Author's Note: after yesterday's teaser, a chunkier chapter today. The same scene, three different POVs. As ever, when dialogue from the episode is quoted, I am indebted to Ariane DeVere for her lovely transcript.
Chapter Two
Their quiet conversation did not wake the woman. John watched as Sherlock sat down on the edge of his bed. Still no movement. He then reached out to touch the sheet over the sleeping woman's shoulder. "Miss Adler." He pulled his hand back quickly as her eyelashes fluttered.
A pair of dark blue eyes opened and she smiled into the pillow. Then she closed them again, and stretched, like a cat. "Hmmmm. I so do like high thread count cotton sheets. But better on a bed than on a man." She turned and looked languidly at Sherlock, then noticed Doctor Watson in the doorway. "Oh, we have company." The tone of her voice was suggestive of an intimacy interrupted.
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I have questions. Get dressed and join us in the living room." The comment was halfway between a request and an order.
She laughed and gestured at the shirt. "'I'm afraid I didn't come well equipped. So, could you hand me one of your dressing gowns?"
John frowned. "What, did you arrive without any clothes on this time, too?"
She smiled at Sherlock, ignoring John. "My dress and shoes are in the bathroom drying. I got a little wet getting here undiscovered. Your brother's surveillance teams are a bother. Speaking of which…I did you a favour and removed a certain device that was hitching a free ride on one of your brother's cameras. So, no one knows I'm here and we can have our conversation in peace."
Sherlock turned at the door. "You needn't have bothered. I use a jamming device whenever I want to keep things private from anyone I don't like."
As Sherlock went into the bathroom he could hear John putting the groceries away. He was placing the tins of beans and tomatoes into the cupboard with a little more force than usual, so Sherlock knew that he was rattled by their guest. Sherlock ignored the patterned black sheath dress hanging over the radiator, the stockings and suspenders, the heels tucked up under it to dry. Instead, the long-limbed man knelt on the tiled floor in front of the cupboard under the bathroom sink. He opened it and reached up carefully, feeling with his fingers at the back for something. He removed a small package- a padded envelope, wrapped in cling film. He emptied its contents and put the two identical Vertu phones into his suit pocket. He opened the door into his bedroom a crack and said, "I'm done in here," tossing her his dressing gown from the hook. He left by the door into the hall, heading into the living room where he sat down in his chair to watch John put the last of the groceries away. The doctor then busied himself making a cup of tea, took it to the table, steadfastly refusing to look at his flatmate. John sat stiffly, his back to Sherlock. He really is annoyed that she's back. He smirked as he transferred the phone from his left pocket onto the chair, pushing it into the cushions there. He then got up to find and switch on the jamming device.
A few minutes later, Irene emerged into the living room, wearing the navy blue dressing gown over his shirt. She went and sat in Sherlock's chair, still warm from where he had been sitting only moments before. John was sitting at the table eyeing her warily, while Sherlock put the grey box with its green flashing light on the coffee table. He then took a chair on the other side of the table from John.
Sherlock knew that he would have to handle the conversation carefully. John had no idea the extent of his previous contact with Irene, nor how much he knew about her situation with Moriarty. As far as John knew, Sherlock had believed Irene to be dead when he identified her body on the slab on Christmas Eve, when in fact he had known that she had faked her death in the hope of throwing Moriarty off her trail. The idea had been to disappear, to protect not only her own life, but that of her lover, Kate. Her return suggested that something fundamental had changed.
"So who's after you?" he asked bluntly.
"People who want to kill me."
"Who's that?" Of course he knew, but he wanted her to tell John, so that the gap between what he knew and what the doctor knew would narrow. Although six months ago it had seemed sensible to keep his contacts with the woman secret from John, he felt more uncomfortable about it now.
Her answer was disappointingly vague. "Killers."
John wasn't satisfied with that answer either. "It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific."
Sherlock realised that she did not want to mention Moriarty, so he reluctantly decided John needed to be diverted from this line of enquiry. "So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them."
"It worked for a while."
"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me." He needed to communicate to Irene the fact that he wanted John included.
"I knew you'd keep my secret." Of course, the secret she meant was that Sherlock had deduced she was alive, given that the body on the slab wasn't her- but John didn't know that. Irene was looking at him as if John wasn't even in the room. And yet, every sentence was carefully crafted in the knowledge that he was there, so she was being even more elliptical than usual.
He decided that he needed to puncture that smugness. "You couldn't."
"But you did, didn't you? Where's my camera phone?" She was as capable as he was of diverting attention away from topics she didn't want to discuss.
John replied. "It's not here. We're not stupid." John was trying to reassert his presence. And his deliberate use of the 'we' was telling.
Irene addressed her question to Sherlock. "Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you." The sub-text here was plain to the consulting detective- her being there was risky, so don't play around.
He gave her a look that said don't be an idiot. "If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Of course, he had known that Moriarty was watching. The man would be a fool not to do so. That's why Sherlock had moved the phone occasionally, whilst also conducting extensive research into how he might break into it.
