When John met The Woman
'To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex'
ACD A Scandal in Bohemia.
John Watson strode down Baker Street, coat collar turned up against the rain. But whilst his outward appearance seemed amiable, inside he was fuming. That bloody self check out machine. His blood curdled at the thought of it. Made him look like a complete imbecile in front of the entire supermarket. Sherlock would find that amusing. And he hadn't even managed to get the milk that they always seemed to run out of. His breath curled up and entwined with the fog that seeped through the city like a disease. He looked down at his shoes, now completely permeated with cold water, due to various puddles. His socks had become a second skin and his feet were like blocks of ice. Caught up in his raging thoughts, he didn't catch sight of the beautiful woman walking towards him, arms laden with shopping bags bursting to the seams. Eyes still staring down at his shoes, he looked up only when it was too late. When they collided, her shopping bags fell, splitting open, contents spilling over the pavement.
"Shit!" Exclaimed John. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, I wasn't focusing," he bent over and began to collect her soaked shopping off the floor.
"Oh no, don't be sorry, it's alright," the mysterious woman kneeled over and picked up a particularly expensive looking dress. They both looked up at each other, and she smiled. John hadn't managed to glimpse a look of her face yet, but when he saw that beautiful, unearthly smile, his stomach went all fuzzy and he gormlessly smiled back. He only realized he was mindlessly staring at her when her cheeks flushed rose pink and she bent her head over again, gorgeous brown locks spilling around her head like a halo. John coughed. It was still raining cats and dogs, and he was beginning to shiver. She must be freezing. Then he realized all of her plastic bags had been completely ripped up, the last of them running away down the street like misbehaving children.
"I have tons of plastic bags at my place, I can give you however many you need," he said this in spite of the fact that they had absolutely no plastic bags whatsoever, he prayed to God that Mrs. Hudson had some.
"That would be much appreciated, thank you," she gave him another dazzling smile, and he blushed furiously like a school girl.
"It's this way," he stuttered, and the two began the short walk to 221b, arms laden with miscellaneous items. There was no conversation, the woman's face turning around in John's mind torturing him. He stumbled into the entrance of the flat, glimpsing back at her face to see her expression. Her eyes glinted, and a small smile spread across her face. His insides churned. Thankfully, Sherlock wasn't in. The man wasn't the best at welcoming strangers. He carefully place his burden on the now clear table, and she followed suit.
"Sorry, it's very messy; my flatmate isn't what you would call the tidiest guy in the world." He chuckled.
"It's wonderful," she sighed. "Thank you very much for this."
"Nah. it's alright, it was my fault in the first place," John squirmed nervously under her appreciative look. "I'll go get you some plastic bags. I'll be back in a minute." He ran down to the coat peg, and sure enough, his saviour Mrs. Hudson had left some plastic bags hanging there. He would thank her later. He grabbed a handful and sprinted back up the stairs.
"No need to rush on my account, please," she smiled at him again. He smiled back. She had such a beautiful face. Eyes, deep blue, sparkling, a perfectly straight nose, and red, full lips, with a pale, flawless complexion, so rare in the age of fake tan. He grinned back. Together they loaded the contents into the new plastic bags, working in companionable silence. John was almost sad when they had finished, he wanted for her to stay longer. She carefully picked up the bags in one hand. "Thank you so much for this," she smiled heartbreakingly up at him. John smiled back at her. As she turned around to leave, he realised something.
"Sorry, I forgot to ask your name!" She turned around, and grinned mischievously. "My name's Irene Adler." John sighed. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. "I'm John Watson. It was a pleasure meeting you." He held out his hand, but she pulled him in for a hug, somehow managing to gracefully wrap her arms around him, and still carry all those bags. "It was wonderful meeting you too," she whispered. John's heart was beating faster than light. As she pulled away, her perfume lingered on him. He savoured the flowery smell.
"Goodbye, John, I hope we meet again," John opened the door, smiling madly. "Goodbye, Irene." he watched her petite, graceful body descend the stairs. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it, heart still beating crazily from the hug. He felt sad when he realized he would never see her again. But her angelic face would always be imprinted on his mind.