Clothes were flung across Sherlock's bedroom as he dug through his closet looking for something to wear. I did something similar, looking through the clothes that Bobbie had brought by while we were gone, but decidedly not throwing them around the flat. John was calmer about the whole thing though, and sat peacefully at the kitchen table, reading my notebooks again. Thankfully, neither had been too concerned about my minor panic in the cab back, but I was determined not to let Irene get to me. Moriarty already had, but I knew Irene better. I knew what she was going to try and do. I knew that she loved Sherlock. But I also knew I had to be careful because she was a pawn of Moriarty's. The last thing I needed was more of his attention on me because of a slip up. However, that didn't mean I was going to go down easy. And to do that, I needed to be as comfortable as possible.
"What are you doing?" John questioned us both, though mostly Sherlock; the noise of his clothes being tossed around having distracted him from his reading.
"Going into battle, John. I need the right armor." Sherlock replied, looking at himself while wearing a bright yellow safety jacket, before throwing that off as well. "Nope."
"And you, Sam?"
I looked up, clothes draped over my arm. "I'm just finding my most comfortable clothes."
"Liar!" Sherlock quipped from the other room and I frowned in his direction as he continued. "You're nervous. This is you finding the clothes you are most comfortable in to act as a confidence boost. Picking your own set of armor as it were."
"Yeah, well, nobody asked you." I grumbled, heading into the bathroom where I rolled my eyes with a hint of a smile. Same as always, the arse.
I came out feeling much better in my dark maroon skinny jeans, white v-neck, hoodie and sneakers. I let out a soft sigh, moving to the window to smoke as we waited for Sherlock to figure out what he was going to wear; myself calling out to him idly.
"You're not going to fool her with an outfit, you know."
"Who says I'm trying to fool her?" Sherlock replied, coming out in the very same thing he'd been wearing all day and grabbing his coat and scarf. "Now hurry up."
I rolled my eyes and snuffed out my cigarette as I hurried after him and John to the cab downstairs.
"So, what's the plan?" John asked once we were on our way.
"We know her address." Sherlock answered simply.
"What? Just ring her doorbell?"
"Exactly." Sherlock leaned forward, speaking to the cab driver. "Just here, please."
"You didn't even change your clothes." John exclaimed as we climbed out of the cab and Sherlock led us to a nearby alley.
"Then it's time to add a splash of color." He said, pulling off his scarf and making to talk to John, but I stopped him.
"Could you just… Could you do that again?" I asked, making him frown at me in confusion.
"What? Take off my scarf? But I've already taken it off."
"But… just…" Gah! I missed it! I missed the smirk on his face as he took it off! I missed the sexy Sherlock scarf removal! There's no way he'll do it again now! My mind complained and I sighed. "Never mind."
Sherlock raised a brow, but turned to John as he spoke.
"Are we here?"
"Two streets away, but this'll do."
"For what?"
Sherlock pointed to his cheek, getting pumped up for what was going to happen; myself getting my phone ready to tape it. After all, Lestrade got a good laugh from the whole Johnlock thing I photographed last time. Why wouldn't he like to see them fighting?
"Punch me in the face."
"Punch you?" John questioned, looking confused.
"Yes. Punch me, in the face." He repeated, pointing again to his cheek. "Didn't you hear me?"
"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."
"Oh, for God's sake…" Sherlock drawled, before hitting John squarely in the jaw; knocking him back.
He prepped himself for the inevitable, and sure enough, once back on his feet John hit him in return.
"Ow." John hissed, flexing his bruised knuckles as Sherlock got up and rubbed his cheek.
"Thanks you. That was, that was—" Sherlock didn't get to finish as John tackled him and locked him in a chokehold.
"Okay. I think we're done now, John." Sherlock croaked out, still trying to get the man off him.
"You wanna remember, Sherlock. I was a soldier. I killed people." John countered.
"You were a doctor."
"I had bad days!"
"Sam!" Sherlock called out and I sighed softly, stopping the recording.
