A/N: Yes, yet another Sherlock one-shot, this time set in the Victorian era. Please R&R :)
Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own Sherlock and neither do you ;)
"Sherlock? Sherlock!" My yells echoed around the house, but nothing was said in return. Anxious, and admittedly frightened, I scanned the lounge to which my legs have carried me.
There was a blood trail, the most obvious clue. Small droplets, leading upstairs. Either him or his attacker was wounded, but not overly so. Perhaps a carelessly thrown punch with less-than-adequate results.
I was informed earlier by an anonymous letter that he could potentially be in grave danger tonight, but have not given the notion any thought. Unsigned papers could simply be a joke; an unimpressive one, but a joke nonetheless. Now, however, I was no longer sure.
A noise. Very faint, but definitely there. On the upper floor once more. A sharp cling, like a knife being sharpened.
I lifted the folds of my voluminous dress, mild annoyance at the outfit crossing my mind, before I was up the many stairs and on the small landing. My steps were careful, measured, near to silent. I walked on the very tip of my toes, disallowing the heels to touch the wooden floor and make a noise.
A laugh. Definitely feminine, definitely seductive, definitely Miss Adler's.
"Damn!" I cursed quietly in a very un-ladylike manner when my foot, clad in the despicable high heeled shoe, slipped. A loud clunk it made rapidly stopped The Woman's laughter. I held my breath, coming to a halt. For a while, nothing could be heard. Nearly losing my balance, I rested one hand on the deep red wall closest to me.
A sharp swish, followed by a clang of metal and a rustle. She
has turned around and dropped the knife onto a table; the rustle came from her lifting her dress. She was coming.
The next thing I felt, was the cold tip of a blade pressed to my neck. I forced myself to remain calm.
"Miss Adler." I said, keeping my voice pleasant. She grabbed my shoulder and twisted me around roughly. A small smirk was gracing her lipstick-covered lips.
She was dressed provocatively, her small-but-lethal frame forced into a dark purple dress with golden hand-crafted embroidery and a neckline lower than decency allowed. Her hair was tightly curled and pinned in some sort of an updo at the top of her head. Rosy blush covered her cheeks and her eyes also were heavily made up. Scandalously, she wore no hat or head covering.
"Mrs Leroy, actually. Pronounced Le-roo-a."Irene Adler (I could never see her as anything but Adler) said rather casually, eyeing her nails.
"Married another affluent French banker, hmm? Well, MrsLe-roo-a,what are you doing in my house?" I asked, mockingly rolling my r's.
"Darling, this house is anything but yours." She trilled, a wide-but-fake smile gracing her face. "Besides, why ask questions you already know answers to?" My shoulders rose then fell.
"Why set yourself a target you will never achieve?" I responded. Irene Adler's face clouded over, and she began to circle me like a predator stalking its prey. I winced when the knife she was still holding to my throat dug a little too deep in.
"Indeed..." She purred, narrowing her eyes. "Sherlock did seem much more reluctant to engage in certain... activities." Here, she let out a quick, bell-like laugh. "He looks to be very much in love with you, Miss Jones." My own eyes narrowed and jealousy coursed through every vein of my being.
"Mrs Holmes, actually." With those words, I threw a well aimed punch at Irene's small nose. She sidestepped ungracefully, surprised at the turnout of events, no doubt.
I did not have the upper hand for much longer. Irene shook off her shock and lifted her finely carved knife, her eyes on me all the time. We were both severely disadvantaged due to our wear, but Irene had a weapon. I did not.
"That's a lie." She hissed, suddenly lashing out with the deadly blade, aiming for my neck. I ducked, my hand already flying towards her left knee. She blocked my fist with an open palm and brought her left elbow down to my still crouched frame. It landed on the joint between my neck and shoulder with a sickening crunch. I fell backwards, gasping in pain.
