Honestly, I feel that I'm not yet ready to write Sherlock and Irene because these two are just so deep. I don't think I have enough experience to write them well. This idea just really bugged me even in my sleep (seriously) and I really had no choice but to write it down. But I'm going to edit as soon as I think I'm ready ;) It's a bit fluffy for AdLock. Just rode on the waves of SAdLock on Tumblr though I don't have Tumblr. :P Enjoy though.
Sherlock grumbled as he closed the telly. "Boring." he muttered.
"AAAAHHH!" He laid his head against his chair and stretched his arms and legs. It was one of those dreary days where there's no client, no case to solve, no phone calls from Lestrade asking him to come over, no "Grow up, brother." from Mycroft. It's surprising he managed to stay sane up 'til it was nighttime. There were always cases for him to solve. Always. The files were piled up somewhere. It's just that there was nothing that interests him. Everything was about some petty murder and women suspecting their husbands of cheating. Too obvious.
John wasn't around. Well, he wasn't living in Baker Street anymore since Mary happened. And now he can't. Mycroft put him on house arrest. He blames Mycroft for all of this. He blames Mycroft for his boredom. Now he can't get out and he's bored. Really bored. They took all of his equipment and his gun. He shouted in frustration. Suddenly the John in him told him, It's better than spending your time in prison.
That made him stop and just like that he calmed down. He closed his eyes. The faint beep of silence became louder. The honking of the cabs from outside penetrated the sealed windows of the flat. His breathing slowed. A moment of peace and serenity in his Mind Palace.
Charles Augustus Magnussen.
What was the man doing inside his Mind Palace? The cruel man was finally finished. Yes, he shot the man. It was a shock to John, to Mycroft, to everyone, even himself. He never thought it would go this far... He did actually. His time at the hostpital gave him time to think and ask himself. He had considered that the Appledoor Vaults weren't real, if that was real, then he would have to incapacitate Mr. Magnussen which would be very ugly.
People say he has a cold heart or no heart at all. Yet killing people wasn't his forte. It seemed easy. Remove the safety switch. Pull the trigger. Bang. The man is dead. Easy, isn't it? Yes, it was. But what he hadn't expected was the fear. Fear and guilt. The actions had been fairly easy to do but the emotional instability it brought was something he had not seen.
His heart fell when he saw the white room. He understood immediately. It was the same technique his brother had taught him. To clear the mind, to be one with the silence. Yes, he told him that with so much pride. Really, it did no help to him. All it did was bring laughter to him. 'To be one with the silence'? What a load of crap.
'Get out, Magnussen.' he snarled. He watched as Magnussen smirked before fading away. His cold laugh made the hairs on Sherlock's hand rise. You've got a lot, Mr. Holmes. His voice echoed into a whisper then it was gone. He was deleted from his Mind Palace yet he stored his files in the library. Files are important. Information. It's with these information that he's able to link everything with each other. He knows he can get a lot from Magnussen considering the man's social status.
Thud!
He opened his eyes. He heard a shuffle from his room then silence. Another shuffle and another silence. A series of soft footsteps. Reluctant yet very sure, very confident. Fierce. They stop. He sat there, staring at the door as if challenging it to open. He knew those footsteps and he's sure. But that's impossible. She's not here and she never will be. He knew it was a product of his mind.
The door opened and he held his breath. Slow steps whispered across the room then it stopped again. A soft step followed by another. His throat went dry. He could see her leg muscles behind those tight jeans while she walked. Her hair was down and curled at all the right places. There was no smirk on her face but he knew she was amused. She wore a black coat with a simple shirt underneath and tight jeans. Simple but she manages to carry it as something elegant and flamboyant. He couldn't help but notice because that was his curse. He notices everything and remembers them thus he could create something as vivid. Yet he saw something else in her eyes. The usual spark was still there but he knew she came for something else.
She stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. Irene Adler. His boredom faded for a second.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes."
Thus he noticed something again. Three. It was always three words. Three words that always catches his attention. Three words that always knock him off guard. Always three.
"Let's have dinner."
He certainly didn't expect that. It took him a while to understand what she was asking. But he still didn't know what her plan was. He only had an idea and just an idea isn't going to help him. It wasn't enough and he had to keep looking. He needed more time and time was definitely not on his side.
"Why?" he asked. He looked into her eyes searching for something, anything.
"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?"
