So I recently discovered that Guest service coordinators in some resorts have to do research and set up the suites and rooms for certain important guests.

I took this little tidbit and my mind wouldn't let go of it until this popped out at 2 a.m. This chapter is more of the backstory, but I look forward to getting into more dialog and banter in the next chapter as more things are established and more characters enter the story.

Hope you enjoy!

I own nothing.

"John Watson, please stay behind after the meeting for your new assignment."

John nodded obligingly at his boss. Morning meetings were the usual, but he had to admit he enjoyed the buzz that always entered his veins when he was told there would be a new assignment.

Life after the Service, as he affectionately called his time in the military service of the Queen, had become a bit of a downer. He had missed the missions, the excitement, the adrenaline; really, he missed it all! Except for getting bloody shot in the shoulder. No normal civilian life could compare to what he craved. After he had been released from hospital, it had been one deadbeat job after the next. He never stayed at one for very long before growing utterly bored of it and leaving to find another. The first few weeks at a new job would bring that excitement back, he would work hard to master whatever skills he had needed to acquire. But once they were mastered, it all began to diminish once again into a soppy pool of nothing.

That had become life as he knew it. Until he stumbled upon this job. John took a moment to divert his eves from his boss's typical lecture of what was expected of them that day, to cast a grateful eye down to his own name badge.

John Watson

Guest Experience Manager

When he had first seen the job opening on one of his many searches for new job placement, he had resigned himself to what he imagined would be a job consisting of: bustling about a hotel, sprucing things up for guests, checking in on holidayers to see how they were enjoying their stay, and asking happy families in the lobby if he could help them with anything. Utterly boring, but, it would pay nicely. The Greenwich Hotel in NYC had a reputation of wealth. John H. Watson didn't even want to imagine how much it would set him back to stay just one night in one of their suites. And so, of course, he went for an interview the next day.

Things had been looking up ever since. John couldn't imagine his life apart from this place now. He immediately had felt an attachment to how much the Greenwich reminded him of home. The good old U.K., a place he hadn't seen for now close to a decade. The warmth and comfort of each space lured him into a contentment he seldom had felt in his life. And the job description exceeded what he had expected by leaps and bounds. The owner, a rather exotic lady many simply referred to as "The Woman", Irene Adler had taken a liking to him right from the start. She said his subtle English accent enticed her to buy into whatever he was selling her. So she gave him the job of selling "an experience" to everyone who entered the Greenwich. More specifically, she put him over their penthouse suites. His job required him to research the customers who booked the suit, find their likes and dislikes, and arrange their stay to perfectly reflect their desires.

It was a job that kept him entertained and thrilled each day. He loved the investigation into the different lives that would come through his rooms. It was so akin to the reconnaissance missions he had missed for so long now. Delving deeper under the surface, making calls to those who knew the subject to get a better understanding of the customer. He loved the thrill that always accompanied each stay. Did he get it just right? Would the guest enjoy what he had set in order? Did the guest even know just how much John knew about them? Would they ever find out? Most of the times the guests were too upper crust to even notice. Though this never stopped the adrenaline from flowing each time John welcomed them to their personally tailored room, served them their favorite breakfast without being told what it was, polishing their shoes just so while the guest was out for the day, setting out things he knew would please them. Was he getting it right? Would their great aunt Agnes like the flowers he selected for the room? Would their Labrador puppy enjoy the snack bag he left for them to travel home with?

It brought him a sense of power and authority within the hotel as well. John would be lying if he didn't say that he enjoyed the envious looks of Donovan in housekeeping or Anderson at the front desk. Even his boss, the esteemed Richard Brook, sometimes would look on him with subtle desire. Though John pretended not to notice any of these things. He was too polite to rub his luck in other's faces.

Who do I get to target this time?

John stood at attention the moment the briefing session ended and smiled a "Good morning" to his fellow employees as they left the conference room.

Richard Brook picked up his tea cup from where it had been resting ,empty on the table, waiting for him to finish his meeting to be filled again.

He smiled a tight smile to John and nodded an understood "follow me" as he gracefully slid through the doorway out into the foyer.

John came to walk side by side with the man who was about his hight. Richard Brook was a sly man, with the business savvy of a wise owl and a sneaky fox. He had wriggled his way through the rankings of various hotels until he was quite literally the most sought after hotel manager in America. He had the confidence of a lion laced with the subtle malice of a snake that businessmen found both refreshing and a little unsettling, always leaving most of them completely susceptible to his persuasions. John never felt completely comfortable with the man. He always felt like his impossibly dark brown eyes were skimming him over, like a meal he would enjoy consuming slowly at his leisure.

John shivered a little at the thought.

Luckily they had reached the hallway to the offices and Mr. Brook was just now filling him in on the events of the week to come.

"A very unusual guest this week, Ms. Adler would like to address us both personally about him."

Brook's normally sing song voice had a brittle tone to it today. John wondered idly which little mouse had escaped his clause this time.

They pulled up and stopped to knock on an elegantly carved mahogany wood door.

"Enter" came the immediate reply.

Richard Brook swept into the space as if he owned it, leaving John to close the doors and trail in his wake towards the plush seats that occupied the center of the room.

Draped rather dramatically along an expensive couch was the slender form of the hotel's owner.

"Good morning, boys." Irene Adler sipped from her glass of red wine and casually glanced at the suited men across from her.

"Good morning, Ms. Adler." Came the lone reply of John gently. He glanced at Richard, expecting something to come from him by way of greeting.

"Good morning, my Muse." Brook rose from his seat to cross and take Ms. Adler's hand, kissing it with flourish. John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the opulent gesture. Yet Irene smiled almost wickedly at this and nodded in approval as Brook found his seat again.

That snake really does know how to get places.

"Thank you for coming to this very special briefing." Irene continued after another sip from her glass. "The guest that could be occupying our Tribeca Penthouse Suite next week has opted to downgrade to our N. Moore Penthouse Suite instead, he says it suits him better." She rose her chocolate eyes to meet John's deep blue's," This should be noted when you do your evaluation of his tastes."

John nodded thoughtfully, carefully tucking away that bit of information to be addressed later during his research.

"He is coming to address the Embassy about some political thing between the U. S. And England I believe. The specifics of his stay were left a little gray in the area during the booking. Whatever the reason for his visit, I have a personal tie to this man. I want his stay here to be complete perfection."

Something in John didn't like the way the word had left her bright red lips. It was too seductive, too sinister. This whole meeting was beginning to make him a bit uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine what was awaiting their guest to come. He almost wanted to call and warn him, whoever he was.

Irene stood with a flourish, John catching a flash of her long pale leg as the satin of her red dress split from the waist to wrap and flutter down to her bare feet. The air was slightly thick with what felt like battling tensions for dominance coming from both of his higher ups. John didn't know what exactly the relationship was like between them, and he had no desire to find out now.

He fidgeted in his seat a little, unable to control his discomfort. Wanting to get a name and get out of the office that felt like it was closing around him by the second.

Irene pulled a picture atop a small file from the drawer in her sleek black desk. She sighed a wonton, nearly inappropriate, sigh as she bit her lip looking at the picture in her hands. Her voice took a wistful tone and she held the file outwards for the men to see.

"Gentleman, our guest: Mr. Sherlock Holmes."