Here's Part II! This is now going to be three parts, as my love for this AU knows no bounds. I've never really written Irene before this, so I hope everyone is liking my interpretation of her! I've found that I really like writing from her perspective, even though she is so different from me!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and my ideas. (Although credit for this one goes to the lovely canibecandid on Tumblr, who requested this piece.)
He smiles so jovially, always ready with an inappropriate joke or witty retort. He can be so likeable, that, if he wanted, he could make an entire room of astrophysicists believe the sun orbits the earth.
He's also extraordinarily evil.
He seemingly makes his decisions on a whim, never revealing his hand until it is too late for his victims to do anything to prepare themselves. Once everything plays out, however, it becomes blatantly obvious that he knows exactly what he is doing. He understands how one action leads to three or four downstream, much like how upending one domino can topple an entire set. His targets are left reeling in his wake.
Irene envies the way he can separate himself so fully from other people, as though he hasn't a care in the world. She wishes she could stop herself from caring so damn much. She wishes she could stop hearing the small voice in the back of her mind (which sounds eerily similar to Molly's), constantly questioning her decisions. (Come home, Irene, it whispers. This isn't where you belong.)
Regardless of her unsolicited conscience, Irene finds herself enjoying her new profession. Under Moriarty's patronage, she travels all over the world, deriving her own pleasure from dominating others. Paris, Los Angeles, Tokyo. Her life is an endless stream of international flights, shopping, and sex, with a dash of blackmail thrown in for good measure.
In fact, the only regret Irene has is her relationship with Molly.
At first, they make an effort to talk on the telephone at least twice a week, sending text messages and emails more often. But as the days pass, and Irene realizes that Molly will never fully understand her decisions, she stops answering Molly's calls, her excuse always that she was occupied with a client.
Their conversations are filled with terse silence instead of nonstop chattering, the words left unspoken between them digging a knife through their friendship. (I miss you. I need you. I love you.)
Irene is so busy that, sometimes, she leaves a text message unanswered for days, only remembering when she is alone at night, pondering whether all of this is worth losing Molly Hooper.
She feels empty, like a part of herself is missing, and huddles further into the soft sheets. She falls asleep thinking of Molly, and her dreams are haunted by brown eyes and thin lips painted into a blinding smile.
XXXXX
Molly Hooper breaks Irene Adler's heart on a Tuesday.
She calls, giggly and bubbly, more excited than Irene has heard in years. She realizes almost instantaneously what that means.
("This strange fellow came into the morgue today, Irene! You should have seen him! He knew everything about me, just from one glance! His name's Sherlock, and he calls himself a 'consulting detective', whatever that is, and….")
Irene grins half-heartedly as Molly prattles on (even though they are miles apart, Irene still pastes a smile on for Molly). Molly's happiness warms her insides, even if she can feel her heart shattering as she grasps what Molly is not saying. (At least out loud. Irene's always been able to hear everything Molly leaves unspoken.)
Molly is in love with some man named Sherlock Holmes, and Irene hates her for it. (She could never hate Molly Hooper.)
Finally, finally, Molly sucks in a deep breath, having finally exhausted herself singing the praises of the mysterious new man. "Sorry, I may have gotten a bit carried away there…," she declares apologetically.
Irene chuckles. "It's fine, Molly. I'm glad to hear you are happy. I hope he deserves you."
(He doesn't. No one will ever be good enough for Molly Hooper.)
XXXXX
Irene's travels bring her back to London, nearly half a decade after she left.
She surprises Molly at her small flat, and the two women stay up late into the night, binging on mint chocolate chip ice cream and cheap wine.
The conversation naturally leads up to the question Irene is dying to ask.
"So what's up with you and this Sherlock character? Have you shagged him yet?" Irene teases, but her shoulders tense as she awaits Molly's answer.
Irene frowns when Molly's eyes drift downward, her smile faltering. "It's… it's not like that, Irene. We're just friends. Well, acquaintances, really…."
"Molly?" Irene pushes. Molly needs to confide in someone, as she obviously does not have anyone else in her life to do so.
"Well, it's just…. I asked him out for a coffee, right? And he didn't even realize!" Molly's voice lowers several octaves, ostensibly in imitation of Sherlock's. "'Black two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs!' I mean, can you believe that?!" Molly sighs quietly. "I really don't think I'm his type, Irene," she admits quietly. Irene's heart breaks just a little more.
