Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes had more than a few things in common. They were both geniuses, in their own way. And being geniuses, they both loved an audience. Also, they both, on occasion, got painfully bored.

When Sherlock Holmes got bored he shot up walls, sought out cigarettes, and bugged his blogger/flatmate/friend to find him new cases to solve. He even took to reading every single email in his inbox, sifting through the loads of fan mail, sexual offers, and other rubbish, trying to find any little ember that his mind could cling to so that it didn't burn itself up instead.

When Irene Adler got bored she leaked little bits of information to the press, went shopping for things she did certainly not need more of, and bugged her personal assistant/lover/slave to find her new and more interesting clients to whip into submission. She even took to reading every single email in her inbox, sifting through the loads of fan mail, sexual offers, and other rubbish, trying to find any little ember that her mind and labido could cling to so they they didn't burn themselves up instead.

It was on one such day that Miss Adler came across an email that caught her eye. It wasn't from someone who wanted to offer themselves to her to use, or some poor misguided fool who wanted to "rescue" her from her life of sin. This was from someone asking her advice. It was brief and shy and rather innocent. Miss Adler loved a touch of innocence every once and a while. It was like a perfectly chilled cocktail on a hot day. You know, not enough to plan your whole day around, but refreshing none the less.

Dear Miss Adler,

My name is Molly Hooper. I read about you in the papers. I know what kind of work you do. I know that you are kind of an expert in certain areas, a genius even. I thought about writing to the relationship experts on the telly or in the women's magazines, but I don't think they will quite do. You see, I am in love with a man who doesn't know I am alive. I see him frequently and he treats me like a piece of furniture. I fetch him coffee and other things that he needs. When he wants me to bend the rules for him, he smiles and compliments me and turns on this fake charm act. I'm not that daft. I know it's just a trick, but I give in anyway. I do it because it's nice to pretend, just for a moment, that he isn't just acting.

I should probably mention that he is not a normal man. He is a fascinating and beautiful genius. I know a lot of women probably say that about the men that they fancy, but I mean it. He is a certifiable, mad genius. I honestly doubt I can make him love me, but I would just really like for him to see me. I want him to see me, just once, as a real woman. I was wondering if you could possibly help me.

Thank you in advance for your time and consideration,

Molly Hooper

Irene Adler lay back on her silk sheets and twirled her phone. Her manicured fingernails clicked against the screen, the only sound in the room. There was something about this Molly Hooper's email that amused her. She wasn't sold on it being worth her time, but she kept coming back to it. Irene sent her a quick reply.

Dear Miss Hooper,

Send me your contact information and a picture of yourself.

Miss Adler

Irene lulled in her bed a bit more, not expecting a return email very soon. None of the other emails showed any promise at all. She was starting to think that going on a shopping spree may be in order. Even shopping sounded boring but at least she would end up with some pretty things.

The phone buzzed once. It was her email notification. There was already a reply from Miss Hooper. Miss Adler read the brief message before hitting the "open attachment" option to see the picture that was sent.

Sorry, I am at work so I ducked in my office to take this picture on my phone. It's not very good, I know. Sorry.

"Oh good god" thought Miss Adler with an eye roll. "The girl just apologized to me twice in two sentences. that can't be good." Irene downloaded the picture with trepidation, bracing herself for disappointment. "If she is wearing a sweater with cats on it then the girl deserves to be ignored."

The picture suddenly sprang to the screen. Irene's surprise came in two distinct waves.

The first was that this woman was quite pretty. Granted this was a picture taken hastily in a mirror, but Irene was still able to see that her features were lithe and supple. Her hair was worn swept up, not all the wispy pieces captured perfectly. Her blouse was boring and wrinkled, worn under what appeared to be a lab coat. So Miss Hooper was likely an intelligent woman as well as attractive. The hand that held the camera phone, just visible on the one side of the picture, had a beautiful wrist. Irene had a thing for wrists. Lovely, thin wrists that would look simply fantastic tied up in silk rope.

The second bit of information, the one that made Irene Adler's breath catch in her throat and had her suddenly sitting up straight on her bed, was that she recognized this young woman. The lab coat is what did it actually. That was what perked her memory. Irene closed that picture and brought up her archive of picture files. She selected the one she had dubbed "detective stories." These pictures were all gifts from a business associate that knew that she had a thing for a certain semi-famous, London-based consulting detective. After just a few flicks Irene found it. It was a CCTV still from a hallway of a hospital. There was a tall man in a long dark coat. Matching his stride was a shorter blonde man with square shoulders and a black jacket. And just behind them, her face just visible above a stack of binders gripped to her chest, was Molly Hooper. Miss Molly Hooper was beaming, unseen, at one Sherlock Holmes.