Sorry, it's a long chapter today. Just couldn't find a good place to split it in half! I also apologise for the lack of John; I have made a personal reminder to add him in more! The paragraphs in italics are for the flashbacks. Hope they're not too confusing. Please review if you want to share your thoughts - I love receiving them!
It was silent in the taxi. Both Irene and Sherlock sat in complete silence with only the sound of the engine for company. There were a few quick glances at each other, and a fair few turns of the head when one of them realised the other was watching them. Irene felt the USB stick she had 'borrowed' in her pocket and she looked at her lap guiltily. Stealing was not something she wanted to do, nor was she proud of it. Moriarty had her wrapped round his finger and there were no signs of him letting her go.
She had first met Moriarty on a Friday night, just one month ago. A friend of Irene's, Louise Pennington, had persuaded her to go for a few drinks in a pub down by Russell Square and she had agreed reluctantly. She was already a little behind on her dissertation on Hitler's rise to power, but it was her conscience that told her that she needed to get some sort of social life. She didn't have many friends, only those who had the patience to deal with her anti-social behaviour. Branded a workaholic at school, she was used to the isolation and it didn't bother her. She was not dependent on people though, nor was she that shy. She could be confident if she ever wanted to, but it was university and work on her mind, day and night, closely followed by music and then last, and certainly least, her friends and family.
"Irene, what do you want to drink?" Louise had asked her loudly at the bar. The music was uncomfortably loud, and Irene had to strain her ears to hear her.
"Erm. Water please?" She yelled, but Louise hadn't listened. One pint of beer was placed before her and she sipped slowly as her other friends beckoned her towards a table. Irene looked at her watch - nine o'clock - as she yawned. She would rather be tucked up in bed now; nightmares, that she would rather not think about, had been keeping her awake for the past few nights.
"Hi," She waved at the group of friends as she perched herself on the end seat. Being on the end would mean they wouldn't notice her much. Just what she wanted. She had no desire to be involved in discussions on the latest celebrities and it would probably mean she'd be able to escape, unnoticed, back to her room in the university's halls.
Irene sat, ignored by everyone, for at least half an hour. She pleased herself by watching the silly, drunk people go up to the karaoke machine and sing their lungs out on a cheesy pop song that was released twenty years ago. The beer was finished now and she tapped her fingers around the edge of the glass, bored.
"Hello," A hand came into her view and she shook it gingerly, "My name's Jim Moriarty."
"Hi. I'm Irene Adler."
"You want another drink, Irene?" Jim asked, gesturing at her empty beer glass. He had a soft sounding voice and Irene noticed that he had an Irish accent.
"I wouldn't say no," She smiled, grateful. Her 'friends' hadn't even noticed her new admirer and she followed him over to the bar instead. Another beer was handed other to her and she murmured her thanks to the man. He wasn't as young as she was, but not too bad looking. He acted nicely though; confident and gentlemanly.
"You're a student?"
"Yes. University College London. I'm studying History."
"Wow. Cool." It was only later that she realised he was not being sincere. Moriarty couldn't care less.
Sherlock sat, silently texting John on the way to the hospital.
Bart's Hospital when convenient.
SH
He sighed. No doubt he would have to contend with Molly again, but at least she hadn't been trying so hard since her bad experience with Moriarty. Shame it hadn't worked out, but he supposed dating a criminal mastermind wasn't the best thing to do with your life. From the corner of his eye he could see his companion staring out of the window for a good few minutes, but her mind was elsewhere.
Irene had to admit that she was more than a little drunk. She had spent the past ten minutes using the karaoke machine, blurting out cheesy pop songs at the top of her lungs. Not a bad singer when sober, but the alcohol slurred her words a little. Jim Moriarty sat watching intently with a strange smile on his face. She was just what he needed. For half an hour, Irene Adler had told him her whole life story from her first memory to her last. She was confident in herself and clever, but not as clever as to realise that he was manipulating her. Well, not in the state she was in at the moment. But that was all the time Moriarty had needed. Half an hour with a drunken young woman in a pub. Half an hour to influence and control her. Half an hour to use her.
They had arrived at the hospital already and Irene ran to catch up with Sherlock's long strides to the mortuary. Is was quiet today, strange for a Saturday. It was not late, nor was it early, and there was an eerie silence in the corridors. It was Irene's first time in the hospital and it was quite a grand building for such a morbid place. The walls were painted in light greens and whites, enough to give even the healthiest person a headache after a while. Sherlock flew along the corridors, his long, navy coat sweeping out behind him. Irene, on the other time, was having a hard time trying to keep up.
"Can you slow down, please?"
"There's no time for slowing down? Would you slow down if you had a murder to contend with?"
"I do have a murder to contend with. Both of us do. Look, slow down, Holmes!" He frowned at the name. He wasn't quite used to the idea of people calling him by his surname only. Sherlock would do. He'd have to start calling her 'Adler' instead. Irene continued, ignoring the strange look on his face, "The bodies aren't going anywhere - they're dead!"
