The Notebook

She tucked into the book the moment she got the chance and started reading about the time when she first met the detective. Of course she remembers clearly her side of the story, but right now she wanted to know what it was like for Holmes and Watson.

Seventeen steps huh…

The man was amazing at the little details and especially when he guessed the crown prince's identity. She scoffed, a little offended, when she read that it had been him at her wedding with Godfrey. Then came the eventful night at her house where he dressed up as a minister. Irene smiled proudly to herself when the detective recoiled in surprise at the news of her departure; just the reaction she had been expecting, but she herself was surprised when he chose to receive no payment and to keep her photograph instead.

If he considers me as The Woman, then perhaps he deserves to have it…

Sherlock Holmes grumbled loudly as he walked home.

What sort of lady makes a man wait for three hours for breakfast?

He sat in The Royale for quite too long with plates of food waiting to be served, he even had to borrow Watson's checkbook once more, not that Watson knows. He was certain the boys had delivered up his message for her, and after seeing Wiggins enter the lobby, he left for The Royale to prepare their table. He had been looking forward to a conversation with her.

Holmes entered his building and deduced from the foyer that Watson was home and had entertained a patient. The doctor was reading his morning paper when he opened the door.

"Something interesting happened earlier today while you were out old chap." Watson said.

Holmes didn't reply and just stood there, eyes furrowed and focused on the floor, and before the door could click into its frame he said: "You had a woman in here."

It was a statement, not a question. Watson was half surprised, but he was expecting it.

"A woman dressed as a man, more importantly, a woman who isn't Eloise St. Claire," Holmes roamed around, eyes on the floor. "I suppose that's what you meant by something interesting?"

"Well, if you put it that way- Hey! What're you doing?" Watson remonstrated when Holmes rushed up the step ladder and into his room. "Holmes! Get of out there. I don't barge into your room, do I?"

He emerged holding the muddied bellboy uniform he found by the bathtub in Watson's water closet. "Irene Adler was here… Irene Adler was in here… While I was out there waiting… she was here…" he mumbled, and before Watson could speak, Holmes had grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT WOMAN DOING IN HERE?!"

"Holmes! Holmes! Calm down man! I had to let her in-"

"YOU LET HER IN?! YOU DO NOT LET ANYONE INTO MY APARTMENT WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!" he shook the doctor.

"As I recall I pay half the rent, and sometimes only I pay-"

"WHY WOULD YOU LET HER IN?!"

"BECAUSE OF YOUR SILLY GAMES, I HAD TO!"

Holmes let him go. "What do you mean because of me?"

"Your boys, your Irregulars, she went after them and she got injured. I found her looking pathetic by the street."

Holmes plopped into his chair, he had not predicted that this would happen; he hadn't considered the possibility of her pursuing the boys. "The poor woman…"

"Don't worry too much; she held her own quite well, although her perception of you doesn't seem bright any longer."

Holmes sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

The two sat in silence minding their own business when Jimmy the pageboy delivered a parcel for Watson. It had no sender name, but it contained the clothes he lent Adler and a notebook wrapped in paper. Watson unraveled it. "Huh? It's my notes of the Scandal in Bohemia. What's it doing with her?" then he saw that the paper it was wrapped in was a letter.

Thank you again for the clothes, Doctor.

Also, my apologies for taking the notebook, I cannot help but be interested in reading what is known as my story. I hope you could forgive me.

Between the pages, I have left a gift for you and Mr. Holmes.

-The Woman

The doctor chuckled. "On second thought m'boy; I think her perception of you has quite improved." Watson said as he tossed towards Holmes an envelope.

The detective opened it and inside where two box tickets for the premier night of Irene Adler's upcoming opera.

"I did my waiting, five days of it, and all we did was watch her sing?" Holmes snorted into his champagne glass. Being special guests of the star, they were invited to the Gala Cocktail after the show, and while Watson was enjoying his time being surrounded by beautiful young ladies, Holmes lurked by his elbow like a hulking unpleasant shadow. It was almost an hour since the party started and they had not seen Adler in the room.

"You know you ought to be thankful that you're here now. For the past five days, why, you couldn't even keep to yourself how anxious you are to finally see her again."

"I am not anxious."

"And I'm a hippopotamus."

Holmes glared at his friend.

"Take it easy Holmes, she'll come around. After all, she is the star of the production." He said as a group of girls passed in front of him, he smiled, and they giggled.

"Easy for you to say." Holmes scoffed. "I'll be outside, alone, in the dark."

"Have fun." He replied, not really paying attention as he took a girl to dance.

The Victoria Theatre's ballroom was on the ground floor and when Holmes went out by one of the French windows he arrived by the garden balcony. The noise from inside was hardly audible out here and the moon hid behind the clouds and would peek out at some moments to bathe the small garden with silver light, but for most of the time, everything was pitch black. He liked it that way. Holmes closed his eyes and moved about by his other senses; the sweet perfume of the spring blossoms, the cold air slightly nipping at his cheeks, the sound of soft humming…

Humming?…

He wasn't alone outside. He opened his eyes to the dark, he could still hear it, the source was nearby, and when the moon peeked out from the clouds, he saw just at the other end of the balcony was a woman with her back to him. She hummed a tune from the show, and her voice was very familiar.

Could it be?

Holmes approached stealthily.

The French window near the woman opened, polluting the beautiful silence with music and laughter from inside, then a tall, rotund figure emerged. Holmes stood his ground for the darkness concealed him. Judging by the swagger in his walk and the shape of a wine bottle in his hand, the man was drunk. He approached the woman and she merely looked at him.

"Hello my lovely Ms. Adler, why might you be alone here on such a wonderful occasion?" he slurred.

"I don't mean to correct you Mr. Barton, but I don't recall being 'yours'." She replied dryly, not moving from where she stood.

"Oh, but of course you are m'dear!" he raised a hand to stroke her cheek, she brushed it away. "After all those gifts I've sent you, and the arrangement I've set with your director, it won't be long till you'll call me 'sweetheart'."

Even in the dark, Holmes could see her cringe with disgust.

"Mr. Hubert is only the director; he is not my manager nor is he my father. I don't see why any arrangement between you would concern me. Now before you further degrade my opinion of you, I bid you goodnight Mr. Barton." She turned on her heel and made for the door.

"Now wait just yet lassie!" Barton's slur had turned into a growl and he grabbed Adler by the arm, twisting her towards him.

"Ow! Let me go you oaf!"

Barton wrapped his beefy arms around her small frame and begun to violate her neck. Irene squirmed and kicked to no avail. "Let me go!"

"I would do as the lady wishes, if I were you sir!" Holmes announced, he had Watson's walking stick clutched in one hand and he was not afraid to use it.

A/N: Holmes to the rescue! :D