"Yes, yes. Coming." I mumbled, heading over and reaching for one of John's wrists. "Sorry, John."
"Wha—Ow!" He yelped as I pinched a rather tender pressure point in his wrist and got him to release Sherlock; myself letting him go relatively quickly and standing between the two. "Are we done now? You two treat me like a child, but seriously, you're both much worse."
"Thank you." Sherlock mumbled and I turned to him with a scowl, landing a good hit to his face as well; knocking him back to the floor, much to John's amusement.
"And that, is for all the crap you've put me through the last few weeks. You git." I huffed, heading for the main road towards Irene's place, if only to keep them from seeing the embarrassed and slightly panicked expression I wore now.
I hit Sherlock. Dear God, I punched Sherlock Holmes in the face! I mean, it felt great, honestly. I've bene wanting to punch him for a while, but he's going to kill me!
"Do you even know where you're going?"
I jumped at Sherlock's voice, turning around with wide eyes as he grabbed my arm and tugged me the other way. "I-I, uh…"
"The appropriate answer would be no. No, you don't." He responded, clearing his throat then and looking decidedly away from me. "And I apologize, for whatever it was I did that upset you. Which I assume, was most of my questioning."
I gapped at him in shock, but he turned to me with a glare.
"So long as you don't send that video you took of us to Lestrade." He threatened, before grumbling. "I already can't stand the snickering from the last photo you sent him."
I snorted, laughing as we caught up with John, who smiled at us both as Sherlock went up to the door and shushed me. I stopped, still struggling to hide a smile and stayed behind him and John for now as he rang the bell, slipping on a vicar collar, and Kate answered via the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and… um, I think they… they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please could you help me?" Sherlock practically cried into the mic; elbowing me to stop my quite giggle just out of the screen.
I knew that just on the other side of the door, Kate was struggling to not laugh as well at Sherlock's little act.
"I can phone the police if you want."
"Thank you! Thank you. Could you please. Um, would you mind if I just waited here? Just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much." He replied, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it to his cheek as Kate buzzed us in. "Thank you, uh, oh. Ha…" Sherlock stuttered out as John closed the door behind us; explaining his and my presence.
"I-I saw it all happen. My niece and I." He said, making me desperately try not to give him an annoyed look. "It's okay. I'm a doctor."
Kate nodded, glancing at me and giving me a once over briefly.
"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked her and she nodded; gesturing Sherlock and I into the front room before leading John into the kitchen.
Once settled on the couch, I struggled still to not smile and Sherlock scowled at me.
"Knock it off. You're going to get us caught."
"Please." I whispered, knowing Irene would be here soon as I took off my jacket and Sherlock removed his coat. "With that acting? I would be shocked if we hadn't already."
He sighed with a roll of his eyes, scanning the room and relaxing until we heard the distinct click-clack of heels headed our way. He sat up and put the handkerchief back to his cheek, nudging me.
"Look concerned." He snipped under his breath and I hesitated before reaching out and taking the handkerchief from him.
"Then let me." I muttered back, holding it to his cheek, much to his surprise.
But not nearly making the impact Irene did when she strolled in.
"Hello. Sorry to hear you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name."
"I'm so sorry. I'm—" Sherlock cut himself off upon seeing the woman very naked, lightly pushing my hand away from his face as she smirked.
"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" She purred and then set her eyes on me; to which they narrowed before her grin grew. "And you've got quite the cute friend. No acting for me, deary? Well, aren't you clever."
I stiffened as she headed over and straddled Sherlock's legs to reach his vicar collar.
"There now. We're both defrocked." She smiled down at him. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Miss Adler, I presume." Sherlock answered back, dropping his little act and keeping his gaze locked on her face.
"Oh, look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?" She asked and he frowned at her, confused, but then things changed. She got up off him and sauntered over to me, surprising me with the sudden diversion of the plot.
"And then there's you. Sam Foxe." She smirked, making me swallow thickly as she straddled my waist as well and leaned forward; a finger sliding down my neck towards my shoulder where the gunshot from Moriarty lay. "Or should I call you Sammy?"