Irene wasn't going to give up easily. "I need it."
As if that were all it took- just that she needed it, and he was expected to hand it over. If it had been in the bank and it was being watched, then her request would be tantamount to asking for Moriarty to intercept him, the same way that Milverton had when he was sent to retrieve it for her from St Pancras Hotel. He'd been mugged. In more ways than one. Sherlock could see from her eyes that she clearly didn't buy the idea that he had parked it in the bank.
Unfortunately, John was slower on the uptake, and had thought that was exactly where it was. "Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" He then proceeded to give a long explanation of how Molly Hooper could collect it and then one of the homeless network could bring it to Speedy's for one of the staff to bring it up the back fire escape.
Sherlock just smiled. It wasn't a bad idea, so he said "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions" as he reached into his jacket's right pocket.
John didn't get praise from Sherlock that often so he said "Thank you" and started to find Molly's number. "So, why don't…" and then he saw the Vertu in Sherlock's hand. "Oh, for…." The doctor did not like being made to look foolish in front of Irene.
Sherlock's work on the phone had been infuriatingly unproductive. Despite six months in which to study it, he had not found a way into the data, without running the risk of destroying the phone. Irene stood up in anticipation of getting it back into her hands. He decided to prolong the wait. "So what do you keep on here – in general, I mean?"
"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."
John's snide, "What, for blackmail?" was a sensible accusation, given that John had also been in the room hiding behind the curtain when she showed up and killed Sir Charles Milverton, a notorious blackmailer, to retrieve it. So, it was only fair that he jumped to the obvious conclusion.
Irene looked at the doctor now, focussing on him really for the first time. "For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be." She didn't need to tell Sherlock this. He'd deduced it from even before they met.
To help John out, Sherlock asked the obvious question. "So how do you acquire this information?"
"I told you – I misbehave." She was enjoying making John feel uncomfortable.
Sherlock didn't like that, and felt the time for playing games was over. So he cut to the chase. If Irene wanted the phone, and had come back from the dead, then there was something on it that was useful in her attempt to keep Moriarty at bay. So he laid his cards on the table: "But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"
This time he got a more truthful answer from her. "Yes, but I don't understand it."
He decided to be smug. "I assumed. Show me."
Irene held out her hand for the phone. Sherlock kept it up out of her reach, using his height to advantage. "The passcode."
She didn't even blink, but continued to hold her hand out.
Sherlock decided to try the bluff. He handed her the phone.
She turned it on and typed in four characters, but the phone then beeped a warning, a sound that Sherlock had heard on two previous occasions.
When Irene said, "It's not working" he stood up and took it out of her hand. "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight." He walked back to his chair and pulled another Vertu from under the cushion. Smugly, he continued, "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway." He typed the numbers in, but was rewarded with yet another infuriating warning beep as the message came up- WRONG PASSWORD. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING. He glowered at Irene.
This time she was the one who answered smugly, "I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."
That provoked an honest reaction from Sherlock, "Oh, you're rather good."
Irene smiled at him. "You're not so bad."
Once again, Sherlock was reminded that Irene Adler was perhaps his equal when it came to being able to think things through. True, she relied more on her ability to read people's emotional motivations than he ever would, but she had correctly deduced that he would try to trick her, and had been able to deflect it. He'd underestimated her and he found that….refreshingly interesting.
She took the phone from him, but didn't break eye contact. It was as if she was also thoroughly enjoying their little game. The conversation had more going on between the lines than what any observer might make of it.
oOo
The only observer in the room, however, was one ex-army doctor well versed in reading Sherlock. From the very beginning – seeing her in his bed, then wearing his dressing gown, treating his things as if they were her own. Well, it set off alarm bells. He didn't like Irene Adler- never had, never would. But, he was startled by what he was seeing in his friend. There was real chemistry at work between the two. "Does that make me special?"Irene had asked that when he had discovered she had been sexting Sherlock without getting a reply. Back then he'd said, "I don't know, maybe." Now, however, the electricity in the room told him the answer- and it scared him.
"Hamish". He blurted it out. He had to break Sherlock's concentration
They both turned to look at him, startled by the non sequitur.
"John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names." Irene got the point instantly, but John saw Sherlock's confused frown, and wondered whether his friend realised the sexual nature of the chemistry that was at work. Not for the first time, John found himself confused about what drew Sherlock to Irene Adler.
John was annoyed that Irene decided to ignore him, focusing all her concentration on Sherlock. "There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked." She walked far enough away from them so that they wouldn't see the password she was typing. "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it."
She handed the phone to Sherlock. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen – can you read it?"
John watched Sherlock sit down on the other side the table from him to look at the photo, his attention so totally focussed on the screen that all he could manage was a terse, "yes."
Irene continued. "A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."
