That Bohemian Business by Byrdie ()
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From the journal of Dr. John Watson:
It was a scandal of epic proportions. One involving explicit letters and an even more explicit portrait, felonious assault with a restricted substance, the Crown Prince of the Crimson Court of Bohemia and an American actress whose cinematic exploits were fairly tame compared to her off-screen adventures.
I've had the experience on three continents of women who simply cannot take "No" for an answer. None of them were as persistent as The Divine Miss A. "Reenee to my friends. You *do* want to be my friend, don't you? My very ... close ... friend."
She must have taken my not slamming the door in her face for an enthusiastic "Yes." It wasn't, I simply didn't want to disturb Mrs. Hudson. Our dear landlady was still quite put out with us for what had happened to the wall within days of my first moving in. That was nearly three years ago. I've since found better ways to keep a bored Consulting Mage-slash-Detective happily entertained.
"Sorry, that position is already taken," I said and turned back to preparing my tea. Frowned. *Somebody* forgot to buy milk again. "You might try downstairs. The kitsune in 221C keeps telling the whole world she's your biggest fan."
A peal of laughter, a rustle of silk. A dainty jeweled hand where it had absolutely no business being. "Look, lady, I'm not interested. What part of "already taken" do you not under ---" My jaw dropped as I whirled round to confront her and so did the mug of tea. It was a good thing I'd had the carpet spelled to be stain proof in consideration of my partner's non-existent housekeeping skills. Not to mention the unspeakable messes he insists on calling experiments. At any rate, I found myself accosted by a Hollywood idol. One obviously under the influence of a very strong lust potion. She hadn't even bothered to hide the vial. Then again, there was really no place she could have hidden it.
I did the only thing I could: rendered her unconscious with a swift subclavian nerve pinch, threw a blanket over her unconscious form and called for Inspector Lestrade to come get her before my spouse returned from wherever he'd buggered off to in search of that thrice-damned painting and committed homicide.
Thanks to the unique system of wards on our apartment and its inhabitants, she hadn't been able to poison anyone with her noxious brew. So the charges against her were reduced to possession of an unlicensed elixir and public intoxication. Her sentence was a heavy fine and a deportation order. The cache of documents she'd called her protections had been recovered and returned to their rightful owners. An emissary from the Crimson Court delivered a message of gratitude along with a generous fee from our illustrious client. Shortly thereafter, the marriage of Prince Vladimir to Princess Elizabeth took place at Westminster with all the pomp and pageantry one might expect. My partner declined yet another offer of knighthood and life at 221B settled back into its familiar routine. For the most part.
Although they hold no romantic interest for him, Sherlock Holmes is a man respectful of women. He is ever courteous in his dealings with them, even when confronting female serial killers. No doubt this is due to his upbringing in an ancient and glorious House which counts Vestals, Valkyries and Amazons among its most revered members. Of the woman Hollywood has christened "The Divine Miss A" -- Irene Adler on her birth certificate -- he seldom speaks. But whenever he does refer to her, usually in connection with her ties to a certain criminal mastermind, it is always under the title of That (Expletive Deleted) Witch.
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