"Welcome to the Royale, sir." The doorman tipped his hat to Holmes as the detective strode into the hotel's foyer. "Will sir be requiring a room for the night?"

"No," Holmes said slowly, looking about his surroundings. There were four hotel employees in the foyer, and eight guests besides Holmes. "I would like to be taken to the room of a D.B Cambell."

"Of course, sir." The steward nodded. "Your name, please?"

"Holmes," he said distractedly, taking in the more than twice broken nose of the doorman. Former fist-fighter? "Sherlock Holmes."

"Very good, sir. Miss Cambell said she was expecting you."

Holmes nodded, smiling ever-so slightly to himself. Miss Cambell...Now that really did deepen the mystery! He had spent many hours the previous night reminiscing as to who D.B Cambell might be. Could it be that one of his theories might turn out to be correct..?

D.B Cambell's room was number twelve on the fourth floor.

"The luxury suite, sir." The doorman tipped his hat again. "Will sir be requiring anything else?"

"No thank you." Holmes was studying the handle and hinges on the door, wondering how easy it would be to kick down if it became necessary to do so.

"If I might be so bold, sir, this room seems an awfully expensive one to hire out for a simple business meeting!"

"Miss Cambell was never one to do things by halves," Holmes said, surer now than ever that he knew the real identity of D.B Cambell. He was also amused that the doorman had assumed this to be a business meeting. If Holmes' deductions turned out to be accurate, he was certain that 'business' would be the very last thing on his client's mind!

"I can continue from here alone if you would like to return to your post."

"As you wish, sir." The doorman nodded respectfully and began to back away down the corridor.

"You know you really should see someone about that ingrown toenail on the third toe of the left foot. That could become very uncomfortable if left untreated." Holmes held out a hand. "Pencil and paper?" One was produced and Holmes scribbled down an address.

"Doctor John Watson," Holmes said, handing the address back with a flourish. "He's a personal friend and an excellent physician. Besides, he is always delighted when I send trivial patient cases his way!"

"Well...thank you kindly, sir." The doorman tucked the piece of paper away, looking from Holmes to his left foot (which of course had an ingrown nail on the third toe) and then back again bemusedly. "If you would pardon my asking, sir, but how exactly did you..."

But Holmes was no longer paying attention. He had one ear pressed to the door in a businesslike manner and although the doorman found his behaviour a little odd, he thought it best not to disturb him.

As soon as the doorman had vanished around the corner, Holmes examined his reflection in the brass number '12' on the door. Considering who was behind the door, (and Holmes was now almost certain of this fact) he felt a sudden necessity to flatten down a stray curl of dark brown hair that had escaped from the oiled arrangement on top of his head.

He was about to knock on the door, but it swung open before he could raise a hand.

"Sherlock Holmes," said a voice from within. "It's been too long."

Holmes stepped over the threshold, more than a little elated to find his suspicions had been correct after all.

"D.B Cambell, I presume?"

"Did you expect anyone else?" said Irene Adler.

"Indeed not," Holmes retorted. "The scent of your perfume laced to the paper rather gave you away."

"My signature scent," Irene said breezily. "I should have known 'the great detective' would see through my little ruse!"

"You made it rather more difficult for me this time," Holmes said. "As in you actually requested my company as opposed to arriving in my room unannounced! Impressive...though of course, I learned not to underestimate you a long time ago..."

Holmes instinctively averted his eyes as Irene came slinking across the room in a black dress that exposed her shoulders as well as a great deal of cleavage. She smiled wickedly, sensing that she had put the detective on edge.

Holmes swallowed and gave Irene a customary glance. Her hair, slightly longer than the last time they'd met, still hung in smooth brown curls below her shoulders. Pale skin and blood-red lips; pointing somehow to danger, and contrasting beautifully with the deep blue irises of her eyes.

He caught the scent of her perfume and shivered slightly. The reaction was tiny, yet Irene still felt it.

"You familiarised yourself with my habits as a person," Irene said, standing very close to Holmes. "But you continue to underestimate my powers as a woman, Sherlock..."

This was one of the factors that set apart the tempestuous relationship shared by Holmes and Irene. Not even Watson called Holmes by his first name...

"On the contrary, Irene," Holmes said, distancing himself as best he could from the beautiful creature beside him. "I have never devalued you as a woman. In fact, I would wager that I know you much better than most."

"I'm listening..." Irene produced a bottle of champagne from a bucket and poured two glasses.

