Just a short disclaimer. I don't own the characters and stuff.
—oOo—
She wasn't always a part of A.G.R.A.
Once upon a time, Mary Morstan was also part of the C.I.A. and had gone... freelance—took her own life for herself instead of letting others have their way with it—to control her. That had been their greatest mistake. No one can ever make her do anything she doesn't want to do.
She has to admit—although the cause of her mastery is horrible, she was good at her job—no—brilliant, at her job. Yes, it's horrible and she doesn't want to be Rosamund again after tasting the delightful life of Mary Watson—a very normal sane wife with an abnormal insane husband living in the abnormal insane world of the abnormal insane Sherlock Holmes.
But there's no denying it—her past will always haunt her.
She was a consulting assassin, so to speak. Mary smiles. Sherlock would have laughed at that.
Speaking of Sherlock, there are so many things that had happened. A.G.R.A. wasn't the only ghost of her past that had come back to haunt her. Apparently, two more had arrived—an even deeper part of her past that she is not ready to face—that she will never be ready to face.
—oOo—
Ghost Number One.
The Man with a Name that Rhymes with "Aims Multiparty" [1].
"But he's dead—" she stops herself, realising her mistake of knowing too much—"I mean, you told me he was dead—Moriarty."
"Absolutely," John replies. "Blew his own brains out."
"So, how can he be back?" Mary asks with slight urgency, she notes to herself and so she tries to calm herself so she wouldn't be discovered.
John turns to look back at the plane landing near them. "Well, if he is, he better wrap up warm... There's an East Wind coming."
Then the whole fiasco in the plane happened where Sherlock had shown how high he had been before he left for his suicide mission—because Mary—no—Rosamund knows that this could only be a suicide mission.
"Sherlock, hang on... Explain. Moriarty's alive, then?" John, bless his heart, asks Sherlock as they all walk across the tarmac to enter a black car she knows Mycroft had been in.
Sherlock stops and takes his gloves from his pocket—a bit too calm for Mary, but perfectly normal for Rosamund.
"I never said he was alive. I said he was back," Sherlock replies.
"So he's dead," she states to confirm, because she wants that man dead more than anything. Well, not anything.
"Of course, he's dead. He blew his own brains out. No one survives that." Sherlock confirms and Mary manages to hide her obvious relief. "I just went to the trouble of an overdose to prove it."
Mary grimaces at the reminder of Sherlock being high, and the latter looks at her husband guiltily before looking down.
"Moriarty is dead, no question," he says once more and Mary is so thankful for her training as an assassin to quickly mask her joy, "but more importantly... I know exactly what he's going to do next."
Sherlock continues to go to the car and John looks at her in confusion. Of course, John follows the mad detective almost as a reflex, letting her walk behind him and finally—finally—she gives out a mighty breath.
Moriarty is dead... but he is still back to haunt her.
—oOo—
Ghost Number Two.
The Woman with a Name that Rhymes with "A Queen Paddler" [2].
She nearly crashes into John when he suddenly stops by the doorway to the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. Little Rosie yelps upon being squished between her mother and father.
"John," she scolds as she shushes little Rosie, rocking her as much as possible.
John sighs and walks in, to which Mary follows, still looking down on Rosie—calming her down and hopefully, manage to make her sleep because dear God above, she needs sleep.
"So, alive and well, then?" John says, walking and pausing by the mantle.
'Is this a jab about the drugs?' Mary thinks as she coos over her own child.
"Of course," a woman's voice says.
Mary pauses in shock and continuing to calm her child, not wanting to snap up in shock in case Sherlock or her husband manages to catch her.
Slowly, she raises her head to see, yes, it is.
Her.
Mary's eyes lock in with her pale blue eyes. She hasn't changed at all except... a small amount of softness. Did she find her own way of settling down the way she did?
"Mary," John starts, "meet Irene Adler—the Woman."
"Mary Morstan, I believe?" Irene asks, walking as gracefully as ever despite wearing such normal attire for one as bold and audacious as Irene Adler.
She is in a blue silk blouse, some black trousers that show off her slender legs, a pair of black high-heels, and her hair flowing down her back with the sides of it clipped up. She looks so innocent and non-dominant at the moment, Mary almost laughs.
"You're her—the Irene Adler," she greets, pretending not to know her.
Irene smiles slightly—that same old smug cocky sly smile she always wears when she knows she has the upper hand of the room. Oh, it would be so amazing to make her lose all of it.
"Has Sherlock been talking about me?" she teases, looking at the said detective, who is sitting on his usual armchair wearing his signature white shirt, black trousers, and blue silk dressing gown—which Mary had just noticed is the same colour as the blouse Irene is wearing right now.
"Not at all," Mary replies, making Irene look at her, "I read about you in John's blog." Irene smirks once more. Mary did not sign up for this at all. Well, she did... and she regrets it now more than ever.