Ice went through my body at that; the blood quickly draining from my face as my hands fisted at my sides. His voice ringing in my ears.
"A different side to my little Sammy. Isn't that interesting?"
"This is the only offer you're going to receive from me, Sammy."
"Bad choice, Sammy."
"What's wrong, Sammy?" Irene whispered, her breath right next to my ear and I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it out, opening my eyes to stare heatedly at Irene; causing her to smirk. "And there's the fire.~"
She put Sherlock's vicar collar between her teeth, snapping down on it harshly, just as John decided to show up. Late.
"Right, this should do it." He said, coming in with a bowl of water and a cloth, but stopping when he lifted his gaze to find a very naked Irene straddling me with Sherlock's vicar collar in her mouth. He looked down at the bowl and then back at us; purposely keeping his eyes off Irene's form. "I've missed something, haven't I?"
Irene took the collar from her mouth, getting up and allowing me to sink back into the couch with a tense breath of relief; though Irene herself sounded slightly annoyed at his interrupting.
"Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid."
"I had some that the Palace." Sherlock replied with a blunt voice, though I was still trying to control my shaking limbs when he glanced at me.
"I know." Irene smiled, sitting down in a chair and crossing her legs and arms in a slight attempt to make herself more decent.
"Clearly." Sherlock muttered and the two of them locked into a staring contest until John interrupted again.
"I had tea too… at the Palace, if anyone's interested."
Sherlock frowned, looking at Irene and finding nothing that he could deduce. It frustrated him and he almost thought something was wrong with him, but he looked over at John and found everything he needed to know about his companion. Two-day shirt. Electric, not blade. Date tonight. Hasn't phoned sister. New toothbrush. Night out with Stamford. He turned back to Irene, but still nothing. So he turned to Sam and his frown deepened. Anxious. Twisting hands and trying not to bounce her leg. Shoulder's hurting. Psychological pain? Something Irene said reminded her of Moriarty. Jaw tense with grit teeth. She's angry. At whom? Irene? Herself perhaps? But why? Lack of confidence…?
"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked, drawing his attention back to her. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait. Even Sammy knew that and didn't bother to dress up as anything other than herself."
Sam flinched and Sherlock connected the dots. Sammy. She doesn't like being called that because that's what Moriarty called her back at the pool. Nothing I can do about it.
"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" He questioned Irene, hoping for some sort of slip-up.
"No. I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself." She commented as Sherlock unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt to get more comfortable now that the act was completely up. Irene leaned in though, smirking. "Ooh, somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."
She glanced over at Sam, who'd since grown slightly more confident, eyes scanning her with a smile. "Isn't that right, Sammy?"
"Bruised knuckles a bit of a giveaway." Sam muttered, surprising Sherlock with how quickly she was lowering her shy barriers in front of this woman and showing a hint of her true self.
"Hm." Irene hummed, turning to John as well, who forced a chuckle in the awkward silence.
"Could you put something on, please? Uh, anything at all?" He glanced down and picked up the cloth he'd brought. "A napkin?"
"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" Irene questioned as Sherlock stood.
"I don't think John knows where to look." He replied, handing Irene his coat.
She ignored him though, walking over to John who stiffened and looked right up at her face.
"No, I think he knows exactly where." She hummed, reaching back for the coat. "I'm not sure about you. Sammy, on the other hand, well…" Irene turned to Sam again, as she slipped on Sherlock's coat. "I'm sure she knows where to look, but doesn't want to ruin what's left of her self-confidence."
Sam bristled, but bit her tongue, keeping her mouth shut and her eyes straight, even as Irene reached out and brushed her hand over the side of her face.
"Mm, but she really does put me in a bind. I'm quite a fan of the cute, young, innocent ones."
"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop." Sherlock quipped, being sure to draw her attention away from the quickly angering Sam.
"You do borrow my laptop."
"I confiscate it." He corrected, heading over to the fireplace.
