The shock of realizing his, but even more of realizing Irene's current position made him feel almost paralyzed. There was nothing he hated more than sub coming to his feelings, being weak; it made him feel common and vulnerable. But he wouldn't be the world's only consulting detective if he didn't have the ability to stay cool under pressure; his analytical mind assessed his physical condition as good to go, the effects of the drug have almost passed, at least while he was in lying position.
He looked at the clock on the wall opposite to the bed, it showed four o' clock in the afternoon; he had been out for too long. This meant he only had about six hours to find Irene before Moriarty's deadline expires, and readjust his plan to the newest developments of the situation.
The first thing he needed to do was to get his hands out of the handcuffs which held him chained to the bed. It took him exactly 2.5s to inspect the handcuffs and to form a strategy for his release. The cuffs were Smith & Wesson, from the 'Special Midnight' collection; they were furry on the outside, but it didn't reduce the firmness in which they held his wrists.
A small smile appeared on his face when he perceived the lack of thoroughness in his capture; she was obviously so overwhelmed with her leaving him there that she forgot to relieve him of his watch. It was a mistake which a professional in binding people, such as herself would never make in normal circumstances.
With his right arm he removed his wrist watch. He inserted the pin of the bracelet in the key hole of the cuffs; he tried different angles with the lock, pulling it back and pushing down. Finally, he twisted the pin and the lock opened with a small click. He smiled in relieve while repeating the procedure on his other wrist.
Euphoric about his release he got up to quickly for someone who was drugged not so long ago; his knees bent and he collapsed to the floor. He was often classified as non-human because of his behavior and personality, but his body was still one hundred percent human. After some minutes, he gathered his strength, and leaning on the bed, he managed to get up.
Meanwhile, The Woman was sitting in a café at the other side of town. She wore a little black dress, matched with a pearl necklace; her eyes were covered by a pair of big sunglasses. To a stranger, she would look like a movie star from the golden era of Hollywood. Someone as observant as Sherlock Holmes would notice a small bump on her right thigh where she concealed a knife, her purse stretched in a strange angle, as if she there was a gun inside and the barely visible tear mark that broke the pattern of the blush on her cheek. Luckily for her, Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be found at the moment, so her cover remained flawless.
Minutes after, a very handsome blonde man walked into the café and approached Irene's table. Many women in the café turned towards him but she remained motionless, staring through the window.
"May I enjoy your company for a moment?" he said.
She said nothing, making just a slight movement with her head o instruct him to sit opposite of her.
"I organized what you've requested. My men will be posted around you rendezvous place, waiting for your signal. My plane will be on standby to take you, and/or your detective companion out of the country."
She turned towards him, expressionless. "Thank you, Martin."
"You're welcome. I would never refuse to help an old friend such as you. But, why is he not with you now, this Sherlock Holmes, wasn't that his name?"
"I left him out cold." She tried to smile, but she just couldn't do it, so she quickly transformed her half smile into the mask she wore seconds ago.
"You care. That's new. I'll be a gentleman, so I'll stop asking questions now."
This time she succeeded in smiling a bit, with a small wave of gratitude. "I've told him about you, that you'll be on hand. I just hope he won't be. And he will solve you little family case when this is all over, as we agreed."
The Dutch man smiled: "I will be eternally grateful if he would do so. I know it is funny, a citizen of the world and a successful businessman such as myself having such a trivial problem, but I would like to have the business sorted out."
She stood up and he followed her lead. He took her hand and touched in gently with his lips, while looking at the dark glass of her sunglasses with no confirmation weather she was looking him back.
"I hope your plan will work, so that I could have the pleasure of seeing you again." And he bowed slightly towards her.
She took a deep breath. "You know what? I hope so too."
Once Sherlock was on his feet, he started going through Irene's apartment as a clue to where she might have went. He recalled her mentioning some man with whom she met the other day. After half an hour of searching and making quite a mess of her apartment, he concluded that the man could only be Martin Verdun, judging by her e-mail correspondence with him. The e-mails seemed semi-personal and semi professional which once again caused a small jealous reaction in Sherlock's usually non disturbed mind. He found an address and then he headed for the door, stopping only to put a gun he acquired from his Dutch friend yesterday into his pocket; it could come in handy.
Desperate times call for approved methods, so he took a cab instead of biking to the address he found in Irene's computer. The address was in the most urban part of the city, so Sherlock assumed Irene's friend was applying the 'hiding in the open strategy'. He presumed that this man was hiding since she said he was in the same line of work as Moriarty. He studied the people passing by. Tourist, tourist, pick pocketing tourist, lawyer, prostitute, hairdresser and a teenage boy who seemed like he was just hanging around, although he was somehow to calm. Sherlock approached him, and started in his most confused touristic voice:
"Excuse me, I'm on vacation here. I heard of a café somewhere around, owned by a Mr. Martin, do you know where I could find it?"
The boy raised both of his eyebrows in suspicion, but then he smiled in ca conspiratorlly manner.
"Follow me." He said, showing in the direction of a wooden door probably leading to some kind of basement facility.
