(Hi everyone! Sorry if this took a while. I'm currently going through something really tough right now so... *sighs* anyway, I hope you enjoy!)
The first time he saw her, it wasn't the fact that she was naked that surprised him-it was her boldness to strike him like that, to catch him off guard that made her someone he was interested about.
She was a woman of grace and beauty, a face definitely captivating, and when she started to challenge him, he was again taken by her.
When John entered the room and broke the connection of their eyes, he felt guarded and somewhat annoyed. He wasn't done studying her, wasn't done trying to assess the feeling she started to invoke in him.
When she started to flaunt her entirety to both him and John, Sherlock was astounded. It wasn't about her sexuality or her presence, it was the way she knows exactly how to play the other people in the room with her, this business of powerplay seemingly piquing his interest more.
Sherlock knows where to look, he just opted not to be affected by it. She was a gorgeous woman but women are distracting. Thoughts of passion and lust are factors that cloud the mind and Sherlock did not welcome them the slightest. Her bodily proportions are not what he eyed but rather it was the way her move was somewhat calculated, her mind knowing exactly what to do next as if it was an elaborate plan.
As John made his point to sit beside her on the couch that day in Belgravia, Sherlock felt an air of annoyance. He felt interrupted and at the attempt of John to flirt with Irene by asking "And you like policemen?" Sherlock sensed the doctor trying to relate his being an army doctor to what a policeman is: andrenaline-filled, action-based... So when Irene replied, "I like detective stories and detectives," his brain malfunctioned a little,* trying to comprehend if she dismissed John's advances to make a point.
He internally cursed himself for messing up what he was about to say in reply to her, that amused look on her face driving him more curious that ever. Who is this woman?
She beat him and drugged him and he heard her while he was probably hallucinating from what she injected him. She figured out the case of the hiker-with-the-bashed-on-head and he was sure there was something complimentary somewhere when she said "You got that with one look? Definitely the new sexy."
Waking up in Baker Street, he was certain she has been here, watching him. John insisted she wasn't, but as soon as he heard that soft moan coming from the coat pocket of his Belfstaff in which he made her wear, he was certain that she was a gamechanger.
She was The Woman.
/
Irene.
He hasn't seen her even after that close encounter they had in Dorset. His mind was still a cluttered mess, three nicotine patches visible on each of his arms. He was staring at the decrypted data in his laptop, the one he got from Mr. Turner's coat pocket.
It was easy to decode, almost as if it was meant to be that way and at that, Sherlock became skeptical. Nothing much were on the files, just random names that he researched and found nothing significant in the process.
Bill Wiggins entered the flat, shucking off the hat he was wearing. "'ere you go. Files I go' from the Johnsons." he said, helping himself to the untouched food beside Sherlock.
"Grea' stuff this is. D'you mind if I finish 'em?" he continued, nodding over the tray of food and Sherlock slightly nodded, his eyes on the USB Wiggins handed.
There was something very simple about all of this, he figured, like it was being planted for them to find. But still, without any lead this is the best they have.
Plugging in the USB, Sherlock found the same decrypted data, only with a few variations. He traced the pattern, whatever message it might lead him but it comes as a dead end.
"You look ter'ble. Bloodshot eyes and pale skin... Tsk tsk. But you know that don' ya?" Wiggins mused and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.
"Why are you still here?" Sherlock snapped.
Wiggins raised his palms up, giving a mock curtsey. "Alrigh'... I'm off. I'm off. A thank you would be..."
"Leave."
"Okay... Okay..." And with that Wiggins left.
Sherlock stood up, slamming the door behind him. As he made his way back to his chair, his knees buckled and he almost fell flat on his face. Sherlock gasped for air, his hands trembling violently.
"Arrrghhhhh! This is pathetic!" He shouted, planting his palms firmly on the floor to prop him up.
Staggering to get to his chair, Sherlock cursed under his breath as felt his insides burning. He gave a sigh of relief when his back touched the soft surface of the chair, his breathing uneven but not quite painful.
Grabbing his laptop and trying one last time to run the data in his mind, he screeched in frustration as nothing that bursted as an idea into his mind seemed senseless after a third-level analysis. He ran his hands over his curls in anger, hot blood rising up his neck in distress.
His mind fleeted to Irene and their child, more pain seething up his head. Another issue he hasn't dealt with quite yet: being a parent. What was he supposed to do with this piece of information? He needed to fix this case, needed to save her-them. He was sure of that need.. And yet, for whatever reason, he was still unsure. Does he want this? Would he ever?
When his paths crossed with Irene Adler, it was a moment of confusion, of loss and of gain. She was someone he regarded highly (which he doesn't do much in terms of majority of the Earth's population) and never did he imagine it would reach this stage. Him and her... With a child. Oh what will the child become, he thought.
His fingers unconsciously going on circles on the patches on his arm, an air of fatigue brushed through him. His vision started to blur as he felt himself tremble, the names on his laptop screen were nothing more than a stream of lines.
His lids started to feel heavy and as the clock stroked 12, his hand fell limp to his sides, eyes shutting close as a new day approached.