Author's note: Thanks for the reviews, I hope you will like this chapter!

Points to the one who finds the (kind of) Oscar Wilde quote xD.

Chapter two

He gritted his teeth as he stood over the passed out woman's body, his breathing labored as he tried to calm down. The child had woken up once again, and was now crying, demanding her mother. Godfrey looked at her, tempted to hit her too as his temper flared once again. He'd raised the mailman's child so to speak for the last fifteen months, paying for everything her mother had demanded for her and herself in the firm believe she was his. Raw fury coursed through him when he thought about Irene's weird behavior, how she'd always tried to keep him away from the child. He yelled, outraged, as he kicked the still form on the ground, enjoying the small muffled gasp she made.

Godfrey turned around and stormed out of the room, determined to find another way to make her pay. Two weeks later he met up with Professor James Moriarty.

April 1890

She won the case of her divorce easily, the bruises all over her body more than enough circumstancial evidence of her now ex-husband's cruelty. She didn't even need to prove his adultery, in order to get rid of her he had slept with their maid, something she found rather stupid as her child was the best proof of her adultery he could have gotten.

Due to his idiocy she was financially well off so she could easily provide for her and her daughter, but true to the proverb old habits did in fact die hard, so it was no surprise that soon enough she found herself at the parties for the rich and powerful again, depriving them of their jewels.

She was living at the Grand, like she'd done occasionally two years ago, and had even taken their room, somehow a testament to their lovemaking and its aftermath in this room. She thought of him whenever Louise tried to pull herself up with the help of one of the legs of the vanity table, dangerously toppling the various bottles of different parfums on top of it, or when she cavorted on top of the four-poster bed in the middle of the room.

"Mrs Miller?" Irene startled up, she had neither heard the maid coming nor the knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"There is a man in the lobby demanding to speak to you." She gulped. That could mean a variety of things: either it was Mister Sherlock Holmes; she could very well imagine him finding out about her alias; or one of her latest 'victims', or –and she very much hoped that was the case- a new client.

"Mrs Miller?"

"Tell him I'm coming. And then send someone up to look after my daughter while I am downstairs." Irene sighed, shaking her head, the chestnut brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. She hated the name, she really did, but it was the best cover she had come up with till now. Her pretended status of a married woman with child saved her from too 'forward' suitors as well as from too many questions, and 'Miller' was common enough to not easily be tracked.

She kissed her daughter's forehead, tenderly brushing over the chestnut brown curls on top of her head before she handed her over to the nanny and made her way down to the lobby.

She found the maid waiting for her and let her lead her into the restaurant, her eyes quickly scanning the room for possible threats or known faces while her mind assested the risks. She relaxed a bit as she found none, fixing a small yet mysterious smile on her face as they went over to a table for two, a man clad solely in black already being seated there. He waited till the maid left them, then he stood up to pull her chair out for her, not speaking a single word till they were both comfortably seated.

"Miss Adler?"

She choked violently, the color draining from her cheeks. "Excuse me Sir, but my name is Miller.", she lied through gritted teeth, and even to her own ears, her words sounded false. Irene watched him shaking his head, a harsh, dry sound leaving his lips as what she thought was supposed to be a chuckle.

"I don't have time for one of your games Miss Adler. I'm here to offer you employement, take it or leave it, it's your choice entirely."

She tilted her head, trying to get a glimpse of his face from underneath the hat that put it in the realms of shades but found it impossible for her.

"What will it be then Miss Adler?" The man asked, his voice nothing more than a cold sneer.

"What do you require my services for?" She asked back warily, toying with a few stray strands of her hair.

"There are a few objects I am interested in, but can't quite require the old-fashioned way."

Irene nodded, touching her fingertips together as she seemed to overthink the offer. "If I were to accept, I'd like to know the name of my future employer." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as a waiter came to their table to serve them their tea. "Especially as he seems to know mine." She added loftily, giving the waiter a flirtatious smile.

He nodded, taking a piece of paper and a pen out of an elegant leather bag, a black M imprinted on the front. "There will be no problem about telling you my name once you've signed the contract."

"How much would I get out of that employment? Assumed I took you up on your offer?"

"Let's just say it depends, but at the very least 75 pounds a piece."

She choked again, although this time in stunned astonishment as a small, graceful smile formed on her lips once again. "I think I am to accept then."

He nodded, handing her the pen and the paper, watching her affixing her curly signature. She signed it with her real name, he noticed, and almost had to laugh at it.

"Moriarty." He said after she'd finished. "The name is Professor James Moriarty."

October 1980

"Good Lord, Holmes, this can't continue much longer! Just look at you, you're smelling worse than some random begger in the gutter, and with the curtains drawn shut, you can't even look at the stars."

He heard his friend purposefully strolling through the dark room towards the windows.

"Watson, I dare you, the lord help you if you draw those curtains back!" Holmes yelled, already shielding his eyes in expectation of what was to come. "WATSON!" He watched horror-stricken as his friend poured one of his rarest solutions which he had spent hours of producing on out to extinguish the fire smoldering in the fireplace.

"Lestrade wants to see you- preferable in a more proper outfit." The doctor said before he turned to go out of the room.

"Then he shall come here himself and not send you to fetch me."