Sherlock's fingertips gently touched the pocket of his coat, just for assurance as he followed the boy through the door.
He was surprised with the luxury of the place he found himself in. It reminded him of pubs back in England, just with more expensive furniture. A voice from behind him interrupted his observing the location:
"You must be Sherlock. Irene said you might drop by."
Sherlock turned around. With a quick glance of the man he deduced that he was in his late thirties, that he studied in England, that he used to do boxing but not anymore since his nose was broken the second, no, third time. He was obviously a rich man who spent his weekends on a boat with a dog as a stress reliever since he was a very successful arms dealer during the week.
"And you must be Martin." Sherlock shook the hand which the man offered and the two of them sat down.
"You are looking for Irene Adler." Said the blond man, cutting to the chase.
"Yes." Was the best reply Sherlock could think of.
"She said you might come. She hoped you wouldn't but she said 'if he comes, give him whatever he asks for'."
"Tell me where I can find her then?"
"Anything except that." He smiled vaguely, showing he was uncomfortable with the situation.
Sherlock studied his facial expression. He realized that this man, whatever his moral believes or disbelieves usually are, was not playing a game; he was being a true friend to Irene. That wasn't convenient for Sherlock, since true loyalty was much harder to bypass then given money of business treaty.
"You said she told you to give me whatever I ask for. What do you poses that may be of use to me?" asked the detective.
"Money, weapons, men, a new identity, a ticket to get out of the country...the stuff that is usually appreciated in situations like this one."
"Why are you doing this for her?"
"She also said that subtle signs of jealousy slip away from you sometimes." He smiled when he saw Sherlock's scowling face. "I'm joking. I've met Irene a decade ago, when we were both beginners in the professions we later specialized on. What we had in common was a thirst for power and climbing the social ladder, but also a sense of humor that usually lacks with rich, boring people. So we became friends. Just friends." He added to tease Sherlock again. "She said you'd be quite eager to hear details about her past from me, but she advised me to keep them to myself until you help me with that small case I have for you, which can of course wait for better times."
"She did her homework, obviously." Said Sherlock, trying to detain the bitterness in his voice.
"Doesn't she always?"
The Woman, looking like a film diva, got out of a cab on the periphery of Amsterdam. She took a deep breath and then she readjusted her dress to cover the knife bump. Steep, marble stairs surrounded by trees led up to a house barely visible from the street. She pressed the doorknob slowly, postponing the moment of entering the house as much as possible. The loathed, cheerful voice came from inside the house:
"Do come in dear."
Resisting the urge to run as fast as she could in the other direction, she passed through the door.
"Good girl. First door to your left."
Irene Adler found Jim Moriarty sitting on a sofa in the very same position in which Sherlock often sat; with his fingers forming a triangle. It is strange how much in common these two men had, apart from them being completely different.
She sat on the other sofa, right across him.
"I was expecting both of you, fighting over who gets to die for the sake of the other one. Pathetic. He let you play the victim? I should teach him some manners." He said ecstatically.
"I expect him later on, but I hope you don't mind me popping in a bit early?"
"You are so common. I am so very disappointed. But then again, I prefer to be disappointed in you. If he had disappointed me, I'd have to blow up a town square to feel better."
Moriarty studied her, the stiffness of her arms, and the tension in her neck.
"Look at you, what a girly girl you actually are. Prepared to die for detective charming. Would he do the same for you? How selfish he is. How cruel. How little he cares about you, just a case in his row, just another prove of the greatness of his intellect. Will he shed a tear over your dead body? Or will he run along, chasing me, not minding the collateral damage?" he was provoking her to break down and he was on a good path in succeeding.
"Come on little human being, cry for me. Tell me you made a mistake, tell me that I can have his head over my mantelpiece and I'll let you go to live happily ever after. Don't be silly. Oh, but what's that? An emotion! Oh how lovely, I love to see emotions since I never had the inconvenience of experiencing them myself. They say I'm a psychopath." He whispered the last sentence.
Irene was getting dangerously close to her boiling point. She knew Martin had people somewhere nearby on shooting positions, ready to be her backup. She knew Jim had people even closer, ready to put a bullet between her eyes. She knew she needed Moriarty close enough to finish him once and for all, cost what it costs. She didn't know anymore, she was starting to doubt it, the small worm Moriarty successfully planted in her mind – would Sherlock really risk his life for her? Was he really worthy of the risk she was taking?
"So, you're here to kill me. How predictable. You're boring. I want Sherlock!" he cried out."Kill me then! I can't stand this boredom, this commonness!" he jumped on his feet and ran towards her.
He saw a flash of cold decisiveness in her eyes, which made it clear to him that she wouldn't hesitate for a second. His expression changed from 'crying child' to an acknowledging, proud parent's expression.
"Gooooood, Ms. Adler. You have it in you after all. But since you are a clever woman, you know that you won't walk through that door alive with my blood on your blade."
"I'm aware of that possibility."
