Not Strictly Sherlock

Twice on the Divan

The pungent, spicy, smell yanked him into consciousness, and he sat up and brushed the air in front of his nose in a reflexive but vain effort to eliminate it. A sharp needle of pain shot through his head, followed by a throbbing ache that resonated like a bass drum. He pressed his hand against his forehead in a desperate plea for relief.

"Easy, Mr. Holmes, easy... you are safe now," said a calm, soothing voice. A woman's voice - a familiar voice.

Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes and began to scan, slowly adjusting to the dim lighting, and he found that he was sitting upon a divan in an unfamiliar room. His gaze fell upon a woman sitting to his far-right, near the head of the divan. He swung his legs around and turned to face her, and that was when he recognized has as "The Woman." Also known as Mrs. Irene Norton, or perhaps better known by her maiden and stage name, Irene Adler.

"Go slowly, Mr. Holmes, as you have experienced a tremendous knock on the head."

"Mrs. Norton...Irene?"

"This is the second time I have brought you into my parlor after you have been assaulted, Mr. Holmes."

Mrs. Norton held a thin stick of incense from which floated a long, delicate, serpentine stream of smoke. She stood, walked over to a table and set it down on a plate, then she picked up a bell and rang it. An older woman entered the room, Mrs. Norton spoke to her in Farsi, then she bowed and exited, closing the doors behind her.

Eyes now adjusted to the dim lighting, Sherlock Holmes looked around the well-appointed room. The window shutters were closed, and the drapes were partially drawn, but slices of sunshine still managed to cut into the room, giving color and shape to its contents.  It was a parlor, spacious, and decorated in a mix of Persian and European decor, except for an American cowboy-style hat. An old fashioned pianoforte and music stand dominated the center of the room.

The servant re-entered the room, this time carrying a tray laden with cups and a teapot.

"Thank you, Bahman, that will do," said Mrs. Norton, and with that, the servant set the tray onto the table next to the incense plate, bowed, and exited the room.

"I ordered coffee, as I think you will want something a little stronger than tea but weaker than whisky."

She filled two cups with hot, robust, black coffee and handed him one with a saucer. He held it before his face and took in the smell of the steaming black liquid. The strong earthy aroma was a welcome change from the spicey smell of the incense, and he breathed it in as if it had life-giving properties. He sipped gingerly, but he was used to the strong coffee served throughout the near eastern countries of Arabia, but now he was in Persia, wasn't he?

He lowered his cup down to his lap and looked up at Mrs. Norton, who had remained quiet while he drank his coffee and regained some focus. He looked at "The Woman" and marveled, as it had been years since they last met, and still, her beauty was unrivaled.

Had she aged a day? Was it a trick of the light?

"Mrs. Norton, it is good to see you, or should I say it is surprising to see you."

"Mr. Holmes, no doubt you want to know where you are, how you came to be here, and how it is that I am serving you coffee," matter of factly stated the only woman to best the great detective.

Holmes just looked her in the eye and nodded his consent.

"You see Sherlock, after our encounter, I fled London with my husband Godfry and took up residence in Paris, at least for a time. We had money, well some, so we eventually left Paris and began to travel all around Europe... Amsterdam, Munich, Vienna, Florence. It was wonderful, really, like a fairy tale for me."