It was February before he would hear from Irene again. While she was gone the group was left in the dark. Sherlock remained trapped at the hotel with Anabeth, who hardly spoke to him. Not that he wished to be spoken to.
For a couple of weeks he wondered around Vienna. The history and architecture of the city offered a welcomed escape from the bundle of emotions that had taken over ever since the kiss. But the more he tried to erase the moment from his mind- tried to pretend like it didn't matter-the more he realized that it did matter. Yet he still wasn't sure why, for the same reason he wasn't sure why he was kept awake night after night, wondering of Irene's well-being.
At last, one night towards the end of his second month in Austria Noe received word from Irene, and Sherlock found himself on a train to Munich the next morning. The chance to get out of Vienna felt like a chance to breathe again. He found the bank easily and was relieved to find it was still closed for the morning. Breaking in was easy enough. Per Irene's instructions he had to the code to get into the vault and safe.
He was alone when he finally reached into the safe and pulled out what Moran was after: a notebook. Sherlock carefully opened the book to the first page. He nearly stopped breathing when he found a map of the center of London, with a certain landmark circled-
A mobile ringtone went off. Sherlock jumped; he had forgotten about the emergency phone he had been offered by Abrams. He didn't recognize the number that was calling and chose to speak with his fake accent as he answered.
"Hello?"
There was a moment of shallow breaths on the other line before a woman's voice replied:
"Sherlock?" He stopped at the sound of Irene's struggling voice. "Sherlock- are you in Munich?"
He wasn't sure how to answer. Closing his eyes, he took a moment just to be grateful to hear from her once again. He chose to disregard not knowing how she got this number.
"Yes."
A million things that he wanted to say to her crossed his mind, but he couldn't find the courage to say any of them. Instead, he waited for her reply.
"Moran found out," she choked on her words a little, and a sour feeling developed in his throat. "You've got to get out of there."
Sherlock tucked the notebook into his jacket and stuck his head outside the room of safety deposit boxes. There was still no sign of anyone else in the building.
"What are you talking about?" He asked. "Where are you?"
"In a hospital," she whispered. He froze. "Moran found out what I was doing."
"What happened to you?" He demanded. He slammed a fist into the wall next to him, feeling helpless and too far away from her.
"You can't be in that bank," Irene said. "You have to get out of Munich. If Moran finds out you're there, he'll kill you."
"How did this happen?"
"Sherlock- just get out of there."
She sounded so unlike herself, so desperate, that he didn't know what to think.
"Where are you?" He asked.
He began to close the vault and flee the building as he waited for the reply.
"In a hospital in Liverpool."
"Liverpool?"
"I have contacts there, I tried to escape when Moran found out, but he found me."
"You're in a hospital?"
"Someone found me and took me there," Irene said. "I don't want to be here, Sherlock I-"
As he exited the building his heart began to race.
"I'm coming to get you," he announced.
"You can't go back to England."
"I don't care."
He knew a handful of credit card numbers off hand he could use to buy a flight ticket, and in the end he chose an emergency account he knew Mycroft rarely kept track of. He was in Liverpool by that afternoon and was rushing through the hospital doors by sundown. After tracking down the number of Irene's room he found himself standing at there at the door. He paused, head bowed as he caught his breath. Upon hearing the faint beeping of a heart monitor he grew desperate to see her and placed his hands on the doorknob.
The bed was empty when he entered the room.
"Irene?" He asked carefully.
"I'm here."
He swirled around, facing the dim-lighted shadows where Irene stood. She stepped towards him, revealing her injuries. He was too stunned to reply as his eyes found each bruise on her face and the cast on her hand.
"I'm sorry I worried you," she state quietly. "The drugs they gave me when I arrived were strong. They messed with my mind a little."
Sherlock felt ill himself as he catalogued her injuries. Her face was sunken and pale, with collections of blue-black bruises. He could tell by the way she ran her hands up and down her arms that she was freezing, despite the warmth of the room. He thought for sure he might throw up when he noticed an injection mark on her right arm.
"Moran did this?" He said with a shaky voice.
"You can say he wasn't too thrilled to realize his right hand man was his worst enemy."
"I'll kill him," Sherlock swore.
"Sherlock-"
"He just-"
He held his palms against his eyes, determined to keep the emotions at bay. He couldn't help but to feel like this was his fault. Moran was so angry because of him; somehow, he had made this so much worse.
"It's not true," Irene whispered. He looked up at her in surprise. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not true. Moran has no idea who I'm working with, just that I haven't exactly been faithful to him."
Sherlock sighed, unsure of what to say. After a long pause he finally bothered to examine the hospital room and noticed the discharge papers on the bed.
"We have a flight back to Austria in a couple of hours," he said. "Are you sure you still want to be a part of this?"
