A woman was downstairs, wonderfully clad, smelling of a sensual unknown, it wasn't roses or any other flower, but it was a very nice perfume; too much black in her clothes but touches of color said she wasn't mourning; she had big green eyes and thick lips, these ones were like the petals of roses, and her white skin was soft beyond touch, intangibly soft, her waist was wasp narrow, all of her thin and yet curvy; Watson was impressed, unaffected, but impressed.

- Is this where I can find Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I would very much appreciate to obtain his services as detective. She said with a voice that was minimally spoilt, just as sensual as all of her and minimally spoilt: a little girl that always got what she wanted, even if it required that she had an adorable flying legs tantrum.

- Yes it is, please come in. If you'd be as kind as to follow me, he's upstairs.

Watson was distracted by her unusual good looks and forgot Holmes was half naked; he opened the door and found Holmes raising his eyebrows, the woman seemed completely oblivious.

- I'm sorry! He exclaimed and closed the door again. – My apologies, he said to her again. – I forgot.

She smiled briefly without showing her teeth, and her eyes continued drifting around, all over the house in an offhand observational manner - No reason to get this agitated. She answered in what was, quite an audacity at the times.

Holmes opened the door this time, completely dressed; he motioned to let them in silently.

- I remember you Miss Adler. He proclaimed once she had taken a seat.

She smiled. – Well I would have overestimated you if you didn't. Her voice was always, minimally spoilt.

That's when Watson remembered she was "The Woman", the one Holmes had a picture from in a drawer of his desk; he felt his heart wrench, all apocalyptic sensations in his chest. Holmes was sitting behind his desk again and caught Watson's stare, as if buildings were crumbling down in his pupils, with one hand on his hip, his shoulders dropped, he turned again to close the door; Holmes decided to ignore all of his dramatic motions.

- Well, in what way may I be of service to you?

- May we speak in privacy?

Watson was readying himself to leave, hurt and offended, nothing but a sad victim.

- Dr. Watson here is of complete trust. In fact I much prefer having him stay to hear all cases that are brought to me. His help is quite indispensable since he's almost the right half of my brain. - He talked too much perhaps, but he was figuring Miss Irene Adler to be the inexorable kind of client, and also flattery going a long way with upset Watson.

- That's perfectly fine then. Though from what I have heard of you, I don't see how you could need your other half of brain; it seems then that only on your left you have the capacity of four men together.

- You flatter me Miss Adler, but it is Watson exactly who has made the public believe that. I am only a common man who knows how to investigate crime and other curious phenomena. Now if you please Miss Adler, relate the matter that has brought you in search of my aid.

Irene Adler inhaled deeply and shrugged. – I lost a diamond.

- Your diamond?

- Yeeess.

- I'm sorry, I don't just look for lost objects. I choose cases because of their intellectual stimulus.

- Well, the thing is that I've been robbed. Things have started to disappear constantly, and I fired the maids, and then all the domestic staff, twice, all of them were different, and things keep disappearing. They weren't always of great value to me… but now my diamond. Who could be taking things from me if it wasn't the servants?, my husband? ! I don't think so.

Oh how freely Watson felt himself breathe again, when "The Woman" spoke of her husband, she wasn't mourning then, she was indeed still married.

Holmes took his chin between his thumb and index, squinted, and Watson knew then that he would take the case. – Curious, very curious… And they don't disappear only from one spot, but from all over the house?

- Yes, from all over.

- And what kind of objects? All of them jewelry, or at least, of significant monetary value?

- No! Once even the bell-pull disappeared!

- Interesting… So no one home except you, your husband, and the servants…

- No, no one. It hasn't happened either when I've had visits.

- Don't you perhaps have a dog? A huge dog?

Irene Adler inhaled deeply, and now she looked disappointed. – A dog huge enough to take the bell-pull. She was saying she knew that's what he was getting to.

- Well I'm just saying. People have had me investigating very trivial things before only because they didn't consider all possibilities.

She inhaled deeply again. – Well I don't have a dog, a cat, or any other animal at home; they are dirty and ruin one's properties.

