The rain was beating hard against the window panes, slamming down in sheets. The storm had been brewing for days, simmering in the sky, and had finally been unleashed onto the world. The rain itself had been coming down for days. It had been many days since he had saved London, England, and perhaps the world. Mere days since he had bested Blackwood and his followers.
The great Sherlock Holmes reclined further back into the comfort of the chair beside the fireplace, enjoying for a moment the warmth of the flame and the heat brought by the whiskey in his glass. Since Watson's departure for Cavendish Place, the main space room the men had shared had been woefully lonesome.
But Holmes was a man of infinite adaptability. In most things.
It had been days since he'd marched one Irene Adler down to Lestrade's custody.
As expected, the chief inspector had been puzzled, unsure of Irene's involvement.
Sherlock himself had been too exhausted with the whole mess to stay and explain her crimes, so he'd simply left her with a troupe of officers, who had then taken her into the Moriah and seated her with Blackwood's arrested followers.
The woman had kept a blank face, unwilling to show any trace of fear while in cuffs; her cool indifference had been a painful partner to his own sense of guilt. She was a criminal, and had only returned to London to taunt him, but still...a part of him had thought...
On the bridge, Irene had warned him that once they parted, he would miss her. And sadly, yes, he had started to miss her the moment the prisoner carriage had turned a corner, taking her out of his sight.
However.
Word had reached him that Irene had escaped the Yard's custody only an hour later, and Sherlock was not in the least bit surprised to learn that she had managed to lift Lestrade's badge as a parting gift. That last bit had given him a laugh. His muse had a wonderful sense of humor.
Sherlock tossed a scrap of paper into the fireplace and watched as it caught the flame and curled into ash.
Yes, Irene always had style. She was the ultimate mystery, she always kept him guessing. Even after their latest adventure, Holmes was unsure about her. Whether or not she'd ever truly cared for him, whether or not she'd been partnered with this Moriarty through to the end or-
Holmes leaned further back into his chair and took the final sip from his glass.
Scotch did nothing to calm him, for he was eternally restless. He'd solved only part of the case, uncovering the new thread that would lead him to Moriarty. And somehow, once he discovered the professor's intentions, then he would uncover Moriarty's connection to Irene, how he had brought the woman into the fold. And then...
Well.
Time enough for that after he came to understand this new bit of technology, these radio waves and wireless controllers. He held a firm grasp of most things scientific, chemicals and architecture and the like, but this was a harbinger of new things to come; to best this man Moriarty, Holmes had to first understand the man's weapon.
Sherlock stood from the chair and moved into his private chamber, closing the door behind him as he removed his jacket. He had not slept well since the nap he'd taken whilst hanging from the ceiling in an attempt to discover the means by which Blackwood had escaped death.
Sleep was rarely a strong demand on his body, but Holmes was only human and he needed to rest his brilliant mind.
Thunder crashed outside and the sky came alive with bright electricity a scant moment later. Then, all was black again.
He had to find a candle, it was far too dark to-
"What- ugh!"
He'd stumbled over something on the floor, nearly falling down. Sherlock had only just caught himself to regain his footing; irritated now, he groped the floor until he found the offending item.
Handcuffs?
"Those standard-issue English cuffs always chafe my wrists- I can't bear to be in them longer than a moment."
Outside, the lightning flashed, giving Holmes just enough light to see Irene Adler lounging across the room in his chair. It went pitch-black again a moment later. He'd had just enough time to glimpse her triumphant smirk. He could only stand, staring.
From her place across the room, Irene stood and began to light a few candles, the room becoming thankfully brighter with each new flame.
"How did-?"
Irene looked back at him with eyebrows raised. "You're really going to stand there and pretend to be surprised? Sherlock, you know me better than that."
He shook his head, noting that she was in her pageboy disguise once again- but of course it would be very difficult to sneak into the high windows of the house while wearing the long petticoats of a woman...even if she was The Woman.
"I'm not surprised that you escaped- in fact I anticipated it. My surprise is focused more on the fact that you've come here. I'd expected you to be in Morocco by now."
The woman continued to light the room, until she'd reached the last candle and blew out her match.
"I think you know why I'm here. Moriarty took advantage of me once, and I can't allow such a thing to happen again. I have a reputation to look after." She said, raising her eyebrow. It was all a tease, he knew.
Holmes scoffed. "So you mean to team with me, then? The detective and the criminal, working side by side to take down this evil menace? How romantic."
"You make it all sound so cheap."
