A/N: So this is a fanfic based on BBC's Sherlock. So this is like a re-imagining or re-telling of how it could've happen if we add a bit of Fifity Shades in it. Bleeeehhh, cliche af, I know xD. Still, I hope you'll enjoy.
Damned curly hair!" He repeatedly shouted as he tried, for the 5th time, to wax his shaggy dark curly locks in an updo.
"JOHN!" Sherlock called for his flatmate. Though a normal person wouldn't perceive it as calling, it was more like a beast's guttaral cry for need.
"Oh, for the last time, Sherlock. Your hair is fine! And an updo wouldn't suit you anyway." John Watson answered as he stared at Sherlock.
'It's true. Sherlock doesn't really look good in an updo.' John thought while reminiscing back during one of Mrs. Hudson's tea party and how an updo made Sherlock look like an untamed lion.
"Quit your reminiscing, John."
"I wasn't. "
"Liar. I can tell by the way your eyes go blank and your fingers..."
"My fingers?" He asked curiously. They have been living together for two years but, still, John can't get use to Sherlock's odd manner of getting an accurate deduction. There was even a time when Sherlock, out of boredom, guessed who was having sex with whom among the people in the Scotland Yard. It was a moment of embarrassment for John but for Sherlock, it was the opposite. Obviously, he is proud whenever he discovers things most people would die for to protect.
"Sherlock, please. You've been dressing up for hours. Can't you just pick a suit and go?"
"I am going to a battle, John. I need the right armour."
Battle? Armour? What the hell is he talking about?'
"How do I look?" Sherlock asked while turning around so John can get a 'better' look at his outfit.
"You said you wouldn't wear that! Goddamnit."
He spent 2 hours in his room trying to pick the right disguise but he came out wearing the exact same suit that he described earlier as 'cliche and doesn't look like a smart college student.' He is going to pose as a college journalist from Cambridge University, for a case concerning a certain woman called Irene Adler.
Earlier this morning, they were fetched by posh bodyguards to the Buckingham Palace. They were given a new case by Mycroft and a 'secret client' whom Sherlock have guessed. Clue: a renowned person in the english government. They were tasked to retrieve a couple of compromising photographs of a certain young lady, who is of importance to his 'secret client', from Irene Adler.
"John, I think it's time to add a splash of colour. Punch me." And with that John who is purely annoyed, without hesitation, obliged.
Moments later, Sherlock was driving alone to Seattle from the airport with a bruise on his sharp cheek and a blackberry in his hand.
'Are you sure you can handle this alone? I mean, I can still go with you. It's not too late to catch a flight from London. This is just a flu.' John asked him through the phone. Moments after they were out of the palace, John started sneezing uncontrollably. In his state, Sherlock was sure he would just be a hindrance so he let him get a rest.'Do you know her address? What are you going to do when you meet her? You can't just walk in and demand for the photographs.'
"John, I can handle this so please stop calling." He ended the call and continued driving.
'The Woman. The dominatrix.' he whispered to himself. Mycroft told him not to be alarmed and he wasn't but how could he know. Irene Adler is a person who gives 'recreational scolding' to people whom she considers her client and by 'recreational scolding' it meant chains, whips, and... sex. The first two, Sherlock was completely knowledgeable for he often used them in cases and experiments but the latter, was something he has heard of but never tried. 'Sex doesn't alarm me.' He convinced himself but he wavered when he remembered the photos Mycroft showed him of Ms. Adler wearing only a sexy lingerie with a whip, looking devilish. Judging by the photos, Sherlock can automatically deduce that she is a forte in sexual activities and he is not. She is clearly ahead of him in this area.
When he finally reached the villa, he expertly pulled out his crying face.
The game is on.
He pressed the doorbell and through the telecom asked if he could come in because he was 'on the way to interview a businesswomen named Irene Adler when he was mobbed by people who took his phone and wallet.' Very convincing, I daresay. But they let him in and he was greeted by a blonde woman who introduced herself as Kate and Ms. Adler's assistant.
"You can stay here in the living room. I'll go fetch Ms. Adler for you." Sherlock waited in the living room for his host to attend to him.
"Hello. Sorry to hear you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name." Said a voice behind him. He was ready to provide an alias then he turned around to look at the speaker. Standing behind him is a 5"3 woman dressed in a fitted black dress and black stilettos.
"I am Irene Adler." She reached out to shake his hand. 'Such soft hands.' He thought distractedly.
"You are?" She asked while looking at his eyes. 'Deep green eyes.' He is distracted again.
"Your name, sir. We haven't got all day." She said in a teasing manner.
"Oh, uhm I- I am Tony Jones from the University of Cambridge. I, uhm, I am here to inteview you for our school paper."
"Ah, a Brittish boy. How luscious. " She remarked which made Sherlock confused. He meant to reply with something witty but he was at lost by her comment.
"Please sit down or if you like some tea I can call the maid." She said as she sat down to a chair opposite him.
Still looking at her, Sherlock was puzzled. There was nothing. Not a tiny bit of detail to deduce from. When he look at the room, he could see tiny details like scrapes on the floor probably from her heels, the design on the curtains that clearly mark it's country of origin which is Spain, the vases from Portugal, and etc. But when he looks at her there was nothing.
"Shall we begin Mr. Jones?" She purred seductively when she noticed him staring at her.
"Of course. " He replied, embarassed. He cleared his throat and began his interview.
"You are a very successful businesswomen. To what do you owe your success?"
"Seriously?"
"Pardon?" He asked. Confused.
"Well, I was yearning for a more original question but nevertheless, I'll answer that." She mockingly said while looking directly at him. "I have been very good with people. I know what makes them tick and what motivates them. I can easily 'persuade' them. I can make people stay by my side exactly when I need them to." She answered while never breaking eye contact with him. There is something about her eyes and the way she looks at him that disturbs him. It was deeply intelligent that he feels he is drowning just by looking at them. Obviously disturbed, he cleared his throat.
"I don't believe you." He said skeptically. She said nothing but smirked and looked at him. He noticed that her eyes are really green. Like a cat. 'It fits her' he thought. 'A dominatrix with feline green eyes.' Jut as he was about to get lost again, she interrupted him.
"If you're so cynical about it, why even bother asking me?" she asked as she stood up and walked over the window.
"Forgive me for my impudence."
"Oh don't be sorry. I like it when people misbehave. Messy, thought it makes them more vulnerable." She stated making Sherlock feel more uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat and continued, "You sound like a control freak."
"Oh do I? Well, what can I say? I love exercising control in all things Mr. Jones."
Control? Clearly, the woman's love for control brought her in the center of political scandals involving prime ministers and even royals.
"You're still skeptical?" The woman shot the question with certainty.
"How can you say so?"
"I can notice certain things about people. Like... how people tend to wink unconsciously when they are nervous or how you clear your throat to bring your senses back together - I wonder what's distracting you -"
"You can't be sure of that."
"Really?" She asked clearly challenging him. "Then why did I know that you're not a college student? That you're not here for an interview? And that you're here for the photos?..."
'How?'
"...Mr. Sherlock Holmes."