I was speechless, to put it kindly. To believe that the very woman my colleague was searching for 12 years to apprehend was in my bedroom, only thirty paces from his own room, was ironic. And more than a little uncomfortable. I tried to find some words to express my feelings currently, but it wasn't simple to do. Finally I forced a phrase out, "Do you always perform such dramatic entrances, Irene?"

She smiled lightly. "Occasionally. It's more fun than you can possibly imagine, believe me."

"You know, Benjamin," said the fox, "people are a curious sort."

For a long while, we stayed silent, till she spoke again. With those words, I nodded in agreement. My grip on the gun loosened, but it didn't escape my hand.

"If you'll allow it, I might ramble on a while." I shifted in my bed, weapon still aimed for her, and awaited for the fox to continue.

"We're made victim to our own emotions, many times. Greed, apprehension, fear, anxiety... many act too rashly on those impulses. I, as well as you I'm sure, are a part of the many." She walked back, near the closet where she hid, and pulled a chair to sit on. She faced me, but the chair was backwards, so she could place her paws on the back. Her blue painted nails clicked on the frame as she drummed her fingers. "Our psychology is flawed, Doctor. As is our ability to make up for our mistakes, many of which are made because of those rash impulses. Some can be forgiven... others can not. And the blame can be, occasionally, laid onto both sides of an argument. Occasionally, even the sanest of people, the most rational of them, are caught making those rash impulses... Such impulses that can change a person's entire outlook on life, even their own profession. Do you follow me?"

"More than you know, Miss Fox."

"Good. Then, for both your sake and mine, I would ask we both put our firearms away. No need to risk a possible bullet between two sane people... correct?"

My eyes darted to the pistol in my hands. I then looked at her, seeing that she herself had a firearm. For a brief moment, we locked eyes to find the other's thoughts. She knew I could pull the trigger easily, and I knew she could easily whip out her own weapon and fire at me... I realized she was right. She reached for her gun, which I reacted to with a firmer grip on the trigger.

She put up her hands defensively, "Just putting it away, Watson. Just putting it away." She grabbed it by the edge of the handle, careful her finger would not go near the trigger, and set it on the floor. She then pushed it with her toe, making it slide under the bed.

But I didn't lower my hand. Her eyes widened for a second, showing mock, but well rehearsed, surprise. When I didn't flinch from her innocent act, she smiled indifferently, cocking her head sideways. From her back pocket, she pulled out another pistol, in the same manner as the first, and slid it under the bed. "You're no fun at all, you know that right?"

"But at least I'm alive," I said as I bent sideways to slide the pistol under the bed with the other two.

Finally, it seemed, the both of us relaxed enough to be civil to one another. "I'll admit it, going to the friend of an ex-love, during the middle of the night... more suspicious than I thought possible, for 'The Woman'."

"Is that what Ringtail calls me now? The Woman?"

I stifled a bit of laughter. "Ringtail?"

Irene's shoulders slumped immediately. "You don't call him that?"

I didn't hold back a laugh this time, "I certainly do. Now."

She shut her eyes, cursing herself for letting her tongue slip.

"Irene, what are you doing here?"

Quickly, she perked up. Almost like a switch was flung, she looked determined again. "Right. Almost forgot what I came here for." She dug into her pocket, quickly pulling out a small bank-note. She leaned over, placing it in my paw.

"What is this for?"

"10,000 odd pounds."

I reacted so much, I almost fell out of my bed. "10,000?!" I gasped.

"Give or take, yes."

I breathed heavily, thinking I'd slipped down the rabbit hole. That would certainly be an easier explanation than what I had currently to explain today's occurences. "What...why..."

She giggled lightly, but acted as though she had a heavy heart. "Calm down, Ben. It's a down-payment. I wish to hire you."

I regained a wisp of breath, and was about to say something, when I realized what she said. "Come again?" I said with an arched eyebrow.

"I wish to hire you! For a case. My case, in fact." She said her last sentence timidly, as a child would ask for a favor.

I paused for a moment, both to regain my breath and to summarize what she was saying. "So you were at that man's home. And the murdered one's apartment."

"I didn't kill that man, Doctor," she interrupted. "I'm a thief, not a murderer."

"Miss Fox, I believe you. But, not to be too harsh, but judging by the amount of firepower you bring with you, you're more than able to do so. That's Means. And that man had something you wanted. That's motive."

"But where's the opportunity? Look at that note once again, if you would."

I did. I gaped still at the amount, but forced myself to look away momentarily. The stamp, showing its time and date, were plain as day; they gave her an alibi. I noticed an abnormality, though. "Your name here says 'Carmelita Fox'. I thought you said it was a ridiculous name."

She smiled again. "Doesn't mean it isn't useful, on occasion."

I was still slightly stupefied by the paper in my hands. By the case tonight. In fact, everything that had transpired tonight seemed to be so out of the ordinary, even when involving Sylvester. "Irene, I... I really don't understand any of this. Why wouldn't you just go to Scotl-"

"Benjamin?"

I looked up, seeing the door start to open. In walked the land lady, Miss Hudson. "Benjamin, I've told you; keep up as late as this, and I don't get sleep. You don't want to see me without some hint of a night's rest, Benjamin." She scared me with her harsh tone. You might find it comical, but that kitten has quite possibly the worst tolerance for loudness that I've ever seen.

"Good night," She said with a quick shut of the door. I sighed, content and turned back to Irene's chair... to see she had disappeared. My eyes moved to the opened window, opened wider than previously. Jumping out of bed, I peeked my head outside to see a near-silent street. Only the occasional pass of a cabbie gave the street any sign of life at all. She was gone.

Again.

I sighed again, very confused and tired. If I had known that this was what the role of a Consultant Detective's assistant entailed, I would have rethought the decision. My thought was interrupted, however, when I saw a oddity. On her chair, there was a small slip of paper, written with blue ink. I held it to the light, to aid my attempt to read it.

That 10,000 note is a gift. Take it, if you want. Give it to Scotland Yard, if you want. It could redeem my name. People think I killed them, Watson... and I think Sylvester might as well. What I need is for you to prove me innocent of the murder. You know which; the Obsessive-Compulsive. Do that, and I'll be forever in your debt. -IF

There was a second side to the note, which I flipped to read.

Post-Script: DO NOT tell Sylvester we met. You and I both know that it would damage him even more if he were to know. When this is all over, tell him. I'll send another message, for him and I to meet then. Don't fail me, Watson.

Thievius Note:: After much too long of a wait, it's SUMMER! :D And, with that, I'll be able to put some more attention toward the stories I'm working on. SO if one you've been wanting to keep reading hasn't been touched for a while, it should be updated in the near future.