PROLOGUE:
"Suicide of a Fake Genius."
The headline jumped off of the computer screen and branded her mind. Only a few months of her exploring the shallow and depleating life of a suburban woman in the states had passed and already here was an open opportunity for her to escape the dreary life of a rather blan life.
Irene had this so-called "Fake Genius" to thank for her new, albeit normal, life. It seems the lies the Iceman and the Blogger had fed the consulting detective turned out to prove true. After a few pit stops of course.
The thought made a smirk spread across her striking features as she reminicsed about the sweltering heat of an almost fariy tale moment for not the first nor last time since she arrived in America.
"Run." The single word echoed around Irene Adler in a baritone voice that had dropped a few octaves, hinting the adrenaline that pumped furiously through her saviour in a burka witholding a machete.
Her bright, lively eyes flickered back up to the BBC website displayed on her browser as her mind refocussed on the present. Sherlock Holmes. The name ran itself over and over again inside her mind until the name was unknowingly being whispered underneath her sweet breath.
Suicide. The woman scoffed to herself. The idea was absurd and couldn't possibly be the final curtain call on the brilliant man. He was far to full of himself to go down like that, in angst and tragedy. His play was anything but a tragedy, perhaps a farce. Here that left Irene drumming her no longer immaculate fingernails against the space bar of her personal computer. Contemplating. Not on whether or not he was actually dead. Who would believe such a tall tale?
A gasp hitched in her throat. He would. The army doctor. The blogger. The best friend. Only friend.
Sweat, dirt, blood, and other unmentionable items clung to her pale skin as she rode silently nexr to the detective in a 'borrowed' recreational vehicle.
"He will worry." Her own voice sounded unfamilar and hoarse to her own ears as she broke the silence, similarly as he had done with a machete twenty minutes ago.
"Yes." The man under the hooded burka acknowledged.
Of course. The thoughts came flooding into her mind as if a dam of realization had collapsed in on itself.
Moriarty.
"Oh dear, has my slender little kitty cat taken to a new hand who dared feed her? Oh no, he played with her. She liked it did she? Abandoned her previous owner. Naughty. Little kitty cats lives have run out." A sickly sweet voice, comparable to cianide coated in sugar, hummed into her ear. "Run, run as fast as you can." The consulting criminal sang.
The spider made her figure her own death, it seemed it was the detectives turn as well.
On a spring day in London, a news report was spread across the world and reached another United Nation. It saved a woman from drowning herself in her own kitchen sink due to her own boredom. And on this present day, a certain detective needed saving.
Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction. I come bearing a prompt for Sherlockians and the few Adlock shippers out there(Stay strong my fellow brothers and sisters). I apologize for any and all spelling and grammar mistakes. I have but myself and a cellphone. Hold on to your scarves ladies and gents.
Xx Smith