Holmes couldn't help smirking; the dog theory was a bit over the top and Miss Adler seemed to have a way of having a short patience that was most sympathetic and amusing. Watson didn't like that smirk. – Alright, I'll look into it Miss Adler. If you're as kind as to leave me your address I'll be there to assess the situation at nine in the morning tomorrow, if that suits you of course.

Irene Adler stood up, walking to him. – It's perfect. She extended him a piece of paper. – I was prepared. He smiled and she didn't, but her eyes gleamed, proud and satisfied. She turned around and as she walked to the exit, again escorted by Watson, she spoke up. – I look forward to meeting you again tomorrow Mr. Holmes. And they were both out.

By the time Watson came back up, Holmes was again half naked and barefoot, his shirt by his feet on the floor near the desk; he always made himself comfortable. He walked up to him; he was writing something and didn't pay him attention. - So Irene Adler, you're taking her case.

- Isn't it a strange thing?

- Indeed, a bell-pull... god forbid you let that happen again!

Holmes smiled briefly, still not looking up. - Sharp darling. I don't know if you've noticed, but I have nothing better to do.

- Ah. He admitted. Holmes wasn't paying him attention yet. - Look at me Holmes.

He did, not a problem, Watson had put a hand beneath his chin. He leaned down and kissed the corner of his lips, and then, he knelt down, beginning to open Holmes' trousers and underwear just as soon; Holmes looked down at him, his lips already swelling. Watson was pulling and so he raised his hips a bit from the chair, allowing him to undress him completely; he also lifted his feet, cooperative. Watson immediately made him separate his legs, wide enough so his back could have room between them. He caressed the insides of his thighs slowly up and down, looking at his face with his lustful shimmering blue eyes, while his grey ones were down on him, as if detached. He took his flaccid member in his hand and gently squeezed it, fondled it, massaged it; this had an effect as he felt it warm up. Suddenly then, at last taking his eyes from the grey ones he loved so much, he hunched and took it in his mouth, hearing how Holmes inhaled deeply. He lapped against it with his tongue; his hand was surrounding the base and it began to rebel against its constriction, as it swelled. He engulfed it because he wanted to have it harden in his mouth, feel with his palate and tongue what his hand had felt; he closed his eyes when he had the desired results, very tinkling pleased. He took it out of his mouth and began laying feather kisses on it alternating with brief brushes from his tongue, while his hand gripped on the highest part of Holmes' thigh, lightly wiggling his fingers on it. Holmes still looked detached, though the state of his penis and his lips betrayed his aloof gestures; he put an elbow on the desk and rested his head in that hand, in the position someone bored would have. Sometime after, his other hand went to Watson's head and began alternatingly stroking his hair and massaging his scalp, gently, adoringly; he did adore that pretty blond head of his. Watson began truly sucking him and a minute later Holmes' chest was faster and more prominent in its rise and fall, he was taking a great amount of air in while trying to breathe calmly, his stomach sank and his ribs stuck out; soon he started panting loud. Watson grabbed his hipbones and hauled him nearer both to him and to the edge of the chair, at first the chair dragged forward with him; Holmes moaned with his deep voice, lifted his jaw from his hand but instantly settled it back, determined to enjoy the momentum with the highest indolence; his hand flattened more bluntly over Watson's skull, feeling as he was a deeper spot inside his mouth. Watson hugged his waist then and in such a way he helped himself dip, taking Holmes' dick inside him in all its length; Holmes had a moan die deep