He was getting frustrated with this whole mess. He didn't like how Sam was acting, nor how Irene was easily manipulating her into acting as such. And it was annoying to him, how the two almost seemed to know each other. Or know of each other. It was like a secret talk was going on right in front of him, but he wasn't privy to knowing what it was they were silently communicating to each other. It was making it hard to focus on the case.
"Well, never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me. I need to know." Irene piped up, sitting on the sofa uncomfortably close to Sam. "How was it done?"
"What?" Sherlock asked, confused by the out-of-nowhere question.
"The hiker with the bashed-in head." She replied, removing her heels. "How was he killed?"
Sherlock looked at John and Sam, then back to Irene in confusion. "That's not why I'm here."
"No, no, no. You're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen, and since we're just chatting anyway…" She trailed off, leaning against Sam and draping an arm around the young woman's shoulders as she trailed a finger around her ear; the latter of the two looking stiff as a board and more than displeased.
"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asked.
"Blackmail." Sam said bluntly, swiping at Irene's hand, but the woman just tutted.
"Now, now." Irene looked up at John. "I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes."
"Oh." John said, sitting down on the opposite side of her. "And you like policemen?"
"John." Sam snipped and John had the decency to look sheepish as Irene smirked.
"I like detective stories… and detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."
"Position of the car." Sherlock said so quickly that John and Irene had to double-take as he repeated himself more slowly. "Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."
"Okay. Tell me. How was he murdered?" Irene pressed.
"He wasn't." Sam grumbled, getting up after finally having enough of Irene's fondling.
"You don't think it was murder?" Irene questioned her, but Sherlock responded; watching as Sam moved towards the window and her hand twitched by her pocket.
"I know it wasn't." Wants a cigarette. Stressed, but more than that. She's antsy about something. And how did she know about the case? She was asleep and it wasn't mentioned in detail by Mycroft earlier, nor John.
"How?" Irene asked, more curious now than anything, and not liking that Sherlock was focusing on Sam instead of her.
"The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."
"Okay, but how?"
Sherlock smirked and Irene's brows furrowed in confusion. "So they are in this room. Thank you. John, Sam. Man the door. Let no one in."
Sam looked over at Sherlock, who nodded to the door and she begrudgingly headed out with John. Sherlock wanted her out of the tense room. She obviously had issues with Irene and, while he wasn't sure how, he knew things might go along more smoothly if Irene wasn't drifting from messing with him to messing with her. That, and her anxious ticks were getting distracting. And this way, I have Irene's full attention. Sherlock mused as Irene glanced nervously at the door.
"Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart, and one car." Sherlock started, pacing as Irene's head snapped back around to him.
"Oh. I-I thought you were looking for the photos now."
Got you. "No, no. Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them, but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment. So let's pass the time."
John and I headed outside and I sighed, relaxing my shoulders that had been tense ever since Irene walked into the room.
"She bothers you too then?" John questioned me lightly, picking up a newspaper nearby and rolling it up; according to Sherlock's plan.
"More than you know."
"Hm. She was rather focused on you, and you two seem to have a thing going on." He commented, making me turn to him in concern.
"W-What?"
"Well, you kept looking at each other. Like you were having your own conversation. Have you met before?"
I swallowed thickly, not knowing what to really tell him and feeling that if I said nothing, this would very much come back to bite me in the butt. But if I say I know her, I'll become suspicious too. And I can't say much of anything about what I know… although… they seem to accept that I know things already. They just don't know the extent and where I got it from… maybe…
"I-I'll… I'll explain later." I begrudgingly told him, earning a concerned look from John as he began to light the magazine with the lighter we 'borrowed'. "Part of it, anyway… You know, about the whole… me knowing things. Just not here. Please."
He nodded and gave me a small reassuring smile, waving the smoking magazine up at the fire alarm until it went off. Problem was, I knew better than anyone that fire alarms tend to just go on for a long while and John was having trouble putting out the magazine; Sherlock calling out from inside.
"I said you can turn it off now!"