Irene moved away from the candles, coming closer to him. It was an effort for Holmes to remain where he was as she approached. As drawn as he was to her, there was something about Irene that always kept him wary; she had bested him several times, after all.
She stood before him and put her hands flat over his chest. Despite the earlier tease, her eyes were earnest now. "This isn't a dime-store novel, Sherlock. I told you on the bridge, you are his match in wits, but Moriarty is a killer. The good doctor is off to be married now, and I don't think you can do this alone."
Holmes shook his head. "You'd be amazed at what I can do."
"Oh, really?" Irene asked, her hands snaking down from his chest to his waist to his-
Snikt
She raised her hands, finding them chained once more. "What are-?"
"As you can see, these are not standard-issue English cuffs, but cuffs of my own design. As I said, I anticipated your escape." He smiled at her in triumph. "Are you amazed yet?"
Irene scowled, and smacked him across the face. Rather than strike her back, Sherlock only smiled.
"Ah, now that's the Irene I know."
The thunder rumbled over the city again, the clouds belching down sheets of rain. Irene sighed; she was not asleep, far from it. But she was content, feeling far more secure than she had in the past few days. Perhaps it had something to do with the dark chocolates she'd lifted from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen before making her way into Sherlock's private room, but more likely it was the long, warm body curled against her beneath the tangled sheets.
A possessive hand passed over the chain that bound her hands and came over her breast beneath the sheet.
"Mmm..."
"Irene," Sherlock murmured, "Could you do something for me?"
She smiled and turned toward him. "I thought I just did."
Ah, I've missed her cheek.
"Ahem. I meant, if you could just admit defeat, just this once." Playfully, he pinched her waist, smiling again at her sudden giggle. "Come, Irene. Indulge me."
The woman raised herself onto an elbow so that she might look down on him. "Defeat? Ah, I see. You think you've won."
"I have. I've beaten you, and I'll beat Moriarty. You think he's my equal, and I say to bring on this challenge."
Irene shook her head. "That must be the drink talking. Moriarty won't tolerate your sneaking about his schemes. He'll kill you as soon as look at you. Sherlock. Promise me that you won't underestimate him."
"Irene, I'm not the one who's always in over my head-"
Growing irritated now, Irene huffed at him. "You like to think that you are so above other men, Sherlock. You think you're so smart. But the simple truth remains-"
Snikt
"-that you are only human. Listen to me. Don't make the mistake of thinking you will outsmart Moriarty so easily with your tricks." Irene dangled the cuffs before him for a moment, then set them aside without a care.
Sherlock could not hide his disbelief. "How did you-?"
"I could have slipped these cuffs at any time, but then why spoil the mood?" Irene leaned over and pressed her lips against his.
My muse is something special- criminal, but special.
Sherlock moved to take her face into his hands, and he had to marvel at her. "There really is no one else like you in the world."
Irene smiled. It was a rare thing to have Sherlock pay her any kind of compliment. "Wrong again, Sherlock. You and I are two sides of the same coin. Perhaps you will find yourself on the wrong side of the law in dealing with Moriarty for all the right reasons."
There was truth in what Irene had said; for all his efforts to unravel criminal enterprise, Sherlock had bent the law at several sharp angles more often than he cared to admit- at least when Lestrade was within earshot.
Sherlock had nothing to say, and he would be damned if he admitted to Irene that she was right. He only hugged her close to him and gave in to the pull of Morpheus.
Together, they slept.
"Holmes? Are you all right? Mrs. Hudson mentioned that-" Watson stopped himself once his eyes lighted on the very feminine face and breast exposed from the tangled sheets of his friend's bed.
Ah. I was wondering when we would see you again.
Rather than turn and leave, Watson moved forward, deeper into the room and closer to the couple in the bed. Beside Ms. Adler was a very satisfied, sleeping Sherlock Holmes. The man's face was buried in her perfumed hair, nearly hidden from view altogether.
Watson shook his head. When will Holmes learn?
"See anything interesting?"
Irene Adler was awake, and not in the least bit upset at his invading presence on this most intimate of scenes. But then again, why would she be? She was The Woman, after all, and so far above the more petty embarassments of her diminished sisters.
Watson shrugged and took off his hat, hanging it on the high tip of Holmes's wingchair. "I see trouble ahead."
Irene stretched slightly beneath the cotton sheets, but she made no move to cover the length of her bare leg or even her bare breast from his eyes. Indeed, she was enjoying Watson's daring lack of English propriety.
If he was being honest with himself, Watson was enjoying it as well.
