Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. Also, credit to Ariane DeVere for her series transcripts that had been extremely helpful.
# #
Joan set up Mrs Hudson on a comfy couch with tea and warm blankets, switched on the telly, and rushed upstairs just as the sounds of someone (Sherlock) dragging something heavy (the unfortunate American) stopped. She found them near the back window, the tall detective flexing his arms menacingly while the CIA agent moaned in pain on the floor.
Vibrating with pent-up anger, she marched forward with a cold "My turn" for only warning. Sherlock wisely stepped aside. Joan stopped for barely a second over the fallen man before grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him up against the narrow ledge of their window in one swift move. He grunted. The first trip down to the bins did him no favours (broken nose, cracked ribs, a helluva lot of bruising). Watson's inner doctor started to protest vehemently. That daft tosser invaded our home, hurt Mrs H and threatened Sherlock, the inner soldier reminded. "Karma's a bitch" she hissed before pushing him out without further ado.
The bins seemed to withstand the assault once again.
"A bit more to the left and he'll go into recycling" Sherlock informed her after a quick glance outside.
Jaw set in a stubborn line, Joan huffed a humourless laugh. "Shall we try again then?"
# #
After Lestrade took a heavily edited deposition from Sherlock while the barely breathing agent was being wheeled away in an ambulance, and after Mrs Hudson ushered them out of her flat, the consulting pair found themselves in an awkward silence in the living room. Joan glanced at her companion, feeling somewhat conflicted. I might have been a little scary back there. However, Sherlock was busy dusting off his coat and looking as if nothing of notice happened that evening, instead of being put off by his flatmate's violent antics. Maybe not too scary then. And throwing people out of windows had been his idea, after all. Oh, great, now we're both scary.
I need a drink. Shrugging at nothing in particular, she went to the kitchen in search of something a bit stronger than the usual tea. Soft plucking sounds informed her that the detective was prepping his violin.
"Where is it now?" Joan asked, a glass of red wine in her hand, knowing that he would understand.
"Where no-one will look" was the brief reply.
"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures."
"Yes, it is."
Alriiiight. Not chatty, are we? Now that Irene was not dead, the odd feeling of being sad by proxy melted away, and Joan felt pleasantly fuzzy with alcohol. The unexpected physical exercise (London's first championship of spy-throwing, suggested that part of her that enjoyed medschool's parties) helped to work off the stress as well. "So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?"
Sherlock seemed a little confused for a second, before flicking the bow. "Happy New Year, John." In the distance, Big Ben started to toll the hour.
Not how I imagined this evening, Joan thought, relaxing into her chair, sipping her wine and listening to Sherlock play season-friendly songs.
# #
January rolled around slowly, with Sherlock too engrossed in Irene's camera phone to even insult Anderson on occasional crime scenes or notice Molly nervously glancing at him in the lab. Joan had to take the poor girl to lunch and explain the situation to her. It didn't seem to appease her much. The detective remained happily oblivious to the whole thing. He was busy jealously guarding the phone from anyone who wanted to give him a hand in cracking the password. At some point, Joan just decided to let him have his fun and concentrated on keeping everyone fed and hydrated.
# #
Having Irene Adler lounging in their living room, freshly showered and positively glowing with predatory playfulness, had sparkled very conflicted feelings in Joan. On one hand, she was still furious about the fake death and resurrection thing (Sherlock's mournful melody remained stuck in the back of her mind and refused to leave, ever). On the other hand, the lady was trying to make amends, maybe because she took Watson's threats to heart and some part of her cunning heart genuinely cared about the detective, maybe because it was all part of another convoluted game. Anyway, Sherlock looked happy enough, so Joan swallowed back her anger and irritation, and sat back watching them flirt.
Seeing the experienced Adler hit a wall with her elegant moves every damn time made the doctor snicker (very discreetly, of course).
She played the role of a not very bright sidekick with relish, as urgently instructed by Sherlock while Irene did God knows what in their bathroom, wondering if her act would be called upon at some point. Sherlock never asked what had been said after he left the Battersea power station, and she did not feel compelled to tell. Anyway, despite their best efforts, the small ruse failed.
Irene grinned knowingly. "I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."
There was something akin to respect in Holmes' expression now. "Oh, you're rather good."