"Give us a minute!" John said, whacking the magazine before I took it from him and dropped it to the wood floor; stomping it out and giving him a look.
"Army man and you can't put out a bit of fire?"
He shrugged with a small smile, before there were loud steps behind us and three men came down; my body going stiff as I realized I'd completely forgotten about them in my earlier panic with Irene. One of the group used his silenced gun to 'turn off' the fire alarm and quickly aimed it at John and I. I stiffened, but John gave me a pointed look and I put my hands up alongside him as he thanked the men for turning off the alarm.
"Thank you."
I wanted to at least warn Sherlock of what was coming and took a step back; purposely kicking the door with my heel. I wasn't sure if he got the message, but the leader of the group grabbed my shirt and yanked me forwards; snarling in my face.
"Bad move."
I grimaced as he pulled his own weapon and turned me around with my arm pinned painfully behind my back. The cold steel pressed into my jugular and I struggled to not think of the last time a gun was pointed at me. Zhi Zhu, Shan, Sebastian Moran… The pattern is beginning to get hard to ignore. It's always me and my big ideas.
"Move." He snapped, shoving me at the door as he pulled it open and shouted orders to Irene and Sherlock. "Hands behind your head. On the floor. Keep it still."
"Sorry, Sherlock." John apologized as he was brought in and the second guy stood behind Irene as she was forced to kneel on the ground.
"No need. Sam gave us some warning." He replied, hands up behind his head as he turned to the man in charge. "Don't you want me on the floor too?"
"No, sir. I want you to open the safe."
Sherlock tipped his head slightly as he glanced at me, looking almost relieved, though I was sure it was because I was calm and not having a panic attack. Though if I'm not careful, I may very well be heading on the way to one.
"American. Interesting. Why would you care?" He muttered, looking over at Irene and then back at me briefly, before leveling his gaze at Neilson—Now that I remember his name…
"Sir, the safe, now. Please." He pressed, adjusting the weapon digging in under my jaw.
"I don't know the code."
"We've been listening. She said she told you." Neilson argued.
"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't."
Neilson wasn't about to give in though. "I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."
"For God's sake, she's the one who knows the code, ask her." John pressed from his spot on the ground beside Irene.
"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."
"Mr. Holmes doesn't—" Irene started, but was cut off by Neilson.
"Shut up. One more word out of you—just one—and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."
"This is why the British think Americans are pig-headed and trigger happy morons." I grumbled, mentally scolding myself for my big mouth when Neilson yanked my arm up even higher and causing me to let out a small cry of pain.
"Stop it. Leave her alone." Sherlock snapped harshly, and the pressure lightened up briefly as I turned my watery gaze to Sherlock.
"Alright. Then on the count of three, I'll shoot her."
"What?!" John exclaimed as Sherlock's gaze turned to me.
"I don't have the code."
"One."
"I don't know the code." Sherlock pressed, getting more panicked as the countdown went on.
"Two."
"She didn't tell me." He said, voice raising. "I don't know it!"
"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." Neilson said, cocking the gun, but before he said three I called out.
"Wait!"
Everything in the room stopped for a second as I tried to speak past the fear.
"W-Wait. I know it. I-I know the code."
"Sam?" John murmured in shock as I opened my eyes and caught Sherlock's narrowed eyes looking at me in confusion.
"Do you now?" Neilson hummed, shoving me towards the fireplace where I barely managed to get my hands in front of me to prevent my head colliding with the edge. "Open it."
I gave Sherlock a nervous look, flinching when I heard Neilson cock his weapon once more.
"Now."
I brought a shaky hand up and began putting in the numbers, hoping that my memory of them was correct. 32, 24, 34. The supposedly perfect measurements. The safe beeped, unlocking as everyone let out a breath of relief. I glanced at Sherlock, who watched as I mouthed 'Vatican cameos' and his eyes widened in understanding.
"Vatican cameos!" He called out quickly, just as I yanked the door of the safe open and John ducked along with the rest of us.