—oOo—
1999
Rosamund is not unfamiliar with being on the run but she is definitely new from being on the run from his superiors after years of being under them—being controlled and monitored by them. Eighteen years of being one of their newest weapons—and working under the CIA for a year or two as an undercover. She's not a spy going against the CIA but she has two jobs—CIA agent and trained assassin...
She's living two lives and enough's enough because they're both the same. They're both controlling her and using her skills for their own. They don't think of her as a human being. They don't think of her as an asset. She's just a weapon they can use from time to time when needed. She's not an employee—she's a thing.
She respects and trusts them... in the past... but it all went down when she had realised, growing up, that they do not trust her back. She is just another material to them—a soldier—an assassin—a killer... How does one want this life? She only knows how to kill and how to be on the run. She's twenty-four years old and she's never had a normal life... and she's not entirely sure if she wants one right now.
She has to admit that it is exhilarating being free from their grasp—freedom she had never felt before... but is it truly what she wants for herself right now?
She wants her peace, of course. Perhaps one day, with a man, a child, a house, and no assassinations or murderers in her life. A plain old life with a small amount of excitement. She just wants to be free from all these horrible chains she calls her life. She sees herself in that utopian life of an average citizen and she wants it... just... not right now.
She's too active—too strong. She's on the peak of her career... and she doesn't want that to go to waste. Call her a psychopath but it is her own addiction—she wants the adventure.
So now, she is going around on her own. She is called when she is needed and wanted. She takes the job if it is worth her time. She kills people who had done wrong.
One shouldn't dismiss another's death but sometimes... just sometimes... some people should be killed. That's how they trained her and she accepts it as a rational concept.
Another voice. Another phone call.
"Vauxhall," the automated voice on one of the public phones in London before the line disconnected.
She puts the phone down and walks away, entering the crowd. No one ever suspects her. She's just another common face in the eyes of the citizens of London. Sometimes she can't help but feel smug about how oblivious everyone is about her.
"Duper's Delight", indeed.
—oOo—
PRESENT TIME
Since the supposed dead woman's back is to the boys, no one would see the knowing glint of challenge and mirth beneath those light blue eyes. The worst part is that the boys can see Mary's face, and so she has to try so hard not to give the same glare at the other woman and have to act curious and bewildered upon her presence.
"Sorry, but... I thought you'd be in America?" Mary asks, recalling what John had written in the blog.
"America? Is that how we're calling it now?" Irene asks, looking back at Sherlock.
John sighs. "You were supposed to be dead." Irene raises a brow in amusement. John grumbles. "She was supposed to be dead," he tells Mary like he's a tattletale. "I lied to save Sherlock the pain of losing her again."
Mary watches as Sherlock frowns at the description and hears Irene chuckle at it, but both dark-haired creatures don't comment—much to Mary's surprise.
"'Again'?" Mary asks, raising a brow.
"I am known to exaggerate the news of my demise... multiple times," Irene replies. Mary had to stop to roll her eyes. How many times did Irene come back to her to tell her that she's dead again and laughing about it?
"You died on Sherlock?" Mary asks with an amused smirk.
"People were after me," she replies.
"Killers?" Mary asks.
"Amongst many," Irene replies, winking before walking away from her and sitting on John's armchair once more.
"Is that why you're here now?" John asks, stepping forward. Mary smiles. Her husband is in his detective mode. "Someone's after you?"
Irene smirks devilishly. "In a way," she replies cryptically before turning her head away to look at the detective in front of her.
Oh, she thinks, looking at the two of the most manipulative people she knows. John turns to look at her knowingly and she smiles back in return. It is an amazing feeling to tease the consulting detective about his love life.
"You haven't told me why people are chasing after you," Sherlock growls.
"Perhaps because I'm pretty?" Irene quips.
Sherlock stops before speaking, not expecting the playful answer. Mary tries to hold in her laughter whilst John smirks at the look on Sherlock's face.
"Who's hunting you right now?" Sherlock asks. Irene smiles.
"It would help if you'd tell us," John adds, sitting on the couch, facing the ex-dominatrix and the ex-junkie (though that's still up to debate) in front of him.
Mary follows John and sits beside him—Rosie still in her arms. To her surprise, Mary catches Irene look at the baby in her arms before she looks at John and Mary on the couch. Sherlock watches the woman in front of him—curious to why Irene would look at the Watsons in wonder.
—oOo—
1999
She goes under Vauxhall Bridge, as instructed, and found a hidden folder with all the details and information she needs for her next job. The incentive is already there—the money—and there is more to come when the target is dead.
Seth Jacob Melville [3]
Age: 39
Birthday: April 20, 1960
Gender: Male
Nationality: United Kingdom | English
Spouse: Lily Catherine Melville (née Summers) (see attached files for more details) [4]
Children: none
Family: Imre Cathleen Summers (sister-in-law) [5]
Occupation: Varied Business Man
Notes:
Data Accumulator and Extortionist—photographs, videos, voice records, documents.
Negotiates information for money.
Current threat.
Abides by weekly routine (see attached files for more details).
Sex enthusiast (see attached file for more details).