Irene nodded.
"Now more than ever."
They found the hotel empty when they returned to Vienna. He hadn't slept since he last left the city, but that didn't stop him from bombarding Irene with questions of her well-being.
"I'm fine," she insisted once again. "Sherlock, please, I'm sorry ever called you."
They glared at each other until she broke out into a grin, and he knew she was exaggerating. She lay on his bed, a bag of ice that she was ignoring at her side. Her bruises were beginning to heal, and though she honestly did not look as bad now that she had a little more energy, he could still see the signs of trauma in her eye.
"Where's the bloody notebook?" She demanded. "I want to see what I almost got killed over."
He withdrew the notebook and handed to it to her. Sherlock sat down next to her on the bed, watching as she carefully examined each page.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
"I know."
"Sherlock-" she glanced towards him, but could only continue to repeat: "Oh my god."
"Moran wanted you to be a part of this," he realized.
She placed the book in her lap and gazed at him.
"Thank you," she said softly, "you didn't have to rescue me."
"Of course I did."
She paused and began to gaze into his eyes, studying him in a way that made him feel highly uncomfortable.
"About what happened when I was last here…I'm sorry, that was out of line."
"No it wasn't."
There he went again, speaking out of turn before he could even process how he truly felt.
She continued to gaze at him, and he was so entranced by her eyes that he didn't notice her leaning closer and closer towards him, until once again her lips had captured his. His eyes fell closed and he let out a stifled sigh, allowing the kiss to go a little deeper this time. When she pulled away her hands rested on his shoulders, keeping him close.
"Sorry," she muttered, "I know you're not very…experienced."
"Sorry," he replied sharply, "but I thought you were gay."
Irene smirked.
"And I thought you didn't care."
He caught her eye and offered her a grin before sitting back. Taking a deep breath, he tried to comprehend what was going on- all while forgetting what they were actually there for. Both their eyes fell onto the notebook.
"What are we going to do with this?" He said, picking the book up.
"I assume you've read it?" She asked. He nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to get your brother involved?"
"Mycroft?" He said. "God no. Mycroft could start World War Three with this." He paused for a moment, and then asked: "Do they trust you here?"
Irene sighed.
"Yes? Maybe. I think."
"We need them to trust you fully," Sherlock said, "we have to show this to them."
"They might second-guess me," Irene pointed out, "they could start to think I'm playing them."
"Are you?"
She glared at him, and he immediately regretted speaking. They fell silent, and he couldn't help but to wonder back to the kiss. How was it that he had no idea what it meant, no idea what he even wanted, and yet he couldn't stop thinking of her?
"You and Moran," he began carefully, unsure of the appropriate way to ask, "did you ever-"
"Yes." His eyes shot up to meet hers, stunned by the quick reply. "As have I and lots of men. And women. Does that bother you?" He didn't reply. He had no clue what to think- or what he was supposed to think. A playful smile appeared on her face. "Ah, you're worried I'm just toying with you. Well if it makes you feel any better, Mr. Holmes, I assure you I'm twice as confused about you as you are of me."
"Right."
That didn't make him feel better. At all. Irene placed her hand on his; he shivered at the touch.
"For now I think we need to continue to act like we don't know each other," she said. "No visits to each other's room. No eye contact. We're perfect strangers."
With a hand he carefully reached up and brushed a finger across a bruise beneath her eye. The sight of her injuries still made him sick to the stomach.
"You said someone found you and took you to the hospital," he said.
Irene looked away, and he felt guilty for forcing her to remember.
"I was dumped out of a car, on the side of the road," she admitted. "Moran's nice way of saying he was done with me. I'm very lucky he didn't kill me."
"Why didn't he?"
Irene's eyes turned cold, and it was then he realized she was in more danger being free from Moran than when she was with him.
"In case he needs me again," she whispered.
He placed his other hand on her cast, allowing their fingers to lock together. He leaned closer to her, and they were only inches apart when he replied:
"That will never happen."
April 19, 2014
Sherlock remained silent as he forced his brother out of the car at gunpoint. The driver's side door closed, and Irene Adler appeared next to them. Their eyes met, and his heart skipped a beat as she silently let him know she was there for him with a simple nod of the head. Mycroft smirked.
"Ah," his brother said, "of course. You two, together. The Dominatrix and the Consulting Detective. How adorable."
Sherlock glared at him and shoved the gun into his back purely out of spite, causing Mycroft to stumble forward a few feet. As they walked forward Irene brushed a hand over his shoulder and he shuddered, the memory of their last night together still etched into his mind.
"You'll never get away with this," Mycroft warned.
His brother's eyes narrowed, but Sherlock knew he was only concerned. He swallowed, feeling anxious as his eyes trailed up the side of the landmark they were standing behind:
Thames House.