"Well, I have always known you to be deviously cunning..." Irene was moving steadily towards Holmes, a champagne glass in each hand. She was now but two metres away. "Strikingly intelligent..." The gap had closed to mere inches. Every time Irene moved her head, wisps of her satin hair brushed against Holmes' cheek. "And...Dangerously beautiful, of course..."

Irene flashed a very seductive smile. She leaned her scarlet lips close to Holmes' ear.

"Did you miss me, Sherlock?"

"Unfortunately, I did."

"I knew you would," she whispered, drawing backwards and leaving a breath of warm air on Holmes' neckline. "A toast: To us..."

"To continued liaisons."

"To future liaisons."

Both raised the glasses to their lips, but only Irene drank.

"My champagne not good enough for you, detective?" Her accent was American; as breezy and warm as Holmes recalled.

"Perhaps you remember, Miss Adler," said Holmes, "That the last time you offered me a drink, I woke up secured to a bed without my clothes." Holmes set down the untouched champagne. "I would prefer to avoid such a situation this time."

Irene turned away with a flick of her chestnut curls, blinking her blue eyes in a way she knew got under Holmes' skin.

"You wouldn't be complaining if we had both been naked!" Realising just how uncomfortable she was making her guest, Irene decided to end the torture and cut to the chase.

"You've probably guessed that I didn't invite you here for champagne."

"I didn't think it was possible that you invited me here purely because you missed me..."

"Sherlock, I need your help." Irene frowned reluctantly. "I'm in a situation and you're the only one I can turn to. How's that sounding to you?"

"Do you mean the case, or the fact that you of all people has come to me for assistance?" Although he would never let it show, Holmes had not been expecting this to be the object of Irene's invitation.

"The case," said Irene with a touch of irritation. "What do you think of the case?"

"Not enough information to say," Holmes said. He never sat down; preferring instead to stand and examine the mantelpiece above the hearth. He looked over his shoulder. "Perhaps you could elaborate?"

"I was out in India at the beginning of Fall last year," Irene said. "The guest of a powerful Maharaja and his son." Irene's eyes gleamed slightly at the mention of the son, and Holmes felt a peculiar twinge in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy? Nonsense! He brushed it off.

"What do you know about the Queen's Sapphire?" Irene asked.

"If you're referring to the crown jewel of the Kashmir province," Holmes said, "Then the Queen's Sapphire is a beautifully-cut blue stone of priceless value." He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should make this clear now: If you have stolen, damaged or made off with the Queen's Sapphire, I will find myself unable to help you!"

"I didn't steal it," Irene said sulkily. "It just happened to get stolen while I was staying in the Royal Palace with his Highness!"

Holmes almost groaned out loud, but kept it suppressed as always.

"And the Maharaja believes you to have taken it from him?"

"He wasn't wearing it at the time," Irene said defensively. "No one actually wears it. The sapphire is kept under lock and key, surrounded by armed guards in the centre of a large antechamber."

"For someone feigning innocence at the disappearance of this precious stone, you seem to know a little too much about the security arrangements surrounding it!"

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Irene tossed her hair again and sat down on the end of the four-poster bed that was the defining feature of the room. "I wasn't in the palace when the jewel was taken. It was a dark night and I was taking a walk in the gardens after dinner."

"Were you with anybody?"

"I like walking alone." Irene's face bore the hint of an amused smile. "I think you of all people know I can look after myself, detective!"

Holmes was about to retort, but Irene was only teasing him, and he let it pass. He wondered yet again what it was about this woman that seemed to provoke such a change in him...

"I was in the gardens over by this fountain," Irene continued. "There were these pretty mosaic tiles on the garden wall...It was really pretty." Her face seemed almost to darken suddenly. "I heard screaming and a commotion from inside the palace, and so I turned 'round and headed back. When I got there, the guards were dead; shot in the neck, and the sapphire was gone."

"And you were accused of taking it?"

"Apparently the fact that I had no one to confirm my alibi for the night of the heist was enough to convince the British Guard that I was responsible," said Irene, bitterly. "You Brits have already staked a claim over a sapphire that's belonged to the people of the Kashmir province for thousands of years! There's dozens of people been trying to get their hands on that stone, but the second it goes missing, I'm the one who's taken it!"

"And the Maharaja?" Holmes enquired. "What was his opinion?"

"The Royal Family aren't exactly on the best terms with the Brits," Irene said with a smile. "Can't say I blame them given how your soldiers stormed across Asia and took their country by force!"

"The British Empire," Holmes said thoughtfully, still tracing fingers along the mantelpiece. "Rather superior to the American settlement now, isn't it?"

"If you'd rather rank quantity over quality, then..."

"We could debate this one for some hours," Holmes interrupted. "Where does the Maharaja stand?"