He took her hand in his. He leaned forward. Not because he felt something. No. It's because he saw something. She was dangerously close now. He could feel her breath on his face. But that was good. The black of her eyes were threatening to swallow her irises. The pulse on her wrist hammered against his fingers. His eyes lit up.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"
Bingo.
It was the last 10 hours they had together. In fact, it was the only time they had, not counting the time she rested after escaping from her woke up quite peacefully. He stared up at the ceiling until sleep was off his eyes. Judging from his body clock, it's around 7:00. He tried to stretch but it ended with a small groan. His body was still sore. Nothing serious though only cuts and bruises. His eyes widened. Last night. He suddenly had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone. He looked beside him and was faced with striking blue eyes looking at him. Her face calm and... simple without makeup. Sherlock Holmes may have a distaste for sentiment but beauty is something he does not throw aside. And she looked beautiful.
"Good morning." she said in a soft voice.
Not her usual fierce tone and it disturbed him a stared back at her in response. He noticed her eyelashes were long that it almost touched her cheeks when she closes her eyes. He noticed her cheekbones would also cut any hand. He noticed her lips had a light shade of red even without lipstick. He noticed she smelled different.
Because she was different.
That was him. He noticed everything. He also noticed it was time to go. Without a word, he stood up and walked towards the he got out of the bathroom to get his clothes, she was sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. He watched she brought the cup to her lips. His eyes went to her red lips around the edge of the cup while she drank. She elicited a small moan before giving her lips a quick swipe of her tongue. Then he watched as her lips curved up into a smirk. He realized he was staring at her. Just as he was about to look away, she spoke. Too late he told himself.
"Hey."she said.
He narrowed his eyes on her before going back to arranging his things. He had finished earlier than usual. That was because there wasn't much to bring. He had to travel as light as possible to make room for hers. He found the brown envelope and took it out. He grabbed the duffel bag beside his and walked over to her space. He tossed the envelope on the table. It skidded across it almost falling off the table but it didn't. The duffel bag landed beside his feet with a soft thud.
"Your new identity. Passport. Papers. Everything." He pointed at a duffel bag on the floor. "Some new clothes and underwear to start with."
Her eyes shifted from the envelope and the duffel bag. Then she looked at him. As minutes passed by, he started to grow impatient. Was she going to say something else? Because if she wasn't then he's going to go. The sooner he leaves the better.
He watched her reach for the envelope and inspect the package. She stood up and walked over to him. She knelt on the floor, opened the duffel bag. She brought out a few clothes and he didn't miss the small smile that came into her lips and eyes. She then stood up. He had forgotten that she was really short without her heels. Yet however small she may be, she's not someone to be taken lightly. He frowned slightly. She was looking at him with something he doesn't understand and something tells him he never will. The twitch of her hand didn't go unnoticed and for a second, he thought she was going to touch him.
"Thank you, Sherlock."
It was something so simple. He would've said something easily yet he was speechless. He expected her to flirt at him. He expected a witty reply. He expected a list of things that would happen. The first two were the most probable. But that's not what happened. For the first time, Sherlock Holmes was speechless. He didn't know what to say. He could already hear John laughing at him with an amused grin on his face.
He gulped. And he thought just a day in Karachi would be easy.
He came to her doorstep one rainy night and she had no choice but to let him in because he was making her carpet wet. She let him dry himself and gave him a spare bathrobe that for some reason fitted him perfectly. He told himself it was just a coincidence but at the back of his head he knew it wasn't.
He talked to her into helping him with Moriarty's web. No, not help but aid him. He could do it by himself but it would get the job done faster if she were to help him. And he was sure she was pretty bored. Death was boring, as he had always expected. But when he told her, he saw that sparkle in her eyes and he knew he got her.
It was just like any other night. Finally, they had a time to rest. They still had a lot of hunting to do. Though it was just less than 24 hours, it was enough.
Maybe it wasn't just like any other night after all. While she was taking a bath, he went out without notice and here he was again standing in front of their door. It was late. Or early, depending on which perspective you're looking. It was of course past midnight. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was all he knew was he was drunk and sober. He leaned against the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
It immediately opened to a familiar face. "Hey." he managed to say. Before he could even blink, he felt a yank on his shirt and he was being dragged across the room. He was thrown on the chair. He let out an oomf. He didn't know what was happening. Everything was a blur. Vertigo swept across him. He shut his eyes close and gripped the arms of the chair tight as he let out a loud groan. He bit down on his lip as he felt the room swayed.