The Woman sauntered towards him, a gaze so intense it could burn holes in brick walls. "You're not so bad."
Oh, for Christ's sake… I haven't seen that much tension at college parties, and that's saying something. "Hannah" she cut through their heated staring contest, feeling a bit like a chaperon at a school dance. "If you were looking for baby names." Just why that name… she reprimanded herself immediately while Sherlock was temporarily derailed into trying to decipher social cues. Irene seemed torn between frustration and laughter.
In an attempt to divert attention from Hannah, Joan's 'British manners' suddenly decided to power down without consulting her first. "Since you're too busy with each other, can I at least see this thing? You never let me get a proper look" she pointed an accusatory finger at the bemused detective and snatched the camera phone without further ado.
The pair stared in silence, while Joan focused on the screen, feeling her neck and cheeks getting red from embarrassment. What the hell are you doing, Watson? Why are you making a fool of yourself? Then whatever was left of brain cells in her head caught up with her eyes. "I AM - - - - LOCKED".
As if apoligizing for the temporary lapse in judgement, the brain rapidly knitted together bits of information into something that made sense. Sherlock assumes (read – is practically certain) she'd choose something specific, personal. Irene makes her personal interests very, very clear. And she likes the feeling of being constantly on the edge. Joan slowly looked up at Adler, who was starting to fiddle with a strand of her still damp hair. Oh my. "Your life, huh?" she managed to say calmly. The other woman's eyes widened slightly, it was barely a hint of surprise, but Joan was almost sure now. She decided to try her best shot at subtlety: "You must really be an thrill-seeker."
Sherlock's frown intensified as he looked between them. Irene gave a small nod of acknowledgement and purred a provocative: "I aim to please." Message received then.
Before the detective exploded, Joan smiled innocently and held out the device. "Please continue. I think the kettle's boiling." And to the kitchen she went.
# #
Sherlock slipped into his meditative mode, muttering about 'double oh seven', leaving Irene confused and Joan slightly nauseated by all the flirting that went down in front of her. It's all fun to watch until they start discussing kinks. Unwanted memories of walking on Harry and Haley once in a literal closet ('What are you doing?!' – 'Getting my shirt! Ugh, Harry, seriously?') made her shudder. That particular girlfriend of her sis was by far the wildest of the lot, and they were barely out of high school at the time. Thankfully, that relationship had lasted only four months. But Joan had a lot of memories from that period to feel traumatized about.
"What is he…" Irene's voice cut through her thoughts.
Sherlock had sunk into his chair, eyes unseeing and hands running absently over the violin. "Oh, he's thinking. He won't react to anything but might talk at some point. Apparently, he's having whole conversations with me in that state, then pouts when I don't do what 'we' decided together." She air-quoted 'we' for good measure. Adler chuckled almost fondly. "So" – Joan collected scattered empty mugs around the room – "more tea?"
"Might as well." Irene followed her into the kitchen and slid the door closed. She waited patiently while the blogger washed and dried the dishes. "You know" she stated flatly when Joan finally turned to look her in the eyes.
"You made it obvious to anyone who's not as oblivious as a new-born kitten" Joan shrugged. "He'll be appalled at himself when he'll figure it out."
"You won't tell him?" Her surprise really showed this time.
"Unless there is a direct threat, I don't see the harm in letting you guys play." Irene's face darkened. "Ah. So there is a threat." When the Woman remained silent, Joan narrowed her eyes in warning. "What have you done?"
"Nothing" Irene hurried to say. "Yet" she amended after an incredulous huff. "I was supposed to…" – she made an oddly cute grimace at this point – "Oh to hell with it, I was supposed to report the decoded message to Jim." Joan felt the blood leave her face at the sound of that name. Oh hell indeed. It just had to circle back to that psycho.
"Did you?" she heard herself ask.
"Of course not. You know the code and you'll have no trouble keeping me from changing it. It's my loss."
There was a tension in her words, a hint of something Joan didn't expect to find in Adler. It was her turn to be surprised. "Are you afraid?"
Irene scoffed and pulled aside a high chair to gracelessly flop on. It looked so out of character that Joan smothered a shocked laugh. "I just failed Moriarty. Of course, I'm afraid, John."
"Did you consider… I don't know, selling your information to Mycroft?"
"Where's the fun in that?" the Woman glared half-heartedly.
