"According to an East Asian belief, people who are destined to be together are connected by an invicible Red Thread of Fate. No matter how long it stretches, it would never be broken and will always bring the two people it binds back together."
A dream.
No. A memory.
Sherlock woke up with cold beads of sweat running down to his neck, his breathing heavy. He was never much of a dreamer but ever since Irene left, fractions of their time together kept on popping up in his mind.
Not that it bothered him.
Today marked the fourth year of their last day together-the day they shared one last kiss before he saw her disappear into the night, buckling in tears.
Sherlock shook his head, cussing at the thought. He was fine. Absolutely. No one could tell him otherwise.
No one even tries to mention Irene anymore. Not after his fit a few days after she left.
"Just one more bottle, John!" he remembered saying as John tried to steady him to his feet. His vision was blurry, his head light, his heart heavy-what else is there left to feel?
John struggled to keep him upright, Lestrade assisting him. Mary and Molly kept on apologising to the people who were starting to be bothered by Sherlock's wailing.
"Just let me have one moreeeee... Just... What are you looking at?" Sherlock snapped, pointing at random strangers who were giving him strange looks.
"That's it!" John exclaimed, hitting his cheek with a right cross which caused it to bleed.
"Hit me all you want John. It won't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me anymore!" He continued on screeching. Lestrade waded the people away for John to be able to push him out the pub.
As he leaned lazily on the wall, Mary tried to reason with him. "Sherlock, calm down... What is this about?"
"Nothing! I'm fine! I'm absolutely fine! Fine! Fine! Fine!" Sherlock continued babbling, making John swear in annoyance. Lestrade flipped out his phone and somehow started filming the drunk detective.
Molly walked over to Sherlock, her expression saddened. "If this is about Irene..."
Sherlock stared at Molly as if she had thrown profanities at him. "I don't want to talk about THE WOMAN. No... No..."
"You are an absolute cock, Sherlock Holmes! You let her go and now you're acting like a child!" John spat and Mary hit her husband slightly on the arm, giving him a look.
Sherlock's eyes sharpened upon hearing John's words. "I didn't want to! I had to! I HAD TO! And call me a cock or a piece of shit but I will make that same choice over and over and over JUST TO KEEP HER SAFE!"
At that, Sherlock's knees weakened. He fell to the floor, his whole body trembling as tears escaped his eyes. He could blame the alcohol or the drugs he started taking again but it couldn't be denied. He was devastated.
Lestrade shoved his phone to his pocket and started to kneel beside Sherlock. Mary and Molly's eyes started to glisten in tears at the sight of him. John swore, shaking his head at the detective's confession.
"I want her back... But it's not the best, isn't it?" he heard himself say before he could even stop the words from spilling out his mouth.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his recollection. Mycroft stood at the doorframe, wearing a stoic expression.
"Busy doing nothing, brother dear?" The older Holmes snapped.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Mycroft?"
Mycroft smiled sourly, welcoming himself by sitting on the couch. "I need your help on a case."
Sherlock sneered. "Your 'goldfish' not doing enough good work for you?"
"This is a powerplay, Sherlock. I know well enough things like this... Excite you." Mycroft mused with a hint of malice. Of course he remembered that such a case led him to Irene before and Mycroft would never pass up an opportunity to spite him.
Seeing that his brother didn't respond, Mycroft continued. "The case involves Albert Norton, a lawyer who is allegedly working with clients who are... well... withholding some critical information that could expose national secrets."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "And?"
"He acts as their negotiator. Not money or blackmail in exchange of the information... You know the drill, Sherlock. This is familiar territory." Mycroft explained with a smirk.
"I'm far too busy... Surely you can come up with something." Sherlock replied coldly.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and sighed. As he headed for the door, he stopped on his heel. "I almost forgot," he said as he took out an envelope from his coat pocket and placing it on the table near Sherlock, "Apparently, Irene Adler is back in London. Headed to Orrery. Thought you ought to know."
And with that Mycroft left.
Sherlock stared at the envelope, a heavy weight on his chest building. Irene is here in London? And what is she doing in Marylebone... Orrery for that matter?
Giving out a sigh, Sherlock reached for the envelope and was greeted by photographs of Irene, probably taken tonight. She was wearing a black fur coat and her Louboutins, her hair fixed like the first time they met. Sherlock felt a lump build on his throat as he drank in her image, somehow feeling the pain of the last four years peel off.
Mycroft must have something planned out for him to dangle this to his face, Sherlock figured. But the idea of seeing Irene again tingled every fibre of his being.
With no time to waste, Sherlock dressed up and headed out the door. Only a couple of blocks away, Sherlock tried to calm himself as he headed to Orrery. His hands were cold against his pockets, his heart pounding in his chest.
As he neared his destination, a familiar face stood out from the street. The world seemed to blur, ears turning deaf at the sight of her-Irene Adler.
Apparently, she saw him too for she also stopped on her heel, her eyes widening at the sight of him. With his feet dragging him along, Sherlock walked closer towards her, both their expressions unreadable, their hearts pounding loudly in their chests.
"Irene..." he breathed as their eyes met once more.