She reaches for Molly's hand, squeezing lightly. "Fuck him." The corner of Molly's mouth tilts up at the altered version of the familiar phrase. "You deserve someone who would give you the stars, who realizes what a treasure you truly are. If he doesn't, then I'm seriously beginning to doubt that massive intellect you were telling me about."
Molly beams, enveloping Irene in a fierce hug for several minutes. Finally, she pulls away slowly. The two women stare into each other's eyes, a few inches the only space between them. Irene's heart begins pounding erratically. Her gaze travels down to Molly's lips briefly before returning to her eyes, and she sees… something flicker on Molly's face.
Before she has a chance to name it, however, the moment is broken and Molly is releasing her. The loss of Molly's warmth sends a chill cascading through her body, but Irene doesn't think she imagines the slight blush in Molly's cheeks as she turns away.
Molly loudly clears her throat. "Let's finish this wine, then, shall we?" She grins brightly, and Irene nods in agreement, her pulse still racing.
They fall asleep curled against each other on the sofa.
Early the next morning, Irene catches a flight to Beijing, and the two women part ways once again.
XXXXX
She meets Kate during one of her trips to New York City. The attraction is mutual and instantaneous. Kate is fun and sexy, and she agrees to accompany Irene on her travels, even participating in some of Irene's schemes.
With Kate, the loneliness ebbs, just a bit, and Irene smiles more in her presence than anyone else's in recent memory, with the exception of Molly, of course. (Molly Hooper is always the exception.)
Even so, Kate isn't stupid. Her intelligence is one of her most endearing qualities.
"What's her name?" she asks one night. They are cuddled together in another fancy flat in another glamorous city that Irene doesn't care to name.
"Who?" Irene replies quizzically.
"The woman you're always thinking about. Your face lights up every time your mobile beeps with a new message from her."
Kate's beautiful grey eyes peer at her questioningly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and acceptance. Irene divulges the entire affair, from the day Molly Hooper staggered into her life to their most recent visit.
When Irene finishes, she feels emotionally drained, but Kate gazes at her with understanding, not pity. She places a gentle kiss on Irene's lips and strokes her hair.
XXXXX
"I have a new rival," Moriarty tells her offhandedly one day. "He's more cunning than the others. A real adversary."
Irene spares him a glance, but continues applying her lipstick. This has become a routine, of sorts. Moriarty chats, Irene pretends to listen.
"This one will require a more delicate approach, however. Draw him in, intrigue him enough that he comes searching for me on his own." Moriarty pauses and draws a breath, but his next words fill Irene's veins with ice water. "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Fascinating bloke! I will enjoy destroying everything he holds dear."
Irene closes her eyes, praying to a deity she doesn't believe in that Molly will remain unscathed, untainted by the poison that is James Moriarty. There is a reason she has neglected to introduce them. James devours innocents like her every day.
"Your friend, Molly Hooper, she's acquainted with him, yes?"
Irene's eyes flutter open, taking in Moriarty's devious grin. "I believe so, yes," she replies coolly, working doubly hard to keep the turmoil out of her expression. "Why?"
"I may just have to pay her a visit. See if she wouldn't mind introducing us!" His hands clap together gleefully. "Ooh, this is going to be fun!"
XXXXX
She goes about her work as usual, although she always listens whenever Moriarty mentions Sherlock Holmes and his plans to ruin the detective. She pays extra attention to any mention of Molly and Moriarty's association with her.
She cringes over Molly's naiveté as Moriarty recounts how he approached Molly through her blog ("Kittens? How utterly juvenile."), and that they have been out on several dates. She gives Molly a mental high-five, however, when Moriarty tells her that Molly forced him to watch Glee and that Molly's cat attacked him when Molly introduced them. (Toby has always been such a smart feline.)
She finally breathes easier when she learns that Moriarty is tiring of his game with Molly. He stages a meeting with Sherlock, where he quickly gathers that the consulting detective is completely unmoved by Molly's charms. He stops seeing her, turning his attentions to Sherlock's flat mate, a doctor named John Watson.
Still, Irene realizes that any contact Molly has with Sherlock Holmes could place her in greater danger, so she confronts Moriarty with a ruse of her own. She prays Molly will forgive her one day. (Molly always forgives her.)
"How about we give Sherlock a real woman to fawn over?"
Moriarty's smirk is the only answer she needs.
XXXXX
She calls Molly a few days later, Kate pacing anxiously nearby. ("Are you sure you want to do this? She may never speak to you again.")
