A/N: Alright. So, I have had immense pleasure whilst writing this story, but the conflict has been over for a couple of chapters now. I've got to fuck shit up. They can no longer fuck with any consequences. What kind of boring ass story would that be?
I promise I'll go back and finish that sexy scene in chapter 10, but this chapter goes to Ms Irene Adler.
Before I start, there's something you must know about Adler. According to A. Conan Doyle, she's the female equivalent of Sherlock. So, I believe her powers of deduction are just as good.
Keep that in mind and enjoy! ~
No one calls on Irene Adler. Even letters cannot find her unless they are assignments from Moriarty. But today, in her flat in Paris, the doorbell rings.
Irene wasn't sure if she should answer, but upon investigation, she saw that her visitor appeared quite harmless. Even so, the small gun in her garter gave her reassurance.
She wrapped her silk robe around herself and discarded her cigarette. As she opened the door, she saw her visitor in full. A woman no older than thirty with light red hair, fair skin, and hazel eyes in a deep blue coat stood on her doorstep.
"You don't know me, Miss Adler," she spoke, "But I am Mary Morstan. And I need your help."
"You're English," Irene said, surprised, "How did you find me?"
A mischievous smile played on Mary's lips. "A mutual friend." Mary handed Irene an envelope bearing the seal of Moriarty. "He said aside Sherlock Holmes; you are the only one who can solve my mystery."
"And what is that?" Irene asked.
"Who stole my husband from me?"
There is a long pause before Irene collects herself. "Would you like some tea?"
"Please," Mary replied.
Once they were settled in the parlour, Irene began her investigation.
"Please excuse my state of undress, but I'd like to begin this as soon as possible."
"Of course," Mary mumbled, a bit flush, "What do you need to know?"
"When did he leave you?"
"Last Thursday."
"Did he say why?"
"No. Just that he couldn't do this anymore."
Irene sighed. "Then how do you know there was someone else."
"He didn't answer me when I asked. He just looked guilty."
"That's hardly reason-"
"He loved me! I know it. Then something happened. Perhaps it wasn't someone, but if he won't tell me, I will find out by any other means. I need to know. I'll pay you any amount, but find out for me."
Irene leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of tea. "Your engagement ring."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's my price."
Mary looked down at the large diamond on her finger. In a sudden flash of anger, she tossed the ring at Irene.
"His name is John Watson."
"Oh, darling," Irene sighed, lipping the ring onto her finger. "I already knew that."
"How?"
"Did you honestly think Sherlock Holmes could afford a ring like this?"
Mary simply looked confused.
Irene waved it off. "Go back to London. I have a feeling I will solve your mystery in no time at all."
"Thank you," Mary said, getting up to leave, "May I call you Irene?"
"If you'd like," Irene smiled, "Until we meet again, Mary."
Now, Irene had already solved the mystery even before she arrived at Baker Street. The knowledge did not prepare her for what she once she entered Sherlock's sleeping quarters.
Perhaps she should have knocked.
"You've gotten yourself into quite the knot-Oh, GOD! Watson? Holmes?"
The sight of Watson tied to Sherlock's four poster bed as Holmes sat impaled on Watson's cock was nearly enough to make her faint. Instead she left the room slamming the door.
"I'll be in the drawing room!" she yelled to the door, before walking into said room. Mrs Hudson arrived a few moments later with a tray of tea and biscuits.
"Thank you," Irene said, pouring herself a cup.
Mrs Hudson left without a word and Irene rolled her eyes. Even the maid knew. How had Mary missed this?
After a few minutes, the two men emerged from the bedroom. Watson dressed loosely in a shirt and trousers. Sherlock clad in his robe with his pipe.
"You two are insufferable," she spat, putting down her empty cup.
"I beg your pardon, but you barged in, unannounced, into my bedroom," Holmes countered. "You brought this on yourself, darling."
Irene gave a sarcastic smile.
You should be nicer to the woman who holds your fate in her hands." She made sure to flash the diamond.
"How did you get that?" Watson asked.
Holmes' entire expression fell. His eyes grew dark and his jaw set. He looked enraged.
"Well, I can see Holmes has figured it out." Irene said, pouring herself another cup of tea. "Care to explain to your lover?"
Holmes' nostrils flared and his eyes shut. "Not particularly," he ground out. Irene smirked.
"Well John," she started, "It seems your ex-fiancée was not satisfied with how you left things. So she hired me to find out why. Luckily for me, all I had to do was open Sherlock's bedroom door. Not that I didn't know before then-"
"What is your price?" Holmes spat.
Irene's smug expression was poisonous. "I want you to kill Moriarty."
"That is no easy feat," Watson spoke.
"Then I will expose you."
"There must be something else!" Watson yelled.
Irene stared at him wide eyed for a moment. "There is, but I think you may find it even more impossible."
"Name it," Holmes demanded.
"Mary Morstan," she said.
"I beg your pardon?" Watson asked, appalled.
"She's very beautiful," Irene admitted, "And I have long grown tired of men."
"How on Earth are we to achieve either feat?" Watson demanded.
"That's your problem now." With that, Irene left.