"Look at me."
Her voice hit him like a whip. His mind wanted him to wait and let the vertigo subdue but he wanted something else. He managed to open his eyes and focus on her. She was sitting across him on the bed. She was wearing a nightgown. She glared at him. His grip on the armchair tightened. He suddenly felt anxious. Minutes passed, hours, he didn't know but all he knew was she was glaring at him for a long time.
"It's that day, isn't it?" she asked.
John... He immediately looked away. He gulped and licked his dry lips. Just as he was about to open his mouth, she answered. "I thought so." His eyes widened. Even though the room was dark, he saw her perfectly. She crossed her legs and rested her head on her hand. Her eyes sparkled.
"Talk to me."
He did. And she just listened until the sun was up, shining bright.
"No..."
It was barely a whisper yet he heard it perfectly. Another whisper. He looked at her sleeping form beneath the covers. He was met with silence. He frowned and steepled his hands back under his nose. Just a few more weeks and Moriarty's web would be destroyed. That would also mean...
"Stop..."
He looked at her back again. Dreaming. She shifted to lay on her back. "Don't..." Night terror then. He knew that waking her up or comforting her would be futile so he just watched. If she does something rash, then that's when he's going into action. She mumbled in her sleep as she thrashed around the bed but never violently. He continued to watch her until she stopped. He watched her as she opened her eyes and sat up covered in sweat. She rubbed her head and caught his gaze.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she said huskily. He didn't answer. He heard her sigh then silence followed.
"You didn't sleep?" she asked.
"Thinking." he replied.
She shrugged her shoulders. Silence filled the room again. And all he could do was look at her. His thoughts about Moriarty momentarily forgotten. She baffled him to no end. Everything about her has a façade. Everything about her has a pass code. To think that it took him a very long time to solve one of the hundreds of pass codes he could see annoyed him very much. Her voice snapped him back to reality.
"Play for me."
He frowned. Play for her? What did she mean play for her? He didn't understand.
"I don't have my violin." he replied.
"No." She shook her head.
She held out a hand to him. He looked at her outstretched hand for a few seconds before standing and accepting it. She laced her fingers with his and pulled towards the bed. She laid him on his back and rested her head on his chest. His heartbeat spiked up. What was she doing? She breathed heavily against his hammering chest. Before long, he heard a soft snore. He brought his thoughts back but all he could think about was her breath on his chest. Her hand on his shoulder. Her whole body pressed to him. He just closed his eyes, not knowing their hearts beat together to the same rhythm.
He realized he knew this day would come from the very start. It's just that he chose to ignore it. He didn't know it would be this hard. His hands were wet with sweat. His heart was beating loudly. His chest felt heavy. His mind was all over the place. It wasn't really the end of the world. It was just the end of an era. But it's just as hard.
It had been like Karachi except it wasn't. It had been fast and short in Karachi. Now it felt like ages. Every second with her, watching her was an hour of silence and anxiety. Until it really came and he wasn't sure if he was ready and if so was she.
"Thank you, Irene."
It came out of him before he could even stop it. He was meaning to address her with her surname but his mouth took control. She just looked at him coldly. He was baffled. He expected her to smirk in amusement instead she stared at him with cold eyes. She walked over to him, her eyes never leaving his.
"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."
He was surprised. He never thought it would be her who would take a step back. He had always thought it would be him. Knowing it wasn't him bothered him until he came out of the shadows and bathed in sunlight once more.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
He blacked out.
The sound of wheels rolling. Lights were blinking behind his eyelids. He was being transported. Back to his room, most probably.
He blacked out again.
Then Mary was in front of him. His vision was blurry but he knew it was Mary. "Look at me. And tell me you're not going to tell him."
His eyes were about to close. But before they did, he remembered something, something he had almost forgotten. She was there. She was there watching him with eyes he cannot see but he knew they were pale blue. He wanted to open them again to see her beautiful face. To see one more time would help but he couldn't. Darkness surrounded him.
"I almost died."
He opened his eyes immediately but he woke up with his picture shoved up his face and the headlines, Shag-a-lot Holmes.
"What are you doing here?"
"Visiting you." she replied.
He glared at her. "Get out."
"Oh, that's rather rude. Is that how you treat your visitors?"