"You'd rather die than be bored? Sherlock would relate."
"I know" she sighed and absently started combing her long hair with both hands. "I have to figure out another escape plan…" she muttered softly before looking up sharply. "Never mind. I'll be gone in an hour."
Someone'll be disappointed… Joan hummed thoughtfully. Jim doesn't know yet that Irene failed. There must be a way to turn it into an advantage. "Wait." Irene froze, a hand clutching at the door handle. "How 'bout a deal?" The Woman turned around, an eyebrow quirked elegantly in silent question. "You need Moriarty gone. Me too. And we have a mad genius behind this door that would kill for another go with Jimmy."
"Go on."
"I say we work together and gift-wrap Jim for big brother's late Christmas present. Throw in the information on your phone, and you'll have your safety net and future employment ensured."
Irene scrunched her nose in disgust. "You want me to work for the Iceman?"
Joan filed away the nickname to laugh at later. "I offer you a leg to stand on against the government. You are in way over your head, aren't you?"
"Why?"
A bit thrown off by the question, the doctor frowned. "Why what?"
"Why would you help me?"
Ah. That. "I don't like you" she admitted. "But I like Jim even less."
"That's a low bar" Irene noted with a carefully neutral voice.
"And you tried to make things right with Sherlock" Joan continued with a shrug. "I don't know if he really likes you, but he certainly appreciates you. That's the least I can do."
They stared at each other in tense silence, masks of neutrality still firmly in place. Irene cracked first. "Thank you."
We could still work it out, the ex-soldier thought somewhat happily. "Nothing's done yet. Let's brainstorm first."
# #
Sherlock came back to the real world with a quiet "Coventry." It was already dark outside, and the living room was barely lit by the small lamp they bought four months ago.
Irene, still clad in his dressing gown and looking very much like a content cat, smiled at him from Joan's chair. "I've never been. Is it nice?"
Ignoring the irrelevant question, he focused on more pressing matters. "Where's John?"
"She went out a couple of hours ago" Irene shrugged.
Odd. "I was just talking to her."
The smile grew. "She said you do that. What's Coventry got to do with anything?"
Rather satisfied with the results of his memory search, he chose to indulge her this time: "It's a story, probably not true. 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."
Unfortunately, the small incursion into the darkest secrets of History didn't seem to interest Adler at all. She was too busy devouring him with her eyes. "Have you ever had anyone?" she asked, fascinated.
It took Sherlock by surprise. "Sorry?"
The unsaid What the hell? was lost on her apparently. "And when I say "had," I'm being indelicate."
"I don't understand." But he understood, just really didn't want to admit it or let his mind wander in this direction while there was a perfectly suitable puzzle to focus on.
"Well, I'll be delicate then." She unfurled from her position on the chair and slid towards him, warm and genuine in the low light, the smell of his own shampoo lingering in her wake. "Let's have dinner."
Unsettled by the physical contact, Sherlock stared a little. "Why?"
"Might be hungry."
"I'm not."
"Good."
Fact: Irene is hinting towards an intimate relationship, had been all along, rather insistently. Hypothesis: It is only a very good act. Fact: Her pupils are blown. He slowly and gently snaked his fingers around her wrist to confirm his guess. "Why would I want" – he continued counting in his head while talking – "to have dinner" – Oh – "if I wasn't hungry?" Fact: Pulse elevated. Hypothesis rejected. Conclusion: The interest is genuine.
Irene looked slightly overwhelmed by his deliberate contact. "Oh Mr Holmes… if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"
What a strange question. If it was the end of the world, I'd certainly have other things to worry about. But he wasn't sure how to express this. The silence stretched between them, and Irene's pale eyes flickered uncertainly over his face.
The moment was interrupted by a shrill drill of a cell phone on the dinner table. "Too late" Irene huffed under her breath and stood up to fetch her other phone. "You have the worst timing" she snapped at the caller. Sherlock frowned. "I see. Shall we? Good." She disconnected the call before turning to face him again. "Don't leave without me" she winked and sauntered towards his room, presumably to change clothes. Sherlock frowned but didn't move.
# #
"I hate crowds" Joan announced to the room, huffing and puffing after the effort of making her way through the Tube. Her hair was in a state of nightmarish disarray and the hem of her jeans was covered in mud.