John was bemused that Sherlock was trying to block her comments out, leaning forward to concentrate on the screen. She didn't take the hint, but started to lean in over his shoulder, even closer. "What can you do, Mister Holmes? Go on, Impress a girl." John knew that his friend wouldn't be able to resist an invitation to show off (Showing off is what I do, John).
John had seen some signs recently of the new hyper-awareness that seemed to be a feature of Sherlock's new Mind Palace. It was at work now. By the time Irene had finished leaning in to whisper her challenge, John could tell by the dilation of his friend's pupils that he had already solved it. Sherlock's attention was interrupted as he glanced at her, a little annoyed at the distraction as she intruded further to kiss his cheek, but his eyes then went straight back to the screen. John revised his opinion that there was a sexual element to his attraction to her- that kiss annoyed Sherlock.
But, it didn't stop him from enjoying the intellectual challenge she had set. In rapid fire words, Sherlock unleashed his deductive conclusion: "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds."
John was utterly stunned, trying to follow the logic. Sherlock looked at John's blank face in front of him, then glanced round at Irene who hasn't even fully straightened up yet. John took some comfort that she looked as flummoxed as he felt.
Sherlock was condescending to her. "Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look: there's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number – zero zero seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."
Sherlock stood up and lowered the phone, looking down on Irene. John was reminded again of her attraction to him- Irene's gaze was unfettered admiration.
This provoked a rather abrupt comment from the detective. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."
John wasn't sure whether he appreciated the comment. Or, was Sherlock basically saying that his admiration was more important than hers? He hoped so. He remembered her comment about jealousy. No, it wasn't jealousy, more an attempt to protect Sherlock from The Woman's wiles.
But her next words made her attraction more blatant and worried John. In a husky voice she said, "I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice."
Sherlock's confusion about The Woman's comment could not be clearer, however. It was like her statement was in some bizarre code he didn't understand, and it took him ages – far longer than it had to crack the proper code- before he responded. John wondered what that said about Sherlock.
oOo
I am an idiot. Certifiably stupid. Irene realised that she should have asked Sherlock outright about the code months ago. If she had known then that he was willing to answer it so easily, without requiring anything from her in exchange, then she would not be in the position of having to ransom Kate from the clutches of that awful Irishman now. But, she had believed her Professor of Mathematics, that it would take ages for anyone apart from Moriarty to crack it. As the stream of deductions poured out of the tall dark-haired man in front of her, she realised that she was in the presence of someone who was not only Moriarty's intellectual equal, but might actually be smarter. Fortunately for her, he was also naïve. She held his gaze as she watched him finally come to the conclusion that her comment was a compliment rather than an invitation to actually engage in intercourse on the table in front of his flatmate. It was to the doctor that he spoke next. "John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?"
The doctor was out of his depth about what was being communicated non-verbally between Irene and Sherlock. He replied "Uh-huh. I'm on it, yeah," clearing his throat, and starting to type on his laptop.
While they waited for confirmation, Irene was thinking about the extraordinary package that was Sherlock Holmes. You sweet man- did you answer just because I asked? Surely you know this is important information, if Moriarty is willing to kill me for it? Irene was still trying to digest why Sherlock had just handed over the code.
His brow was furrowed as he held her gaze and said quietly, "I've never begged for mercy in my life."
"Twice" was her emphatic reply- as in, you are worthy of complimenting twice over, first for cracking it and second for giving it to me. There was a subtext going on, based on all their previous contacts. She knew that Sherlock was giving her this information for a reason- and possibly because he had deduced that she had been given no choice. Neither of them really knew the full significance of it. Why would a plane going from London to Baltimore be so important? She realised that both of them were pawns, being kept out of the real battle going on between Moriarty and his brother. Those two did know what the code meant. Maybe for that reason, Sherlock was just fed up with being kept in the dark. As she was. Only her need to free Kate meant that she had to share this information with their mutual enemy. Nevertheless, it felt like a betrayal. Your trust saves me and my Kate. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wish it was otherwise.
Watson interrupted again- it seemed to be an annoying habit of his. She wished she could have spoken freely, and she would have if he hadn't been there. But, his morals couldn't be trusted to be on the same wavelength as hers and Sherlock's. Seven months before he had made it clear that he wanted to keep some things private between the two of them, to protect the doctor.
The blond man stuttered "Uh, yeah, you're right. Uh, flight double oh seven." That broke Sherlock's concentration on Irene.
"What did you say?" He turned toward the doctor with an intensity that caught her by surprise.
The doctor repeated himself. "You're right."
"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" The question surprised Irene; this was from a man who made a big point about how he hated to repeat himself.
"Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven."
The effect on Sherlock surprised Irene even more. He literally pushed her out of the way and began to pace, muttering to himself, "Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven ..."
While he was concentrating on that and the doctor was watching him, Irene decided it was time to exercise a skill she had taught herself years ago- how to use the Vertu's qwerty keyboard behind her back. She found the key she knew would bring up the number last called seven months ago, and began to type:
747 TOMORROW 6:30PM HEATHROW