The guard behind John was killed and I managed to swing up and disarm Neilson as Irene took care of her guard; myself landing a solid pistol hit to Neilson's face and knocking him unconscious. Sherlock looked a little surprised, but turned to Irene who hadn't quite knocked her guard out yet.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all." She replied, knocking him out as well while Sherlock used her distraction to snatch what was in the safe.
John, who'd been checking his guard stood up; out of breath. "He's dead."
"Thank you." Irene smiled over at me. "You were very observant."
"Observant?" John questioned.
"I'm flattered."
"P-Please, d-d-don't." I stuttered out, very out of breath and feeling the verge of a panic attack trying to rear its ugly head as Sherlock took the gun from me cautiously.
"Sam, sit down." He ordered and I nodded, moving to the nearest chair and collapsing in it; ducking my head down towards my knees and running my hands through my short hair.
Dear God. I could have died.
Irene looked at the scene before her in confusion and slight concern. "Is she alright?"
John hurried over to Sam's side as Sherlock nodded idly; moving to the door.
"She'll be fine. There'll be more of them though. They'll be keeping an eye on the building. John, with me."
"But—"
"G-Go, John. I just need a minute." Sam muttered shakily and John begrudgingly nodded, hurrying after Sherlock as they bolted out the front door.
The moment they were gone though, Irene went towards the safe, only to find it empty.
"You won't find it." Sam told her and she turned to the young woman with a frown as gunshots rang outside.
"And how is it you know so much? I doubt you're as clever as Sherlock and could tell my measurements from just a glance."
Sam lifted her gaze, looking tired. "Didn't he tell you about me?"
Irene furrowed her brows, but Sherlock returned then, calling out to John as he disarmed the pistol he had.
"Check the rest of the house. See how they got in." He then turned to Irene, who still looked a bit stunned as he flipped the phone he'd taken from the safe and caught it. "Well, that's a knighthood in the bag."
"Ah, and that's mine." Irene said tensely, holing out her hand.
Sherlock ignored her and unlocked the screen to find a security code. 'I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED'.
"All the photographs are in here, I presume?" He asked.
"I have copies, of course."
"No, you don't." Sherlock quickly shot down her vain attempt at protecting herself. "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."
Irene lowered her outstretched hand. "Who said I'm selling?"
Sherlock looked at Sam briefly, slightly glad she was no longer panicking and had gotten ahold of herself, but lightly gestured to the men on the floor. "Well, why would they be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs."
"That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it." She said sternly, stepping closer and holding out her hand again. "It's my protection."
"Sherlock!" John called out from upstairs, and Sherlock looked right at Irene and pulled the phone back.
"It was."
Sherlock walked out and Sam went to follow, but Irene grabbed her arm, stopping her.
"You said 'him'. You know why I have that phone, don't you?"
Sam didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough for Irene to know.
"Then you have to get him to give it back. Do you understand what will happen if I don't have that?"
"If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."
"I-I can't convince him. Sherlock already thinks I work for him. There's nothing I can do."
Irene scowled at her, shoving her out of her way and storming out after Sherlock as Sam sighed softly to herself.
"Sherlock's my protection… I'm sorry, but I can't lose him."
I hurried up after Irene, worried about what I was going to do now. Informing her that I knew future events was probably a bad thing and I had no doubt that Moriarty would get more suspicious and would probably up his game, but a part of me understood her. We were both being hunted by him and Sherlock was the one guy who could save us both. That was probably what made Irene infatuated with him. He was her knight in shining armor. If she could just prove that to him, she could be safe, but to do that she has to fool him and Moriarty. Just as I needed to fool Sherlock and John to be kept safe. Things were changing though. Events changed because I was in them. The thing with the safe, Irene talking with me, John and Sarah, Zhi Zhu. Everything was changing because I had a place in the plot now and as much as I wanted to just keep my foreknowledge to myself, it was already obvious. Sherlock knew. John knew. Irene and Moriarty knew. Hell, Mycroft probably knew. And in a minute, Sherlock would be drugged by Irene, who would take her phone back and I had a part to play. Do I leave him and stay with John? Do I follow and risk him getting more suspicious when I allow Irene to get away? Do I get drugged? I wanted to help him, but getting to that point was the hard part. Worst part was, I had only a few seconds to figure it out and every move would cast suspicion on me.
