Sherlock was sitting on his armchair. He didn't even remember how he got there, but he was softly plucking the strings of his violin. He could remember Mycroft's words, when he went to his flat and told him not to investigate Irene Adler. There was something else. This case had something else and he was missing it.
"Coventry."
"I've never been there. Is it nice?" asked Irene, sitting on Jane's armchair, still wearing Sherlock's blue night gown.
The very same one Jane was wearing the night they made love for the first time.
"Where are they?"
"That girl and her child? They went out a couple of hours ago."
Sherlock bent his head. "I was just talking to her."
"Took a bag with her things and left. What's Coventry got to do with anything?"
"A bag with her things?" asked Sherlock, alarmed.
Irene nodded. "Not many things. She's spending the night outside. Better for us, isn't it?"
"It's a story, probably not true," Sherlock ignored her comment. "In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."
"Have you ever had anyone like me?" asked Irene, seductively, and completely out of the blue.
Sherlock frowned. "Sorry?"
"And when I say 'had', I'm being indelicate."
"I don't understand."
Irene got up from the chair and crawled until she was in front of Sherlock, between his knees. She placed both of her hands on each of Sherlock's knees and curled her thin, manicured fingers around the soft, expensive fabric of his tailored trousers. "Don't play stupid with me. I asked you if you ever had anyone like me before."
"That's not -"
"Let's have dinner."
"Why?"
"You might be hungry."
"I'm not."
Irene shook her head. "Yes you are. You're hungry. You want a woman desperately... you need a woman right now. You can't imagine all the things I can do to you, the things you can do to me, things you have never done to a woman. Would you like to try?"
Sherlock moved forward, and hesitating a bit, he took Irene' right wrist and pressed his fingers softly, at the same time he looked into her eyes. "Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?"
"Leave her, Mr Holmes. She's not woman enough for you," said Irene, as she leaned forward, and now she was very close to Sherlock' lips. "Take me. Take me and let's go, far away from here. You and me."
"I can't."
"If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"
Both heard a child crying. It was Hamish. Sherlock's eyes were now fixated on the closed door. Hamish was downstairs, he was crying and his crying was the one when he missed his mummy - Jane was not home then.
"Too late."
Sherlock turned to face her again. "That's not the end of the world. It's my son."
"He's not your son," said Irene as she left the room.
Two men opened the door. "Have you come to take me away again?"
They were the very same men who dragged him to Buckingham Palace. "Yes, Mr Holmes."
"Well, I decline."
"I don't think you do," said one of the men, as he handed Sherlock a white envelope with a boarding pass inside.
Sherlock was driven to the airport, and then he was told to get into the plane, where he found it crowded with people. But they were all dead.
"The Coventry conundrum," said Mycroft as he got a few steps close to Sherlock, but he was still keeping a considerable distance. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead."
"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."
Mycroft smiled. "Neat, don't you think? We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the deceased for you - late, in every sense of the word."
"How's the plane going to fly?"
"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."
Sherlock nodded. "Your MOD man."
"That's all it takes, one lonely, broken naïve man desperate to show off again, prove himself clever again, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special, exactly when he needs to."
"You should screen your defence people more carefully -"
"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you!" hissed Mycroft, angrily. Sherlock looked at his brother confused, but didn't say a word. "The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love... pleasure, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle... and watch him dance. You are playing with fire!"
Sherlock clenched his teeth. "Don't be absurd."
"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"
Before Sherlock could say something, Irene stepped in between them. "I think it was less than five seconds."
"I drove you into her path. But I suppose things got worse. I'm sorry. I didn't know," said Mycroft.
"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk."
"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on -"
"Not you, Junior," said Irene, ignoring Sherlock but getting close to Mycroft. "You're done now. There's more... loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me - unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."
"What happened? He hurt you, didn't he? That bastard -" hissed Bill as he tried to get off his chair, but Jane took his wrist.
"No, he didn't do anything!"
Bill was sitting next to Jane in a pub. They were drinking calmly, at least until Jane started crying. She had several pints and Bill couldn't stop her. Jane was a mess of tears, and for the first time since they knew each other, Bill saw Jane crying helplessly, and he didn't know what to do.
Jane had called him a few hours ago, asking him to met her at the usual place because she needed him.
