Chapter 8

7 September 2013 10:30am

Irene lets herself through the front door of 221b Baker Street. She makes her way up the stairs slowly and carefully. She moves as if she was weary of the reception that she could get once she reaches the top of the stairs. She gingerly opens the door to the living room of the flat. She steps in and closes the door behind her. She leans against it in relief and rubs her abdomen, wincing. She rifles through her handbag to look for her phone. She pulls it out and scrolls through her sent messages folder. She reads what she had sent a few hours earlier. She sighs heavily and makes her way over to the couch and falls onto it lengthwise. She throws her arm over her eyes and lets a painful groan escape from her lips. Irene looks up at the bullets holes forming the smiley face above her and closes her eyes. Her entire body relaxes and she falls into a restless sleep.

Over the next couple of hours, Irene repeatedly wakes up from her doze with a start before glancing around the room and relaxing back to sleep. The door bangs open and John walks in and starts rummaging around the tables looking for some papers. Irene starts awake as the door opens. She watches John as he wonders around the flat searching. 'What are you looking for?' She mumbles. John turns and looks at her critically.

'What happened?'

'What makes you think something has happened?' Irene struggles to pull herself into a sitting position. In a flash, John is next to her helping her up. She bats him away.

'Irene, I'm a doctor.' She lets him help her sit up. She winces and lets out a pain filled breath. He raises the back of her top and gently prods her lower ribs and back muscles. He repeats with her front. 'Like I said, what happened?'

'Jim. What do you think?' She mutters. John grimaces, rolls his eyes and glances around the flat. He spots the papers he was looking for in the kitchen.

'I take it that he took umbrage because you said you wouldn't spy for him.'

'Something like that.' John stands and gently helps Irene to stand and walk though to Sherlock's bedroom. He settles her on the bed and returns to the kitchen to look for painkillers and icepacks. He finds them and helps Irene to find a comfortable position that lets her asleep with the minimum amount of pain. He leaves the room and is just about to close the door when Irene calls out to him.

'Don't tell Sherlock.' John sticks his head back in.

'Why?'

'Just don't. He doesn't need to know yet. Is he on a case?' John nods. 'Let him focus on that. He'll just worry.' John grins.

'He's been worrying about you since the two of you had dinner.' John closes the firmly but quietly cutting off the only light source and enfolding Irene with the dark having previously closed the curtains. In the kitchen, John grabs the papers needed and heads out of the flat.

Out in the street, the cab waits for John. He exits the flat with a bemused expression. He climbs into the cab, hands the papers to Sherlock and sits next to Lestrade thinking. He mentally shakes himself. 'Sherlock, Irene's up there.' Sherlock makes to go up but John restrains him. 'She's sleeping.' Sherlock resettles in his seat and looks up at the flat's windows. 'Sherlock, she will be fine without you for now.'

'Why did you take so long up there?'

'I couldn't find then.'

'They were on the coffee table.'

'No, Sherlock they weren't.'

'On the desk?'

'Nope.'

'Where then?

'Under the microwave.' Donovan snorts. 'Irene helped me find them.'

'You said she was asleep.'

'I said that she was asleep when I came down.'

'Stepney Park.' Sherlock shouts to the cabbie. The cab pulls away from the curb and merges into the flow of traffic.