Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc.
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Irene Adler stays at the flat for four weeks.
She leaves the hospital, AMA, with only the clothes on her back, the prescribed pain killers and antibiotics and John Watson taking responsibility for her continued care.
Not!Anthea is waiting for them to arrive, under orders from Mycroft to make sure that Miss Adler has everything she might require and is comfortable. The food shopping's been done and there are several bags of clothing for Irene to choose from.
She rejects the skirts and anything with short sleeves, choosing pants and long sleeved shirts, utilitarian underwear and a pair of over sized, face obscuring sun glasses; in greys, blacks and dark blues. Then they throw Not!Anthea unceremoniously, out on her ass.
While she's sleeping, John goes out and buys her a hat. It's stupid and glittery and bright yellow. And under different circumstances, she'd try it on and laugh at herself and find somewhere just as ridiculous to wear it. But for now it hangs from the back of Sherlock's favourite chair, waiting for him to come home.
Sherlock brings shoes. He hasn't been back to the flat in almost a week and Irene has been moping about for the last three days, wearing a pair of hospital slippers, as she'd refused all of Not!Anthea's offerings.
"You're not Irene Adler," Sherlock murmurs, slipping glittery yellow things onto her feet, "Without the right pair of shoes."
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Irene gets just as bored as Sherlock. But someone, John suspects, hasn't allowed her to be idle. The books are alphabetised, the laundry collected and sorted and given to John to get him out of the way, the fridge expunged of Sherlock's experiments, the floors vacuumed and washed, the spider webs and dust banished.
While she keeps busy she sings. And more than once John has returned home to find Mrs Hudson standing on the steps, listening to Irene Adler's nightingale voice.
She has a sixth sense when it comes to Sherlock though, and never sings where he might hear her.
After she finishes cleaning the flat she picks the lock to 221c Baker Street and cleans there as well.
After she leaves, there'll be a man around to sort out the damp and to do anything Mrs Hudson might need dealing with. And whatever money she manages to get him to accept will be donated to a children's charity.
Her cleaning spree uncovers Sherlock's drug stash, which Irene repackages into smaller doses and puts them in different places to where she found them. And if Sherlock ever gets desperate enough to abandon his nicotine patches, he'll have to buy a new packet of cigarettes.
Irene finds six cigarettes in five partly crushed packages. She smokes four of them sitting on the window sill, keeping the smoke out of the flat. And doesn't worry that Moriaty might have a sniper watching her. Sherlock's spent less than twelve hours at the flat since she's arrived. His attention is back where Moriaty wants it.
She smokes the last two when Mycroft visits. He simpers and sneers and wants her to leave. "For your own safety, my dear." Irene blows smoke in his face and advises Mycroft that if he relaxed a little, "The stick might actually fall out of your arse." Sherlock sends her flowers everyday for a week when he hears about it.
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Lestrade visits twice.
Once to have Irene sign the statement she'd given while still at St Bart's and to return the ring the hospital staff had to cut off one of her broken fingers to set it properly.
Mrs Hudson finds a length of ribbon from somewhere and threads the ring onto it, to replace the green stone pendant the Moriaty had snatched from Irene's neck and crushed under his foot on the stone floor of the cellar. The stone pendant; in three small pieces and dozens of tiny ones, is now part of the 'Official Investigation'. Irene doesn't want it back.
Lestrade's second visit is to tell Sherlock to 'take a few weeks and get stuff sorted'. The unspoken 'If the body of James Moriaty is found in the next few weeks half of Scotland Yard will be turning a blind eye and marking his death as suicide or accidental' earns the Detective Inspector a rare look of respect.
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Mrs Hudson has the patience of a saint.
Enforcing John and Irene's 'You can't leave the flat without finishing a cup of tea and two slices of toast first' rule when Sherlock's there in the mornings.
None of them are about to risk him fainting from lack of food at an inopportune moment.
Taking messages from the irregulars in the evenings, giving the ones who will accept her hospitality cups of tea and rounds of sandwiches.
And spontaneously hugging Irene at all hours of the day.
The first time Irene Adler had been hugged by Mrs Hudson, she'd stood there stiffly until the older woman let go. The expression on Mrs Hudson's face had been one of 'Even Sherlock hugs better than you, poor girl. We'll have to fix that'.
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Irene sleeps; when she sleeps, in John's bed. It's warm and soft, where as Sherlock's is cold and hard.
Mostly because Sherlock rarely uses it.
She brings the blankets donated by Mrs Hudson and claims the side furthest from the door, refusing to let John sleep in the living room.
He stops worrying after the first couple of nights, Irene sleeps just as soundly as he does and the amount of space between them in the night is exactly the same in the morning.
Not that he's measured it of course...
She sleeps in flannel pyjamas bought by Mrs Hudson.
They make her look younger, smaller, and more delicate than ever. And John has to keep redoing Age Mathematics in his head. At first he'd put Irene's age somewhere between his own and Sherlock's. Subtracting or adding years the longer she stays. There was one day when 'Probably 30-something' had become 'maybe even 18 to 20-something' rather too quickly and John finally, diplomatically, settled on 'mid to late 20's, but doesn't look it', for his own peace of mind.
