Full Summary: After the Blackwood case comes to a close, the one woman who even won against the great detective, has also seemed to have won his heart. Though unbeknown to Sherlock, Irene's escape of Moriarty's employment is becoming even more desperate, and is turning bleaker and even more life threatening then before. Events begin to transpire, and tables begin to turn. Holmes now has a new case: Keeping Ms. Adler from further harm, keeping himself from worse, and to avoid falling victim to the one greatest weakness known to man. Especially since his heart is at the hands of a woman who could take flight at any moment.

AU Set after the first film

Disclaimer: I do not own this movie, or the books, or the characters. Done and done.

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Chapter 1~ A Short Encounter

Holmes' POV

The air smelled of the salt of the sea, and the tobacco (which smelled as if it was left inside the storage box for well over its correct aging time) of the pipe the man that was precisely 17 yards down the path way. Not to mention the unmistakably sweet candy apple scent down by the gate of the park, of which the location I didn't care to guess.

The sky covered its self in a thick layer of dull, gray stratus clouds; clinging to these like the people did to their jackets. For autumn was turning to winter once again. From the looks of things, it seemed like there would be little precipitation this year. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to venture outside my room, or my house at all to fetch the morning paper. Thankfully I had Nanny do that for me… but she couldn't really be trusted with that job. But if I had to do it myself, at least I wouldn't be slipping over that ice.

It was a fine—well it would've been a fine day if it wasn't for that nuisance of a creature Watson forced me to take for a walk. But that was all taken care of. You see Gladstone was now firmly secured to a post right outside of 221B Baker Street, so I could enjoy some peace and quiet— though that was quiet improbable. Actually it was almost completely improbable. He'll find the dog sure enough. No one will steal him; he's too ugly and pudgy. Which is exactly why he can't escape either, I reasoned.

The old boy insisted on me "getting some fresh air", but I really didn't see how this air was any fresher than the one inside my room. After all, there were countless people and coal powered boats all letting out gasses and such into this air. The air in my room was for me and only those who entered. I guess that was why it was an expression.

"You've been in here for two months Holmes!" Watson had exclaimed earlier this morning, pointing the bottom end of his cane to the barely hanging calenderer in the deserted corner of my room, after so rudely entering my private quarters without my permission.

"Actually," I corrected in turn, bringing my head up from the carpet, "One month, if we are going by thirty-one days that is, and twenty-two days. So it's not a full month you see."

But clearly, my reasoning didn't prove to be quiet effective. It wasn't as if this surprised me in the least. When I didn't have a case, then either him of Mrs. Hudson would storm in and force me out. Then when I would turn around on the doorstep and request admittance back into my own home, it would be promptly denied until I had been gone for multiple hours. In a short phrase, it was quite cruel. But the two would always say in protest, "It's for your own good!" I doubted that fully.

As a biting breeze blew through the bare and crocked trees in the park, I wrapped John's plaid woolen scarf once again around my neck, so that the tasseled end hung on the back of my coat. I pulled my black leather gloves from the cluttered pocket to my left, bringing my scratched pocket watch to the remains of the grass. Though as much as I wanted to continue walking and leave it there, I bent down and snatched it back up again quickly.

"Only eleven fifty-four?" I whispered, holding the pesky thing to eye level. Those obnoxious two won't let me in for another hour at the least! I sighed agitatedly. Still looking at the hands of the clock, I paused for a moment, listening to the barely audible 'tick, tick, tick' it made. As my thoughts of how the little clock worked absorbed me, I continued walking eight paces, then sat myself down upon my usual bench, not caring to even glance down as I did so.

"I believe you're a bit off there, Mr. Holmes," said a familiar voice behind me. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to calm my nerves. Parisian perfume began to flood my nose. "The Great Clock of Westminster* reads precisely twelve o'clock."

How did I miss her footsteps? I cursed my unawareness of her presence under my breath. Then without really thinking, I opened my eyes blankly and turned my head to look over the bench. Sure enough, I was met with a whirl of dark blue silk skirts.

I turned around to face the other end of worn park bench, though I found myself staring into her deep chestnut eyes, with slight rare streaks of gold around the pupil. From the other side of the bench, I could tell those eyes seemed tired, but relieved. For a second she stared at me, a chestnut ringlet blowing in the wind, which had freed it's self from the loose bun she wore under her tilted, flowered hat. She remained silent, probably wondering what to make of me, for I was pondering what to make of her. Though I was certain something was still the matter. "Still in London, dear?" I asked nonchalantly, and then decided to continue seeing as how she didn't reply. "I thought you'd run off as soon as you got the chance… marry a man… steal his money and—" She stopped me with a cold stare.