"You undisappointed me, that is so nice and happy. The sun is shining in my evil backyard again. But, let's cut to the chase. Love for Sherlock or no love for Sherlock, no one wants to die. Everybody wants to stay alive. So, I have for you a win-win offer you cannot refuse."
"What are you talking about?" said Irene suspiciously, still tense, ready to jump and attack.
"The best option for you would be both of you walking out of here alive. That seems highly improbable at the moment, but, we'll get there. You're just a meaningless, dull pawn on my board; it's him that I want. But I don't want him dead...yet. I owe him a fall." His mad eyes stared into the empty space and Irene shivered a bit from the effect of his last words.
"So, Ireeeeeene, the only use I could have of keeping you alive would be to mess with him. But, how can I mess with him when you two are such lovebirds?"
"What do you want?" asked Irene, slightly loosing temper again.
"You will leave him. Break his heart. You will make him doubt himself completely; make him as miserable as he always was. Light a flame in his heart to start burning it slowly...burning the heart out of him. Could you do that? For me, Ms Adler? Could you wait right here for him and convince him what a fool he had been, to make him realize emotions aren't really his playground? If you can, you both walk out. You're so much more useful to me alive, your life hurting him every day. What's it going to be? Choose." He said, his face almost touching hers with a terrifying grimace.
Irene understood what Moriarty wanted from her, but somehow, the information couldn't get through to her. Break his heart? That meant breaking hers. She was used to break men's hearts, she made an art out of it, but it never meant her own heart being broken in return. The time they've spent together was unreal for her. She didn't feel like that since...a long time ago. She strictly forbid herself to open up to anyone, but he had unlocked her heart with his damn intelligence and pretty eyes, and the sarcastic humor she enjoyed so much. And the fact that he risked his life to save her, how could she do this to him after that, she owed him so much.
But in fact, it was so simple, saving both of their lives but so unnatural. Moriarty wanted to transformer her into The Lady of the Camellias, the woman of few moral values, giving away her happiness as the ultimate sacrifice. He wanted her to play the role she had played so many times ago, flawless, the cruel dominatrix, the skillful seductress, the master heartbreaker. But she never cared before, that's why playing the role was so easy. Could she really do it? Could she break his heart, her own heart? The choice was quite simple, although brutal. She did owe him, that is why she had to do things for his own good, even though he will probably never recognize them as such.
"I accept." She said, expressionless, her eyes looking like deep, empty holes.
"Gooood. I'm leaving now, make yourself comfortable. And remember, I'll be waaatchiiiing." Said Jim, leaving the room, and then passing through the front door.
Irene sat down. She just sat. How foolish of her to believe that she, a former dominatrix, a criminal could have a moment of happiness? No deeds go unpunished, and she has done a lot in her life. What were you thinking; she told herself, why did you get involved in the first place? Because I couldn't help it, she desperately realized.
Sherlock and Martin were sitting in the back seat of a car, driving towards the house with the marble stairs.
"I think we have everything covered, said Martin."Are you sure you want to go in alone?"
Sherlock nodded.
The car parked and Sherlock climbed the stairs, scared of what might await him behind that door.
"Come in, first door to your left."
He took a deep breath of relief upon hearing Irene's voice. She was alive. He found her sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, one of her arms casually stretched over the back of the sofa; she seemed endlessly relaxed.
"You finally came." She simply said.
He sensed that something was off. She seemed different, as if it was another Irene, not the one she was the last time he saw her. He swallowed, trying to convince himself that he was imagining things.
"Yes. Where is Moriarty?"
"He left." She said, still sitting calm.
"What is going on?"
"I saved our lives."
"How did you manage exactly?"
"I explained him that there was nothing to break apart, since there was nothing there in the first place."
"I don't follow."
"Oh, well, try to." She said, now annoyed. "The magic is gone, Sherlock. I had so much fun leaving you breadcrumbs to find me here, to have an affair to remember, to be able to say 'We'll always have Amsterdam', but now that I was in danger of burning my fingers, I decided it was not worth it. Oh come on, don't give me that look, you didn't really think this was anything serious, didn't you?" she mocked him. "You know most of all people what a dangerous disadvantage sentiment is. Don't be stupid and fall into the very pit you constantly warn people about."
"Is he making you do this? Moriarty?" he asked with a mild touch of panic in his voice. He felt like he was holding the edge of a cliff.
She laughed like an evil cartoon heroine. "Don't be silly. Take my pulse if you don't believe me. You made a wrong judgment trusting me, Sherlock Holmes. But, then again, I don't find that hard to believe. They wouldn't call me The Woman for nothing."
She approached him, kissing his on the cheek. "Goodbye Mr. Holmes."
And she walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock alone. He stood there for a few seconds, with the expression of utter disappointment and hurt on his face. After that, he put his mask back on, determined never to take it off again.
Irene got into one of the car parked in front, ignoring Martin's questions completely. Everything was broken, but as Sherlock told her 'We must survive. Anyway we can."
Don't hate me for this! :) I promise you a happy ending of the whole story, this is just half of it :)
Thank you for reading & please leave me a review, they make me really happy :)
