Fluorescent lights flickered on, chasing away the shadows and bathing the antiseptic room in a harsh glare. Irene strode purposefully into the room, intent on finding a specific body among the surplus or corpses. She pulled her black coat tighter around herself to ward off the chill emanating from the metal surfaces and freezers. The coat was tailored perfectly, the fabric looked to be moulded to her slight body, only flaring mid thigh, as is customary in a trench coat. She had this one made after borrowing a certain detectives. Irene had quite liked Sherlock's, so she simply had to have her own. Blinking, Irene pushed the nostalgia from her mind and began to focus on the task at hand.
There were more than a few drawers in this morgue, but only one held the body she needed. The woman sighed at her inevitable displeasure, and walked to the opposite side of the room. Her heels clacked on the white tiles as she made her way to the unclaimed body drawers. White and silver, the only colors in this drab little room. Irene quirked an eyebrow. There was no decor to speak of, and the color scheme of the morgue was just ghastly. Gently sliding a drawer out of the it's refrigerated home, Irene bit at her carefully painted lip. Dead bodies were never pleasant, but she had no one else to do the job for her. Still, Irene peeled the sheet back from the corpse, wrinkling her nose in disgust. No, this was a balding man in his late fifties. Wrong. Irene's red lacquered nails glinted in the harsh light as she pulled the sheet back up and closed the drawer, reaching for another when a deep voice caused her hand to freeze in midair.
"Looking for something?" the man's voice was calm and pleasant, but with an underlying hint of unmistakable power. He was not one to be reckoned with, and Irene knew this only too well. Pasting a flirtatious smile on her face, Irene turned around and faced the man.
"Why, Sebastian Moran. Fancy seeing you here." she purred, letting her hand fall from the empty air and rest on her hip. "You seem all too alive to be in a place like this."
Moran stood in the doorway of the morgue, his broad shoulders casting shadows on the floor in front of him. Irene took note of his pocketed hands, ready to react if either one emerged with a weapon. His dirty blonde hair had grown out since the last time she had seen him, it was an attractive mess, barely reaching his eyebrows. Not long by any means, but Irene knew that for a man whom the military was so deeply ingrained, it was sure to be a bother. Moran silently let the dominatrix finish her observations. Irene looked back up at the sniper, catching his eye.
"You're not going to find it." he said, smirking at the frustrated look that passed over her pale features before being chased away by pleasant detachment. Irene smiled.
"Find what?" came her questioning reply. Irene raised a slender eyebrow, coolly pretending she hadn't the slightest clue as to what Moran was talking about. Sebastian laughed; a quiet, intimidating chuckle.
"Don't play stupid with me, Irene." he said, grinning at her. His smile was wide and pleasant, but his eyes were cold and calculating. The friendly facade between the two was disintegrating fast. Irene rolled her eyes petulantly.
"Fine," she said, dropping her previously playful voice, "where is it then?" Sebastian shrugged.
"Why would I tell you that?" he asked, his cold blue eyes watching her every move. Irene stepped away from the wall of drawers, and towards the man in the doorway. His muscles tensed, and he stood up straighter. Irene was unpredictable, something he had learned during her time working for Moriarty. Irene stopped when she was a foot away, and pressed her lips together tightly as she studied the man's face.
"Why are you here, Sebastian?" she asked suddenly. "It would be pointless to come just to tell me it isn't here. You have another reason for being here, there's something else." Irene's intelligent eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
Sebastian Moran pulled his hands from his pockets, bringing with them a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. Irene raised a slender eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her painted lips. Sebastian took a single cigarette from the slightly crushed package and placed it between his lips. He lit a match, allowing the flame to flare up and lick the end of his cigarette. Irene hid her mouth behind her hand and giggled slightly. Waving the match out, Sebastian fixed Irene a glare, the lit cigarette dangling between his lips.
"Smoking isn't that funny, Adler." He grunted.
"You never struck me as a box and matches kind of guy," Irene said cheekily. Sebastian Moran took a long drag on his cigarette before replying.
"It's," he began, blowing a stream of smoke upwards, watching it swirl in the harsh light before dissipating, "simpler." Sebastian pulled the paper wrapped tobacco from his lips and studied it for a moment, killing time. Irene placed a hand on her hip. Oh, how she hated waiting. A few moments passed in silence, Moran smoking and Irene fidgeting. Finally, she snapped.
"I know you have it, Sebastian. Give it to me." Irene ordered, her hand outstretched and lips pressed in a tight line. The taller man laughed, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette before bringing it to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew smoke at the woman, causing her to cough slightly and blink.
"What makes you think I'd give it to you? I only take orders from one person, Adler, and you're not him." he said, smirking.
"I need it, Sebastian. You're here for a reason. What do you want? Are you here to make a deal?" Irene asked, sounding a bit desperate. She must have realized, though, because she closed her eyes briefly and cleared her throat, followed by, "Do hurry, Moran. We're not supposed to be here, after all."
Sebastian laughed, dropping his cigarette onto the cold white tiles. He crushed it with the toe of his boot, and looked at Irene.
"Here's the offer; I give you the key, but you'll owe us a favor." Moran said. His voice had lost the teasing lilt, now it was cold and no nonsense. Business. Irene had no doubts about who he meant by "us", Jim Moriarty was the only person Moran associated with on that close of a level. Irene pouted.
"How about you give me the key, and I take you out to dinner?" she countered sweetly. Sebastian raised his eyebrows.
"I thought you reserved dinner plans for Sherlock, Adler."
"Oh don't be silly, I was actually meaning dinner. Restaurant, fine wine an dining?" Irene paused, and looked at her perfectly manicured nails. "Bring the boss, we can all have a nice chat."
Sebastian fished around in his pockets for a moment before procuring a small silver key. He stepped forward, until he was inches from Irene. Irene stood tensely, her eyes focused on the glinting metal in his palm. She lifted her hand, palm up, and waited. Sebastian leaned down, speaking quietly into her ear.
"He didn't want to give this to you, Adler." he said, his voice gravelly and breath smelling of smoke. Irene blinked several times, and said quietly, still looking down, "Then why are you here?"
Sebastian carefully pressed the key into her open palm, folding her fingers over the metal and resting his hand over her closed fist.
"I convinced him," he said simply, his voice barely more than a whisper itself, "I wanted to see you again." and with that, the assassin stepped away, and walked back towards the door of the morgue. His demeanor had changed back into his calm aloofness, seemingly unfazed by the world around him.
"Don't forget; you owe us a favor, Adler." he called back over his shoulder, and then the door was swinging shut; the only clue that he had been in the room was the cigarette butt on the floor and the smell of smoke in the air.
Irene opened her hand, looking down at the key in her palm. Then she pulled her coat collar closer to her skin, trying to rid herself of the goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chilled air of the morgue, and everything to do with Sebastian Moran.