A note from Janine-

Dear readers, I must apologize. I had made it perfectly clear to my rather incompetent agent, Anne_Louise (now sacked), that a story of this importance must be published in a mainstream media outlet of the highest possible integrity and quality. The Sun, for example. Or, in America, US Weekly. Imagine my dismay when I discovered these chronicles were not to grace those pages (yet), but to have their initial run here on FanFiction, a website of impeccable standards, to be sure, but devoted entirely to fiction. I assure you, readers, this is NOT fiction (more about that in the first installment). Every word is truth.

That clarified, I am thrilled to provide you lucky few with an exclusive peek at these adventures as I pursue world wide publication. Feel free to show your appreciation at the conclusion of the third adventure- major credit cards and accepted. Enjoy!

EXTRA! EXTRA!

Sherlock is Relentless

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A True Princess, Installment I

"An encounter in a park."

Some months ago, I, Janine, related the tale of how I was cruelly used by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the world famous detective. How I was humiliated. Ravished time and time again. It ended by his being shot- Rightfully so! -when he broke into my place of work under the pretense of asking for my hand in marriage. Although I was never told the specifics of that incident, it is obvious there was some sordid reason that had nothing to do with wedded bliss. Since then, I have struggled to regain my dignity, one tiny step at a time, with only the incredible outpouring of support from you, dear readers, to sustain little me.

Lately, I have had inquiries regarding interactions with this detective after he was shot. Namely-Does he continue this outrageous romance? Am I bothered without mercy? Dear readers- Yes. Sherlock, or "Sherl" (my "pet" name for him), apparently regards me as, "The one who got away," and is relentless. As a public service, I have pledged to document these encounters. Here- I give you:

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERL AND ME

At the onset, I must assure you that the events I reveal are entirely and without question, true. I have been visited by individuals connected with our legal system and have had the consequences of giving misleading information, explained in excruciating detail. Trust me- I tell the truth. I have no choice. In that spirit, I must disclose that when we were together, Sherl and I shared no direct physical intimacy. The facts were most of the time he was out nights with a case, stinking and, honestly, smelling horribly. So while there was deep emotional ties and terrible longing, there was nothing beyond. None.

Before I am accused- No. I did not lie in the previous story. If you will recall, the interviewer asked if Sherl and I had been intimate, and I answered, with complete frankness, "Oh, yes." I may not have specified the type of intimacy we had shared, but intimacy, we had. Now I enjoy physical intimacy, but to be perfectly honest, even had he begged (and he came close a number of times, I could see it in his eyes) I would have been reluctant to submit without a token of his commitment. A ring. A special ring. A princess cut emerald ring of at least five carats surrounded by no fewer than eight half carat diamonds. Any lesser token (such as the one he brought to the office that night) would betray his reluctance to give himself wholly to me, and, in that case, how could I be expected to give myself wholly to him? Although there were other minor issues, this was, dear readers, the heart of the rift between Sherl and me. In these pages I will relate how Sherl got me this princess cut ring: a promise and a sincere proposal, and yes, Mycroft, every word is perfectly true!

It all began in a park, one lovely June afternoon. I was, I must admit, looking quite fetching in a hot pink Armani Collezioni dress (the jersey wrap, knee length with the detailing at the waist) and matching Valentino heels, going to a late cafe luncheon with Robert. Yes, there was life after Sherl. Robert was a brilliant up-and-coming businessman whom I had met on line just after the first story about Sherl and me broke. I had wanted to take a year or so "off the market" to "lick my wounds," but Robert was so very sweet and insistent, and he had a royal blue Maserati. Dear readers, expensive gifts, midnight rides in that beautiful car and tender rocking until the wee hours, for comfort's sake, go a long way to mend a tattered heart.

On that day in June, I had noticed, of late, a tiny cooling on Robert's part. My calls hadn't been returned as quickly as they once had. The bouquets were not quite as big. It was to be expected, of course. The sweaty, explosive phase of a relationship does fade, replaced by a more steady "throb", or so the experts say. Still, as I walked in the park that lovely afternoon, I was considering different ideas of breathing a bit more "spark" into things when I noticed a familiar dark haired figure on the path ahead of me, smoking a cigarette. Could it be? It was! Sherl! He was walking slowly and seemed to be looking to his left. I couldn't understand it, and then I realized-My heart skipped a beat-he must be watching me from the corner of his eye! He intended for us to have a "chance" encounter. Well.

I stepped forward- But where had he gone? In my musing, I had taken my eye off of the slippery man, and now there was only a smoldering butt on the path. "Sherl?" I called. "Sherl, where are you?" He didn't answer, so I took a deep breath and was about to really belt it out when someone grabbed my arm and yanked me between two trees.

"For God's sake, shut up!" a voice hissed. Yes! Yes, dear readers. It was. Sherlock Holmes himself.

NEXT TIME: Sherl begs for my help.