It was a luminous and warm daybreak in Southampton, the tenth of April 1912. The harbor was usually a quiet and still locality, but today was the day. The day when RMS Titanic was heading for New York City in America. Excited voices could be heard anywhere and the entire population of Southampton were crowded along the bridge. However, a person who wasn't very happy about the enormous ship that loomed in front of her approached the port in the very moment. Irene Adler climbed out of the cab with a dour expression in her eyes. For her, today was the day when she would return to her prison in America, locked up with a man who she never would love. The second issue wasn't really a complication for Irene Adler. She was alone strong and in her opinion, love was the greatest weakness mankind ever would experience.

"Jim?" She called with a dull voice and searched the crowd for her partner and fiancé, Professor James Moriarty.

"Yes?" He answered and handed Irene her hat. She nodded as saying "thank you" and started to walk up to the boat.

"What do you think?" He asked with a smirk and ran his hands in his pockets.

"It's perfect. Nobody will suspect anything." She shrugged and dropped the subject. She was tired of the endless energy Jim held when it came to crimes. She knew he was mad, of course. That didn't bother her in the slightest. She just didn't consider murder and stealing being amusing anymore. It was dull, and surprisingly boring after a couple of years.

When they had examined their cabin, Irene decided to take a walk on deck. She knew that Jim didn't care about her strolling around on her own, thank heaven for that, so she felt surprised when he asked.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to look around for a bit, darling."

"Fine then, just try to behave yourself. I've heard about this man who loves to play detective. He's travelling with us to entertain us." Jim smiled innocently and Irene snorted, disinterested. She wasn't very fond of Jim's ideas of having fun.

"I'm not worried, what's his name?"

"He calls himself 'Sherlock Holmes'." Irene didn't reply and she abruptly disappeared out of the cabin, letting the sun kiss the surface of her pale skin. As she walked, she thought through the plan once more. Jim's plan. It was brilliant as always, he was truly a proper genius. He had not a bland mind; he just liked doing meaningless things. Like killing people. But he needed her, he needed "The Woman" to accomplish his biggest interests. She scoffed when she thought of her nickname. It was not her idea, obviously. She felt like his puppet. But again, she had gotten used to it. Suddenly, she felt heartbroken. She was seventeen, and her entire life was already carved out for her. She fought the tears. It was forbidden to cry. Or to show any emotions at all.

"Sherlock, where are you?" John felt panicked and his confused gazes flickered all over the deck of the ship.

"I'm here, John" Sherlock Holmes's voice sounded calm and sharp, as always. John sighed with relief and turned around to face the detective and his good friend.

"We should have something to eat." He suggested and tried to ignore Sherlock's sarcastic glance and the very fact that he rolled his eyes.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock ignored John's statement and scrutinized the boat thoughtfully. He smiled an almost happy smile before he rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

"I sense there's something coming, Watson. Something big." He admitted and chuckled to himself.

"How entertaining for you." John scoffed and briefly looked at his watch. "We should be leaving any minute."

"Who cares?" Sherlock exclaimed and walked over to the rail. "I've been bored for six months." John followed him impatiently.

"Your latest case was a week ago." He pointed out and studied the massive crowd that cheered on the bridge below them. "Seems as if were leaving."

"I beg your pardon?" The entire boat began to rumble and the engine started to hum frisky. Sherlock didn't seem to notice at all.

"We're leaving." John clarified and cleared his throat. "I'm starving and extremely thirsty. I'll see you downstairs in the cabin later?" He made it sound like a question but didn't wait for Sherlock to answer. He knew his friend well.

Sherlock Holmes hadn't been lying when he had told John Watson about the feeling he had. He was sure that something was going to happen. He just wasn't aware of what. To be honest, he wasn't very excited about leaving England. He was born here, and grew up in the north of London. When he was a boy, his parents had realized that he was special. Sherlock Holmes was nothing like the mainstream. He was a unique, reasoning and observing machine, forever searching a distraction. He currently worked as a detective, though he never had encountered another human being who could compete with his cold, precise but admirably balanced intellect. He had met Dr. Watson during a case many years ago, and they were now close friends and companions. John was going to get married in America with a delightful but hopelessly naïve young lady named Mary Morstan, and he insisted upon that Sherlock was following with him as his best man.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by quiet steps, and his head instantly turned in the direction of the passive sound, almost like a reflex. It was a woman. She was rather young, perhaps in her twenties and she had long, dark brown hair, her skin was pale, she wore a delicate marine blue dress and she was absolutely stunning and utterly beautiful.

How dull.

Sherlock didn't bother to look at her for a long time, he knew her type well. Young, probably engaged and only interested in money and needlework. Just as he decided to go and find John to annoy him (There wasn't really anything entertaining happening on deck, not even a little theft) the woman suddenly met his gaze. He froze and stared at her in wonder. Her eyes were the same color as his, though he actually for once never bothered to notice it. It was the expression that shone from her eyes, they held a look he would recognize anywhere. She was bored. And heartbroken. He felt an urge to go and talk to her. How odd. Sherlock Holmes had never felt it before, but he sensed that she and he were the same. They simply stared at each other, he lost track of time and he desperately tried to deduce something about her character. For the first time in his life, he failed. Frustrated with himself, he closed his eyes. What was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with her? He opened his eyes widely, wanting to understand her so badly. But when he hungrily searched her eyes again, she was already gone.

AN: What do you think? I want to know! Thank you the people who have been reviewing, I really appreciate it. Also, HELP! It is so difficult writing about Moriarty, do you think I managed? Perhaps a little out of character in the end, but I really think that Sherlock is obsessed with his "Science of deduction" and therefore obsessed with Irene the first time they meet.

XoXoXo

Frida