"That's what private drivers are for, my dear" Irene purred from the couch. She changed into a black cocktail dress, impeccable as always, legs crossed elegantly and eyes gleaming at the prospect of the new game.
Sherlock scowled at the new sense of understanding between the two women. Meanwhile, Joan pulled her coat off and made a beeline towards the kettle. "Not on my salary" she called out from the kitchen. "Have you talked?"
"Of course, we did, I'm not that socially inept, John!" Sherlock pointed out sarcastically. Joan didn't respond but the clinking of mugs being pulled from the cupboards suddenly got the distinct sense of Be nice or no tea for you. He shut up.
"We've been waiting for you" Irene said once the tea was served on the coffee table. Her lips curved into a carefully restrained smile, that threatened to become a maniacal grin at any point.
"How kind" Joan muttered, snatching her beverage from the tray and sitting at the cluttered diner table. "Let's talk then."
Sherlock would have started protesting by then (there was a perfectly good puzzle to be solved, and it was all very thrilling, he didn't need anyone wasting his time), but the lack of tension between Irene and Joan made him reconsider. Something happened between the two while he was thinking. Something that made them put away the guns and start cooperating, and well… that was even more intriguing than a top-secret airplane. "About what?" he inquired imperiously.
Irene gracefully leaned forward, catching his gaze. "I require assistance. However, I will not be just a client. I will be your partner." Joan had a sudden fit of fake coughs. The Woman shot her a glare. "No double-entendre intended." – cue the sly smile - "Yet."
He moved forward as well, sitting on the edge of his chair, tense with anticipation. "Do elaborate."
"Someone wants the information in my possession. After much deliberation, I would rather sell this information to its lawful owners and throw in the other buyer as compensation for any… damages caused."
The detective narrowed his eyes, reviewing the last 12 hours in the light of this information. It doesn't add up. "What changed?"
"Pardon?" She blinked in surprise.
"If it had been your original intention, you would have stated so hours ago. What changed?"
He didn't expect a wink. "I discovered that John isn't a new-born kitten." The two women exchanged an amused glance to Sherlock's growing irritation.
His glare zeroed in on Watson. "What have you done?"
The doctor took a sip of her tea and made a good attempt at an innocent face. "Nothing you wouldn't have." Sherlock's glare intensified. Joan smiled nervously.
"My, he is fierce" Irene interrupted the stare-down. The detective glanced at her, half-surprised, half-frustrated (I was getting somewhere). Adler was watching him rapturously while biting her lower lip. In the dancing lights from the fireplace, it looked almost like a cover of some inane love novel aimed at bored housewives.
The moment was broken by Joan's deep sigh. "Stop flirting. We have a deadline."
# #
Sherlock was not happy. Rationally, he agreed with the plan – it was as sound as it'd get with the time constraints they had. Emotionally (he cringed at the implication he had emotions), it was far too risky. But the benefits… At the end of the day, he was not happy but couldn't help being excited by the expected results.
His internal turmoil had to be put on the backburner when his phone lit with a new text. "Target here. Get ready. JW". He looked out of the window to check on Irene who had been patiently waiting in the middle of the busy square. They chose a public location to lower the risk of a fistfight with the target's henchmen. With so many people around, the discretion would become top priority. Sherlock himself had broken into a nearby closed office building and was currently enjoying his vantage point of view in the dark, binoculars in hand. Joan was supposedly somewhere in the crowd, ready to act.
Jim Moriarty walked away from a group of excited Chinese tourists and confidently strode towards Irene. He was wearing a dark Burberry coat, and, from what Sherlock managed to gather, the infamous Westwood underneath. A powerplay. As expected.
Irene did not move from her spot, even after spotting the man. She knew how to push people's buttons, as Jim was scowling when he reached her. They exchanged a couple of short phrases (greetings, taunts), then Adler said something that made Moriarty grin. She moved to pull out some printed documents from her small purse, when a hooded figure rushed past them towards the bus stop.
# #
Joan had rummaged through all closets in the house (including Sherlock's) to find the most shapeless clothes possible. A pair of grey baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie later, one would be hard-pressed to identify her in the crowd. Hell, with the hood up, it would even have be problematic to say if the silhouette was male or female. And the too long sleeves conveniently hid her hands.
