IRENE MARIE ADLER
PART 1 OF RECORDED INTERVIEW
Date: 12/18/2014
Duration: 53 minutes
Location: New Scotland Yard, London
No. of pages: 13
POLICE: This interview is being tape recorded and transcribed. I am Section 42 (1) (c) and I am based in London, England. I work with the Omega Protective Services. What is your full name?
IMA: Irene Marie Adler.
POLICE: Is it alright to call you Irene?
IMA: That is my name.
POLICE: Alright, can you confirm your date of birth for me?
IMA: September 12, 1987.
POLICE: Thank you.
IMA: Are you going to tell me what you want from me, or am I supposed to just sit here and look pretty?
POLICE: In a moment. Also present with me is Section 42 (5) (f) who will be fielding the majority of the questions.
IMA: Yes, I remember you. How is your brother?
POLICE: You don't need to answer that question.
OTHER: That is none of your concern, Ms. Adler.
IMA: It's Miss, please…and I was only thinking of the well-being of dear John Watson. How is our exceedingly handsome doctor doing?
POLICE: Moving along, I just wanted to clarify that the date is December 8, 2014 and by my watch, the time is 1438. This interview is being conducted in New Scotland Yard in Interrogation Room 11. You have allowed Section 42 (5) (f) to sit in on this interview, yeah, and you will concede any requests at having a solicitor present, am I correct?
IMA: You are.
POLICE: However, you are still entitled to free and independent legal advice, do you understand this?
IMA: I do, I just don't think I'll need it. Why are you wearing masks?
POLICE: We have been briefed on your kind and our medical services felt that masks were necessary.
IMA: My kind? What kind is that?
POLICE: Vertex Omegas.
IMA: Oh, so you've got that much have you?
OTHER: Not to be completely indiscrete Miss Adler, but I do believe an accurate account of vertex Omegas has been gathered from your own records, as well as those from Dr. Wilkes and Dr. Frankland.
IMA: Do you? Well, then you don't need my help after all.
POLICE: Need I remind you that you are in our custody, and as such must answer all questions truthfully until such time as a solicitor is required.
IMA: So what is it I am here for, exactly?
OTHER: To put it plainly - information.
Unlike those few tortuous days when he was kept prisoner, gasping and sweating in agonizing pain, the aftershocks of John's metamorphosis came in slow and gradual waves. His dreams (always an unknown, considering John's PTSD, among other things) were shadowed, nebulous, but filled with robust scents and primal urges; and the determined erections that greeted him upon waking were impossible to ignore.
John felt like a teenager again, awkward, overwhelmed, tripping over himself and trying not to lean in and scent everything and everyone around him. It was if a whole area of his brain, previously dormant, had suddenly ignited, burning with an intensity that rivalled the nearest red supergiant.
For the sake of his sanity, and (let's be honest) his blood pressure, John decided since that very first night, to sleep in the bedroom directly above Sherlock's. His thigh ached and throbbed with a familiar fierceness, and though he was more than happy to bury his nose in the spicy layers of curls upon Sherlock's brow and huff – he made do with relatively tame heavy petting and deep kissing sessions. Which, let's face it, where absolutely and staggeringly fabulous, regardless of the amount of clothes between him and his Alpha.
Sherlock however, wanted more, and he was quite vocal on this fact. He made a list. This list was thrust upon John ten days after he moved in, and John eyed it balefully as it sat in his lap, the blue lined paper as deceptively innocent as a primary schooler's composition book.
"And what's this?" He unfolded the paper, watching with interest as it crinkled ever so slightly when he smoothed it across his good thigh.
"A list." Sherlock loomed over John, not more than a step away from his Omega.
Over time, John could say he had got used to the smell of the apex Alpha he was more than proud to call his own, but that would most definitely be a lie. To John, he still emanated excitement, exuded power and intelligence, not mention he smelt of the most decadent tobacco, purest rosin, and about a thousand other low-notes John had yet to categorize. It was simply mind boggling how sensitive his nose had become since the 'experiment.'
"Yes, I can see that." John offered with barely concealed humour. He lifted his dark blue eyes to the paper, reading each line before lowering the paper down onto the polished side-table to his right. "Explain please."
Sherlock thinned his lips, the sensitive tissue blanching, and then pinking quite fetchingly when he relaxed. He clasped his large hands behind his back in rare display of nerves that John had not seen in quite some time. Somehow, even though he gripped his hands together, his fingers still managed to waggle to and fro in a childish display of fretfulness.
"If you can manage to read it through, I have outlined clearly, and in great detail why it would be beneficial for us to mate and bond on or before your first heat."
John barely managed not to roll his eyes - only Sherlock Holmes could propose a lifetime of shared love and commitment and make it sound like a business transaction.
