This is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction (the books). (I haven't watched the movies yet, but I'm OBSESSED with the books) Just letting you know from the start... Sherlock X Watson is a no no in my writing. I repeat, I DO NOT SHIP THESE CHARACTERS. Okay. Now that THAT'S done, please enjoy, comment, critique... you guys know what to do~ :) You guys are awesome like that.

Throughout my years of documenting Sherlock Holmes's various expeditions, I have rarely known him to be thwarted. To my knowledge, he has only failed four times: and even then, thwarted more so by chance and sure-footed enemies than his lack of wit.
The Scandal in Bohemia is an exception. It has always been the exception.
Even in his failures, however, Holmes always managed to find the truth; not just bits and pieces of what happened, but the entire, glorious scope of the case. Never had I known him to fail to find the truth, the complete truth, the truth pressed to such a point of accuracy that everything unraveled before his keen eyes.
Never had a case made one of Sherlock Holmes's wounds -tightened into a thin scar by his sheer willpower -reopen even a sliver.
But then again, the woman has always been the exception.

"My dear Watson," Sherlock Holmes greeted me as I stepped into his office and quarters at Baker Street, my frigid body bathed with warmth as I did, "It is good that you are here. I have been practically bombarded with letters since the last fortnight, and it is always good to have you to consult, doctor. Especially since you have had much time on your hands since the last week."
I should have been used to it, but I was amazed once more by his skills of deduction. "Yes, I haven't had many patients lately: only a girl with smallpox. But how in the world did you know?" He motioned for me to sit down, a smile lighting on his face as he lifted his pipe.
"You do not have the mark of either a stethoscope along your ears, or the depression from the blunt end of a needle on your thumb and forefinger. Instead, you have the circular indentation of reading glasses on the bridge of your nose, and a paper-cut on your right ring-finger. And, if I may be so rude, I would say that no self-respecting doctor would leave his hair so tousled if he were meeting his patients."
I immediately pressed my hair down to my head. "You never cease to amaze me, Holmes."
"It is but observation," he said dismissively, reaching for another letter in his pile and skimming through it. "Hmm... from the Duke... stolen artifacts..." He tossed the letter aside. "Uninteresting in the slightest. A mere glance at previous cases would solve this one. Let Lestrade take care of this, I suppose." He reached for another letter, but only gave this one the shortest glance before throwing it aside. "Does not interest me."
I wondered how long it would take before Holmes reached a case that intrigued him. Very long, I suspected. Then my eyes fell on a lilac envelope signed with a vaguely familiar hand. "Holmes. Try that one." He looked up from a gray letter to the envelope to which I was pointing, and grabbed it immediately, tearing it open. "This one is interesting."
"You have not looked at it yet!" I cried out, but Holmes just looked up at me with a smile.
"I know from looking at the envelope." He then delved into the letter, occasionally stopping to touch a word with his finger with a frown.
I knew what was coming. Watson, look at this letter and tell me what you can determine about our client. Watson, what do you think of this letter? Then I would answer something insignificant to his brilliance, and he would rebound against me with his unfailing deductions.
This time around, however, it seemed to be different. Holmes's frown grew deeper and deeper, before his eyes reached the bottom of the paper, at which time he dropped the letter, grabbed a syringe, and injected the thing into his arm.
I was alarmed. "Holmes? What are you doing? What is that?"
"Cocaine. You should be used to this by now, Watson." His voice was quieter than usual as he picked up the letter once more. "Mental exaltation."
"But you have a letter! You don't use the drugs when you are reading a letter, not usually..." Holmes passes the letter to me.
"Watson, read the letter." Sherlock Holmes put a hand to his forehead. I frowned, but took up the letter, squinting at the neat, feminine hand and elaborate letterhead.
"Well, she is a young lady, fairly well to do..."
"Read the letter, Watson." My frown grows deeper at his wavering tone, and I read the letter.
Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes;
It has been a while since I have contacted you, but I am certain that you remember me. I am writing to you as I have a case for you. A most peculiar one.
I do not care to write all of the details on this piece of letter-paper; you, of all people, Mr. Holmes, would understand how that would be ridiculous. I happen to be in town, and so -if you are willing to take up this case -I would like for you to meet me, with any associate you feel necessary, at the coffeeshop down Baker Street at exactly eight o'clock tomorrow morning. I know you usually meet your clients in your office, Mr. Holmes, but it is not exactly a place that I would be comfortable giving my statement in, and that may cause some discrepancies, so I suspect that you will have no complaints in obliging to my requests.
I will wait until noon for your arrival, then consult another. However, I would be honored if you would take up my request. I have the money to pay you, Mr. Holmes.
I looked up at Holmes, who had remained painfully silent throughout my perusal of the letter. "So you've met this client before? What's wrong with..." My eyes travel down to the salutations, drawn by the graceful signature on the bottom of the page.

Respectfully Yours,

Irene Adler Norton.

Holmes finally looked up, a look of cautious uncertainty in his eyes. "Well. What do you think of it, Watson?"
"I think... I think Irene Adler is..."
"Back," Holmes interjects, twirling the syringe between his long, thin fingers. "The woman is back. And she wants to put me on a case."
"W-well," I stuttered, not sure what to say as I stare at Holmes's troubled expression. "Are you... going to..."
"Take the case? Of course, Watson! Any case that Mrs. Norton offers is bound to be an intriguing one, is it not?" He stood, picking up his pipe and inhaling deeply. "And, if it is not too much trouble, Doctor, I would ask you to document this case, also."
"No trouble at all." I quickly took out my pad from the inner breast pocket of my coat. Holmes waved his hand.
"No need to have the thing out yet, Watson. There is no evidence to examine. But one more thing."
"Yes, Holmes?"
His eyes were still disturbed as they looked out through the smoke of his pipe at the view in his small window. I could tell from his set jaw that he was determined, but all vestiges of his normal confidence were gone. "Watson. Whatever this case turns out to be about... Call it The Adler Case."