December 7: "Irene is back. Why?" (from I'm Nova)
Watson
One evening, when I had just settled down with a yellow-backed novel and Holmes with a French treatise about fingerprints, Mrs. Hudson showed a young lady into the sitting room. Her dress was black, and she wore a veil that partially concealed her face. Her expression was troubled, and she wrung her hands.
"Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said. Her voice seemed vaguely familiar, but I could not place it.
"Likewise," Holmes replied. "Please, sit down." He gestured to a chair, and seated himself in the one across. I sat in the seat next to him.
"You have come from America," said Holmes, "but your accent is not entirely American. What brings you back to England?"
"I have gotten myself into some little trouble," she said slowly.
"I am afraid I must ask for a bit more information," said Holmes, "both about you and about your plight."
"I—I am the prime suspect in the murder of my husband."
"And he is…?" Holmes asked.
She took a slow deep breath, and then she spoke. "Mr. Godfrey Norton," said she, and with a deft motion she had swept back her veil to reveal the beautiful face of Mrs. Irene Norton, neé Adler.
I gave an involuntary intake of breath.
"I have made my share of mistakes, but marrying Godfrey was not one of them," said Irene. "And I swear to you that I had no hand in his death. Mr. Holmes, you are my last hope. Please, will you help me?"
"Yes," Holmes replied. "I will."