in his throat, feeling his hand hot and wet from his sweat he lifted it and fingered Watson's hair, only to lay it again heavily. His mouth released him almost entirely and then took him again, he moaned deep in his throat and fingered his blond hair. Then Watson went on like that, up and down, faster and faster though it was never too fast; he knew he could help that and so his hand slid down to gently squeeze on Watson's nape to advise him, went back to his skull and he began to move his hips gently, penetrating Watson's mouth now at his own rhythm. The wood chair began scratching the floor. He groaned, his eyes closing, he passed his left hand – which still supported him - by his own nape, unsettled; Watson had opened his eyes and got so see that along with his whole muscular naked body undulating sexually, so he freed his own erection, touched himself. Then Holmes straightened his torso and reclined back, put his head on the back of the chair, his body slouched as if draining down it, put his other hand on the same blond head to help himself, speeding up one notch. – Are you… - he panted – okay? He asked half-heartedly, because he knew Watson would have given a sign if he wasn't fine. He groaned again, alight, no part of his body found rest; his hands slid down to Watson's nape again, and his knees slung on his shoulders, his hips going faster, and faster, until they both vaguely feared the chair would fall back; in fact Watson stretched one arm to grab on the foot of it, and he would have smirked with Holmes (who had smirked at that with his eyes closed) if he could have. He could no longer touch himself, wanting to be alert to all of Holmes' delightful reactions, very alert to the feel of him sliding in his mouth. Holmes yet groaned again, loudly, very loudly; so before Mrs. Hudson wasn't there, but none had remembered about it now and the thuds of the chair were suggesting enough without the plain erotic guttural noises, they could only pray she hadn't arrived. Curiously, it was only with a relatively quiet sharp intake of oxygen that he came, releasing his seed directly into Watson's pharynx. After it he gasped and gasped, releasing Watson's head slowly as his muscles slowly distended, some staying more persistently contracted. Watson was now looking at him, expecting him to relax enough to open his grey eyes and that he would lay them on him; he had already his feet on the ground again, his cock in the air, his hands now on Watson's shoulders… it was only a matter of time. They opened at first in a very thin line, their grey shine between his black eyelashes giving them away. – Ah!, he sighed – Thank you, thank you my love, my darling, thank you. Watson smiled, all baffled, tender and blushing. Then Holmes slipped his arms beneath his armpits, holding him and inducing him to sit on him sideways. He kissed his cheek and clasped his cock, murmuring to his ear: - What have we here? Watson giggled, probably for the first time in his life; Holmes at the moment couldn't find that anything other than adorable. – I can hear you giggling sir, I am not tickling you am I? And his other hand indeed tickled his ribs, briefly. Watson laughed in breaths. – Oh stop that Sherlock, I don't want this to cease because you tickled my erection away. – Ah! I see!.. You just want me to touch you like this. His hand shut harder and quickly dragged up the length. Watson dropped his head backwards a bit, reincorporated opening his eyes again and affirming, quietly: - Yes, just like that yes. Holmes kissed partially his jaw and partially his cheek, and repeated the motion; Watson gaped, he pecked his neck. He repeated it again; a few more of those, only a few, Holmes' eyes fixed on it and a slightly more hasty rhythm and he had come, in a delicious, lazy orgasm. Holmes trapped his head between his left hand and his own head, pecking and kissing his cheek and lips reverently; Watson received all of it, only contributing to make his orgasm sweeter.

