Author's Note: As stated in the summary, this was merely a prediction of a scene I thought Sherlock Season 3 would have, so everything in this is completely fanon. However, what's the fun in fan fiction if you can't try to predict what may happen in an upcoming season (that at this point has already passed)?
I do not own Sherlock or its characters, and I hope you enjoy this.
"How?"
"What do you mean how?"
"You know what I mean. Tell me how you did it."
The dark-haired man looked up at the woman from across the table. "Sorry. I think that's classified information." He began to fiddle with the utensils set before him.
The woman pursed her lips in an annoyed manner. "At least give me a hint."
"No..." The man examined the knife. "Can't do that."
"I want to know. No else knows, do they? Will I be the first person you tell?"
"Two others know. And a few of my homeless network. That is all." The man had set the knife down and started to flip a fork in his hand. He touched each prong in a meticulous manner.
"Homeless network?" the woman repeated. A mixture of confusion and surprise muddled her elegant features.
"Yes," the man answered. "Nothing you need to concern yourself over."
She cocked her head slightly as the waiter set their drinks down. "Are you ready to order?" he asked, pulling out a pen and notepad from his bib pocket.
"Yes, I think we are," the man said, fork still in his hand. He smiled up at the waiter as he shot off what he and the woman wanted.
The woman gave him a baffled look as the waiter jotted down their orders and left. "But...I didn't even get to say what I..."
"Oh, please, it's not that hard to figure out what someone such as yourself would want to have. You're a woman; you want something to satisfy you, but nothing with a high amount of calories. And judging by the position of your hands and eyes, they were near the caramelized sea scallops. Second page, near the top, just below the picture of it. People seem to look at the images right before they know what to order, so it gave me the extra incentive to know exactly what you would want."
He delivered that observation at breakneck speed, as he always did. The woman leaned back in her seat with a snort. "I should have known you would do that. You always do that. You see everything, don't you?" she asked with a slow smile.
"I simply observe, unlike the rest of the idiotic world," he replied in that deliciously uninterested tone of his.
The woman reached for her drink and took a sip. "Hmm. Yes, that's true. I have a query, though. Why me?"
"Sorry?" The man glanced up at her.
"Why did you text me? I mean, you're the only person who knows that I'm alive, but still..." She gnawed at the straw poking from her drink. "Why me? You can't be that interested in me, after all. Didn't I reject you, virgin boy?"
His angular jaw instantly tightened at the rather offensive name she had called him years ago. His green-blue eyes narrowed before he answered coolly, "Yes, you did. But since you've been in the same situation as I have been in, I simply thought that it would be easier...to connect with you. After all, no one else knows that you live, right? No one, Miss Adler, except me."
"Well, you were the only person to help me out," Irene Adler said, taking another sip of her drink. "Not even Kate knows the truth."
"And it seems that no one else here does, either," the man remarked, briefly looking around the restaurant. "No former clients we should be worried about?"
"Not a single one, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She whispered his name with another seductive smile.
"I would prefer it if you didn't say my name, Miss Adler," Sherlock hissed.
"I didn't say it. I whispered it. There is a stark difference, right?" She chuckled. "Isn't it quite interesting that you're famous round the world, especially after your apparent...misfortune? I thought you didn't like having the spotlight shine on you."
"I don't," Sherlock said. "That doesn't mean that they know that."
They said nothing more as their food arrived to them. Once the waiter was gone, Irene asked, "So, are you going back, then? To your flat?"
Sherlock carved his prime rib in half as he answered, "Of course. There's nowhere else for me to go now, is there?"
"And yet you seem troubled," Irene remarked as she raised a piece of sea scallop to her mouth. She swallowed before continuing, "He's not there, is he?"
"How could you possibly know that?" Sherlock muttered. He chewed his piece of rib, looking up at her with an indifferent gaze.
"It's obvious, isn't it? You do so well at hiding your emotions, but this time you slipped a little bit. I can see it in your face. That wonderful face of yours told me everything. How your forehead wrinkled a tad when I mentioned your old place, how your mouth curved down at the corner, and yes, how a moment ago you started tapping your fingers one by one." She let out a short laugh. "See, you're doing it right now. There's only one thing that could make you act like that, and it certainly isn't just your old flat. It's John. You're uneasy that he has left you. Left his old life with you in it and made a new one. A new one without you."
Sherlock stiffened and set his fork down. His lips were pressed together to form a thin line. He leaned forward just slightly. "Don't say one word more."
Irene bit her lip as her blue eyes scanned his every feature. "Ooh. Am I seeing irritation? Anger? I quite like this new side of you. It seems that being away for so long has changed you."
The consulting detective sat back with a hard gaze and scoffed, "Nothing has changed."
"It certainly has, my dear detective. You just choose not to accept it." She took another bite of her food and asked, "So, how did you know that John wasn't there?"
"My brother told me," Sherlock replied, still regarding her coldly.
"And I suppose he's one of the two that knows the truth?"
"What an excellent observation, Miss Adler," Sherlock sneered.
"All right, then. Who's the other?"
"Why would I tell you that?"
"You've already told me that your brother knows. At least give me the second one. Who is it? Anyone I know?"
"No, I don't believe so, unless you two happened to meet coincidentally. You wouldn't know who it is."
"Well, I'm interested. Tell me. It must be someone very important to you, since you gave the first bit of info so willingly."
"Indeed. End of discussion."
"Well, you're no fun. But what if I make you give me the information. You know how this works, right? I'll make you beg for mercy..."
"Twice," Sherlock finished. "Yes, you've told me that before. And the answer is still no."
"Is the person male or female?"
"You just never give up, do you?" Sherlock shook his head.
"Oh." Irene's eyes widened. "Female then."
Sherlock stared at her.
"So I am right. Okay, let me guess. She's your girlfriend."
"No. Wrong. That is not the case. She helped me fake it. That's how she knows. End of story. Are we clear on that now?"
Irene swallowed the rest of her food and pondered for a moment. "Crystal."
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh just as the waiter came by with the check. He quickly paid in cash, and the two of them left the restaurant together. She strolled away in the opposite direction after giving him a kiss on the cheek and a flirty wink.
Sherlock Holmes tied his blue scarf neatly along the collar of his long coat. He headed toward his flat on 221b Baker Street. He smirked as he remembered the text he had sent Irene two hours ago.
I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.