"He didn't want to descend in this hellhole, and I can't even blame him for it." Watson replied, distastefully staring at Holmes' bureau, coated in what seemed to be a thick, reddish-brown liquid, save the one corner in which he had placed his photograph of The Woman. He picked it up, a faint, ironic smile ghosting over his lips. The world's greatest detective, falling for his greatest opponent, a –female– world class thief. The doctor placed it back onto the desk, turning to Holmes again.

"It's about the case of the three murdered young women, do you remember them? It was all over the papers. They were abducted, and found dead about seventy-two hours after, tortured, clad in white wedding gowns, the brown hair down and falling over their shoulders."

Holmes nodded, motioning to a pack of newspapers lying spread on the floor. "The second from the right." He murmured, pointing to the correct one. "So the Yard is officially admitting that they need my assistance?" Holmes asked, a smug grin forming on his lips.

"He didn't say that in so many words. In fact he just said 'Get Holmes here – NOW!'"

Holmes smiled, a dangerous smile, as his eyes blinked amusedly. "Then we shall let him wait, don't you think Watson?"

Half a year had passed since she'd entered the professor's employment, and till now, she was quite pleased with her situation. She'd abstracted a few precious, really beautiful pieces which under different circumstances she'd surely have kept for herself, as well as two or three pieces of the Queen's personal possessions.

Irene laughed a bit as she went through her room gathering her clothes, Louise in her arms. The little girl had definitely taken after her father. She didn't speak much, but although barely two years old, she was already able to form more than a few simple sentences and her pronounciation was exceptionally clear.

"Ma'am?" She heard the usual maid calling, followed by a soft knock on the door.

"Yes?" She sighed as she brushed her curly brown hair out of her eyes, looking down at her daughter. She'd planned on taking her to the park and let her play there a bit, but it sounded as if she was going to receive either visitors or a new assignment.

"There is a gentleman with me who wants to speak to you. He says it is urgent."

"Come in." She put Louise down in the crib, apologetically caressing her cheeks. "We'll just go to the park tomorrow then, little L." Irene mumbled tenderly before she straightened up again. The maid was just about to close the door again, leaving her alone with the man she'd worked for for the last six months. Clearly assignment then.

"Shall I fetch you some tea, ma'am?" The maid asked.

"That won't be necessary." Her guest snarled, giving her a menacing glare. The maid nodded rather intimidatedly, hurrying out of the room.

"Professor", Irene greeted loftily, still wandering aimlessly through the room, from time to time stopping in front of the crib, watching her daughter slowly drifting off to sleep.

Moriarty didn't respond to the greeting as he instead toyed with the sleeve of his coat, letting her catch glimpses of the small revolver, carefully hidden under the black fabric. "I want you to contact Mr Sherlock Holmes, Miss Adler." He said evenly, his gaze unsteadily sliding over her possessions.

Her head shot up as she first stared at him, then fleetingly at her daughter. "I don't know any Mr Sherlock Holmes."

He made a tsking sound in the back of his throat, a dangerous smile on his face when he shook his head and met her eyes, scrutinizing her intensely before he looked over to the crib.

"How long have we known each other, Miss Adler? You should know by now that I never do things by halves. I know everything about you and you know Mr Holmes quite well I'd say."

Irene paled a bit, nervously brushing a few stray curls out of her face.

"I want you to give him this letter and request that he finds this man." He slid a photo of a rather small man over to her, and even though the photo was sepia-toned, she was sure that he was a redhead. "Furthermore, I want you to see to it that he stays out of my way."

She shook her head vehemently, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"I don't care how you do it, manipulate his feelings for you, use you daughter, it doesn't matter as long as he doesn't get into my way."

"No." She said, a slight tremour to her voice.

"I don't think you've understood Miss Adler. You don't have much of a choice. Either take it or leave it – and live with the consequences." Moriarty stated, his voice calm as if he was making small talk over the weather.

"The answer is still the same." Irene replied, and this time her voice was slightly steadier.

"As you wish", he answered seeming to turn around as he suddenly strode over to the crib, pulling a small swiss knife out of the pocket of his coat. "Such a shame that such a beautiful innocent child has to pay for her mother's foolishness."

She watched in horror as he went towards her child, the knife securely in his hand. Her mouth was agape, but no sound seemed to come out of it, till out of the blue she heard herself screaming, falling to her knees as her legs gave away underneath her.

Moriarty paused, just an arm's length away from her daughter, and she found herself able to breath again, panting laboredly.

"Please." She said, quietly, the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'll contact Sherlock. Let her live, please."

The man turned around leisurely strolling over to her. He gripped a handful of her hair, tilting her head back violently, and she screamed again. He placed the blade of the knife on the hollow of her throat, almost teasingly pressing it into her skin till she felt the warm moisture of her own blood running down her neck. He pulled it over to the right, slowly and almost with relish, watching in ghoulish fascination as her blood pooled around the cut. He pressed the tip of the blade more forcefully into the ivory skin of her neck till she screamed again, this time out of physical pain rather than psychic anguish.

He put the knife back into his pocket, and turned around, letting her be. He cast her a last look before he excited the room, his voice a cold sneer.

"You'll better do your job well, otherwise the next time it will be his daughter in your position."

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan, Lord Darlington, Act III

I'll make a cut here, but I think we all know where this is heading, although there will be the one or other 'surprise'. I hope you've liked this chapter. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!