"Let me get one thing straight... You asked us to come here to take you to Bart's before midnight?" Lestrade asked for the fifth time, eyes questioning John.
"Because he's gonna meet Irene tonight in a bloody morgue." John said, his hands flying in exasperation. "You two are such romantics." He continued, his tone full of sarcasm.
Sherlock rose from the couch, his sight hazy, knees practically wobbling. "I bought beer. You should be thankful."
"Thankful?! You're flat is cloudier than heaven itself!" Lestrade exclaimed, fanning the smoke away from his face. Sherlock's hands were both occupied, a beer can on one and a fag on the other.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade's remark. "As if you've ever seen heaven, Gordon. Don't be absurd."
"It's Greg." Lestrade hissed.
John tossed the invitation to Lestrade and the detective inspector's eyes grew wide, a smirk surfacing on his face. "So this is what this is about. Irene's getting married in two months and she asked to meet you tonight. Intriguing."
"It's for a case." Sherlock replied grumpily, giving the beer another swig. Taking the moment as an opportunity, John snatched the fag off the detective's hand and stepped on it.
"JOHN!" Sherlock exclaimed, making both Greg and John laugh.
"You look bloody awful. What do you reckon she'd tell you?" Lestrade asked.
"I don't know. Something I don't know yet, I hope." Sherlock slurred.
John smirked. "You just want to see her, information or no information."
"Shut up, John!" Sherlock snapped. "I said it's for a case. Her diamond-crested engagement ring says so."
Lestrade took the can of beer from Sherlock's hand and the detective let him, arms flopping to his side in resignation. "Never really saw her as the marrying type."
"That's why you let her go then? Before?" John asked, wagging his eyebrows at Lestrade who took the liberty of flipping out his phone and started filming Sherlock's mumbling.
"You know why. All of you know! Are you really that stupid that you can't even remember that?!" Sherlock bellowed. He glared at his friends, confused because they started sniggering despite his replies. "What are you laughing at?" he asked.
"Coffee, Greg?" John asked, his smile from ear-to-ear. Sherlock figured they found his internal dilemma amusing.
"Maybe another cup for this bugger." Lestrade replied.
"Why'd you keep on calling him Greg?" Sherlock mused, his head still trying to wrap around the idea of seeing Irene again. It was devastating to him, knowing that together they mean destruction. The last time they were together, both their lives were put to peril, all resulting to a decision to be apart again to save each other. Sherlock never really indulged in the idea of sentiment and this is the exact reason why.
His dreams are still haunted by the feel of her body against his, the way her lips curve to say his name at every kiss, every touch... Abstinence was something in him that Irene took-the reason why she was the distraction he would accommodate whenever his mind is not cracking a code.
John handed him a cup of coffee, possibly attempting to make him sober enough before his meeting with Irene, but he knew deep within himself that no matter how much alcohol run through his bloodstream or how much nicotine stain his nerves, he would never be intoxicated enough to lose the hollow feeling in his chest.
What could Irene possibly tell him? She said she knows what she was getting into, meaning she knows about the Norton's. Even possible that she knows the British Government is onto them.
What if she would tell him that she was working with Mycroft all along? That this mission was both theirs?
Sherlock's mind reeled over the idea, his fingers twitching in anxiety. The possibility of his guess is much more plausible than Irene getting married. If he used this tactic before with Janine, she could do it as well.
After all, their mind is of the same wavelength, he believed.
"Sherlock... Sherlock..." he heard Lestrade call. Snapping out of his reverie, Sherlock noticed the deepening darkness outside the window. As usual, time had passed when he was in deep thought.
"It's time." John said as he nudged his head towards the door.
/
Sherlock tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, his other hand tossing the keys Molly had entrusted him with. His eyes darted on the door at the sound of clicking heels, Irene Adler entering the door a few moments later.
She was wearing her hair low, minimal makeup on her face. She shucked off her thick coat, leaving a dark-green knee-length dress. "Figured this place would have less surveillance." she said.
"I know." Sherlock simply replied.
They studied each other, both of them just standing on either side of the room. "What are you going to tell me?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.
Irene pulled a chair and sat, her hands folded on her lap. "I have a proposition."
When Sherlock remained silent, Irene continued. "I'm willing to provide you with all the information you would need about the Norton's and their clients. I will have the messages arranged to be sent to your flat."
"But?" Sherlock replied.
"But I wouldn't want you to invest yourself personally in this case. I understand that your brother wanted you to take this case and you will-just at the comfort of your flat. I know you, Sherlock. With the right information, you could solve this case without leaving 221B." Irene stated, her tone cold.
"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked.
For a flicker of a moment, Sherlock noticed a change in Irene's gaze. A mixture of worry and nervousness showed but in a blink of an eye, the coldness returned.
"I'm doing you a favour. This is about Albert's clients as well and is very dangerous. You should thank me." Irene replied curtly.
Sherlock strode, walking closer to Irene, his eyes fixed on her. "Favour? How can I be sure that you'll give me the correct information if it will endanger your 'beloved fiancé'?"
Irene raised her eyebrows. "I'm doing this for Godfrey. He has nothing to do with this, don't even have the slightest knowledge of what his father is doing. He's quite contented with the opera troupe we have back at New York."
Sherlock felt the hollow in chest deepen, going straight to his spine. Irene's words stung like an arrow piercing his lungs, his mind trying to make sense of everything.
"You care for him." Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper.
Irene's eyes grew colder as she heard Sherlock's words. She looked him straight in the eyes, smelling a hint of alcohol and smoke as she drew nearer, her head spinning and her chest pounding at the thought of her next action.
"Care for him? I love him more than any other person I have ever been with." She said, pressing at every word. "You don't have to go to the wedding, by the way."
"Then why give me the invitation?" Sherlock replied, his voice clipped and at the verge of cracking. Still, his eyes grew darker as he maintained his eye contact.
"Sentimental reasons." Irene replied, turning her back on Sherlock. She stopped before leaving him completely, turning to leave one last message.
"My proposition is non-negotiable, by the way. Good night." She said, her pretentious mask peeling off as soon as she turned and walked away, the coldness in her eyes melting in the tears that streamed down her face.
Because telling him the truth was never an option.