"Like I said, the Brits won't be getting a Yuletide card from the Royal Family this year," Irene said with a wicked smile. "They're on my side...Sorry to say, the Brits aren't! They've been fighting for months to get rid of the Maharaja, but he's too well protected." Irene shook her head. "Let's just say protection is all he's got left! All the Maharaja's power over the Kashmir province is gone; the Brits are in control."

"And the British settlers want you arrested for the theft of the Queen's Sapphire?"

Irene nodded. "I fled India at the advice of the Maharaja, but the Brits sent out a message...a warrant for my arrest. I'm wanted in more than ten countries across Europe! The only reason I'm here is..."

"...Because a little reverse-psychology goes a long way," Holmes finished. "Not only is this the last place a British fugitive would want to conceal herself, it's the last place the authorities would search for you."

"Exactly." Irene poured herself more champagne and swallowed the golden liquid in one gulp. Watching her, Holmes' eyes widened by a few millimetres. "Anyway, I need my name cleared."

"If you are angling for the pardon of the British law system, you would be better off speaking to Lestrade," Holmes said indifferently. "Her Majesty has laid a sizeable amount of power on those portly shoulders...It's about time it was put to some practical use!"

"Inspector Lestrade has me at the top of his 'Most Wanted' list," Irene argued. "If I go to Scotland Yard, I'm as good as dead."

Holmes swallowed, suddenly and atypically uncomfortable. "I'm sorry...did you just say 'as good as dead'?"

"The death penalty," Irene said bitterly. "Once I'm caught, I'll be extradited back to India where the British Guard will 'decide on a suitable punishment.'" She got to her feet and strode to Holmes' side, looking up at him imploringly. "I need you to solve the case, Sherlock," she said. "Come to India with me, find who's really responsible and clear my name."

"You can't just walk back into India when you're wanted in more than ten countries!"

"The Maharaja can protect me," Irene said stubbornly. "...But only if I'm a married woman when I step back into the province."

"What kind of protocol is that?"

"Ancient modus operandi of the Kashmir province and the Royal Family, but I won't go into details." Irene smiled slightly and rolled her eyes up and down in a flirty manner. "All I need is a husband, Sherlock..."

"No," Holmes said, knowing full well what Irene was suggesting. "I'm not getting involved in this mess...Clearing your name is one thing, but marrying you is quite another!"

Irene raised an eyebrow and lifted a small wooden box from the sideboard. It had been on the tray with the champagne, and Holmes had noticed it upon entry but given it no second thought. Irene opened the box's lid and took out two identical gold wedding bands. One was slightly larger than the other, so as to accommodate the finger of a man.

"Rings, detective," Irene said nonchalantly. "One for you and one for me." She slipped the gold band over the correct finger and then held out the hand, admiring it from all possible angles. "We don't actually have to be married," she explained. "We wear the rings, and no one will know any different..." She smiled slyly. "Of course, I'll have to change my name to 'Irene Holmes'...If we're to do this, we should do it properly!"

"It's...out of the question."

Irene reached behind the chaise lounge and produced a small pouch, its contents clattering together merrily as she moved it.

"Five hundred shillings," Irene said with a firm finality. "I said you'd be paid well. Now, will you take the case?"

"No payment necessary," Holmes said, waving away the money.

"And the case?"

"Rejected." Holmes tried to avoid Irene's eye, knowing there would be hell to pay if he looked at her for too long. He looked instead towards the closed door of the hotel room, planning to excuse himself at the first opportunity. "I have no doubts that a woman of your guile should find it no trouble at all to clear your own name without my help." Holmes nodded in ironic decorum. "So if you will excuse me, Miss Adler, I have an engagement elsewhere."

He made towards the door, but Irene had moved quickly and was now standing directly in front of him, blocking his path. Holmes sighed, "Miss Adler, I was under the impression this conversation was over..?"

"And I was under the impression you were one of London's greatest detectives!" Irene shook her head mockingly. "What's the matter, Sherlock? " She leaned in close, putting a lily-white hand on Holmes' chest and whispering into his ear. "Is my case too much of a challenge for you?"

Irene made to put her other hand on Holmes' chest, but the detective blocked her; grabbing both of her wrists and holding them tightly.

"That is neither here nor there."

"Then take the case and do some good!" Irene found that she was unable to free her wrists through brute-strength, and so she thrust upwards with a knee, aiming for Holmes' crotch. But Holmes had been expecting this, and he twisted so that Irene's knee connected harmlessly with his hip. She growled and tried a second time, but Holmes twisted his grip on Irene's wrists so that the woman was facing the opposite way; her back pressed against Holmes' abdomen and her arms twisted ridiculously in front of her chest.