She hanged back near a coffee shop, pretending to play on her phone. She could see Sherlock's shadow in the dark window on the other side of the square, but only because she knew where to look. The detective had barely moved, and to a casual observer it would look like a play of lights. A group of noisy Asian tourists passed by her, and she spotted the perfectly groomed criminal mastermind in their midst, engaged in an animated debate with a small old lady, who had a concealed butcher knife in her sleeve. Joan blinked at the last observation and looked again at the subtle shape under the fabric. Yep, grandma has strapped a knife under her cardigan. What the actual hell.
She shot a quick text to her associates and split her attention between Moriarty and the suspiciously armed old lady. Jim ended the conversation with a nod and walked away from the group. The tourists continued chattering excitedly and quickly relocated into the nearby McDonald's. The old lady seemed completely at ease, and Joan put this oddity aside for the moment. Perhaps an operative, or a smuggler, or someone with a misconception about self-defence. I have enough of Jimmy to worry about.
Jim had reached Irene's position. They chose this location specifically in the vicinity of an always busy public transportation hub. Pretending to rush to catch the incoming bus, Joan sped towards the pair, the syringe prepped in her left hand, invisible under the sleeve.
She bumped into Moriarty on full speed, years of experience allowing to make the injection into his arm despite the resistance of several layers of fabric, all without him noticing. "Sorry, mate!" she called in a guttural voice and ran off, leaving him to glare murderously after the fleeing offender.
At the bus stop, she mingled with the crowd, hiding from view behind a blinking ad board. The sedative would take effect in several minutes. She rolled up the sleeves, lost the hood and peaked back at where the target stayed. Moriarty took a couple of unsteady steps before starting to sag into Irene's arms. It worked.
# #
Sherlock tried not to run towards the small crowd forming around Moriarty. He also tried not to consider the odds of the mastermind's spies being in the crowd, although getting closer and being able to read them all gave him peace of mind on that subject. "It's quite alright, just anemia I guess" he heard Joan explain to the assembled onlookers with calm authority. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the flashlights of the ambulance and grinned. Mycroft is fast today.
The big brother had been called as soon as Joan injected the sedative. A brief "I have Moriarty sedated in Oxford Circus" made the trick. MI5 agents disguised as paramedics pushed their way through and wheeled the unconscious criminal away, and the crowd started to slowly disperse.
Joan and Irene made their way to him, both glancing at the fake ambulance. "That was efficient" the doctor commented, wiping off her hands on the rough fabric of the hoodie.
"I dare say so" drawled a low voice behind their backs. The fact that his brother arrived without him noticing made Sherlock cringe before turning to face the irritated bureaucrat. Not that anyone, aside from him, would notice the frustration in the deep frown. "Whatever did you get yourself into now, Sherlock?"
"Actually" the younger Holmes snapped back petulantly, "this time, it's John's fault."
As the cold dispassionate gaze turned to the unassuming doctor, Joan started to fidget with the hem of her sleeves. Mycroft maintained the silent pression long enough (fifteen seconds) for her to give up. "Sorry we got Moriarty?" she offered with a shrug. "The operation was time-sensitive."
"Yes, we had no time for drama" Sherlock added, pulling the attention back to himself.
"Your sarcasm is misplaced." Mycroft started to play with his damned umbrella. "I commend your results, even though the execution could use a little more… preparation."
Not the worried card again… "You are tedious."
The older Holmes ignored his brother with practiced ease. "Should I even ask why such haste?"
"Because of the Jumbo Jet, Mister Holmes" Irene stepped forward. She had stayed silent in the background long enough for the tension to drop, then struck at the jugular like a true predator.
Mycroft briefly looked like he sucked on a lemon, giving both Sherlock and Joan a very disappointed glance. "I see. Let us relocate to a more discreet location, Miss Adler."
"We're coming too" Joan piped up. "It was the deal." The disappointment intensified.
"Very well" he finally said, as if these two words were carved out of his flesh.
# #
The black car rolled into a gloomy underground parking lot and stopped in the spot assigned to "Gvmt ID 3", whatever it might be. The driver and the bodyguard in the front seat climbed out and took position to cover all angles around the vehicle. Mycroft made no move to follow.
