From desk worker detective to Sergeant at Scotland Yard, Adelaide Gregson has come a long way from her days in Manhattan. When one consulting detective catches her eye, things get complicated. When a case now means life or death, will sentiment prov...
"Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock said, annoyed. I quickly punched him in the face and he groaned.
"Thank you, that was, that was stronger than I anticipated from a girl." Sherlock said.
"Shut up or I'll do it again." I muttered, holding my hand.
Sherlock told me the rest of the plan as we walked that last two blocks to the house. He slipped a white piece of plastic into his shirt collar and rang the doorbell.
"Hello?" A voice asked through the intercom.
"Um, hell. I've just been attacked. Um, and I think they, they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please, could you help me?" Sherlock pretended to be all out of sorts. It took everything in me to not laugh.
"I could phone the police if you want." The voice spoke.
"Thank you, thank you. Could you, please? Er, would you, would you mind if I just waited her, just until they come? Thank you, thank you so much." Sherlock said, pretending to cry and hold a handkerchief to his bloody cheek.
The door buzzed and the two of us stepped inside.
"Thank you, oh." Sherlock said.
"I saw it all happen. It's okay, I'm a doctor." I lied, playing along. "Have you got a first aid kit?"
"In the kitchen, I'll take you." the redhead lady who opened the door said. I got it and returned to the sitting room where Sherlock was.
"Right, this should do it." I said, walking in seeing Sherlock sitting on the couch. Standing in front of him was Irene Adler, completely naked, with Sherlock's roman collar in her mouth.
"I've missed something, haven't I." I said, still standing in the doorway.
"Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid." Irene said after taking the plastic out of her mouth.
"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait." Irene said, sitting down in a chair.
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"You think he's a vicar with a bleeding face?" I retorted.
"No, I think he's damaged, delusional, and believes in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself." She said, directing the last part at Sherlock.
"Hmm, somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." Irene said, looking at where I had punched Sherlock.
"Could you put something on, please?" I said when she looked at me, knowing I was the one that punched him. When I said this she looked me up and down and then rolled her eyes. She picked up Sherlock's jacket from the couch and slipped it on. Now, I wanted to punch her.
