Story starts from Scandal in Belgrvia including my OC.
Not a traditional Sherlock OC story where a girl moves in "221C" and falls in love with Sherlock because those stories are so boring and cliched. No this story isn't about a girl. It's about a woman. Temperamental, charming, and a definite Slytherin (HP reference).
A part time ally, part time enemy and a full time confidant of Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock where exactly are we?"
Sherlock paid the cabbie their fare and paid no heed to John. As he collected the change, he could feel the nervousness and jumpiness that resonated off of John as a young prostitute stumbled past them in too much makeup and too cheap clothing, scratching her arms and mumbling incoherently under her breath.
Something was off key. Mycroft had warned him to stay away from the disappearance of the Woman but something wasn't right. Clearly, Mycroft had every intention of hunting her down, force the information out of her before sending her to some foreign execution. Why else would Mycroft tell him to keep away from her?
By God his brother was an idiot. The Woman was clearly smarter than letting herself get caught by the British Government. And even, if Mycroft did get to the Woman, then obviously the contents that his brother were after would be handed to the associate to let them have the upper hand.
That was the funny thing about criminals.
They hated each other and would do anything to see each other dead, yet they relied on each other like a family.
How cliched.
"Sherlock!" John called out as his flat mate began to stalk off without him.
"We're here to retrieve information from a friend of mine."
"Friend?" John questioned quizzically. He jogged up to keep up with Sherlock's long brisk strides and looked at him with a frown of confusion. "I thought you said you don't have any friends."
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "Special exception." He said as he reached the required building.
Sherlock knocked on the red door rapidly, before letting his hands fall into his trusty pockets. John opened his mouth to ask further questions but when the red door opened, his jaw completely fell.
The woman, who John assumed was Sherlock's friend, looked at the two men innocently with her baby blue eyes before they sparked with familiarity when she looked at the Consulting Detective.
"Well if it isn' Sherlock 'olmes!" The blonde cried gleefully, her dark lips stretched into a blinding smile. John inwardly cringed at the woman's harsh Cockney accent. "I was beginin' to wonder when you'd come around."
"Madame Devereaux," Sherlock greeted cordially. "Back in London I see."
"Aw Sherlock none of that will ya!" Devereaux laughed coarsely. "But I do suppose you want some information dontcha? C'mon in! I'll make you two some tea! Business doesn't start for another 5 hours. Come in! Come in!"
With a quick jingled hand flick to gesture them inside, Sherlock briskly entered the building with John albeit a bit hesitantly following afterwards.
Diana Devereaux closed the door behind the two men and beamed with pride as they scanned the foyer from roof to ceiling with John wearing his awe on his sleeve.
Dark mahogany floorboards shone brightly under their feet, reflecting the light from the exquisite chandelier which hung above them brightly. The air smelt of jasmine incense and men's cologne which fit perfectly with the dark burgundy with gold trimmings of the walls. With the loud clocks of her heels, Madame Devereaux directed them further down the corridor to the left.
John was further surprised when he entered the parlour. Rich ostentatious furniture that could have been worth his share of the flat spread across the room giving it a gaudy atmosphere. The dark red carpet seeped through the floor with mahogany being the key component of all the furniture.
Perhaps she was going for the Victorian theme.
Shooing the two men into a plush sofa trimmed with gold, John took this moment to observe the blonde woman who Sherlock considered a 'friend' as she busily ordered another woman to put the kettle on as she readied a tea tray.
She was no doubt an enthralling creature. Her peroxide blonde hair was stylishly pinned up while the remaining of her clothes seemed high class yet vintage. Jewels besotted her fingers and a string of realistic pearls dangled from her slim neck to mingle with her lavish purple dress.
With the amount of makeup on her face John wondered what she would look like with nothing to enhance her wide blue eyes, creamy complexion, and purple painted kissable lips.
Madame Devereaux gracefully placed the tea tray down on the expensive coffee table before smiling and sitting herself down on an armchair opposite them.
"So what matter brings the great, big, scary Mr 'olmes to my wonderful establishment?" she asked, clasping her hands together merrily.
"Irene Adler."
Madame Devereaux hesitated but her subtle strong distaste for the Woman didn't go unnoticed by the detective. She relaxed and a wicked smirk came into light.
"Dominatrix 'ey. Never knew you liked it rough Sherlock."
"Just answer the question, Diana."
"What d'you want with 'er?" She asked curiously. "Nothin' much special about tha' woman. Sneaky little snobby tart that one is I'll tell ya that."
"That isn't how it works Diana and you know just as much as I do that I am the one who questions and you are the one who answers."
The two of them stared at each other, baby blue clashing with ice blue until it felt like an entire minute for John that the woman reluctantly relented and crossed her arms.
"I'm assumin' shes stirring up some trouble with some dirty ole guv'nah again. Case of defamation, innit." Diana stated rather than asked.
"Glad to see you haven't lost your touch," Sherlock commented wryly. He leant back on the sofa and tented his fingers under his chin. "You clearly know the Adler woman enough, though. With your type of work and the connections that you both share. So tell me where is she?"
"What am I? 'Er Mother? Posh, Mr 'olmes. Fought you woulda known better than that. If you really want the services of a dominatrix, you coulda just asked for me you know."
John choked on his tea causing her to snap her baby blue eyes on her. She gave him a quick once over, giving John the chills as she shot him another unreadable glance, before turning her attention back to Sherlock.
