A/N: First off, I would like to express my sincerest apologies. I know I said in the last chapter that this chapter would be titled "Defrocked" but after doing rewrites, I realize I will have to move that one chapter more. This one here has a missing scene that needs to be told first. Thank you so much for continuing to follow this fic!


Irene stared at the rows of sprawling houses as Kate drove her to an early session with a client. It was barely seven in the morning, but this client of hers had a particular schedule that needed to be followed.

She moved her eyes over to her reflection from the rear view mirror. Despite her white, classy Alexander Mcqueen dress, her meticulously styled dark hair and flawlessly applied make up, she could still see the strain in her eyes from everything that had transpired the night before. After her conversation with Moriarty, she had called for a 24-hour locksmith service to change the locks while she worked on rigging the safe using the gun she had taken from the American.

It wasn't her first booby trap. Such was the constant danger she faced on a daily basis ever since she became part of Moriarty's web.

She leaned her head against the backrest, careful so as not to ruin her hair. She lacked sleep. If she had her way, she would cancel this appointment but she needed to do this; needed to have a sense of normalcy in her life, if only for an hour or two, until she could clear her head enough to come up with a plan to get Sherlock Holmes to help her with the code.

Her phone rang and she shut her eyes tightly. "Don't let it be Jim. Don't let it be Jim."

She looked. It wasn't.

She quickly hit the answer button. "Why hello, Detective Inspector Carter," she managed in the husky tone she usually reserved for clients. "Are you so impatient for this morning's activities, hmm?"

"Actually, Ms. Adler, I called to apologize," Detective Inspector Carter said in an exasperated tone which made Irene arch a delicate eyebrow. "I'm afraid I have to cancel our appointment. I had a case this morning, you see. I thought it was cut and dry until this Sherlock Holmes character comes in and—"

"Sherlock Holmes?" Irene almost jumped out of her seat, and she had to remind herself to keep her voice cool. "The private detective from the papers? He's with you right now?"

"Well, yes, and no," came Detective Carter's flustered reply. "He had a friend, a Dr. John Watson come over with a laptop. I've moved away for some privacy while they're setting up the wifi so Mr. Holmes can inspect the crime scene via Skype. Can you believe that?"

She could very well believe it, Irene thought, and she found herself stifling a laugh. Already, she was feeling much better. This second hand information about Sherlock Holmes' quirks was positively riveting.

Then, a moment of clarity. "Detective Inspector, would you mind terribly if I put you on hold for a moment?"

"No, not at all, Ms. Adler."

Irene put the call on hold then dialled a number she had only called once within the last several hours. It took three rings before the tired voice of Mycroft Holmes came on the line.

"Ms. Adler."

"Mr. Holmes." Irene grinned. "I take it you didn't get much sleep last night."

"I've had better nights, yes," Mycroft affirmed in a clipped voice. "Do I take it you're ready to negotiate?"

"That, I am." This was it, Irene thought. It was time to choose her words carefully. "Send me your best man. And I suggest you kneel down and pray he won't be so susceptible to my charms. Most men are, you know."

There. She did it. Planted the idea in his head.

You can't kill an idea once it has taken root.

"Very well," Mycroft said after a brief moment. "Where do you wish for this negotiation to take place?"

"My flat. In two hours. I'll text you the address." She ended the call before Mycroft could say another word, then switched back to Detective Inspector Carter's call. "Sorry, I had to call another client so they can fill in for your cancelled session."

"I'm really sorry, Ms. Adler." The detective inspector had the decency to sound sheepish. "Is there anything I can do to make up for this?"

Irene's smile widened. This was getting rather fun. "Now that you mentioned it, there is one thing..."


Irene's face remained impassive as she gazed out the car window, her eyes looking at nothing in particular. She had asked Kate to drive them back to the house, which she knew confused her young protégée. That the girl kept looking at her from the rear view mirror was indicative of this especially since Irene had given little explanation except to say she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Irene continued to lose herself in thought. The delight she had felt earlier when she was in conversation with Detective Inspector Carter and Mycroft Holmes had now begun to fade to worry. After the call, she had texted Moriarty that she had manipulated Mr. Holmes into sending his little brother to her flat. But what if the man had decided to send someone else instead?

No, no, that couldn't be, Irene thought. She had to give Mr. Holmes a bit of more credit. He couldn't have reached his position in the British government if he didn't have the brains for it. He had to have gotten her message.

The text alert on her phone went off.

Moriarty.

I'm sending you a treat.
3 images attached

She set her phone down and tried to appear relaxed, though there was no denying the flutter in her chest. She wasn't sure if this message was a good thing or a bad thing. Moriarty had a tendency to hide threats behind honey-coated words.

Kate parked the car in front of Irene's 44 Belgravia flat before promptly getting out to open the door for her domme.

Irene gave her a small smile as she stepped out. "You go in ahead, Kate. I just need to check a message."

Kate nodded and did as she was told. Irene looked around to make sure she had a bit of privacy before hitting buttons to download the attached images.

She entered the flat, the phone still clutched in her hands. It wasn't until she had gotten to the second floor when the images were finally downloaded into her phone: photos of Sherlock Holmes, wrapped in a sheet and being escorted rather unwillingly into an expensive car.

She scrolled through the photos, each one tugging at the corners of her lips until she was finally unable to stop herself from smiling. He was probably being taken to Buckingham Palace when the pictures were taken, which meant everything was going according to plan.

Which meant that after years of reading about his exploits, she would finally meet the man in the flesh.

Still with a smile on her face, Irene headed towards her bedroom, took off her Louboutins and stockings and sat on the bed. She still needed sleep, but she'll be damned if she fell asleep now, and her mind certainly wasn't allowing her to; especially not when candid images of a sheet-clad Sherlock Holmes still preyed on her mind. She wondered, with not-so-hidden amusement, what the queen's reaction would be if Sherlock was presented to her in that state. Still, she doubted whether the royal matriarch would even show herself. Too much publicity was running on this scandal. Discretion was the key, possibly to the point of the communication only happening through channels.

Her text alert went off again.

From: JM
Message:
The Virgin has left the palace.
2 images attached

Irene hit the download option and once more, browsed through photos of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. The consulting detective's expression was more tranquil than the earlier photos she saw of him. He even had a rare smile on his face. She had to confess she found him quite attractive; then again that should not be so surprising. After all, he had a delicate, almost effeminate look about him that she liked.

Still, she should not be so careless, she thought. He may look like a kitten, but she knew underneath all that was a tiger—calculating, cunning, ready to strike when the time is right.

"Well, this tigress better prepare herself for a battle," she thought, and called for Kate. She was going to need a bit of time to get ready.

In fact, she was going to need ages.