I finally got aroud to continuing this! Yay!
Irene's eyes opened as soon as she was aware that she was alive. The shock that she was not, in fact, dead washed over her and numbed her thoughts slightly. Either that, she reasoned, or the dizzying feeling that she quickly recognized as fever.
As the world around her came into more focus, she noted the plain surroundings. The medium sized room was painted a tan shade of beige and complimented with maroon curtains accented with gold. The room was filled with little furniture; only the bed she was laid upon, a wooden side table, a cushioned bench under a window, and finally a large desk with a familiar looking man sitting behind it.
Moriarty… As soon as her mind comprehended the sight, Irene was suddenly overtaken with a fit of violent coughing. She felt as if her lungs were on fire, as she felt warm liquid slide down the corner of her mouth.
The plan wasn't supposed to end up like this. The antidote she slipped into her mouth seemed to have saved her from death, but Moriarty was intended to believe her dead. Marcus Retherford, her cabby, was left instructions to find her and take her back to the Grande.
"How lovely to see you awake, Ms. Alder," The Professor smiled slightly, revealing his crocked teeth. "I was getting quite worried that you were weak, therefore unable to survive the symptoms of the poison. Don't worry though, you should recover soon enough."
Irene managed to push herself up a bit, just enough to quickly pull a pillow closer to support her neck. She attempted several times to get a noise to come from her throat. The first tries only resulted in hoarse croaks, but soon she was able to get out, "I-I don't… underst-stand."
"What fool do you take me to be?" The man's expression revealed how much he knew that he had the upper hand. Moriarty leaned closer from his desk, "Cabbies tend to have a lot of interesting things to say when you put them at gun point or their families… I'm sure you knew that. The herbs you took as you made your way to the exit were quite a brilliant use of middle-eastern healing. Where did you learn it from?" His eyes gleamed darkly, revealing that he already knew the answer.
"He didn't teach me, if that was what you're guessing. I l-learned it upon my travels."
The Professor reclined back into the arm chair. "You had reasons to come extremely prepared when meeting with me I see. Who could blame you, though?"
As a moment of silence drew out, she watched him with slight uncertainty. "Why am I still alive?"
"Why would I want to give away all the fun just yet?" Moriarty responded quietly.
Irene fought off another round of coughing.
He got up from the arm chair smoothly, opening an unseen drawer and pulling out a copy of a newspaper. With slow steps he made his way over towards her. "Do you know what happens when an object find itself caught between two equally powerful opposing forces?"
"No—"
"Come, come now, Ms. Adler!" Moriarty shook his head mockingly, "We both know that you're a smart woman. Answering a question is quite a possible task for one in your state. Go on."
Irene attempted to sit up to make herself more level, and therefore less like a frightened young girl. Her muscles moved slow and painfully, and her head seemed somewhat clouded, so she found this endeavor to be undoable. Settling on this fact, she took a deep breath and spoke knowing quite well what the metaphor meant, "I suppose it would be the deciding factor, the object in the middle that is. It could possibly cause the unleashing of both forces, or become the downfall to one."
"Exactly," He clasped his hands together, pausing before the foot of the bed. "How about an illustration to your metaphor?"
He tossed the newspaper onto the bedside table, and turned back to his desk. Irene saw him open another drawer and pluck several small objects out, then remove a small scale from under the table. He returned, and set the things down. On both cups at the end of the scale he placed two king pieces of a chess game, and in the center of both, he set a queen. The piece was neither white nor black as the kings, but made out of carved glass as if from another chess set.
Moriarty's hand hung above the queen as he stared Irene in the eye, "Without any mathematics or measuring, one cannot stand precisely in the middle. Besides getting involved with such dangerous forces could be quite… deadly."
With a tiny nudge of his pinky finger, the game piece slid slightly towards the black king. The scale creaked slightly as it tipped the slightest bit. The Professor looked from the queen to Irene, "Now I couldn't allow one king to have a slight advantage, could I?" His smirk widened, and he flicked the queen off the scale.
The glass fell and hit the floor, shattering into several tiny shards.
He raised his eyebrows slightly, "Just something to think about while you recover… Well I won't bother you for long now. You see, whilst your body was fighting the concoction of tuberculosis you missed quite a bit of—well I'll leave you to read in some peace and quiet. I'll get someone to bring you some jasmine tea."
"I'll kindly refuse the tea… Though some food would be appreciated," Irene lifted her chin slightly.
He got up, leaving the scale and chess pieces where they were. As he moved to the door, he produced a key from his pocket and unlocked it. "Good evening—or as they say in Reichenbach—bon soir."
As the door clicked shut, then clicked again as it locked, Irene grabbed the newspaper with quivering hand. It didn't take her long to see the article she was intended to read:
Detective Sherlock Holmes Dies at Reichenbach Falls