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Sarah drops by two or three times a week. She'd met Irene at the hospital, sitting with her, while Sherlock was heaven knows where and John was sleeping or doing a shift at the clinic. At first it was out of curiosity; and perhaps a little jealousy, wanting to know about the woman who could make Sherlock Holmes dance and get abducted by a madman for doing so, and had John Watson and a truly ominous looking man standing guard over her. Later, it was just to hold Irene's hand, so the other woman could sleep better.
Sarah brings dinner and DVD's to watch with John. Leaf tea and trashy Victorian romance novels for Mrs Hudson. Jigsaw puzzles and raspberry tarts for Irene. And an obscure scientific journal for Sherlock. She talks about normal things. The weather, the traffic, the government, how her nephew's are doing in school, that her sister really wants baby number four to be a girl, how she's really glad that she chose yellow wool when starting the blanket for baby number one and how she really wants to finish it before there's a baby number five, but since her knitting is atrocious and she lost the pattern, that she could barely follow years ago, it's about as possible as snow in July.
Which is when Sherlock tells them the exact probability of such an atmospheric event.
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Sherlock looks like he hasn't slept or eaten in the past two weeks and the route he took back to the flat involved several chimneys, the Thames and possibly a sewer. Or three.
Irene moves first, leaving the table to take hold of Sherlock's sleeve and gently leading the slightly swaying consulting detective toward the bathroom. John had put his hand on Sarah's, silently asking her to stay put. When they hear the shower running, he glances at Mrs Hudson; who rolls her eyes and mutters something about being the landlady and not the house keeper, but goes and puts the kettle on anyway.
There's toast and tea waiting when Irene and Sherlock emerge, all bright and clean, their hair still a bit damp. Sherlock's in his usual pyjamas and silk dressing gown combination and Irene has abandoned Mrs Hudson's flannel contributions, changing into some practical and sociable silky pyjamas that she must have had stashed in somewhere in Sherlock's room. Sexy lingerie is lost on Sherlock.
He drinks the tea and devours the toast. Irene watches him like a hawk. And when John and Mrs Hudson act as if this sort of thing happens all the time, Sarah follows their example.
Sherlock pulls Irene over to the lounge, holding her close, twisting his fingers with hers and wrapping their arms around her, burying his head in the curve of her neck. As if osmosis might work with memories and he won't have to ask...
"Tell me everything."
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Irene starts with her hands, letting go of Sherlock's and holding them straight so he can see the shape of them. The right ring finger now twists, ever so slightly towards the little finger.
"He reminded me of a boy I once knew. Who threw tantrums when he thought people weren't paying him enough attention. And Jamie can sound so childish, can't it?" She closes her hands, leaving four fingers up; right ring (twisting toward the little finger), right index (doesn't extend fully), left ring (distal flange tilts toward the middle finger), left little (hyper extended), little things that would go unnoticed by most, "I had to be sure."
1. Moriaty does not like being ignored or thought of as a child.
"He's intelligent, but not from a family where that's valued. Wouldn't surprise me if he had at least one abusive parent." Her hands are wrapped in his again and she brushed one against her cheek. He knew exactly how to hit her, "You are probably the most interesting person he's ever met. The person closest to being HIM he's ever met."
2. Moriaty is bored... And wants someone to play with.
"He's cruel and manipulative-"
"So am I."
Irene tilted her head back, looking up at him, sitting behind her. "Through disinterest and deduction. Not because you enjoy it or you want the control over people it gives you."
3. Moriaty likes to be in control
Sherlock has arranged their arms so he can trace the shiny new skin on her left arm with one of his thin fingers. "I can be very cruel."
He really could.
Irene shivered, slowly closing and then opening her eyes. "Not like he is. You'd never strap a bomb to a child or an old lady. He was probably the boy at school who convinced one of the others to set the neighbour's cat on fire. And had, the poor kid thinking it was his own idea."
Sherlock's would rather set Moriaty on fire. "He didn't...?"
"I'm fine!" Irene digs her nails into his skin, making him wince and loosen his grip on her, "Like any poser in a Parkes Street suit could scare me."
4. Moriaty wears the same suits as Mycroft.
"And anyway," Irene shrugged, "I'll be gone in a few days. Everything can go back to normal."
"Will I get a postcard this time?"
"You'll get the Doctor's bill for my arm."
"I'll send it on to Mycroft."
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John watches them, just on the edge of his vision; feeling almost voyeuristic, but knowing that if Sherlock had wanted the conversation to be private, he would have arranged it that way.
Irene is almost a different person around him.
She's brighter somehow. She smiles and laughs more. She's calmer than John has seen in the last three weeks. But her actions and the words she uses are more precise. Like someone slacking off until the boss is in the room. And while she hadn't been bored before, she certainly isn't now.
Sherlock is different too.
Like there's a list, somewhere in his sociopathic brain, of people he should monitor the overall well being of. It would only be a short list; Mummy, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, John, and he's only just realised that maybe Irene Adler's name should be on it. He's never even considered thinking of her like that before...
Irene just rolls her eyes at him and threatens to add his coat or violin to her collection of scarves for even thinking such utter nonsense.
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Irene Adler leaves 221b Baker Street in the middle of the day, it's pouring with rain and when later asked about it, all Mrs Hudson will recall is an electric blue umbrella among the all the black ones.
Sherlock does not get a postcard.
Mycroft gets the bill.
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The end.
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Author's note: Thank you to the people who took the time to beta this for me. Especially kaazei, who is wonderful.