"Sherlock, we…we're not even sure I can bond. Irene didn't give us much information on that, and considering she's not even bonded herself, it may not even be possible."
"Nevertheless, I want it known that if bonding is possible, then we should…bond that is."
The list lay discarded, forgotten on the small side table adjacent to his chair while John leaned forward and silently regarded his detective.
"What is this really about then? And no fibbing, I can tell by your scent when you're lying." This wasn't exactly true, but John tapped one worn finger against the side of his nose as if he could tell by Sherlock's smell whether or not he'd switched dry cleaners or if the beans in the refrigerator had gone off.
Sherlock flushed, looking chagrined and caught out in equal measure. His fingers flapped uselessly behind him while he stepped away and began to pace, adding to the line of faded threads already present in one straight swathe on the rug.
"I'm not a fool, John. I know that circumstances have changed. I see how people look at you on the street, and that…that horrid woman in the line at the chip and pin machine! Not to mention the cabbies!" Sherlock shivered, exhaling through his mouth as if to rid himself of some foul taste stuck to his tongue.
John frowned, only just now realizing just how much his gender change had affected his love. He remembered quite clearly the rather well-endowed female Alpha who'd practically thrown herself at John at the local Tesco. If he hadn't been so taken aback, he might have felt amused, or flattered. Rarely in his past had someone attempted such an open and outward interest in seducing him, and if they did, it wasn't usually because he was an Omega. But that…that aggressively flirting Amazon was entirely too much, and John had to hold back giggles as he limped away, Sherlock practically spitting and growling at the woman as if a dog fight might erupt between the two over the din of curious onlookers and wilfully disobedient automated cashier machines.
It was true that over the past week or so he had garnered much more attention than he ever would have as a latent Omega. Strangers were overly friendly, children flocked to him, and he'd been witness to more than one display of so-called Alpha bravado to win his favour (the most amusing, recently, being a pack of sixth-formers who'd puffed out their chests like a pack of crowing roosters). The thought that the population of England, as a whole, now considered John to be prime mate and bonding material left him more amused than anything else.
John, ever sanguine, took all this in stride; he'd read the files and knew more or less what to expect. He generally ignored the advances and inappropriate, lecherous looks; instead he focused on physical therapy and healing. He never thought, not even once, that Sherlock Holmes, apex Alpha and genetic superior to over 95% of the world's population would be so affected.
IMA: So what else do you want to know? I tire of these interrogation sessions.
OTHER: As you know, we've already interviewed Dr. Frankland and Dr. Wilkes, but they can't really give use the kind of information we desire.
IMA: Which is? I'm getting impatient.
POLICE: Calm down Irene, please remember you are in custody.
OTHER: We need you to relay everything you've learned about being a vertex Omega.
IMA: That name again. It's silly, don't you think? It's what he called me, but honestly I would have gone with something a bit more impressive.
OTHER: Just give us the information and we'll be done here.
IMA: Fine. Fine. Where would you like me to start?
"Sherlock, are you…do you think I'm going to leave?"
The Alpha was quiet for an indeterminate amount of time, seemingly unable to answer the question and preferring instead to stare at his reflection in the mirror situated over the empty fireplace.
"Sherlock," John prompted once more, leaning forward to catch Sherlock's attention. "Please tell me what you're thinking for once – without the sideways logic, without the deductions, just please, give it to me in plain, small words you know I will understand."
The brunet couldn't help but smile at that, breaking the stoic and impassive mask that had settled on his face and making him look at least five years younger (but entirely too much like his brother). When he spoke again, each word was carefully chosen and carefully controlled. These were prepared words.
"John, since I've met you, you've taught me so many things. Things I had previously thought to be weaknesses, to be…not advantageous to someone of my kind. You are, without a doubt, the bravest, kindest, and wisest man I have ever known. I, on the other hand, am a ridiculous man. So…is it so very unreasonable to suspect that, at some point, you would be inclined to leave me?"
The blond stared at the taller man, absolutely dumfounded. Here he sat, his right thigh a dull ache in comparison to the maelstrom of thoughts in his head. It wasn't that he was unsure of the depth of Sherlock's feelings for him, it was simply that he had no idea that under those Byronic curls and effortlessly sculpted cheekbones, Sherlock could hide such devastatingly deep insecurities. And then John had to wonder, was Sherlock loved enough as a child? Was he happy before he met John?
John coughed, clearing his throat, though it didn't seem to do him much good. His heart had plummeted and was now beating somewhere in the vicinity of his large bowel.
"Sherlock, I –" He closed his mouth again, another anxious clearing of his throat causing a small and desperate whine to sound out behind his closed lips. "How can you say that? Look I'm…I'm not as elegant with words as you are, and I can damn well say I am nowhere near as intelligent but…everything I've done since I've met you has been for, well, you."