She sighs in frustration—another blackmailer who blackmails for money. She wonders when people will stop doing this. Shaking her head to remove her sympathetic and caring side, she walks away from Vauxhall Bridge as unsuspicious as she normally can.
She enters a small café and sits on a chair where she cannot be seen by a security camera and opens the file.
Seth Melville is smart and is always in a public area. He seems to have picked the right woman to marry as well—highly intelligent, vocal, and stands for what she believes in. They married not out of love but out of necessity. Honestly, the woman is impressive and it would most likely not be a good idea to kill Seth Melville at a time when he is alone with only Lily Melville with him. Unfortunately, that is the only time of the day when Seth Melville is near to being alone.
No.
She raises a brow at the weekly routine and sex enthusiast attached files. She brings out the papers to look at them. Aha!
Her client had found an open time with Seth Melville. Every Friday night he goes to see another woman's flat—but not a mistress—a dominatrix. She looks at the other attached files.
Irene Adler. 19 years old. Dominatrix.
Slowly, the assassin in her dissipates, and Rosamund Mary comes back and tilts her head in sympathy. For a nineteen year old girl to be a dominatrix... and to be a dominatrix to a man more than twice her age? It must have been awful for her to be forced in that position... It seems that she is one of the growing best dominatrixes in the country. That would mean she had learned young. What awful past had she had to have had such a life?
Rosamund Mary shakes her head and R. comes back to clear her own head. She is an assassin and there is no time to think about sympathies.
This Irene Adler is a dominatrix which means that she knows how to keep secrets and is matured for her age. She would most likely flee the scene of the crime upon the death of her client to keep her identity rather than stay and report it. There would be more time for negotiation with the teenager after she kills Melville.
Yes, she would kill Seth Melville on Friday—three days from now.
—oOo—
THREE DAYS LATER
Through her sniper, she watches the thirty-nine-year old nuisance and the nineteen-year old dominatrix from the other building. If she wasn't a trained assassin, she would have described the thing she is feeling as dread and discomfort.
She arrived at her sniping area to see her target already in the middle of the room with his arms tied up above his head, blindfolded, and completely naked.
As she was about to pull the trigger, the nineteen-year old dominatrix enters in a black lacy lingerie and a leather whip.
To Rosamund's surprise, there was not an inch of embarrassment from the teenager. She stood and walked proudly though a tad bit awkwardly at times since her teenage side still shows—reminding Rosamund that this girl is just five years her junior.
She raises a brow as the girl circles her target and glides her riding crop on the target's body and it shivers. That's when the girl's leather whip strikes the body before her... once... twice... thrice... She circles him once more and Rosamund can see the dominating smirk on the girl's face...
Is—is she enjoying this?!
Shaking her head to remove all curiosities, she waits as the girl circles once more so she could aim the target perfectly without harming the girl...
Farther.
Rosamund's finger flirts with the trigger.
Farther.
Just a few inches away.
Farther.
Just a tiny bit more.
Aaaaaannndddd...
Her target's neck is completely covered from her view by a hand and a syringe. Rosamund accidentally lets out an unprofessional yelp at the sudden—completely unexpected—movement.
Rosamund's target falls completely limp and the girl moves away and looks at Seth Melville with a tilt of her head—curious, predatory, bewildered.
—oOo—
PRESENT TIME
"Congratulations, Doctor and Mrs Watson. Rosie's her name, isn't it?" she asks.
"How did you know?" John asks, turning a bit sideways to move closer to Mary and Rosie—slightly protective as if Irene's gaze alone could harm them.
"There are a lot of things I know, Doctor Watson. Knowing your daughter's name is child's play," she replies. "I like it—Rosie. It's an... endearing nickname."
Mary thanks her long training for helping her manage not to scowl or react to Irene's words. Of course, she'd reference their old time together in plain sight. Psychopaths are really good with that—hiding secrets in plain sight.
—oOo—
[1] MULTIPARTY:
I think it is only appropriate since multiparty would mean to the system where one relates to multiple political parties. In this case, Moriarty deals with the political parties in a more criminal-business-like way... He does aim a multiparty system because it is much more fun that way.
[2] PADDLER:
Again, it is only appropriate because it means a person who paddles. One would think of a boat, but as a dominatrix, Irene would definitely be a paddler, if you know what I mean. She is at the top of the food chain since she had almost put the whole nation to the knees, hence being a Queen.
[3] SETH JACOB MELVILLE:
Seth was the Egyptian god of chaos and the desert. Jacob means supplanter, overthrower, or underminer. Melville means bad town... I can't think of other names and I don't want to put in meaningless names.
[4] LILY CATHERINE MELVILLE (NÉE SUMMERS):
Lily means flower and innocence. Catherine means pure and clear. Summers was adopted as an English equivalent of Gaelic Ó Somacháin 'descendant of Somachán', a nickname meaning 'gentle', 'innocent'.
[5] IMRE CATHLEEN SUMMERS:
Imre means innocent. Cathleen means pure.