Sherlock reached into his pocket and threw it at the blonde who caught it effortlessly. Her blue eyes scanned the screen a few times before throwing the phone back to Sherlock with a scoff.
"How romantic," she drawled, unimpressed. "A coupla brief texts. Sorry, but she's not in love withya. Now if you're here to spill your teenage hormonal fantasies about a dominatrix, leave. I've got better things to do."
"Oh yes," Sherlock sneered. "Much better things to do. Like getting beat up by your husband for the fifth time this month, alone."
"Fourth," she deadpanned.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, appalled. His bluntness and insensitive never ceased to surprise John even after living two years with the high functioning sociopath. About to apologise on his friend's behalf, Madame Devereaux lifted a jewelled hand to silence John.
"It's alright Dr Watson," she said coolly, her eyes burning into Sherlock's cold ones bitterly. "I'm used to his outbursts of insecurity and urgent need of attention to soothe his vanity. Afterall, 'I'm the smart one'."
John pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh of annoyance. He gave the woman an unsavoury look as she beamed at him vainly.
"Don't tell me. You're another one."
"The art of deduction is a gift that I found solely on my own, Dr Watson," Madame Devereaux, answered as she carelessly rolled a big sapphire ring around her ring finger. "I was gifted with it while your beloved Sherlock had to work for it. Shows that some people are indeed superior to most."
"And that some aren't as inferior as you think," Sherlock snapped. "Do tell me Diana what does your husband think about your deductions after you concluded he was being unfaithful and he beat you with his own bare fists. I, for don't believe that one is superior if they weakly chain themselves into a meaningless arrangement to cowardly escape from their fears."
"It doesn't matter what my husband thinks of my deductions," Madame Devereaux responded steadily. "He loves and cares for me and that's that."
"Love," Sherlock sneered. The mere thought of the silly little fantasy repulsed him.
"You exist in a relationship where the one who you claim to love clearly does not genuinely reciprocate your feelings. He beats you, cheats on you, and disrespects you yet you still come crawling back for that lowly vermin, really Diana how stupid can you get? I know this since you winced at your left side as you opened the door to let us in and when you bent forward to put the tea tray down.
"This concludes to the fact that Clarence forcibly pushed you to the marble countertop in your kitchen causing a deep bruising to occur on your left hip. Also the fingerprints marks underneath all that makeup on your neck subsequently prove that strangling is a common occurrence."
Tension plagued the air, enough to suffocate all the occupants in the room as Sherlock concluded his theory.
John's eyes flickered nervously between the blonde and the consulting detective as the seconds loudly ticked on in the background.
Madame Devereaux' face revealed nothing but a chilling coldness as she stared back at the cocky curly haired man opposite her. Her blue eyes burned with pure unadulterated loathing, strong enough to melt off the detective's eyes but Sherlock's face remained impassive betraying no sign of emotion or reaction.
Unclenching her fists which had scrunched up her dress on her lap she answered in a steady voice. "Love comes in many shapes Mr 'olmes. Clarence an' I aren't perfect but you're just as pathetic as the rest of us. I know this and I know you do too."
"Pity," Sherlock replied. "Then why is it that I believe that you still harbour feelings for someone other than your husband?"
"That's your belief Sherlock," Madame Devereaux snapped viciously. "And beliefs can be misguided and be formed out of hope and desperation. Just like religions."
He didn't miss the hot redness creeping up her neck and slowly onto her porcelain cheeks as she obviously thought about his statement of fact. Sherlock smirked to himself and leant back into his chair.
"Are you insinuating that I am hopeless and desperate?" Sherlock questioned with amusement. "I guess it's only fair to then say you, Diana Marilyn Arlington Amberley Devereux, are a religion."
Scrunching up her skirt once again, Diana let out an ugly sneer. "Alright you wanker. You want to know where Adler is or not? Well 'ere the facts. I 'aven't seen her. And don't ever want to. There."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and reopened his phone in annoyance. Scrolling through his messages, he opened the unknown numbers and passed it to Devereaux with more force than necessary.
"Read the messages," he instructed. "And tell me. What do you see."
John watched with treading anticipation as Diana rolled her baby blue eyes in irritation and looked at the screen. He noticed the way how her brows would twitch into a soft furrow and the pout of her lips as she focused on the white screen inf ront of her. Finally, with a sigh, she passed the phone back to Sherlock.
"London," she said. "She's been hang'n 'bout Westminster for a while. Paddington if I'm right. Right now I assume she'll be at Madame Tussauds, waiting for someone. Also she fancies you quite alot."
"How-"
"No time for silly questions John," Sherlock cut him off abruptly. He stood from the couch and tightened his blue scarf around his neck. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"
"She's stayin' 'idden for a reason Sherlock," Diana explained slowly, as if he were a child. "When the time's right she'll come for you. Until then, I have a request."
"You know I don't do those," Sherlock dismissed her carelessly.
"Don't care," she replied with cheek. "Finished 'er off won't you? Put her in 'er place and let there be peace once and for all."
"Kill her?" John asked shocked at the woman's audacity.
"Too cliched."
"Humiliate her, I presume," Sherlock answered.
Diana's head back as a full blown evil cackle filled the air. Once done with her laughing fit she gazed at Sherlock condescendingly with a murderous glint in her eyes. "Oh Sherlock, how do you know me so well!"
Can anybody guess who Devereaux might be? What she exactly does for a living? Also can you guess what Sherlock and Devereux's relationship is? How does she tie in with Irene Adler?