AN: Hi! This is my triple first: first text in English bigger than 1000 words, first fanfic, and first attempt at smut. I've read nearly all of Holmes' adventures and novels, but refused to apply this work to the 'Books' section because it's based on RDJ's and Rachel McAdams' brilliant Holmes and Adler, ergo, it relates to the 2009 movie directed by Guy Ritchie. It's set after the movie and obviously contains spoilers. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and given that English isn't my native language, please be nice! R & R!

Three

He did miss her. Especially in those particularly painful times when he had no case. Stagnation was simply unbearable. The thought of her saved his mind from such dark moments, but then he plunged deeper into them, because he did miss her; because they could not live with each other, but to live apart was just as hard.

Tonight, however, pushing her away from his musings proved ever harder than usual. Watson had dropped by earlier in the evening and had dragged him out for a walk, asserting that some light and fresh air would do his pouting friend good. Holmes was not certain where had the doctor had found any light, but the autumn air was not only fresh, but exceedingly chilly.

It was when his friend was talking about some recent medical case of his, just as they were walking by a group of finely dressed men and women that he caught the scent. That damned Parisian perfume, a mist of jasmine, orange blossom and something he could not place. As the deep, rich smell filled his nostrils, he stopped dead on his tracks and turned around, but she was nowhere in sight.

Now, buried in an armchair near the fire, pipe lit on his lips, no lights on, and no sounds except for the cracking of the flames, he brought himself to the conclusion that she was back in London. It was only logical; famous gems were in town for an exposition, so she would have been drawn like a magnet to the city.

The next morning he got up early, swallowed something for breakfast (only because he knew that if he did not, Mrs Hudson would have whined and complained about his "complete disregard for his physical integrity" for the rest of the week - or as she usually said, "to put it shortly, you are killing yourself") and headed out. The British Museum was crowded for a week day, but the room with the special exhibition was the only one that held more people than it was designed to. He approached one of the glass cases to read the gem's specifications when, coming from his left, he felt it again.

A very distinguished young gentleman was looking at the same jewel as Holmes was, and, later he realized, not only the perfume, but the glint in the eyes gave it away.

"You won't get it," he stated. The man looked puzzled. "The gems, Ms Adler," he murmured intently as he turned to face the young gentleman. "You can't get them. None of them. And this one in particular," he indicated the flawless emerald with a quick glance to his right before his eyes shot back to meet those in front of him.

"I do not know what you are talking about," the man stuttered in a low baffled voice beneath his moustache and seeming offended, he walked away. Holmes smiled to himself and took one last look about him before strolling back home.

It was on the evening paper that he read about one of the gems in the exposition having been stolen - and a particularly valuable one, a flawless 18-carat emerald. The museum was desperate for any information leading to the criminal or the object in question. Holmes 'thought' he had some data upon the subject which could prove quite valuable if shared, but he surely did not intend on making it public.

The museum curator called in and tried convincing him in a friendly walk the following afternoon to help them to at least to find the jewel, since Scotland Yard was having an exceptionally hard time with the case. After finding out everything the others knew about the theft – nothing at all that could lead someone unfamiliar to thief's methods to the person he knew perfectly well to be guilty of such a well-staged crime -, without even a glance to the trees and the kids playing around him in the park, Holmes let the conversation drift into countless unfortunate attempts at robbery in the museum while it had been under the care of the gentleman beside him, none of which were worthy of the private detective's interest.

The sun was setting - and making quite a spectacle out of it - as Holmes was left by himself sitting on an old park bench, seeing as the curator had business to attend to and could linger no longer. The sky was a mixture of deep orange and rich pinkish hues that warmed the atmosphere, and fallen leaves all around seemed to reflect those heavenly colours on the grass, on the trees, on the wind. He had been glancing at his pocket watch when that familiar scent hit him. He felt cold hands close over his eyes and the smell was suddenly too close.

"Were you waiting for me?" Her voice came hardly over a whisper. He tucked his watch back into his pocket before questioning in response.

"Are your hands cold from the weather – and if so, where are your gloves? – or are they so because you've been too recently manipulating a stolen gem, Ms Adler?"

Her lips brushed his ear as she stated "You always take the fun out of everything, don't you?" removing her hands from his face.

"Au contraire, my darling. I sustain that you are the one who brings negative things along with you, proceeding by afterwards, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction behind."

"That hurt," she said while gracefully sitting beside him, her smile showing she felt the exact opposite. She wore a jade green gown with a bonnet slightly darker and both accented her eyes and lips. He could not help noticing, the dress was straight and a little low cut at the chest, just so that his attention was caught.

"So, how did you know it was me?" she asked sweetly staring at the sky.

"Why are you back? I have another few pointless questions for you, if you are going to start with some yourself," he countered.

"Did you miss me?" she inquired, cocking her head to the side.

"Do you think?"

"Am I not asking?"

"Did you miss me?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Do you ever answer questions?" she asked staring into his eyes;

"Do you?" he stared back.

With them, it was always the battle of wits. Always the challenging, just like he did to her in the museum, even though he had tried hard not to. He could not restrain himself, those eyes under those thick fake eyebrows were challenging him only by being there!, he had to do something. All those months ago she had tricked him into chasing her down in the sewers just to clear the way for Professor Moriarty, so that he could get whatever he wanted from Lord Blackwood's remote controlled machine. And now, she came out on top. Again. The news resting on the armchair next to the fire at his sitting room proved that. His male pride was hurt. Not his detective pride, his man pride. He did not care for taking her to the police; they were both on a much higher level than that. He wanted her to acknowledge his intelligence as superior to hers, and yet she would never be as enticing and alluring if she did. He needed her to acknowledge that he'd bested her in some other aspect.