He succumbed to her whining and came to, or what seemed like, almost a standstill. Irene smiled, happy with her progress. They turned the corner and came to the mortuary. Sherlock pushed open the door eagerly, clapping his hands together.
"Ah, Molly," He startled the mousy girl but she looked pleased to see him. She stopped what she was doing immediately and rushed over to them, well-trained indeed. "Bodies please. What are their names, Adler?"
"Mabel Johnson and Samuel Johnson."
"And who's this?" Molly tried her best to sound casual, but couldn't quite hide her feeling of jealousy. She grabbed a few papers from a filing cabinet.
"Molly, this is Irene Adler, a 'friend'." He didn't sound convinced, "Adler, this is Molly. She works at the mortuary."
"No. Really? I'd never have guessed," She muttered sarcastically, but loud enough for them all to hear. She shook Molly's hand. It was timid and weak compared to hers and Molly shied away quickly.
"This way," Molly gestured and they followed her to the bodies.
Irene had felt - at that eventful time at the pub - that she was indeed in love. With Jim Moriarty. The guy she had met just an hour ago. She had never been in love before, and, although she didn't really understand how it felt to be in love with someone, the influence of drink took hold of her and told her she was. Her friends had thought it a breakthrough that she was doing something 'normal' for once. Moriarty thought it pure luck. She kissed him for what seemed like forever, as passionately as she could. He kissed her back, pleased with his progress.
One body looked utterly at peace. The other was like an image from a horror film. The skin was darkened by the burns; some of the limbs had even disintegrated in the burning car. The face was almost unrecognisable, but, if Irene held the one photo she had of Samuel Johnson, she could just make out the long, crooked nose and the small mouth.
"Definitely a murder." Molly said, breaking the silence.
"Not necessarily," Irene replied back. Sherlock ignored both, "Samuel Johnson was a man very much attached to his mother. It is possible that he could not cope with the death of his mother and decided to end his own life. But the fact that he's so badly burnt could possibly mean that he wanted it to look like a murder. I mean, who burns themselves in a car as a way of suicide? It's more usual for someone to jump off a cliff or take an overdose of medicine. Perhaps he wasn't on good terms with another member of the family. Perhaps someone else wanted the inheritance too and Samuel wanted to stop him by framing him as a murderer." Molly fell silent. Sherlock looked up and Irene smiled back. In Moriarty's notes - which she had kept safe in her bag away from Sherlock - she was to lead the consulting detective in the opposite direction as much as possible, just to see how he coped.
"You seem to like changing you mind, Adler. At my flat," Molly looked most put-out by the fact that Irene had been in his home, "you said you were positive we were dealing with a murder." He was suspicious again and Irene thought on her feet quickly.
"Oh, am I not allowed to throw other suggestions in the pool of thought?" She said, eyebrows raised.
"Of course, Adler, just don't interrupt mine while I'm thinking," He replied through gritted teeth. The door opened in front of them, "John, there you are, I was beginning to think you'd ignored my text. Take a look at this."
"Nasty. Third degree burns all over. Must have died within a few minutes. How did this one die?" Sherlock handed the doctor Irene's - or rather Moriarty's - notes on the case, "Oh, murder then."
"The question is, who murdered him?" Sherlock had finished his evaluation and moved on to the peaceful old lady, "Molly, grab me a sample of his fingernails please." Molly nodded and scuttled off.
"Looks like old age to me," John sighed, rubbing his hands over his tired face. He had had a long day and just wanted to be back at the flat watching the telly until he got bored.
"No, it doesn't. Adler, evaluate."
"She's old," She started, coming to a halt. Sherlock pressed her to carry on. Irene checked everywhere for any signs. Moriarty had not told her how she died, so at least she could have a bit of fun guessing. It was not everyday she examined dead bodies. There, she saw it! "There's a small puncture on the left of her neck."
"Excellent, Adler. You're learning." Molly had returned with his samples, "Thank you Molly. Hair different again?"
She blushed and nodded.
"Hmm, no I still prefer it the usual way."
"Oh."
Irene watched, half-amused at the woman, half-sorry for her. It was obvious to a blind man that he was running rings around her. She almost knew the feeling.
"I want you to do something for me," Jim Moriarty had said to her as they wandered back to her room in the university's halls.
"Anything," She hated how it sounded, but she was drunk, she was in 'love'. She didn't care.
"Promise me you'll do everything I ever ask of you."
"I promise."
Irene shuddered. How silly and stupid she had been. If only she hadn't drunk as much that night. Then she could have at least thought through her options. She wouldn't even be here, surrounded by a strange man, a mousy girl, a doctor and two dead bodies. She almost laughed at how stupid the situation sounded. Her thoughts subsided when she head her phone.
Russell Square Gdns. 2 hours.
Jim.
"Anything important, Adler?" Irene looked up at her phone, and shook her head.
"Nothing that can't wait."
Now, I know Irene isn't exactly outsmarting Sherlock yet, but she will (and maybe even a certain villain too...), just bear with me. It's all happening for a reason! I'm just trying to establish my characters first and I promise you that she will redeem herself and be, er, better!
