Irene Adler released a deep breath and rose from the bed, leaving an unconscious Kate—her new sub, protégée and occasional driver—unconscious and covered in welts. The drugs, as always, worked on the poor girl and she had asked for a lot more punishment from her domme, which Irene was only too happy to oblige. She had been on the edge the past week and needed an outlet. A willing sub was godsend.
Taking her riding crop from the floor and straightening her see-through nightie, Irene walked back into her room and sat down heavily in front of her dresser. Physically, she was tired but her brain was still drummed up with adrenaline. Perhaps a bit of good reading would put her to sleep, she thought, as she opened her laptop to browse for updates from Dr. Watson's blog. There were a lot more subscribers now, and she prided herself that she was one of the first. She hadn't stopped being a fan of Sherlock Holmes's exploits, and as she read through his latest adventure, she felt a sense of calm. Reading about him seemed to be the only thing constant in her rapidly changing, more dangerous world.
Despite herself, she began to relive how she had felt when she inadvertently saved Sherlock Holmes' life with one lucky phone call.
She wasn't the sentimental type. Far from it. Time and experience had taught her long ago to guard her heart behind steel gates. But these days, there were precious few moments when she could indulge a secret part of herself—a time when she could delve a little into her own fantasies instead of enacting upon that of others.
Yes, she had to admit she fantasized about meeting the great detective, but not at all in a sexual manner. She had lost all tendencies to be attracted to men, so sex was definitely off the table. What she did envision however was a mentor figure. Perhaps a grumpy old man, dignified in appearance, haughty in manner. In another time and place, she could've been running alongside him, tailing some dangerous criminal or another. She could've been his protégée, maybe his partner like Dr. Watson. She could've been the recipient of his derisive comments and condescending manner.
The ringing of her phone pulled her from her reverie. She picked it up, her heart racing when she saw Jim Moriarty's number flashing on the screen.
She took the call. "Good evening, Jim."
"Spare me the pleasantries, Ms. Adler," came Moriarty's bored, icy tone. "I need to know your progress on the code."
Irene felt a surge of panic. She'd gone through her contacts, her clients, anything and anyone who could point her to people who could help decipher the M.O.D. man's coded e-mail but everything lead to a dead end. No one, not even the best cryptographers in the country, could crack it.
For some reason, her eyes darted towards her laptop, and she found herself staring at the one name that had been in her thoughts earlier.
"Ms. Adler, I'm still waiting on an answ—"
"Sherlock Holmes."
"What?"
"Sherlock Holmes," Irene repeated. "He's a consulting detecti—"
"I know who he is, Ms. Adler," Moriarty cut in. "He's been bad for business. But what I'm wondering is, how do you know about him?"
"A client told me." As always, Irene managed to disguise her lie with the right tone of voice. Besides, it wasn't exactly untrue. "I know one of the police men. Or rather, what he likes."
"Huh." Another moment of silence. Moriarty seemed to be contemplating. "So...let me see if I understand this correctly. You're saying you will just go up to Sherlock Holmes and ask him to help you decipher the code?"
"Yes."
At her answer, Irene heard perhaps one of the strangest sounds she had ever heard in her life: Jim Moriarty's peals of laughter.
"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Irene had to keep the edge off her voice. "They say he can solve anything. And you know that I am well-versed in the art of manipulation and seduction."
"Oh, my dear, you are killing me right now." Moriarty continued to laugh. "You really have no idea what Sherlock Holmes is like, do you?"
"You know what I do, Jim." Irene's fingers tightened around her phone. "I can break him down."
"You're welcome to try, my dear, though I doubt he's going to be an easy conquest for you." Moriarty still maintained a condescending tone. This gave Irene a pause. Moriarty had always been confident about her skill set. Just what kind of a man was Sherlock Holmes beyond what she had read online?
Irene heard an e-mail notification from her laptop.
"That's from me," Moriarty said from the other end of the line. "That's what we have on Sherlock Holmes so far...plus one other person I need you to know about."
With one hand still pressing the phone to her ear, she opened the e-mail with her free hand and glanced at the title of the attachment.
"The Ice Man and the Virgin?" Irene read with a twinge of incredulity in her voice. "What is this? An erotic novel?"
"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Moriarty chuckled. "Those, my dear, are nicknames I gave to the two other players in this particular game of ours. It's you, me, against the Holmes boys."
"The Holmes boys?"
"Yessss." Moriarty emphasized with a hiss. "And once you've read it, give me a call and let me know if you can still take on Sherlock Holmes."
He ended the call.
Irene read through the file not once, but several times over, particularly the one on Sherlock Holmes. Unlike the file on the "Ice Man" Mycroft Holmes, the younger Holmes' file did not contain any photos of the detective. It did however have basic physical descriptions like his estimated age, height, weight, hair colour, hair type, and eye colour.
Irene was surprised to find him so young—barely five years her senior if estimates were correct. All her imaginings of a grumpy old man faded and in its place, she now pictured a man not unlike his brother in terms of appearance, but with the corresponding physical attributes stated in his file.
Irene's lip curled. Not exactly an attractive picture, but then again why should she care?
And why was she disappointed?
She shook off her musings and once again, read through Sherlock Holmes' personality data:- Younger brother of Mycroft Holmes (see Ice Man file)
- Works as a consulting detective to Scotland Yard. Contact is DI Greg Lestrade (see Lestrade file)
- Works closely with Dr. John Watson in solving cases (see Watson file)
- Resides in 221 B Baker St with Dr. John Watson
"I suppose he's gay," Irene thought with a sigh, a strange feeling in her chest. "Guess we're the same in that aspect."
She carried on reading.
Highly skilled in deduction
Athletic
Skilled in hand to hand combat
Has neurotic tendencies
Has keen attention to detail
Has impeccable memory
Has dogged determination especially with cases that interest him
Socially awkward
Once went to rehab for cocaine, morphine, and opium addiction
Virgin
That last part was the one that didn't seem to add up. How could a man in his late thirties remain chaste all these years? Isn't he supposed to be in a homosexual relationship? Unless he and Dr. Watson are not in a relationship? Maybe the doctor wasn't his type? Or maybe there's the chance that he could be asexual?
Exactly what kind of a man was Sherlock Holmes?
Irene slumped back in her chair. Instead of being enlightened by this new information, she found herself completely baffled. But more than that, she became increasingly intrigued.
She reached for her phone again and dialed Moriarty's number.
He answered after two rings. "Well that took you a while. I was starting to wonder if you changed your mind about taking on the Holmes brothers."
"I haven't," Irene said with more intensity than she had intended. "When do I start?"
She couldn't see him, but she knew Jim Moriarty's lips were curling into a smile.