The whole ride had been spent in silence, with Sherlock and Joan exchanging occasional eyerolls, and Irene gleefully observing them. The older Holmes had just pretended to read a book. Now, that they were at the 'discreet location', he slammed it shut and the silence stretched painfully.
"Oh, come off it" Joan snapped first. Temper, Watson… "Nothing bad happened."
"That remains to be seen, John" Mycroft said softly, the underlying trickle of steel in the voice making it clear that the trust placed in the ex-soldier was being currently reassessed.
The doctor sighed heavily and waved at Irene to do her thing. The Woman smirked and leaned forward. "I want to offer the information I have in my possession, and any future information I might obtain in… let's say in the period of five years from now, in exchange for protection and gainful employment." Mycroft openly stared for a second, shocked by that turn of events. Sherlock, being privy to this part beforehand, snorted in mirth. "Cooperating in the capture of Moriarty was a gesture of good will." Adler offered a practiced business smile. "What do you say, Mister Holmes?"
"We did not require your help in acquiring Moriarty" the older Holmes said absently, eyes narrowed slightly, which was a sign of intense brainwork. He was probably calculating all possible scenarios and likely downfalls at once.
"Doesn't change the fact that I had been instrumental in his capture."
"And you would willingly surrender the all the files?" The question sounded genuinely doubtful.
Irene pulled the infamous phone out of her bag. "As soon as my terms are met."
Still maintaining the blank face, Mycroft nodded at the device. "We have people who can get into this."
"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months. Sherlock, dear?"
The younger brother smirked as he rambled off his findings: "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."
"Explosive" Irene commented, sending Sherlock a gaze full of innuendo. "It's more me."
Mycroft crossed his arms. "There is a passcode. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."
Sherlock didn't need to be prompted this time. "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."
There was a long silence again. "Why the change of mind, Miss Adler?" the government official finally asked.
Irene straightened up. "You tell me."
Surprisingly, it didn't seem to irk Mycroft too much, as he started to elaborate in a voice that could be considered as bored to hell. "By going on with the original plan, provided by that dear Jim no doubt, you could have gained much, much more, admittedly with a higher risk of failure. Something went haywire during the execution, making the likelihood of your success plummet to zero. You are cornered. So far, so obvious. Now, tell me, what changed?" he echoed his brother's words from earlier this evening.
Sherlock perked up as well, he knew it had something to do with Joan, but the ladies never deigned to clarify that point. Perhaps a bit of legal authority was in order. Irene's blood-red lips stretched in a happy grin. "John."
Twin Holmes laser gazes turned towards Watson, who had been suspiciously quiet during the whole conversation, aside from the initial outburst. She had been busy discreetly yawning at that exact moment and almost choked when the two brothers started to glare for answers. A quick glance towards Adler (let them hang, the Woman seemed to suggest with her quirked eyebrows and amused smile) didn't help much. Big reveal then, yay! "I figured out the code" she stated plainly, forgoing the suspense and drama.
The glares turned into hilariously similar surprised expressions, that quickly became a study in suspicion. "How?" Sherlock hissed. "I tried for months!"
You see, but you do not observe. Sorely tempted, Joan resisted the karmic comeback. "She all but told you" she shrugged instead, then dropped into a conspirational whisper. "It's to do with sentiment."
"You're going to out me like that?" Irene chimed in mockingly.
"You were naked on his lap minutes after meeting him for the first time. You outed yourself, girl."
Sherlock's eyes started to flicker back and forth, chasing invisible strings of data, until he closed them briefly with a deep sigh. "Ah. Indeed." He quickly snatched the phone from Irene's grasp and typed the four letters. "Hiding in plain sight." He lowered his hand so that everyone could see the message displayed on the small screen:
I AM
SHER
LOCKED
One click later, the contents of the camera phone flashed open and he made to give to Mycroft. Irene swiftly intercepted the gesture. "Ah ah, Mister Holmes. My conditions first." Seeing his hesitation, she pushed again. "I had given proof of my good intentions. If you continue to refuse my demands – rather mild compared to plan A, mind you - at this point, I doubt John would stop me from changing the code. And then we'll all lose."
For the moment, Sherlock looked just content to see his brother squirm. Said brother was watching Irene with a calculating glint in his eyes. "John, would you vouch for Miss Adler?"
