A/N: Hey guys! So it's another story which will have femslash and an unlikely female pairing from me - oh the shock. Hope you like it!
Prologue
Costumes, Irene thought, were always interesting.
From the first fairy wings she had ever played in, to the lace dress she had carefully selected this morning. Well, it was a wonder she hadn't gone into theater.
Especially with all the careful acting she was practicing now, a subtle arch of a brow, a quirk at the corner of her lip.
Give nothing away.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun.
"So, James. How can I be of service to you?" The first words spoken in the room permeated in the silence, carrying the crisp, regal tone that Irene was almost renowned for with her clients. She made herself seem in control, completely above the situation. No easy feat considering she was currently barred from exiting the room by two armed guards and countless others hidden, as well as Moriarty's sniper.
James Moriarty himself was perched languidly in a chair, alert yet clearly comfortable. His suit was designer, the perfectly ironed collar and tailored shirt fitting to his form like a second skin. A table stretched between them, dark mahogany and clearly expensive, offset with a rich red tablecloth and two cups of untouched tea.
Irene wasn't usually this charmed by men, if James Moriarty could be given such a bland title at all. She had been conversing with him through random people, the internet and via text for the past month before he eventually consented to meeting her in person.
"I need you to get close to someone for me," he replied. His voice was that singing Irish lilt that gave no indication to what lay beneath, no hint of the menace that had scorched his name across the criminal world. The name everyone knew but no one spoke…
"The Virgin?" Irene asked, her hopeful thinking. A clever nickname for a man she had never met in person, something that she and Moriarty had shared. She was pulling the humor card, the 'I know you're still a human' card.
James' lips quirked in a quick smile, like a snake flicking its tongue across dry lips.
"No, dear. Something a little more in your forte." A file was sensuously slid across the expanse of table until it rested within reaching distance of her hands. She remained still, contemplating his unreadable features for a few beats.
Picking up that file was sentencing her to the menial task that lay within, but avoiding it was disrespecting the man who would kill with an imperceptible nod or an uncaring wave of his hand.
In the exact movement she leaned forward to take it, he began speaking again.
"Saint Batholomew's Hospital is where Sherlock often goes to conduct his research, and I'd like someone there to keep an eye on things. I had a morgue worker but after a few discrepancies I found he was no longer of any use to me." Jim said, his tone casual but his eyes boring into the place where Irene's hands were connected to the file. She shifted her fingers and opened it to peer inside.
Sitting there, on top of a stack of papers, was a photo of a woman. Her lips were slightly thin and her eyes looked dull in the low quality image, she had thick, light brown hair and the kind of smile that suggested the woman owned at least two cats.
"New morgue assistant Molly Hooper is starting in two days time, she'll be in charge of the area Sherlock usually inhabits." Jim said, leaning forward to sip his tea and giving a brief smile.
"You'd like me to do what precisely with Miss Hooper?" Irene asked, closing the file and placing it in her lap.
"I trust you don't need me to tell you how to do your job, Miss Adler?" Moriarty replied, raising an eyebrow.
"No, of course not." Irene said, careful to keep the snap out of her tone. She was not an idiot. She was, however, confused as to how seducing Molly Hooper would help Jim in the slightest.
"Find out what she likes, get close to her. If you do this right, you'll be cut into one of the biggest deals of this century. If you don't, you'll be cut into tiny pieces." Jim said pleasantly.
The threat was always his departing line, so Irene forced her countenance into an unruffled calmness as she stood and walked to his side of the table.
"Of course, James." She replied, leaning forward to brush her red painted lips across his hairline. The kiss was subtle and completely unerotic, followed by a nod from him towards his guards who stepped aside to allow Irene to pass.
She did so unhurriedly, her high heels clicking across the floor of the room and then out into the hallway.
Irene shivered when she finally found her way onto the street, feeling the utter relief spread through her at leaving a meeting with James Moriarty still alive and in possession of all ten fingers. Alongside that relief was the thrill of the game, the feeling of entering another round whilst completely unsure of the consequences and outcomes. To seduce Molly Hooper, though, a pleasant looking girl who didn't seem to fit into any category of her normal clientele well…
Irene got the strong feeling she at least wouldn't be bored as she picked up her phone and hit the speed dial for her assistant.
"Kate, dear, I need you to lay an outfit for me. No, not that kind of outfit. I need something… vulnerable."
DISCLAIMER: I am not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Stephan Moffat. To the best of my knowledge?