"You're not a visitor nor are you a client. Now get out!" he snarled as he sat up straight and closed his eyes. He tried to distract his mind from her. He doesn't want her now. Not now. Some other time. Thinking about her makes his heart heavy and adding to the weight of his now heavy heart won't help though it was distracting. And a distraction is exactly what he needs. At the same time, he felt a light touch on his knuckles. Fingers brushing over his knuckles, reaching for his hand. A whisper.
"Sherlock..."
Slowly he opened his eyes. His eyes widened in surprise. She was real. She was on her knees. Her hair was on one side. Her face was adorned with light makeup, so light it was almost as if there was none. The fire licked her face and hair making her glow. She was utterly beautiful. It was just like the first time. The time he had finally deduced her password. Was it the end of the world? Or was it just the end of another era? For countless times, he had thought it was already the end but every time she just pops back in. Perhaps it was the end of his world. The chances of his trial being death is very high.
Suddenly something shifted from her face.
"Hey." She smiled. A genuine smile. Not her usual flirty smile or her amused smirk. A genuine smile. Her smile was contagious.
He found himself smiling back. "Hey."
They held each others gazes with smiles on their faces. How did she manage to sneak in? She most probably knew what one of the guards want. As cheeky as always. He was still baffled. The last time they saw each other she was the one who stepped back now it was also she who leaped forward. So why? Why was she here? What did she want? How did she know?
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I told you I came here to see you."
No. He knew it wasn't just to visit him. There was something else but he couldn't grasp it within his hands. It's like it's right in front of him taunting him yet he couldn't catch it. He just doesn't understand.
"Stop thinking."
He looked at her, trying to read her, trying to deduce her. She shook her head, stood up and turned her back to him. He doesn't really understand. He stood up and closed a few inches between them.
"Irene..."
"Remember the first time, Sherlock?" she asked without looking at him.
He frowned. There were a lot of firsts with her. Which one was she referring to?
"Stop thinking." she said fiercely.
"I can't."
"Just answer the question, Sherlock."
He bit his lip. He doesn't like this for some reason. "Everything."
"Care to remind me?" she said in a soft voice.
"Is that what you came for? Dinner?" It came out colder than he had expected but she was oblivious to that or so it seemed,
"No." she answered immediately.
"Tell me."
She fell silent. He slowly made his way behind her. One step at a time. Each step his mind screamed to let it go. Each step his mind told him to stop because it would cost him everything. Each step his mind told him to stop, to just stay and watch. But he didn't listen. He wasn't the same man as before. He was slightly different man. He doesn't always listen to his mind. She was right. Sometimes people have to listen to their heart because the mind knows yet the heart understands. Knowing is just a part of the show. Understanding is everything. And he needs to understand her. Before he could reach her, she sighed again.
"It's the end."
"What?" he asked with a frown.
"The end of the world."
"I don't know. Why?"
She chuckled. His eyes widened. Did he miss something?
She suddenly turned to him. Her eyes no longer pale blue. The brightest blue you can ever imagine. Just like the ocean. Just like the sky. "I'm saying goodbye, you bloody fool."
His heart almost stopped. Without thinking, without a word, he scooped her into his arms. His arms fitted perfectly on her waist while she snaked her arms around his neck. He breathed her in and closed his eyes. Her scent opened door in his Mind Palace. Doors that no one had opened. No one except her. He felt her shiver under his arms followed by a small groan. Her breath on his neck made the hair on the back of his neck stand. He hummed in approval.
"Kiss me now." Her sultry voice barely a whisper.
He didn't need to be told. She had barely finished her sentence when he pressed his lips to hers. It was very familiar yet alien to him at the same time. He sighed into her mouth. He hadn't realized how much he missed her until now. How much human he felt when he was with her. It was incredibly annoying yet satisfying. One second after another, bubbles burst inside them. Feelings arose, contradicting yet contemplating one another.
They pulled away to catch their breaths. She leaned her forehead against his. Their noses touching in a tenderly way. She looked at him with a smile on her face. Her whole face glowed as the fire continued to lick her face. Her eyes were like the abyss rimmed with a thin ocean blue. His eyes flicked to her open lips. A shiver went down his spine. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer.
"Irene, Irene, Irene."
So what do you think? Reviews and criticisms are appreciated. Tips are certainly welcomed. Thank you for reading! :D
Just a heads up. The title means "The Power of Three". Yeah, Doctor Who-ish much. So I just Google Translate it to Latin and luckily it sounded good. :)