"Dear, dear," Holmes said with a derisive smile. "How can you hope to stay ahead in your game if you practice the same techniques every time?"

"You're right," Irene said, smiling. It took Holmes a few seconds to realise that this was not Irene's pleasant smile; it was her wicked smile. "Have you seen this one, detective?" Irene drove backwards with her head, the back of her skull smashing into Holmes' nose. On reflex, the detective let go of Irene's wrists to clutch at his face. She took full advantage; thrusting her hips backwards into Holmes' stomach, then twisting 'round and finishing him off with the two consecutive knees to the groin that he so richly deserved.

Holmes let out a groan and crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked brutally from his lungs.

When Holmes opened his eyes and looked up, Irene was standing over him. Even through the torrent of blood that was leaking down from his badly-bruised nose, Holmes could see a mocking smile etched to her lips. He tried to focus on her face rather than the glimpse of stocking that protruded from underneath the satin folds of her dress or the sight of her breasts squeezed tightly into their bodice...

Holmes felt his hand being taken, and for once, he made no attempt to fight against it; safe in the knowledge that Irene would not take kindly to being challenged yet again.

"I'm so glad we're finally doing this," Irene slipped the gold wedding band over Holmes' finger. "Man and wife...How does that sound to you, detective?"

"Almost as ridiculous as the idea of your innocence!"

"I'll accept responsibility for a crime when I've actually committed it," Irene said, straddling Holmes' legs so he was unable to get up. "But this time I'm innocent, Sherlock. The only difference is that when I'm guilty, I know how to get 'round it!" She shook her head with a reminiscent smile. "I don't think I've ever been totally innocent before...Must be a change in the winds!"

Holmes emitted a noise; halfway between a cough and a disdainful laugh. Irene raised her eyebrows, smiled and leaned in close to Holmes.

"Oh, and for the record..." Her voice was barely above a seductive whisper. "I missed you too..." And then her lips were on his, brushing furiously against each other as their tongues fought desperately for control over its counterpart.

Irene had begun the kiss, and it was she who broke it off as well; drawing backwards as Holmes looked up at her with brown eyes brimming over with curiosity and a slight amusement.

"I've got two tickets for a train across Europe," Irene told him. "It'll take us from the coast of France across Europe and into Asia. We get to the Kashmir province, solve the case and get back here in time for tea." She glanced at the Grandfather clock that stood in a corner of the room. "Sorry to leave you, detective, but I have somewhere I need to be...Doesn't time fly when you're having fun!"

Holmes refused to say a word as Irene lifted her weight from his legs and brushed herself down. She admired her reflection in the looking-glass, and then took up a black felt hat with a wide veil.

"Oh, just so you know, the train leaves from Victoria station on August 21st. That gives you a week and a day to pack." She placed the hat on her head, fully aware that Holmes was watching her every move.

"It amuses me that you think I'm actually going to accompany you on this excursion..."

"But...you are," Irene said, smiling yet again as she made her way towards the door. "You don't need to pretend for my benefit...Male pride is overrated anyway! The point is, I know you'll come..."

"What makes you so sure, Miss Adler?"

Irene was halfway out of the door by now, but she turned and smiled one last time at the detective.

"Because I know you too well, Mr Holmes!"

With one more stunning smile, Irene shut the door and was gone. From his position on the floor, Holmes closed his eyes briefly; taking advantage of his sudden solitude to let out a long and sardonic sigh. He raised a hand and stared for a full five minutes at the gold wedding ring on his finger. The thought of being married was, in itself, a horrifying one to quick-witted Holmes. But the thought of being married –even if for a simple exercise- to Irene Adler was enough to make goose pimples stand out on his skin! But Irene had been right about one thing at least: She did know him too well. Holmes sighed again, wondering how he had even managed to pretend he wouldn't be taking on her case after all.

He looked again at the gold wedding band. It seemed ridiculous to keep it on for the time between now and when the case would begin in a week's time. Watson would be bound to ask questions, as would the voracious Mrs Hudson. Holmes took hold of the wedding ring in his fingers and attempted to pull it off. It would not come. Holmes tried again, tugging harder and harder until the band threatened to rip at the skin of his knuckle. Wily Irene had requested the band be made especially to fit Holmes' finger. It had been made big enough to slip over the finger, but not big enough to remove. Holmes almost growled in frustration as he picked himself up off the floor, knowing full well that Irene's stunt with the ring had been for nothing but her own amusement.

That bloody woman!