"It's alright. She's just out cold." John's voice trailed down the stairs.
"Well, God knows she's used to that. There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson." Irene's voice followed; John heading down the stairs and passing me as I hurried up them.
He missed the frantic look on my face as I dashed into the room, just as Irene began to saunter towards Sherlock.
"Wait!"
Both stopped, looking at me, though Irene looked tense and I worried she might just launch herself after Sherlock.
"Sherlock, just give it to her." I pleaded, giving him a short desperate look, before locking my eyes back onto Irene and slowly moving towards them both.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock questioned dubiously.
"Give her the phone. We can get it back later. I swear." I promised, that much closer to them as Irene looked between us in confusion.
"Oh, and you know everything now?" Sherlock scoffed. "Oh, wait. You do, don't you? You've known for a while, I'll bet. Why are you only now telling me this, hm? Giving her the phone is a benefit for you, is that it?"
"Sherlock, please. I'll explain later, but right now just give it to her."
"No."
"Sher—"
"No." He pressed harder, eyes narrowing into angry slits. "Perhaps I should have trusted my instinct. You probably deserve prison."
Irene, seeing that negotiations were failing, quickly rushed towards Sherlock and jabbed the syringe into his arm.
"No!" I shouted, close enough to knock it out before she could completely dose him up, but he still began to stumble.
"What? What is that? W-What…"
Sherlock turned, tripping over his own feet at the movement and tumbling to the ground. I rushed to his side in concern, muttering under my breath.
"You idiot. You moron. I was trying to prevent this."
His brows furrowed, pupils dilated before he seemed to focus on something behind me and I turned in time to see a hand hit me hard across the face. I fell back, cringing at the pain radiating through my cheek and my head, which had cracked against the wooden floor.
"Give it to me. Now. Give it to me." She ordered Sherlock as I pushed myself up and shook my head to clear it. "Oh, for goodness' sake."
I spotted her grabbing the riding crop and forced myself only my feet. "No, Irene. Stop!"
She turned, but while I expected the riding crop, I was met with a similar syringe jabbing me in the shoulder. Immediately, things began to sway and I cursed as I fell to my knees and got rid of the empty syringe.
"I will get it back, Sammy. Not even you can stop me." She said, sickly sweet.
"J-Just don't hurt him." I slurred, attempting to blink the clouds in my vision away.
"Fine." She said, making me frown, because it was too easy. "Sherlock, drop it or it'll be dear Sammy who takes a hit."
"W-Wha—"
I winced as her riding crop met my lower back. Once, twice, three times. My hands shook and I felt sick to my stomach as she shouted at him.
"Drop it. I—"
Another hit.
"—said—"
And another.
"—drop it!"
With yet another hit sending fire along my back and bringing tears to my eyes, Irene sighed and I fell onto my side on the floor; vision blurrier than before as she picked up the phone from the ground.
"Ah, thank you, dear. The both of you." Irene smirked, typing on her phone. "Now tell that sweet little posh thing, the pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again. Perhaps you as well, Sammy. He'll want to know how you're doing."
Sherlock grunted, trying to get up, but Irene pressed him back down with her foot and caressed his cheek with her riding crop.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you. Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sammy, dear."
John chose to enter then, looking at Sherlock and I on the ground in confusion. "Jesus. What are you doing?"
Irene headed for the bathroom window. "She'll sleep for a few hours, Sherlock probably less, since he got only a bit of the dosage. Make sure they don't choke on their own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."
John reached to pick up the syringe beside me. "What's this? What have you given them? Sherlock? Sam?"
"They'll be fine. I've used it on loads of my friends." Irene replied, my vision getting darker by the second.
John leaned over me, saying something, but I was fading fast and before long, everything went dark.