Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with the BBC's Sherlock, and I make no monetary profit from this.
The Women
Life has been good, so far, this second time around, though strictly speaking, she's not supposed to talk about that. She
has a different job now - very different - and she's living in a country where new identities are easy to come by and very cheap. Just the other day, in fact, she bought a birth certificate from a little shop on the side of a major highway. She'll move on in a month or so, as she inevitably does nowadays, but, yes, it's been good.
Her hair is still short from the time she spent masquerading as a man, and it brushes her chin as she unlocks the door to the small house she's been renting. She pauses before pushing it all the way open.
Someone's inside. She can tell.
She enters cautiously, not turning on any lights. There's no-one in the living room (which is also the dining room), and she makes only a brief stop in the kitchen before heading upstairs.
The light in her bedroom is on, the door open, and she steps inside to find a woman sitting at the foot of her bed. She has dark brown hair that curls gently around her face, and she looks up from her Blackberry with an expression of mild surprise.
"Miss Irene Adler?" she says. The baffled look, clearly, is feigned.
"You've got the wrong house."
She tsks. "Did you really think we wouldn't find you?" The woman's gaze drops back to the screen of her phone, and she continues to do whatever it is that has her thumbs working on the keypad. She's a pretty thing, and Irene likes that black dress she's wearing. Very fetching. Especially with her in it.
"Did you really think you'd find me unprepared?" Irene moves her arm, pointing the gun she had hidden behind her back at her visitor. It's crude, really, but sometimes you need a rough hand.
"Not at all," says the woman smoothly. "I took the liberty of unloading the gun in your freezer."
"Oh, but this is the unregistered gun I take with me to work. It's nice, what you can get away with in the tropics." Irene shifts position so that she can hold the weapon with both hands. "Besides, I know the weight of a loaded weapon, that didn't fool me for a second. So tell me, sweetheart, who sent you?"
"Mr. Holmes sends his regards."
"Mr. Holmes the elder, I presume. I think I parted on good enough terms with his brother" The memory of Karachi makes her mouth twist in a smile of sorts. "What does he want? I've got nothing left, no more information, and you can believe me to be very thoroughly ruined. The only motive I can think of is revenge." She takes a few steps closer to the woman who is, against all probability, still texting. "Though I hope that's not what you're here for. It'd be such a shame to put a hole in your pretty little head."
"Far from it, Miss Adler."
"You have the advantage of me, Miss-?"
"Anthea."
"That's not your real name."
"Nor is yours Vina Clarke. Or Melody Williams. Or Crispin Villafranca. Or any of the other things you've called yourself for the past two years. I think we're even. You can put the gun down now."
"I'd rather not."
"I'm not armed. Would you like to check?"
"Mmm, tempting, but I don't think so. You stay there, love, where I can see you. So, Mycroft Holmes. I must say, he has good taste. What does he want?"
"He wants to make you an offer, Miss Adler."
"An offer?"
"Yes. Do you believe in angels?" She lowers the phone to her lap, looks Irene straight in the eye. "He's offering you one. To give you another chance." She stands, Blackberry in one hand, moving nearer to Irene - and Irene appreciates the view very much. "You'd be given a new name, a completely new identity, with all your papers authentic. Quite unlike the birth certificate and college diplomas you've bought here. And money, if you'd like it."
"In exchange for what?" She's close enough now that Irene has her gun pressed against her stomach, but Anthea appears unfazed by it.
"A few favors for Queen and country. Though not the favors you used to do for royalty. England could use you, Miss Adler."
"I take it that I don't have much of a choice in this."
"No, Miss Adler. You're perfectly free to refuse. You'll just have to live with the consequences."
Irene blinks. Anthea, if that's what she's calling herself, has insinuated herself smoothly into her personal space so that they're almost touching, and her fingers curl around the wrist of the hand holding the gun. Irene lowers it, slowly. "Can I think about it first?"
If you like. Don't be too long about it."
"Hmmm. All right. An angel, you said." Irene tilts her head down, and when she speaks, her lips almost meet Anthea's. "Would that be you?"
"It might."