"You can't win, Elizabeth." Irene smirked at me. I glared at her through the hazy mist of pain and stood up, stumbling. From the folds of her dress, Irene took out a small revolver and aimed it at me.
"Perhaps." I said calmly, testing out my injured shoulder. All seemed to be in place and no bones were to be broken, just bruised. I would otherwise be in much greater pain. "But neither will you." I had to jump to the left when, in her anger, Irene fired.
Anger leads to rash decisions. She will fire again, duck. Twice more after that, roll to the left then right to avoid both bullets. Stand up quickly and deliver a sharp, unexpected blow to the wrist. Once she drops the gun, kick it down the stairs.
Irene's eyes blazed as she pulled the trigger. I let my knees buckle under me, then rolled as she fired again and again. The last bullet embedded itself in my dress very close to my thigh; too close. I got up as fast as I could before Irene managed to shoot again and hit her wrist roughly. She hissed, letting go of the gun. With a small twitch of my foot, it was down the many stairs and in the hallway.
In a fit of blind rage, Irene threw her whole body weight at me, pinning my hands in place. The hilt of the knife dug into my wrist as she turned the tip and placed it near my temple.
"You have no idea of what I did with your supposed husband." She whispered, out of breath. I struggled against her, and she laughed once more.
"I don't care..." I ground out, trying to push her hand away from my head. "...because you won't any more." With those words, my knee made contact with her spine and she rolled off me, arching her back in pain.
"You littlewhore!" She swore, then proceeded to scramble up.
"That's rich coming from you, Irene." I growled, stepping on her wrist so she couldn't reach for the knife. She smirked in her typical Irene fashion and grabbed my calf, bringing me down half on top of her. I gasped as all the air left my lungs, but then it didn't matter because we were both reaching for the blade. I closed my hand over her nose and mouth, pressing hard, and she began to claw at it, scraping it with her nails until I had five trails of blood running down my fingers and disappearing into Irene's disheveled hair. With a yelp I let go and she took a big gulp of air. That moment of distraction was all I needed to grab the knife and bury it deep within her shoulder. Only a small moan of pain left her lips, but she did not move, and I pushed myself away from her, standing upright.
"You'll pay." Irene whispered, pulling the knife out of her flesh with an unpleasant squelch. "You beat me in this battle, but the war has just begun." And then, Irene Adler glided down the stairs, greeted Mrs Hudson, who has just walked in, like nothing has happened and calmly walked out onto the busy London streets. Mrs Hudson looked at me with concern.
"Is everything alright dear? I heard some noises and thought..." She eyed my bleeding hand and ripped dress apprehensively.
"I'm just fine, nanny." I interrupted, smiling. This didn't calm the older lady, but she smiled back weakly, used to mine and Holmes' strangeness. She probably thought I was resorting to self-harm for an experiment.
"Of course, of course. Well, I'll better go make dinner. God knows you need food." She eyed my skinny form, then left. As soon as she was out of sight, I ran into Holmes' room.
"Sherlock?" My voice shook slightly as I tore through the leaves and branches, searching for him. I heard a groan to my left in response and twisted on my heel to face it, ducking under a small palm tree as I did so.
"My god, Sherlock!" I exclaimed, worry colouring my voice.
"S'fine." He mumbled. His body was slumped against the wall, eyes glassy and half-open. His body was shaking uncontrollably, as if he was possessed. His shirt was gone, and even though I knew I really shouldn't, I found myself staring at his bare chest. "Wh'retson?"
"Be quiet." I ordered, kneeling down next to him and eyeing him up and down for any sings of external injuries. Luckily, I found none.
"Wt'sn..." He murmured again. "Poison..."
"Yes, I know you've been drugged." I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "What has that woman given you?"
"Elizabeth..." My eyes softened as I looked at him.
Dilated pupils, slurred speech, dry mouth. Slight convulsions also. This means Sherlock was given...
"Atropa Belladonna." I whispered, my eyes widening. That poison, if the intake was large enough, could kill.
