Study of the Heart, Chapter two
*Spoilers* Post Reichenbach, John is not yet aware that Sherlock is alive.
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Sherlock put down his glass after a few sips. He was sporting a slight bruise on his side that extended up his shoulder. It was something new to add to his collection. She frowned and took another sip of Brandy she could not tolerate Vodka. She looked away toward the fireplace. He had arrived from Vienna. She was there briefly, long enough to help, then returned here. He had been furious, thinking that it was unsafe for her to be in Vienna physically; at least this time.
He saved her life, helped her to disappear and assisted her several times over the last year. He had an uncanny ability to sense when she needed him. The man was loyal to a fault. She could not help but return the favor. It was not gratitude. Gratitude was not in her nature, it was something else. It was something that she would not admit to. It was something that she could not admit to completely. Therefore, here he was sulking, even though he would deny such an emotion. Of course, she had gone to Vienna. She had not listened.
She knew he could be reckless when alone. At times, he needed someone to pull him back. That was her job now. She was no John, but she would have to do, she thought grimly.
Irene Adler had thought he would have gone back to England weeks earlier, having finally neutralized Aleksey Ivanov. He was no longer a threat to John. However, he had surprised her by going after Ayyad.
Since Moriarty's death, Ayyad had become one of the most dangerous men alive. The problem was, no one had been looking for him because everyone thought he was dead. Sherlock knew better and so did she.
Irene knew Moriarty's inner circle. She was part of it at one time. Now, she fought within the shadows with Sherlock to bring it down. The bombing of Air France flight 1270 had occurred only three weeks earlier. Irene knew Sherlock carried the guilt of it; needlessly, she thought. He had anonymously alerted the appropriate officials of the threat. They had not responded quickly or efficiently.
They had done their part. Unlike Sherlock, she held no remorse. She frowned, subconsciously shrugging to herself.
She took another sip as she rubbed the outside of the crystal with her thumb. The fireplace can be somewhat hypnotic, she thought as orange, and red shimmers from the fire danced across her face.
Since going after Moriarty's kingdom, Sherlock had always been careful to stay in the shadows, but this time there was physical contact. She and Sherlock were allies. She knew her place and purpose. Irene would provide information, sometime significant, occasionally bits and pieces. Sherlock's brilliant mind had the ability to piece together that information and see all patterns, threats, and weakness.
Sherlock then manipulated the information for his 'own purposes'. These purposes were to provide vital information and disclose various illicit activities, to key governmental and law enforcement agencies. These agencies were abuzz with speculation, wondering where the information was coming from. Even Mycroft, Sherlock's own brother was being fed information on a regular base. Mycroft did not disappoint but used the information to crush, illegal activities and threats.
Irene sighed so softly it was scarcely audible, closer to a thought than a sound. She turned her face toward the balcony facing the lights of the city, yet unseeing, loss in thoughts. Her unease was building. On the side table sat the abandoned crystal cup, still half-full of the soothing liquid.
There were only two men that intimidated Irene Adler. Of course, she would never admit to, or disclose such weaknesses. Apart from Moriarty, only Mycroft sent chills up her spine. The man was not to be played with.
Of course, Mycroft did not know the source of that information. Sherlock always found that fact particularly amusing.
Sherlock's second goal was to plant doubt. Several of Moriarty's generals were in a private war, bidding for total control of the remaining branches. A few untraceable texts, a few leaked conversations containing confidential bits of information; and numerous unlawful people were being killed and assassinated. Moriarty's fractions were exterminating each other.
None of the factions could find the leak. No one could determine who the true enemy was. Because, no one had any idea that Sherlock discreetly manipulated events with the purpose of destroying the last threat of Moriarty's web. In the end, Moriarty's kingdom did not crumble but had torn itself apart from within. The plan was being executed flawlessly, until Vienna.
In Vienna, it almost turned bad, very bad. Irene picked back up the Brandy and took another sip, before abandoning it again. She trembled slightly, trying to hold in the anger.
What would have happened to him if she did not go? Sherlock was pushing himself physically beyond even his limit. Did the man not know he was mortal? He infuriated her sometimes.
Sherlock, despite his claim that he believed that sentiment was a chemical defect; had it in measure. It was just carefully covered, hidden, controlled, and denied. She should know she was the same.
Emotions such as anger, love, and passion ran deeply in Sherlock. On Sherlock, emotions shifted like flickers of a candle flame, they danced across his face surrounded by shadows. However, they were extinguished when his mask slipped back in place.
