AN: "Sequel" to Revolver. Written for GingerLocks. Irene and Mycroft have arrived at Baker Street to help a depressed Sherlock, who is unable to cope with the loss of John Watson. Will Irene be able to help him through? Oneshot. Holmes/Irene.
Savior
Persian perfume filled my nostrils. I knew the scent all too well. A gentle knock hit the wood door, but I only continued to stare at it. The door knob twists to the left and right, yet I cannot bring myself to get up and open it. I cannot bring myself to remove the chair to allow Irene inside of my study. I had not moved from this position for almost four months now. I was unsurprised to find that she had made her way back to Baker Street. Unable to attend the funeral of the doctor five months prior, she had written a letter addressed to me, expressing her sympathy, which I failed to understand why she had sent out. With a promise to come and see me expressed at the end of her letter, I did not think for a single moment that she had been honest. Yet, just on the other side of the brown, wooden door stood Irene Adler. She was getting annoyed with the lack of response she was receiving from me, but I failed to see a reason to care. The woman had a tendency to blow in with one wind, and out with the next gust that filled the surroundings. And I knew inside of me, though I was unsure of how these emotions arose, that if she was to leave once more that I would be unable to recover. Watson was already gone forever, and if I allowed myself to see Irene, only to watch her leave, I knew there would be even less purpose to my miserable life. I tried, with a great urge, to find my voice. Yet it was gone. I had not spoken since Watson's death, which gave away the reason for my lack of voice then. I, however, wished, as foolish as wishing is, that I could find my voice, wanting to respond to hers. The door knob quit turning. I heard the click of heels make their way down the wooden stairs. A sigh threatened to escape me, but I concealed it in my chest. Irene Adler had already left? I was glad, a feeling that I had not had in months, that I had not opened the door to her. However, I was surprised to hear more footsteps making their way up the stairs now, the scent of her Persian perfume returning. The door was hit with a stronger knock, able to force the chair away from the door. The door knob shakes once more, able to open. I look up to the figures standing in the door way. Irene and Mycroft stood firm in front of me, which seeing my brother triggered a great deal of surprise to arouse inside of my mind. Mycroft passed me a sympathetic smile, before he stepped back, heading down the stairs. Irene had tracked him down; I deducted, and convinced him to come out here. No doubt the two had some plan to pull me out my depression. This mission was one I had deemed to be impossible knowing the only way to save me from my dreary mood would be reuniting with my partner. Shutting the door behind her, Irene stood in the room, looking down on me with eyes of worry. This was not the Irene Adler I knew. The Irene I knew was not one to show emotions of caring for others, much like myself. Yet, she stood before me, her eyes filled with what I presumed to be love and care, as well as a deep sense of worry. Swiftly, she made her way to my side, sitting on her knees in front of my broken form.
"Sherlock," she whispered with her gentle tongue rolling each letter off slowly to form my name. Picking up my hand in hers, she stroked the skin with her thumb, moving in small circles. My black eyes looked from our intertwined hands to her blue eyes, which were roaming over my body. I looked down at my own form, unaware of the changes that had began to take place due to the depression. Before Watson's death, I had a strong posture, a body built for a well made out function. Now, you could see the bone that lied underneath my skin, which did not come as surprise. I had refused to let food enter my system and drank very little. There was no doubt that Mrs. Hudson had slipped me a few bits of food when I was drowsiest, wanting to keep me alive. Yet the pieces were not enough to keep me from thinning. I looked back into Irene's eyes. They seemed to be more worried than they had been when she had first looked at me. I, however, failed to understand why she showed this compassion. Men were simply pawns to her, another con. Yet she sat before me, a look of fear beginning to come into her eyes as she saw the cuts on my arms. I looked at them myself, remembering the ones that I had most recently issued my body to stop a painful flashback. Rolling up my sleeve, she saw there was more the one which had been pierced into my wrist, looking as if it were a 'J'. She ran her fingers over a more recent cut, one that had dried blood surrounding it. Removing her hand from my arm, her tongue gently touched her finger, before resuming cleaning the area of the blood that lingered. My head rolled back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling rather than at her. I felt her drop my arm back to the ground, before placing her hands on either side of my face. Gently, she took control of where my head sat; making it so my eyes were locked with hers. "Sherlock," she started again, more force in her voice. She clearly had something to say, but I was unsure as to how much of her speech I could keep my mind tuned in with. Missing out of conversations meant that I would have to learn how to do so in order to carry one. And it was no easier now then it was when I was being taught the first go around. I felt the soft skin on her fingers making gentle, small circles on my boney cheeks. For the first time, I allowed tears to form in my eyes. I allowed someone else to see that there was weakness inside of me. That I was unable to hide my emotions from the rest of the world, and in that moment, I could have cared less. Irene wiped my eyes, stopping any tears from rolling past my cheek bones. She had ceased any attempt to start a conversation, yet was comforting me with simple movements. And in that moment, I couldn't have cared about the tears that continued to fall out of my black eyes. They had been held in for too long. Irene slowly moved from her position in front of me to one at my side, allowing my head to rest on her gentle shoulder. My eyes flicker close, receiving rest, her arms never removing themselves from my body.
A low, short groan escapes my body as my eyes reopen. I find that I am no longer sitting down, but lying on my back. I can smell nothing but several different dishes of food in the room. My stomach growls, wanting to indulge myself with every piece of meat, bread, and whatever else remained on the plates. Hunger fills my body, and I would not have been able to help myself if it hadn't been for the pair of arms that remained wrapped around my waist. I look down at the head lying below my shoulder blade. Irene had stayed holding me while I had slept. This was a surprise to me, as I had expected her to leave the moment my eyes had shut. Whimpering at her gentle touch, I feel safe and at peace for the first time since my loss. My eyes look from her sleeping form to the chair next to the door, where I find Mycroft sitting, his eyes glued on me. He gives me another smile, still not saying a word. Shifting Irene in my arms, I begin to stroke her soft, beautiful, and thick raven locks. Inhaling the deep Persian perfume that she always wears, a sense of safety over takes me. I am no longer alone, as I had been for almost half a year following the death of the doctor. My brother is here, at least for the time being. And perhaps, this time Irene would remain with me. A smile creeps onto my face. It is one of mixed feelings. I do not bother to hide the emotions from showing in my eyes. I am more than grateful for both arriving to pull me out of this. Looking up towards the heavens, I feel Watson's presence. He has sent them both to save me, as he would have. Kissing Irene's hair gently, I allow the smile to grow. I was going to be fine. Even if Mycroft left to return home, my eyes remained on her. She had returned to me to stay this time. I watch as her blue eyes begin to flutter open, smiling as they meet mine. As deceiving as Irene was, for that single moment, she looked like an angle. She was my savior who couldn't have had better timing. Picking her face up gentle, I kiss her rose colored lips, passion filling it as she responded. As long as I had her, I was going to be alright. It was still going to take a while to get over the passing of John, but I knew had Irene for the difficult moments.