Sherlock had long since stopped his pacing and turned away from the Omega, choosing instead to stare out of the far window by the cluttered desk. John watched, worried, as the taller man kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back and looked dispassionately out into London, onto its wet streets and hapless citizens. He absorbed the Alpha's beautiful profile, strong and Grecian as it was, his pale skin reflecting the streetlamps as if he were a ghostly visage out of some Dickensian tale.
Finally, Sherlock spoke, voice uncertain and thick with emotion. John noticed as the brunet angled his face a fraction towards John, that his eyelids were blinking quickly and unevenly, a flutter of movement that was both disconcerting and endearing all the same.
"So…s-so, you're saying that you will stay here…here with me?" And it was heart-breaking how unsure and childlike that simple question sounded.
"Well, well yeah, of course I will stay, Sherlock. I'm here right now aren't I?" He paused for a moment, taking this all in and realizing how unexpected this all was. "You know you're my best friend, right?"
"You're best…friend?"
"Yeah," John laughed softly, flexing his bad leg and only barely managing not to wince at the ache it produced. "Of course you're my best friend."
Sherlock then moved away from the window, gliding towards John quietly and not unlike a beautiful spectre from all the fairy stories his gran used to tell him at bedtime. The taller man landed, knees upon the rug, his torso between John's knees and each hand tentatively hovering about John's own, resting on the arms of the chair.
"I love you, John Watson." He said, finally, as if the weight of emotions and the gravity of his gaze could convey the depths of his feelings for the greying blond – as if his words were inadequate, indistinct, and would never quite be appropriate for accurately describing how he felt about one small, seemingly ordinary doctor.
John groaned above him and moved each of his hands to gather themselves in Sherlock lustrous waves. He tilted the man's face upwards, momentarily caught off-guard by the glossiness of his effervescent eyes. They were wide and innocent, in the moment, like an eager supplicant gazing upwards at his god. John allowed himself a moment to revel in his adoration, and then descended upon his lips with a fervor they had not yet experienced due to John's long and difficult convalescence.
IMA: It's difficult to explain, it's almost like a reflex, once you get the feel of it.
OTHER: What is? Please be specific Miss Adler, this is going on record.
IMA: The control. The push and pull of it all. Don't play innocent, you know what I'm talking about.
POLICE: I remind you to be clear in your statements, this way there can be little to no confusion or misunderstandings.
IMA: Yes officer, of course.
POLICE: Do go on.
IMA: As I was saying. It's like flexing a muscle you haven't used in quite a long time. The control is there, it's just easier the more you exercise your willpower.
OTHER: And what exactly are you saying you can control?
IMA: Why don't you take off your masks and find out?
John was exhilarating, he was exciting, he was exhausting.
Never had Sherlock come across a creature he wanted as thoroughly as John Watson. He wanted to settle his hand inside his chest, rip apart his ribcage and roll around, gloriously, in his viscera. It was base and powerful, how much he wanted this man.
He tried to convey this, with every pitiful and undeserving corner of his being, as John took his head and tempted him into a heated kiss Sherlock had only visualized in his most fervent dreams.
He had had a lot of those dreams as of late. They were laden with the scent of tea leaves, dirty oatmeal jumpers, thin but perfectly formed pink lips, and the taste of caramel and chocolate remained like sweet and salty echoes on his tongue.
Oh god, the taste of his mouth, the perfect shape of his mouth. What on earth had Sherlock ever done to deserve such an exquisite mate? In the end it was of no matter, John was his, and John would stay his, this he would ensure.
Sherlock's clever, strong hands moved, gripping and spasming in time to the swirling of their heated tongues, roving away from the arms of the chair onto the rough denims covering John's thin but strong thighs. He was especially careful about the pressure of his hands, knowing John's injury, though well on its way to healing, was still tender and sore. He rested his hands, finally, on the cool metal buckle of John's belt and then pulled his head away, heavy promise and carnal desire reflecting in his eyes as he took in John above him, breathless and ruffled.
"Oh Christ…Christ Sherlock, I swear to God, one day, you will be the death of me."
The Alpha's mouth twitched in an unconscious grin as he deftly unbuckled John's belt and pulled it, sinuously, in one swift motion out from the loops and tossed it away, unconcerned as it landed in a serpentine heap across the room by the printer.
For a moment he fumbled with the simple metal button at the top of John's fly. Above him, John chuckled momentarily, but that only urged the Alpha further, for the Omega was not supposed to laugh when his mate was to give him pleasure, but only moan and gasp and cry and keen into his Alpha's mouth, as was his due.
Sherlock unbuttoned and unzipped John's fly with a swiftness borne of desperation and pure, unadulterated want. John, sensing his Alpha's feral and urgent need for his submission complied, lifting his hips and letting his denims, along with his pants, be torn free from his hips and thrown, almost viciously, across the room to land on the far edge of the couch.
