Sherlock was sitting in the living room, deep in thought. His hands were steepled under his chin, and he had his eyes closed, pondering a case he was working on. He was so engrossed in his mind palace that he failed to hear the front door opening, or the strange footsteps coming up the stairs. It was only when the unannounced visitor stepped into his flat that his eyes snapped open, and swivelled around to the door, annoyed at the interruption.
His eyes widened. Before him was the most outrageous woman he had ever seen, and that was saying something. His eyes drifted up towards her high hair, then down to her gold high heeled shoes. She had put on a green shawl since she had seen John. The overall effect would have been overpowering to most, but Sherlock calmly looked her in the eye and said, "Can I help you?" He knew she was not a client, but he did not know why she was in his flat.
She simply glided over to an armchair and sat down, placing the large bag beside her chair. "Please, have a seat," he said, and she rolled her eyes. She then sat forward and looked at him, to find he was completely undistracted by her top. "What do you want?" Sherlock snapped, his patience running thin. "This is trespassing, you know, and I happen to be…friends…with a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard."
She finally spoke. "You are Sherlock Holmes." Her voice was deep and husky, and gave him another clue to her motives for being in his flat.
"And you are a trespasser. What do you want?"
"I have read about your skills. Tell me, what can you deduce about me, right now?"
He turned the full force of his coldest glare upon her. "I know that you are a person who is used to getting her own way, and telling people what to do. Your appearance suggests you would like to be thought of as eccentric, but it is too perfectly messy, too measured. This leads to me think that you are really quite intelligent.
"As for your job, you like to help people, in your own way. I believe that you are some kind of guidance counsellor, probably for relationships. You are in my flat because you believe I need some love in my life, and are here to 'help' me. Well, I can save you time now by telling you that I do not need 'love'. So goodbye." With that he closed his eyes again and once more placed his hands under his chin, pretending to think but actually waiting for her to go away.
She did not. Instead, she gave a slow clap that made him open his eyes once more in irritation, and glare at her yet again. "Goodbye," he repeated, but she smiled instead. "Well done, Mr Holmes. However, you are wrong in one respect. I do not think – I know. And I that you already have romance in your life, and I am here to help you kindle it." He straightened up, surprised at this, and muttered, "There's always something."
The woman simply said, "You are in love with Dr John H. Watson, and he is in love with you also." He looked around at her, furrowing his brow. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't know."
"I didn't, because it's not true. I am not 'in love' with anyone. Now leave."
"No."
"Fine, stay there. Just be quiet. I'm thinking." He closed his eyes again.
The woman got up and walked into his bedroom. There were some noises, as if she was moving things about, then she came out and headed to the kitchen. There, she rattled objects around for a few more minutes. He didn't notice; he was too absorbed in his mind palace.
Lastly, she walked into the room he was in and stood in front of him for a second. Then she turned and left the apartment.
Sherlock waited, eyes still closed, until he heard the front door shut. Then he settled back to think properly, without any interruptions.
