When John walked into the living room that afternoon he was met with a curious sight. Curious because for once Sherlock wasn't lounged in his armchair, trying to look preoccupied with some useless artifact when he was actually going through a period of mourning for what would certainly be a dead Irene Adler by now, but instead, Sherlock was up and about, pacing the room in a state of agitation, checking his phone from time to time and looking out his window as if he expected someone to barge in unexpectedly.
"Oh, glad to see you've finally got something to do," John quipped as he walked to his desk where the laptop was waiting for him. "New case? Should I prepare a blog entry?"
"Oh, quiet John! You do like to disturb me at the worst possible moments!"
"Won't stand in your way for long, just tell me what's got you so excited."
Sherlock simply threw him his phone behind his back and John had to thank his good reflexes and army training for that lucky catch.
He looked down at what Sherlock had given him. A text. From Irene Adler.
Hello, my poor.
John blinked several times in confusion before he realized that he wasn't going to get any more out of those three words. What sort of tomfoolery was this, he wondered?
His first reaction was surprise and relief that Irene Adler was alive, because he knew Sherlock would not take it well otherwise, but now that he'd seen the text he wondered whether he shouldn't actually feel more worried. Such a cryptic message couldn't possibly indicate good news. She was either in trouble and sending him a code of some sorts, or...was she playing with him again? Flirting, maybe?
Could Irene Adler afford to do that in her position?
Oh, what was he saying, of course she could! She had faked her own death for goodness' sake.
"Ugh, enough John! I can practically see the steam coming out of your head, you can put it down. Yes she texted, no, I haven't got an answer and of course I am trying to find one, what do you think I've been doing all this time?"
John placed the phone back on the desk and sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire.
"If this is just another game of hers – " John began.
"After three months of silence? I doubt it. She's desperate. I can see it in her words. She is trying to tell me something. Something I should know. If she really were in grave danger, then she wouldn't be wasting precious time on games, not when it comes to her skin. She either wants me to help her, or she is warning me of something. She can't tell me directly for fear of surveillance, so she is probably using an anagram instead."
"An anagram? But isn't it part of a sentence?"
"There's a full stop at the end and she isn't the type to mark her sentences by accident, she wasn't interrupted, this is all she meant to say. It must be an anagram."
"That makes sense," John began unconvinced. "Or maybe she is just trying to get your attention again, so you'd be intrigued, so you'd want to help her, because she probably understood that once people become boring to you, you don't see their use anymore. So she's making sure you're still interested."
Sherlock stopped and gave John one of his piercing glares.
"Really, John? You think so little of me as to presume I value human life as long as it entertains me? Am I that much of a fiend in your eyes?"
"Don't pretend she hasn't thought of that. All I'm saying is that maybe you shouldn't jump to conclusions, this is Irene after all."
Sherlock shook his head in annoyance and turned around again, muttering "you're no help".
John knew he'd eventually figure it out, though, and when he did perhaps the excitement would be over, but as it was, he was happy to have Sherlock looking so lively for a change.
Jim Moriarty didn't like to be woken from such a peaceful nap, but it was her after all and he didn't mind it so much because she never bothered him with trifles. She always had something of some bearing to impart. Well, they did have this odd tradition of gossiping after dinner about current affairs, weekly trends and all that, but that was strictly after dinner.
He waited a few moments before she called him softly again. Groaning slightly from the discomfort of getting up, he jumped up on the cold parquet and ran his hands over his face a couple of times before he grabbed the closest shirt and pulled it over his head. Wearing only the shirt, yellow boxers and his fluffy pair of slippers he walked confidently into the kitchen where she was sitting at the minibar, checking some things in her agenda and typing into a small portable notebook. She had poured herself some scotch. The glass was empty, but he could almost smell it. She always helped herself.
She looked up briefly when he opened a cupboard and took up a mug, but she quickly went back to her notes the next moment.
Jim plopped down next to her seat after brewing himself some tea.
"The maid's not here yet, I gather," he muttered into his mug.
"Well, then, what's the riot?" he asked, sipping loudly.
The woman sighed and pulled a strand of hair away from her face.
"Well, she messaged him, of course. Which I knew would happen. I just never thought she'd have the audacity to give him such information."
She passed him her phone. He stared at it for some moments before he shrugged and made a face. "She's being an idiot."
"Not her usual style," she observed.
"I suppose she feels at ease with her new position. She does not realize her new protectors hang by a string. It's either her way of giving us a message to let us know she isn't ours anymore, or..." Jim trailed off, knowing she'd chime in.
"Or, she's letting her feelings get the better of her again, which is to be expected. She's trying to warn him. He's Sherlock Holmes, after all. It's not hard to imagine why she'd want to protect him. He's an asset."
Jim frowned, slightly piqued by her tone. He knew very well that she herself was not entirely immune to the charms of that man. But then again, after so much time in his presence, she wouldn't be able to act like a stranger, would she?
"Are you worried he will figure it out eventually?" he asked.
"Oh, he certainly won't, even if he does."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"Sherlock Holmes is a very prejudiced man. He is blind to what he believes to be inexistent, he is patient with detail, but only with what he perceives to be a detail. His greatest weakness is underestimating the human race. That is why the anagram will be twice as hard, because he will never think of me as a possibility. And if he does, he won't make the right assumptions, not even the rudimentary connections and once he is led astray he will follow that path without fail, because he will think it is the only pertinent explanation. Then, he will come to me for assurance and I will put him at ease, as I usually do."
Jim grinned at her in delight. She could be such a ray of sunshine sometimes.
It helped that her entire face screamed trust and kindness. Her voice too was such a soft lull. And she had such a gentle way of carrying herself that no one knew the hardness underneath, no one but him.
It wasn't his brand of hardness, though. It wasn't ruthlessness. It was just an unwillingness to give up, it was an infinite patience to go about the world unseen and unnoticed only to rise and triumph at the appropriate moment. It was her constant effort to remain a confident little mouse, standing proudly next to a hungry hyena like himself.
"You are a little treasure, Molly, that you are," he said, caressing her back absently.
"Yes, but what do we do about her? She needs to be taken care of before she reveals anything of real importance. I suppose by the look in your eye you are already working on a plan."
"I can't say I've thought of anything specific, but I have considered a few options that I think you would enjoy."
"Oh? Care to elaborate?"
"Come now, Miss Adler, not until after dinner, or have you forgotten? Etiquette is etiquette."
For the first time, she turned around and smiled at him. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Of course. Silly me."
Jim went to refill her glass of scotch as he knew she would appreciate the gesture and Molly Hooper went back to her work, all the while wondering if Sherlock would ever discover her true identity in the anagram. Of course John had told her in confidence that Irene Adler had become 'The Woman' to him, the only woman that mattered, the one that had made an impression. She wondered then, what sort of impression the real woman, the real Irene Adler would make on him.
I suppose we'll never know, she told herself, smiling in relief. She was safely hidden. And as usual, she was one step ahead.
It was true what they said, after all. She was the only woman to have tricked him.
Well, after such a brilliant episode, I couldn't not write something Sherlock-related. I'm a big fan of the series and I find Molly Hooper incredibly endearing, which is why I wanted to give her story a giant twist and make her be at the centre of things (namely be Irene Adler herself which is only fitting). Because she deserves that for a change. Oh and the anagram is Molly Hooper's name which I think most of you got.
Hope you enjoyed it, I sure did!
P.S. If this idea's been done, well, I guess this is another take? :)