And then there he was, open and laid out raw and musky for Sherlock. The Alpha had never known anything as all-consuming as this moment in his life. John's prick was beautiful, the skin matte and velvet, the curling hairs at the base forming perfect ringlets that drew his eyes into the lovely and modest obelisk before him. John was an Omega, to be sure, and as such would never be as physically endowed as Sherlock, but the length and breadth of him was nothing to be ashamed of, and he would show his mate right now how much he appreciated the beauty of him.
"Sh-sherlock…" John stuttered, clutching the arms of the chair, swallowing convulsively as the Alpha breathed one hot breath after another onto the spongy, sensitive head of his cock. Sherlock waited for any indication that John was not up to this, that he couldn't handle this amount of physical exertion, but none came. John laid his head back against the back of his chair and breathed, both hands clutching Sherlock's shoulders lightly.
"Jesus, don't stop…" His Omega pleaded, bucking his hips up once as Sherlock buried his face in the dark blonde patch of hair at his groin. Sherlock suppressed his immediate desire to take a mouthful of the hair and chew and swallow and ingest all of John's essence (because it was strongest here, most delicious here), but he remained sensible and only laved and bit and huffed at the base of John's cock, a prize he'd only ever allowed himself to have in his most indulgent dreams.
Sherlock finally moved one large hand to direct John's hot and turgid penis towards his mouth, otherwise it would lay flush and swollen on the man's hard belly, and that was unacceptable. This perfect specimen of a cock deserved attention, it deserved investigation…and who other than the world's only consulting detective could give it the devotion it deserved. Sherlock grasped the base in one soft hand, while his slick and desperately hot tongue roved along the major vein that ran long the underside of John's prick. Sherlock was intent on making his beloved come, but he wasn't above making the man suffer for it.
And how John suffered.
OTHER: Miss Adler, if you refuse cooperate then other arrangements can be made.
IMA: No, no. I mean, no thank you. I will tell you what you need to know.
POLICE: Do go on.
IMA: To put in laymen's terms, we can control the effect we have on others.
OTHER: How, precisely, is this done?
IMA: I've already told you…it's, it's like flexing a muscle, or – or making a conscious decision, it's hard to explain. If I could tell you more I would.
OTHER: What about heats, what can you tell me about that?
IMA: We experience heats just like any other Omega, it's just that we…don't go crazy. We don't succumb to that weakness. We are completely lucid and in control. Sometimes, in the past, I could completely suppress a heat, if needed.
OTHER: What about apex Alphas?
IMA: What about them?
OTHER: Have you had dealings with them?
IMA: Of course. They're lovely, so pliant and accommodating. The prince of Morocco was most pleasurable, once upon a time. They seem especially weak to our kind, if you know what I mean. Just one word and I could have had that man eating out of the palm of my hand, if I'd wanted.
The sensation was unbearable, insufferable.
John clenched his palms around Sherlock's ears, pinkie fingers wrapping round the lobes. The mouth on this man was unforgiveable and it had been such a long, long time since anyone had pleasured him orally that it took everything the Omega had not to shoot hot and pointed into Sherlock's mouth right then and there.
His eyes were closed, tightly squeezed because he knew that if he looked down once, just once, the vision (Sherlock's perfectly formed lips wrapped close and hot and tight around his Omega dick) would be enough to push him over the edge. Instead he breathed, moist and supple into the air of the flat he breathed, Sherlock groaning and grunting as he pleasured John selflessly.
Each wet suck, each wet pull had John's jaw clenching, his neck spasming. He finally clutched Sherlock's head, each hand with a palmful of the man's spidersilk hair, until he let go and ruthlessly fucked into Sherlock's mouth. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't gentle as John effortlessly heaved his dick into his Alpha's waiting and pliant orifice, grunting impossible endearments as he did so. Sherlock sputtered at first, unused to the pounding and driving force, but once he realized this was John, he relaxed.
He let the smaller man thrust into him, he let the long, slick, shaft of John's thick manhood fuck into his mouth until there was nothing left but random globules of semen and thick ropes of come climbing down his throat. John, above him, convulsed and cursed in a tide of olfactory satisfaction and soul-clenching realization.
Sherlock had never been so appreciated, never been so consumed.
IMA: It's quite an experience, I can assure you.
OTHER: I'll take you word for it Miss Adler. Is there anything else?
IMA: What do you mean?
POLICE: Please be transparent, Miss Adler.
IMA: I am, if you haven't noticed. Um, there is one more thing.
OTHER: What is that?
IMA: There are those who keep track of me, and they will wonder where I've gone.
OTHER: Will they? Well…we'll have to remedy that now won't we?
