought you'd try something better, something I'd actually have fun trying to figure out." She pouted. "You made it too easy."

"I don't even know who you are." He said smoothly.

She sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, still pouting. "It's unimportant."

"Then whisper it to me." She did so and his expression didn't change. "Why did you text me twice and leave flowers in my hospital room?"

"Because I was worried, Sherlock." She stepped closer. "Can't I be worried about an old friend?"

"And old friend who I don't remember." Her slight smile faltered.

"Sherlock Holmes. We knew each other when we were younger. You'd figure something out about our old teachers and I'd use it against them." She thought a moment. "I always hated your brother." she said coolly.

Now Sherlock had a shred of an idea. Mycroft had dated a girl with her name in high school. He didn't think they were the same girl, however. He brushed the coincidence aside. "But what d you want?"

"I want to work with you." He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, when you get stuck, or need female assistance, you call me and I come running." She gave him a look. "You don't need to give me an answer now. I have all the time in the world." She smiled and clicked away.

Sherlock realised her number was saved in her phone. On the way home, he scribbled it on a scrap of paper.

The next morning, while preparing for work, Sherlock found the bit of paper again. "Watson." he said quickly.

"What now, Sherlock?"

"Take this number and put it in your phone. Call it when you think you need to." Sherlock took his coat and walked downstairs. When Watson looked down, he saw the name, in Sherlock's curly letters.

Irene Adler.

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