Truth to be told, Bill was waiting for this. He was waiting for Sherlock to make a mistake so then Jane would accept and understand Sherlock was not good. Bill tried to convince Jane he loved her and her son and that he was man enough for her. But even after almost three months dating, Bill couldn't get Sherlock off Jane's head. He knew she still loved him - and Bill hated that.
There had been times in which they were alone at his flat and they were meant to study together, but every time they kissed and the kisses became deep and passionately, Jane broke the kiss and rejected him. Bill wanted Jane, and he knew maybe being with her, intimately, would make her forget Sherlock Holmes.
"He wants that woman... and I can't compete against her... I just can't," whispered Jane.
Bill kissed her cheek. "Jane, move with me."
"What?"
"Move with me. You and Hamish."
"But..." Jane seemed to consider it for a moment. "I can't."
"My flat is big. Hamish can have his own room, you won't pay any rent."
"It's not because of that, Bill. I... Hamish loves Sherlock," explained Jane, wiping the tears off her face and drinking a last pint. "I'm sorry."
Bill took a deep breath and looked away. "I'll take you to back home. You're drunk," said he, as he kissed her lips and took her hand.
"We have people who can get into this," said Mycroft, staring at the camera phone on his table.
"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for a reasonable amount of time," said Irene, as she crossed her long legs. "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone."
Sherlock, who was sitting far from Mycroft and Irene closed his eyes. He had X-rayed Irene Adler's camera phone and that's when he found out about it. "There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."
"Some data is always recoverable."
Irene nodded. "Take that risk."
"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."
"Sherlock?" asked Irene.
"There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."
"He's good, isn't he?" said Irene, smiling, looking at Sherlock. "I should have him on a leash - in fact, I might."
"We destroy this, then. No one has the information," said Mycroft.
"Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."
Mycroft frowned. "Are there?"
"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing any more," said Irene as she took a white envelope off her purse. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying. I imagine you'd like to sleep on it."
"Thank you, yes."
"Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people."
"You've been very... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you," admitted the older Holmes.
Irene laughed "I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," said she, as he turned to watch Sherlock. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."
Sherlock caught his breath and stood up.
Mycroft nodded. "Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged. And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees," said Mycroft, offering his hand. "Nicely played."
Irene Adler and Mycroft Holmes were about to shake hands when Sherlock walked close to her. "No."
"Sorry?" asked Irene, confused.
"I said no. Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."
Irene smiled. "No such thing as too much."
"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side - and this was a game."
"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"
"You."
Irene shook her head. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever man? You'll never be man enough for me. You're not even man enough for that woman of yours," said Irene, trying to hurt Sherlock. "Jim was right. D'you know what he calls you? The Wild... you like to hit women, that makes you feel powerful doesn't it."
"No," said Sherlock, getting close to her ear and completely ignoring her previous comments. "Because I took your pulse, elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine everyone thinks love is something that can't be related to me anymore - but chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements; but this... this is far more intimate," said Sherlock as he took the camera phone and typed the code. "This is your heart, and you had never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for, but you just couldn't resist it, could you? You'd always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage."
Irene looked into Sherlock's eyes. There was hatred. Even when she had tried, even when Irene had tried to get rid of Jane Watson and take Sherlock Holmes with her, she knew that was not going to happen. "I was just playing the game."
"I know," nodded Sherlock, whispering. "This is just losing."
I AM
SHERLOCKED
"There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight," said Sherlock, handing Mycroft the camera phone. "If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."
"Are you expecting me to beg?" asked Irene, with tears in her eyes.
"Yes."
"Please. I want you. Let me be yours. Please."
"I can't. I've got a family. And I love Jane," said Sherlock, as he left. He didn't even turned to look at her.
It was dark. Bill took the keys from Jane's trembling hands and opened the door of the building. Once inside, Bill helped Jane walking up the stairs. It was very difficult since Jane was drunk and her steps were clumsy.
As soon as they got to Jane's room, Bill placed her on her bed and removed her jacket and her shoes off her.
"Bill... kiss me," said Jane as she sat on her bed.
Bill sat next to her and placed both hands on her waist. He kissed her. But it was the last kiss they were sharing, Bill thought. He knew no matter what he did or what he could do, Jane would always love Sherlock.
He couldn't compete against Sherlock Holmes.
The kiss was deep and passionate, and soon Jane was pulling at his clothes. Now Bill was over Jane, kissing her passionately and running his hands on Jane's body. Bill placed himself between her legs and continued kissing her lips and biting her neck. Neither of them knew what they were doing, but they continued. Jane continued kissing Bill as he touched her body.
