Hello everyone! I posted my "When I Say Run... Run" Fanfic and someone requested that I should make another one; their next meeting. Hope you enjoy!
A normal evening in Baker Street for most people is not at all advantageous for Sherlock Holmes. He was slumped on his chair wrapped in a bedsheet as he is every night whenever he is about to sleep, fingers itching to pull the trigger of his gun and hopelessly fighting the urge to shoot at the lazily painted face on the wall across him. Not that there's any space left for more bullet holes.
John and Mary called earlier, reminding him not to burn his flat down. He told them he won't, wanting his friends to enjoy their vacation in peace. And yet, with the boredom eating him from inside out making it hard for him to rest, he might just light something up. He is the type of person who sleeps better with a lot of things in mind rather than silence.
A soft thump broke his concentration, fully aware that something suddenly went out of the ordinary. The sound came from his bedroom and in that direction he crept silently. As he reached the doorframe, he pointed his gun at the intruder and was utterly surprised to see the intruder rummaging his closet.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes" he heard her say, turning as she probably have felt his presence. Her hair flows loosely on her head, her face flushed and yet regal. She was wearing a black dress, slightly covered with dirt and ripped at the edges. Her fingernails were chipped, for both her hands and feet, no Louboutin heels in sight.
"Ms. Adler, may I know your business with my closet?" he said, deadpan.
She laughed softly, touching his hand to put the gun down. "Sherlock, dear, I think it's beyond you to ask such silly questions."
He studied her, those playful lips smiling at him. The last time they saw each other, she had played him nicely… that silly puzzle about her heart.
"If you're looking for your mobile phone, it's not there." He mused, stepping away from her.
"So you figured it out. As expected." she replied, obviously amused. She remembered how she kissed his soft lips slightly, hinting a riddle to take care of her heart. His brilliant mind, she thought, caught the message by keeping her Vertu phone.
She smiled as he left the room, heading for his chair, near the fireplace. She was pleased that he didn't drive her away, making her unconsciously hope that he does care for her. Looking down at her tattered clothes, she picked out one of Sherlock's dressing gowns and shook off her dirty clothes, throwing them in the trash bin.
Sherlock, on the other hand, sat on his chair wondering what The Woman would possibly want from him. 'He wants the phone, obviously. Is sentiment creeping up on you, brother?' He heard mind-palace Mycroft tell him. Sherlock hissed.
"Do you have a towel? I haven't showered in days." He heard her say, appearing in front of him in the same dressing gown she wore when she stayed here 2 years back.
She is beautiful, he can't deny that, but is was her intelligence that made him get intrigued by her. He saw her raise her eyebrows at him, probably wondering why he was staring. "Mr. Holmes?" she said.
"Sit." she heard him say, his hand gesturing towards John's old chair. She nodded, feeling the heat fill her face as she remembered the last time they were in this position, that day he took her pulse and revealed her heart's hidden desire.
"Towel?" she asked again. He shook his head, staring at her intently. "What is it, now?" he asked.
Irene raised her eyebrows at him, pretending she didn't understand. Of course he wants to know why she came. Judging by the look on his eyes, he already has an idea. Who wouldn't? Her clothes were ripped, nails crusted with dirt.
"Someone's after you… again. Why run here?" he asked, no emotion in his voice. "Oh you already know, don't you? You are Sherlock Holmes, are you not?"
"The pho…" he was about to say but her laughter cut him off. "No, darling. That has no use to me anymore. Surely you know that it has been stripped under the orders of your brother."
"Then wha…. Ah! You need my help. Someone is after you."
She smiled, staring at him, drinking in the image. Sherlock Holmes seated in front of her, only a sheet covering his body. She could feel herself flush, her hand unconsciously clenching as she gripped an riding crop that wasn't there.
"Are you wearing anything underneath that sheet, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, her tone full of desire. He looked confused for a moment, then looked down at himself suddenly aware of his lack of underclothes.
He stammered, cleared his throat and continued. Irene smirked.
"Ms. Adler, your business?" He asked again, his tone grave.
Irene went to Sherlock and sat on his lap, just to annoy the consulting detective and somehow, for her personal agenda. He was frozen in place, looking her directly in the eyes, his expression unreadable. She draped her arm over his shoulder and leaned close.
"Well, I believe you know that Jim Moriarty is back." she said, her voice barely a whisper. Noticing that Sherlock is still motionless, she continued, her breath prickling his neck. "Somehow, he found out about Karachi. He wants me dead."
"How can you be so sure it was him?" Sherlock replied, his voice slightly trembling, Irene feeling the vibration of his chest as he spoke.
Irene laughed softly and Sherlock can feel that she was shaking... why? He doesn't know. She was always so hard to figure out, he thought and he believed that she was clinging onto him not to annoy him but rather she needed comfort. He remembered her face when he unlocked her phone, beating her. For a moment she looked as vulnerable then as she was now.
Irene looked directly at the detective's blue eyes and Sherlock was aware how her pupils are once again dilating. She leaned in close, planted a soft kiss on his cheek and stood up, heading towards the bedroom. Only stopping to look back at him and smile.
She disappeared behind the door and he started to fix the couch he would sleep in.
In the middle of a deep sleep, Sherlock was awaken by a scream.
"Oh dear God! Fire!" he heard Irene Adler shout, coughing harshly.
Sherlock rushed to the bedroom, thinking that the people who wanted her dead traced her. "Ms. Adler... what..." he asked, breathing hitched from panic.
As he opened the door, there was nothing out of order maybe except of The Woman sitting calmly on his bed, smiling at him. "Funny how fire exposes our priorities, Mr. Holmes." she mused, starting to snuggle one of Sherlock's pillows.
"I don't know what... Good night, Ms. Adler." Sherlock said, turning his back on her, slightly confused as to what happened. She had used the trick he had told her once before, not understanding what she was trying to get from him.
He heard her chuckle as he was about to leave. "Good night Mr. Holmes. And by the way, I was listening to your heart rate earlier. It elevated," she muttered as she turned off the lamp on the bedside table.