With a loud exhale of breath, she shifted to turn away from me, and began fixing the folds of her dress, and long, darker over coat which held closely to her form. "Hardly a greeting…" she said. Not knowing how to respond to this, I decided to remain quiet.

"There is business here of which I must attend," she answered simply, folding her small hands which were covered in thin white gloves in her lap. Though as I began to look closer, I noticed a very slight amount of dark ink stained on the underside of fingers through the fabric on her left hand. This struck my attention, for the Irene I knew was never one to slip while writing. Either she had been very frantic or not concentrating while signing something. It was most likely the first.

Making up my mind to find out what she was up to, I put the matter aside, and chose to engage her in conversation. "I am presuming you escaped the clutches of Scotland Yard." I remarked sarcastically, pulling out of my pipe, and striking the bench arm of the bench to light it.

"By giving me the keys, you made it only too easy," She replied with a small grin tugging at the side of her painted lips. "I got away from them as soon as they took me out of the carriage… they didn't even know what hit them." Ms. Adler lifted her eyes to the sky, stopping herself from going on about her escape. "The Doctor made you get out again?"

She knows you too well… I made a low grunt and nodded, lighting my pipe, "Yes, he tends to do that too often." I pulled my hand out of my pocket in a swift movement, and took Irene by the wrist, which made her bring down her head. "Don't pretend like I don't know what's going on," I whispered, as a laughing couple passed by the bench. The woman opened her mouth to say something, but I pulled her slightly closer. "You can't—" I tried to continue, but her voice came over mine.

"Oh but you don't," she said challengingly, letting herself be pulled towards my side of the settee by her wrist. "You have no idea, Mr. Holmes." I had pulled her right to my side, as she gave me a stare of warning. She wretched her wrist out of my hand without breaking eye contact. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little white glove land softly on the ground. The wind began to pull at it, making it glide slowly towards the right and into a leave-less bush.

I turned my head to look back to Irene, but to my great displeasure, she was not there. "How typical," I muttered to myself putting a hand on my hat to keep it from blowing away in the wind as the glove had done. I peered over to the far side of the park walk way to see a small trail of the silk blue dress disappear around the corner of the gate. My very first intentions were to follow her, but then I soon realized it would be impractical to do such a thing. For I knew where she would be; The Grand. And if she wasn't there, well I had at least one clue. And that was quite unusual for once such as Ms. Adler.

I stood up from the bench and fetched the little white glove from the spot of which I knew it was caught. As I had guessed, a small smudge of ink lay on the inside. It was slightly blue, which meant it was made from a less expensive material. This explained that the buyer of the ink was poor, or was buying mass quantities the product. I could only think of one place where they would require so much ink, that they would have to settle for less quality.

"Why on earth did you leave Gladstone tied to a pole?" Watson yelled quite aggravated as soon as I placed myself down onto an overstuffed sofa, facing him on one of my chairs. "Someone could've easily come and stolen him!"

I was about to explain my previous thinking before stopping myself. "Well, you see it was your own fault. You were the one to put him in harm's way. It is quite obvious he would meet such danger if put under supervision of one such as myself. We both know that." He stared at me still with that frustrated expression. He was clearly unmoved. He'll get over it. So instead I turned my attention to the dog, which was lying quite sound asleep in a pile of old and forgotten news papers. "The victim doesn't seem so traumatized." I mentioned, not even caring to see what the doctor's reaction was.

After a long moment of silence he loosened the scarf around his neck and said, "Remind me, why I come for a visit?" I opened my mouth to reply, but he quickly stopped me with a, "Don't answer that." He knew I would make a comment about how bored he was at home with Mary, missing all the great excitement here. I was now almost convinced that most of that was true.

"While I was on my wonderful stroll this midmorning, I happened to run into someone..." I stated blandly, hoping to perk his interest in hopes I could convince him to help me with something I felt would become a case.

"Yes?" He asked after awhile.

I smirked to myself. "A certain Ms. Irene Adler." He didn't seem to have any reply to this. Then I went into our whole conversation, word for word, followed by finding her glove and the clues I had gathered from it. I was pleased to find that I was only interrupted a twice, which was rarely the case.

After I had finished completely, John gave me a slightly amused glance. "It's not safe at all to get into the affairs of Ms. Adler… but you venture to anyways." He paused a moment, "It's not safe to have feelings for such a women as well."

Why must he always be right? "That isn't the point…" I replied quickly, shooing away his comments. "But doesn't something strike you as odd in the tale?"

Watson nodded for a moment, staring into some distant place—what he always did while thinking hard. "It's almost... almost as if she wants you to solve it, leaving the glove so carelessly about."

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Thank you to x-Pick'n'Mix-x, for helping me analyze the ideas for the story. :-)

**The Great Clock of Westminster = Big Ben for all those who don't know