As if he was a defenseless child he curled in Holmes' embrace, Holmes leaned back, his chin on the top of his head, and they rested, blissfully free from any concern. – I love you, he said later with a content slack tone, repeating himself. – I love you more, Watson replied and Holmes didn't say anything, afraid they might fall into a competition sickeningly coated in caramel.

Maybe they were there for twenty minutes; it didn't matter as neither had anything to do. He was naked, and Watson was sitting on him and he felt his desire revived. Watson was taking an unnoticeable pleasure in keeping his limp cock out in the air all that time, for Holmes to cross it with his sight at any moment and for air to stumble with it, welcoming. Without any warning Holmes opened his trousers properly, undid the strings of his underwear, slid his lower body garments down his legs and off; unfortunately he had his vest on and Holmes just wasn't up to the task that day. He began to kiss the back of his ear; in easy mutual understanding he was that way motioning Watson to sit giving him his back. Watson was obedient, his cock hardening once more, which Holmes touched to be sure; and he whispered to the back of his ear, making him tremble: - Do you want me to John? He was feeling Holmes' erection between the slit of his ass, and his hands caressing his hips forward and back; Holmes looked down at his ass, smirking lasciviously, but returned immediately making sure he would keep breathing against the back of his ear. – Oh!, Watson moaned softly in tune with his own shiver and Holmes did the same, imitating him; Watson returned him a much more heated moan and a much more violent tremor. – I'll take that as a yes. And with that, and all proper cares, like his saliva wet fingers massaging his rectum (he had put his fingers over Watson's shoulder and neck, and licked at them like a cat, his tongue then sometimes falling over Watson's skin; then he had properly sucked them, properly wet them near his ear, making sure he would hear it); he was penetrating Watson. His motions were the same as when he had fucked his mouth, only he now just skipped over to the speed time instantly, feeling neither could hold up any longer. The more he moaned the more Watson moaned, and so he wasn't letting up, if Watson moaned louder or stifled, then he moaned louder or stifled; at one moment Watson snickered breathless, - Stop it, that's a dirty game, but Holmes only moaned in response and had the desired reaction from him, so he just kept up the game. By pressing Watson against him he was lifting him a little, allowing for his hips to move up and down, indeed he was tiring sooner; and then his hand was grabbing at Watson's dick, all at once. They both found release when he wanted; they both had learnt each other to that extent.

After five minutes Watson stood up, unbuttoned his vest and dropped it, finally being able to take off his shirt and somehow, in complete nakedness, be more decent. He offered Holmes his hand and taken by the hand they walked to the bed, both dropping on it with no other thought but to rest.

In the morning Watson startled; he was just barely waking up, rolling, barely acquiring awareness of his surroundings hoping to embrace a sleeping Holmes when this one spoke, finding him already supported on his elbow and looking at the wall as a zombie, as we said, Watson startled. – I'm supposed to observe, that's my trait and my trade, but I'll have to admit things have gone past me as of lately… For example, where is Mrs. Hudson? She wasn't here yesterday and then you knelt down all wonderful… We've been very foolish Watson; didn't she arrive while we were there? We were there for an hour; if she had she would have heard us. And then she always wakes up at six thirty and if you listen carefully, you'll hear buckets and dishes because that's the first thing she does, prepare herself a bath, and yet, it is seven in the morning, time when you wake up, and I haven't heard nothing from her… what does this mean Watson? Did she tell you where she was going and you forgot to tell me? Did she arrive yesterday and scandalized abandoned the building for the day? Or is she just missing?, which means a tragedy has befallen her.

- Or did she just oversleep?, because we don't know what she was doing yesterday and she arrived very tired.

- Yes, that could be an option too.

- Relax; if we don't hear her at eight we can start worrying.

- If you don't hear her at eight; I won't be here, I prefer arriving early than late to any appointment.

Watson remembered then; but this time it didn't get him out of his comfort, with all the love declarations and the good sex of the night before he doubted Holmes could forget about him during the whole day.

- And if I don't hear her, do I inform you by wire or something?

- No!, no!, let's not be dramatic, it's a mistake to theorize before the facts.

Watson usually left at eight, that's why he was accustomed to waking up at seven; but it was Sunday, and Sunday he usually tried to push all of his client's appointments to the space between ten and four, and all the rest to Monday, so he could sleep 'til late and have all the afternoon free.

So he stayed in bed and heard Holmes scream: - Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson wasn't there, nor fainted in her bedroom. He scratched his head, anxious and annoyed; Watson heard the clanks of dishes and buckets as Holmes unwillingly prepared his own bath; he was sure he was muttering curses besides that which he could actually hear. – One always has to do everything by himself!.. One can't rely on people nowadays… If I… Damn boiling point!

Irene Adler opened the door and it was very mysterious; the mansion was too big and surely there should be servants to perform that kind of tasks; Holmes saw his suspiciousness increased; yesterday she had already done another mysterious thing: asking to talk privately to later tell a very blah story about missing bell-pulls… 'What was she up to?, what was she up to?' And even yet Holmes was giving her the benefit of the doubt, as he really didn't know her and there was nothing to tell from her attire and their past history in that case with the King of Bohemia, except that she was indeed an audacious cute thing, and now a very rich and spoilt wife.