And Bill thought he might have a chance.
Maybe.
But when before they could go any further, Jane moaned another name - not his. "Ah yes... Sherlock, I love you. Ah... make me yours... please," moaned Jane.
No.
Jane would never be his. She will always always be Sherlock's.
Always.
"I'm sorry, Bill. I'm sorry."
Bill knew Jane was not doing this on purpose. Jane was drunk. But either way, she would have moaned Sherlock's name even if she hadn't had any beer on her system. Bill kissed Jane one last time, and covered her body with her duvet and left. Jane had her eyes closed and she looked deeply asleep.
Bill didn't bother straightening his clothes, or his hair or cleaning the lipstick off his face. He went downstairs, and the sitting room was dark when he ran into Sherlock Holmes, who was going to check if Jane was in her room.
"What are you doing here?"
Sherlock's eyes scanned Bill Murray: Lipstick on his lips. Messy hair. Love bites on his neck. First five buttons of his shirt were undone. Shirt out of his jeans. The fly of his jeans was down-
No.
No, no, no, no.
No.
No!
"Jane's upstairs. She's sleeping," replied Bill.
"What did you do to her? Don't lie to me. I can smell the alcohol."
"We haven't done anything -"
"Don't lie to me!" hissed Sherlock, angrily
But Bill didn't show any emotion at Sherlock's angry face so close to his. "If you're so clever you should know we did nothing. Want to know why?" asked Bill, looking at Sherlock in the eye, looking tremendously disappointed. "Because she said she loves you. You can't imagine what it feels like when the woman you're about to make love to moans another man's name, can you?"
Sherlock knew it. He knew what it was like. The first time he was about to make love to Jane she moaned Sam Sawyer's name, not his. Sherlock knew what it feels like when he had a woman - Jane - underneath him, and he was kissing her body, touching her skin, trying to do all within his power to make her feel pleasure, trying to make her feel loved, but she moaned another name and not his.
But Sherlock was not going to admit this. Not to Bill Murray.
"She said she loves you. I can't compete against you. It doesn't matter how hard I try. She's yours."
The young detective watched as Bill took his jacket and left.
Sherlock went to Jane's room and found her sleeping on her bed, on her right shoulder, facing the wall. He sat next to her and let a hand run over Jane's soft, fair, short hair and kissed her temple. This made Jane wake up and Sherlock saw a deep pink blush on her cheeks. She tossed to face him and smiled. The alcohol was fading away.
"Come 'ere," said Jane as she moved her body further to her side.
Sherlock removed his shoes, then his coat, his jacket and lay next to Jane. As the bed was narrow for both to fit in, Jane tossed and rested her head on his chest. Sherlock placed an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and kissed her head, but Jane wanted to meet his lips. Their kiss was soft, but soon it became deeper and passionate and their tongues were fighting now. Jane's clumsy fingers were working on Sherlock's shirt and moans escaped from their lips all the time, as they bodies became closer and as their kisses became deeper.
"Sherlock... I love you," whispered Jane.
Sherlock broke their kiss and looked into her blue eyes. "Jane, you're drunk. You'll forget this in the morning."
"No, I won't," said Jane, softly. "I want you again, Sherlock. I want you to be Hamish' daddy. I want us to be a family."
Sherlock was not quite sure if this was happening. Really happening. Jane was kissing him, biting his lip, caressing his chest, saying she loved him and that she wanted to be with him and that she wanted him to be her son's father.
"Yes."
"I love you, Sherlock. Please tell me you love me," whispered Jane.
He had waited so much for this. After so long, after three years, they were there, finally kissing and accepting they loved each other after all the things that had happened between them.
"I love you," said Sherlock and kissed Jane again. "I'm so sorry for all the things I did -"
"Hush," Jane silenced Sherlock pressing a finger to his lips.
"Jane, I need your forgiveness," said he with small tears in his eyes.
"Hush, it's okay. Don't cry, love. Don't cry."
Jane kissed Sherlock's lips one last time and then she kissed his tears, his cheeks, his forehead and then she rested her head over his chest, feeling Sherlock's heartbeats.
Both fell asleep in each other's arms. After so much blood, tears, pains... they were finally together. And they were finally happy.
And in love.