Irene ignores her concern and moves to another room, shutting the door behind her.
"Irene?" Molly answers, though her voice is scratchy and low.
"Sorry did I wake you?"
"No…. Well, yes, but it's fine. What's going on?" Irene can hear movement through the connection as Molly situates herself, followed by the click of a light being switched on.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes, he's a private detective, right?"
"Well, consulting detective, according to him, but essentially, yes. Why do you ask?"
"I need his help with a problem. What's he like?" Irene can practically see Molly's eyebrows scrunch together through the phone.
"Is everything okay? I could introduce you, I guess…."
"No, I'd rather you not get involved in this, Molly. It's too dangerous."
Molly gasps audibly into the speaker, composing herself for a moment before replying. "Is it… bad, Irene?" she asks quietly. "You know I'll help you with anything, right?"
"I know, Molly, but I can't put you at risk like that. Please tell me about Sherlock. How can I compel him to help me?"
"W-well, he really loves puzzles, but only if they're intriguing enough. He becomes bored fairly easily, so you'd have to catch his attention, I suppose. Present him with a mystery to solve and attract him with your wit and intelligence."
Irene sits at her desk, dutifully writing down all of Molly's suggestions, trying to ignore the feeling that she is betraying Molly's trust. (It's for you, Molly. Everything has always been for you.)
XXXXX
As much as she wants to detest the man who has stolen Molly's heart, Sherlock Holmes fascinates her.
She and Moriarty fashion a plan to reel him in, starting with a few revealing photographs saved on her camera phone. Mycroft Holmes gets involved, like they predicted he would, and Irene wonders how Sherlock's brother would react if told he is just a pawn in their scheme to reach Sherlock.
Upon her first interaction with the consulting detective, Irene is riveted by his fierce and biting intelligence, underlain with a tendency to forgo any emotional attachments. (She recognizes this trait in him, as she has been battling with it herself for years.)
He is also very, very fit, and, even though Irene prefers the gracefulness of the female body to the strength of the male, she can appreciate a fine human specimen in any form. His cheekbones alone would be enough to make Irene question her rigid stance on her sexuality, but coupled with his brilliance, she finds him utterly intoxicating.
She mentally applauds herself for outwitting him. (And she knows he has absolutely no clue about her true objective.)
She isn't quite sure why she chooses his name as the passcode for her camera phone. (It most certainly is not because of the way Molly's eyes would crinkle in delight and humor if she knew.)
XXXXX
A few months pass, and Irene's past comes back to wreak havoc in her well-ordered life. She manages to convince Kate to leave the country for a while, but she is too ensconced in her ploy with Moriarty to do so as well.
A voice seeps into the back of her mind, in that quiet instant between waking and dreaming where one's subconscious has full reign. ("You know I'll help you with anything, right?")
Molly finds her curled up on her front step the next morning. Irene is shivering, poorly-concealed bags visible beneath her eyes. Molly wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her inside, sitting her on the sofa and draping a blanket over her friend.
As Molly turns towards the kitchen, however, Irene grabs her wrist. Molly pivots around, one eyebrow raised in question. "I was just going to make some tea…," she drifts off as she notices Irene's face. "Irene, what's wrong?!"
Irene can feel tears threatening to spill as she gazes up at Molly. "You're the best person I know, Molly. The sweetest, kindest, most sincere woman in the entire world." She brushes a stray strand of hair behind Molly's ear, her fingers grazing Molly's cheek. Her skin is so warm, so smooth, that, for a moment, Irene wishes they could go back to when it was just the pair of them against the world.
Maybe she'd finally be brave enough to confront her feelings for her best friend.
Instead, she returns her hand to her lap, watching as Molly takes a seat beside her. "Irene, talk to me. Please."
"I've done so many horrible things, Molly. Things that would make you hate me and wish you'd never met me. Now, one of my targets has found me. He won't stop coming after me until I'm dead." Irene's voice is quiet, void of any emotion.
Molly reaches out and entwines her fingers with Irene's. "How can I help, Irene? What do you need?"
"If you agree, you'd have to lie to Sherlock Holmes, Molly. I can't ask you to deceive the man you love. Even if he is an arrogant bastard who doesn't deserve you…." Irene is rambling for possibly the first time in her life. Her hands are shaking as she tries to explain the gravity of the situation to Molly.
"Fuck him," Molly interrupts, her lips twisted into a frown. "What do you need?"
"I need you to kill me."
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