"I need physostigmine or pilocarpine..." I muttered, then took Sherlock's unresponsive body and cradled it in my hands.
"Sherlock. Sherlock!" I said sharply, and upon receiving no reply I slapped his both of his cheeks. His eyelids lifted slowly and he blinked a few times, as if not seeing me.
"Who are..." He paused here, his pupils dilating even further. "...you?"
"Hallucinations." I said to myself, then slapped him once more.
"Come on, Sherlock!" I ground out. He smiled goofily. "Jesus Christ, come on!" I shook his shoulders and angled his face so he was forced to look at me. "Do you have any physostigmine or pilocarpine?" His eyes began to close. "Do you?" I cried. "Do you, Sherlock?!" Finally Sherlock seemed to comprehend something.
"Top dr'wr." He muttered. Then his convulsions reached their peak and he spoke no more.
"Top drawer..." I looked around the room. There was only one chest or drawers in the room to which I immediately ran to. Almost ripping open the top drawer, I peered inside.
"My god..." There were tens, perhaps hundreds of small vials laying haphazardly at the bottom, thrown on top of each other in an artistic mess only Sherlock could create. Despite the fact that each bottle was labelled, it would take me precious minutes to look at them all.
"What to do, what to do...?" I stared at the bottles, eyeing each one I saw briefly, but none were the medicine I was after. "Sherlock, you idiot of a man." I growled, losing my temper and frantically ripping through the vast amounts of glass like a madwoman.
"Sulfur dioxide, lime water, hydrochloric acid and...vodka?...nitric acid, strychnine, hydrogen peroxide, pilocarpine, digox- pilocarpine!" Grabbing the small glass bottle and clumsily unscrewing the top, I nearly ran back to Sherlock who was now writhing on the floor, eyes wide, staring eerily ahead.
I poured the whole content of the vial down his throat and lifted his head to my lap once more, stroking his hair soothingly as the spasms subsided. His lips parted then closed, but he made no sound, laying limply in my arms. His breathing became more ragged, as if it was taking effort to fill his lungs with air. I panicked; had I been too late?
"Sherlock..." His breath got shallower. "Sherlock?" He stopped breathing altogether. "Sherlock!" I screeched, tears filling my eyes. "Sherlock!Breathe!" I let his head roll off my lap and it hit the floor with a small thump; I didn't care. I was furiously pushing on his chest as water blurred my vision. "Breathe goddamnit!" My even pushes turned into hits until I was angrily pounding my fists on his chest. And then he woke up.
"Elizabeth?" He asked, as if mildly surprised at seeing me. I launched myself into his arms, sobbing in relief, and kissed him.
He didn't respond at first, still recovering from the Belladonna, but when a wailing girl in your arms is kissing you like there's no tomorrow you can't ignore her for long.
He tasted vaguely of cocaine leaves and tobacco and something distinctly him,something I couldn't describe. His masculine scent surrounded me, engulfed me, incited me, and I could never get enough.
"I suppose I deserve a punch in the face for that." He murmured once we resurfaced.
"What?" I murmured, still dazed from the kiss we had shared.
"You heard me." He said curtly. Ah, back to good old Sherlock Holmes.
"Darling, I alwayshear 'punch me in the face' but it's usually subtext."
"Stop trying to be clever, it doesn't suit you."
"You love it when I'm being clever."
"I don't love."The door burst open.
"You killed my dog. Aga-" Watson, for it was he, stared at Sherlock and I entwined on the floor. A deep crimson blush rose onto his cheeks.
"My apologies, Watson, but I am otherwise engaged." Holmes said irritably.
"I can see that." John muttered. Sherlock looked at him expectantly when he did not move. "Right. I'll-" His cheeks coloured further. "-I'll leave you to it." My laughter echoed around the room long after the door slammed shut.
Please please PLEASE R&R. I'll love you forever!