"Trouble, Doctor? Just because of this?" She asked, gesturing to the man who had been her lover several times during the night.
Watson sat on the arm of the chair. "Yes. Pardon the pun, but the two of you are gunpowder and fire. When you're together, an explosion inevitably follows."
She shook her head. "The explosions on the dock that day were not my fault."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Yes, yes, I know. You and Sherlock are thick as thieves."
"I suppose it takes one to know one, eh?" Watson asked.
Irene couldn't help but to laugh. "Yes, I suppose."
"Suppose the two of you get a room- or would you prefer to use mine?" Sherlock asked. He had not given any indication of being awake, in fact he had not yet lifted his face from the veil of Irene's disheveled chocolate curls.
Irene laughed as Sherlock stretched his long body beside hers, and finally moved his head up to look at his friend. The triumphant expression on the detective's face was impossible to hide. "Good morning, Watson. To what do we owe this pleasure?"
"Pleasure? It seems I've already missed my chance to be included in that." Watson said dryly.
Sherlock reluctantly got up from the bed, leaving Irene naked in the tangle of sheets. He crossed the room, naked himself, and retrieved his robe without a care to the attentive audience watching him.
As for Irene, he knew the woman well enough to know that she would prefer to wrap the sheet about her body, much like a Grecian toga. This was what put her so far above any other woman: Irene Adler's spirit was not restrained by the conventions of society, and neither was his.
Two sides of the same coin, like she said.
Well.
If only Watson could free himself in the same way, then all might be right in the world.
Irene raised an eyebrow at Watson's comment. "The two of you were joined before I ever came into your lives and it seems you still are. Dynamite couldn't even break your bond, but what of your fiance, doctor? Is she still enjoying my diamond?"
Watson smiled. "Yes, she is, and I really must thank you for your generous donation."
Irene rolled her eyes. "Anything for the happy couple. Out of curiosity, how will this...arrangement between you two work once your knot is tied?"
"Mary is...she is a lovely woman. She's gentle and she's kind. She will make a fine wife and mother, someday. And while she's a very learned woman...Mary would never be able to understand this." Watson said. His connection with Holmes was a great mystery, even to the two men.
They could hardly grasp it themselves.
"Yes, yes, this is all very interesting- everyone loves everyone." Sherlock droned as he poured himself another drink, his breakfast for the morning.
"Perish the thought, Sherlock. Love was never an issue between us." Irene chided him as he came to sit beside her on the bed.
"And here I thought I was your weak spot." Sherlock kissed her cheek.
"If the two of you are finished flirting, I thought you might like to see this." Watson brandished a newspaper to Holmes.
Sherlock raised a brow as he took in the circled article tucked away on the fifth page. "Ah, here now, Irene, 'Engineer Found Dead at Dockhouse'...killed by a small caliber bullet fired at point-blank range...the late man's workshop clearly burglarized...yes, this does sound like Moriarty's work, does it not?"
Irene shivered slightly, nodding.
Watson blinked. "This took place just last night, Moriarty could still be in London."
Holmes straightened his posture, his mind coming alive with possibility. He stood up and spread his hands. "Well, I'm sure there may be something of interest to find at the dockhouse as the professor did not burn down the building. Clues will abound. So, who will come with me?"
Irene sighed lightly and slipped her hand into Holmes's. "Well, I can't let you run off on your own, since the good doctor seems to have other things to do..."
Watson frowned. "I never said that."
Holmes brightened. "So you're free, then?"
"I hadn't-"
"Of course he's free, Sherlock. It'll take me just a minute to get ready." Irene moved off to dress herself out of sight of the men. Pointless, given that one was her lover and the other she'd treated to the sight of her body.
Watson smirked at his friend. "Wonderful, I've been roped into yet another round of mayhem with you."
"Tut-tut, if anything, you only brought this article to my attention in the hopes I would invite you along to investigate. As you can see," Holmes glanced toward Irene, who was checking the bullets in her small pistol before securing it at her side. "I'm not going into this unchaperoned."
Irene returned, dressed once more in her decidedly unladylike disguise and took Sherlock's hand. "What's it to be? Both boys or just the one?"
Holmes looked to Watson. "Your call, old boy."
Watson looked to the ceiling, warring with himself. "Well, as this is still a part of our last case, I can't very well leave it alone now, can I? I told you, I wanted to see this thing through."
Holmes nodded. "Good man. Shall we?"
Watson took Holmes's other hand, and as one, the three of them left 221b Baker Street, on toward another brilliant adventure.