- I had been expecting you Mr. Holmes, hoping to receive you myself; she explained the mystery without giving the impression of intently elaborate excuses. – After that little pickle with the king of Bohemia, when I was so horribly misinterpreted, I've wanted nothing more than to meet you again in more appropriate circumstances. Remembering you in that very convincing old priest costume and the whole theatrical scandal you created always makes me laugh; I never thought I'd get to see anything quite so clever.

Holmes narrowed his eyes; he didn't distrust anything more than high praising.

- Am I mistaken to assume that you're no longer married with Mr. Godfrey Norton? Seeing you're not wearing the same wedding ring.

Irene Adler smiled, quite inappropriately considering what she would say next; that's one of the things Holmes would first learn about her: Irene Adler was inappropriate. – No, he died a year ago.

- My condolences, he muttered, not really comfortable ever with social empty phrases.

Irene Adler laughed softly; that's another thing he would know soon: Irene Adler was hard to read, while she read him like an open book unless he was disguised.

She entwined her arm in his and guided him by the mansion, showing the places where she affirmed things had disappeared. – The porcelain figure of a clown. They crossed a made and they all ignored each other; Holmes squinted again and this time Irene didn't see it.

They were in the dining room. – A portrait. The square in the tapestry was indeed more obscure than the rest of the wall, adjusting to her allegations. – My portrait actually; she sighed, contemplating the square. – I adored it; no one had ever done enough justice to my beauty except that anonymous, poor artist in Paris. In fact I think he is not anonymous, his signature was in the bottom right corner, but nobody knew him and I really didn't understand it enough to be able to tell a name; it is sad when talents are wasted.

They were in the kitchen. – A towel. The towel rail was occupied by a towel, but she meant another towel then.

Holmes was having enough; there in the kitchen he inhaled deeply. – Miss Adler, I've been curious to see what kind of missing objects you would make up, and kind enough to let you mock me this whole half hour expecting that perhaps in the next room you would tell me the truth; I won't deny that you've regaled me with a very entertaining and absurd story and I was having fun, but now I'm beginning to get a little angry, so I would just appreciate it if you said already why I'm here, what it is you want. The servants don't look like servants!, that's the problem. Now what I see is that your husband isn't here and he's not working nor in a trip, since he's another lawyer and that is the door to his office, and your bedroom had so many of his clothes that he couldn't have packed, so he's out for fun without you at this hour of morning or this is about him... Or at least that's what I'm hoping, because otherwise you would have kidnapped whoever that really lived here and we would be committing break and entering!

She laughed, nay, she exploded in laughter, cackles. Holmes had never seen any woman laugh like that; he had once seen a cowgirl, riding a horse like a man, now he remembered her because he imagined that if she had laughed she would do it like this, like Irene Adler, the two were mixing in his mind, loud and free, she even put a hand on his shoulder and tapped it; he wasn't prone neither to gape, but he gaped for a second.

- Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Holmes! But I was indeed seeing that we were both being amused by my story, I saw you smile from the corner of your lips from time to time at the increasingly absurd objects that I claimed once existed. She let another three laughs. – But you're right, now I'm just wasting your time; I just didn't want to speak in front of the doctor, and then I saw the opportunity to assure myself that you were indeed worth that I confided in you a little secret of mine; if you realized I was lying to you, you were, if you didn't you weren't.

Holmes tensed his hands, showed them, his palms upwards and his fingers like wire, exasperated. – What is it then? !

- Doctor Watson is a rightful character, you both are, and I have a lover… that's it, I didn't want him to know because it easily shames me to have people really know me. My husband is gone, I'm not sure why, he's missing… But my lover has an explosive character and he was always jealous, and I suspect him… I love them both; I want my husband back and I want to spare my lover from jail, that's it. The people you see aren't domestics, they're my friends and agreed to cooperate with my little joke; I gave the real servants the day off so I could talk to you in confidentiality. That's it.

- Miss Adler, if I must arrest your lover I will.

- Fine then, just find my husband and don't shoot my lover; police tend to do that.

- I can only promise to do my best.

Irene smiled then, grateful and sweetly, her green eyes full of Holmes. – That's all I can ask for. She took his upper arm. – Thank you.