The doctor frowned. Don't drag me into this. "I can hardly assess the usefulness of your informants. Miss Adler and I had a deal, she upheld her side without an issue. That's as much as you'll get from me."
"Cold" Irene whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Very well" Mycroft sighed, tension lines fading slowly from his brow. "Consider yourself hired, Miss Adler. My assistant will contact you to work out the details of your contract. The announce of our negotiations will be delayed until your security is fully ensured. It should suffice in the short-term."
# #
Mycroft dropped them off at Baker Street before escorting Irene to a safe house. Before they could slip out of the vehicle, Adler caught Sherlock's hand. They locked eyes, and her gaze was almost pleading. "When it is safe… may I come visit you?"
From her vantage point, Joan could see a blush creeping up the detective's neck. "As if I could stop you" he huffed indifferently and pushed past Watson to get out, stepping on her feet.
"Git" she muttered while extricating herself from the car with far less grace. "I think it's a 'yes'" she said to the car occupants before giving them a parting nod and slamming the door close.
# #
Very late the next morning, they were both in their pyjamas in their respective chairs, cups of tea in hand, watching the telly. Nothing major was going on, even if Joan chuckled inexplicably at the report of an elderly Chinese tourist slashing a mugger's face with a butcher knife. Sherlock frowned but didn't ask. He felt like fidgeting, tense from the knowledge of the upcoming disaster.
Finally, Joan had enough. "You really think your brother would kill hundreds of people for the sake of secrecy?"
"Yes" he responded immediately.
"He wouldn't be a good government then."
"Don't you see, John?" Sherlock shot up and started pacing round the living room. "He'd do anything in the name of 'national interest'. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new."
She looked at him, unimpressed. "You underestimate the human's capacity to innovate. I'm sure there is more to it than a string of numbers."
"You continue to impress me, Doctor Watson" Mycroft drawled from the doorstep, making them both jump.
"What are you, a ghost?" the ex-soldier asked rhetorically.
"Explain" demanded Sherlock, already over the initial shock.
"You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" He stepped into the room, twirling the umbrella in one hand and miraculously not knocking anything down. "We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight."
Sherlock froze for a couple of seconds before his mouth rounded in a silent Oh. "The dead."
The older brother smiled smugly. "What do you think of my solution? The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies. Neat, don't you think?"
"Sorry, can anyone explain to the stupid one in the room?" Joan called out from her chair.
Sherlock happily obliged. "There will be no live passengers on that plane. Only corpses. With the modern technology, the aircraft can be piloted remotely. No one will die." He grimaced before adding: "Neat."
Mycroft nodded in silent acknowledgement of the grudging compliment. "However, if the information had reached the wrong ears, the whole operation would have been jeopardized."
"Get to the point" Sherlock huffed, falling on the sofa with reckless abandon.
"You had been careless, Sherlock" the older brother stated firmly. "It was pure luck that no leak had occurred."
"Actually… it was John's fault" the younger man replied, seeming pleased to use that excuse once again so soon.
"We both know that you didn't even consider getting her opinion on that code for weeks. It was luck."
Sherlock pouted. Joan finished her tea and felt bad enough about the whole situation to speak up. "It's quite alright, Sherlock would have figured it out sooner rather than later."
"I prefer not to rely on assumption, John." Mycroft sniffed for good measure and looked at her down his nose. "You have valuable skills that should be put to good use. Think about it."
Sherlock rolled into a sitting position. "Piss off, Mycroft."
"You can't possibly…"
"Piss. Off."
"As you wish" he surrendered without a fight, which triggered all sorts of alarms. With a final swirl of umbrella, the older Holmes sauntered out of the flat.
"What was that?" Joan asked after a long moment spent glaring at the empty staircase.
"He was trying to recruit you" the detective growled.
"Is that what it was? Huh. I expected better." He stared at her in disbelief. Having expected the recruitment attempts to resume for some time now, Joan mentally took note to swipe for bugs in her room before making any calls. "More tea?"
# #
Disclaimer 2: The part with Irene helping John and Sherlock capturing Moriarty is inspired by "Infinitely Stranger" by Aurilia.
A/N: So, Irene made me rework the original plan. I had the following part written out, but due to Miss Adler's intervention, I have to switch it with Baskerville, which isn't ready yet. So, again, sorry for the future delays in updating :(