Chapter Ten
Sherlock listened to the conversation going on behind him. He couldn't bear to look at them. The helicopter trip had just about pushed him over the edge, and he needed to reduce the sensory stimulation. So he let his eyes rest idly on the fire, not seeing the flames. While he was trying to re-establish control, he had to keep shoving the memory of the journey away. He loathed helicopters. The noise was excruciating, the machine oil and jetA1 fuel drove his sense of smell into overdrive, and the odd motion disturbed his equilibrium. Helicopters did not 'fly'; they chewed their way through the air in a way that he felt every vibration in every cell of his body. He had learned this while in an EC145 flown by the Metropolitan Police, sitting alongside Lestrade whilst in pursuit of a murder suspect fleeing in a car. They had managed to catch the culprit, but Sherlock had suffered a near melt-down in the process.
The taste of his vomit was still distracting him. Add to those sensory distresses the fact that he was now realising the full significance of what solving the code meant, and, well, it was shaking his state of mind up, too. He focussed ruthlessly, trying to block all sensation so his new Mind Palace could grapple with the problem, unfettered.
When Mycroft mentioned that Moriarty had been in touch and that he would have to give him his "attention", Sherlock knew the full horror of what he'd done. By solving the MOD code, he'd blown a hole so wide that Moriarty could walk in and destroy Mycroft. And because neither she nor he knew what Bond Air was about, he'd unknowingly given Irene and therefore Moriarty the way to blackmail his brother. It was worse than destroying, it meant turning Mycroft into Moriarty's tool. Sherlock had almost panicked at the pool that the Irishman would use John as his weakness, and instead he had himself become his brother's weakness. He hated that, hated being used, hated being lied to by everyone.
One part of him was livid with his brother. If the idiot had only TOLD me! He knew that they wouldn't be where they were now if Mycroft had been honest and shared the truth about Bond Air, the "something big" that he denied was in the making. The deal he was supposed to have made, to keep Sherlock and John informed about what Moriarty was up to was so dead that it wasn't even worth mentioning. Disgusted with himself, he shut off the what ifs because they were distracting him from dealing with the now.
He listened to Irene negotiating. He cursed himself for not realising that her return was motivated by something more than fear of her being caught and killed. No, this level of betrayal was surely due to Moriarty holding the ultimate power- he must have Kate and be threatening to kill her. It was a re-run of what had led her to her "death". She'd come out of that to protect the one thing she loved more than herself. But he also heard what she wasn't telling his brother. She was keeping a lot of the background to herself; he noticed that she was not using her contact with him, her working with him as a means to humiliate Sherlock and embarrass Mycroft.
Moriarty was using her to get at Mycroft, like he had tried to do with Sherlock. But Sherlock realised she was trying to play her own game, too. He needed to understand that, because Mycroft wouldn't. He would assume she was just working for Moriarty. He knew differently. Think- there must be a weakness there. Why isn't she willingly destroying me, humiliating me and using my stupidity to show Mycroft what an idiotic brother he has?
Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing softly.
Mycroft had just admitted defeat. "And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees." Sherlock saw in his peripheral vision Mycroft stand up and then nod to The Woman seated at the table. "Nicely played." He then turned as if to leave the room to contact the people who would need to meet her demands. Then Irene Adler stood up, her smile confident. She'd won. That smile just burned a hole in Sherlock's composure.
"No." It was quiet but definite. He would not, could not let her get away with it.
They both turned to him. Irene was the one who spoke first, "Sorry?" as if she had not quite understood what he said.
He turned his head so he could see both of them, rather than the fire. "I said no. Very, very close, but no." He stood up and started to walk toward her. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."
He could see the worry in her eyes. She needed him to play passively, so Kate would be released. But she didn't want to hurt him in the process. He digested that and realised what it actually meant. But if it was at the expense of his brother, he couldn't allow it. She tried to bluff, "No such thing as too much."
He pulled together the different threads of his deduction and let his anger show as he came closer to her. He had to puncture that confidence, so he looked down at her. "Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." He could see her confusion.
"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"
"You." His Mind Palace provided the final deduction, just as she bluffed again.
"Oh, dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"
He stepped closer, to the point where their personal spaces merged. With a soft "no," Sherlock explained. He wrapped the fingers around her left wrist, leaned forward and bent so his mouth was close to her right ear. "Because I took your pulse." It was almost like a lover when he whispered, "elevated; your pupils dilated."
He released her hand and leaned past her to pick up the camera phone from the table. In a normal conversational tone, he continued while walking away from her. "I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive." Stunned, and now with her back to Mycroft, she could let her face carry some of the fear that she was feeling. He saw that when he turned to face her again.
But he couldn't stop. "When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this." He flipped the phone in the air and caught it again. "... this is far more intimate. This is your heart."
He had toyed with the idea that the four spaces were K.A.T.E but dismissed it months ago – too obvious. She'd never be so careless. He stood looking at her and punched in the first letter. "... and you should never let it rule your head."
He could read panic in her eyes.
"You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for ..." He punched in the second letter. "…but you just couldn't resist it, could you?" He did not allow her to escape his stare. "I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage ..." and he keyed in the third character. "Thanks for the final proof."
She broke first, seizing his hand and gazing up, almost imploring. "Everything I said: it's not real." In a whisper she said, "I was just playing the game." Her eyes were now glistening with tears.
Sherlock whispered back, "I know" as he keyed in the last letter. "And this is just losing." He turned the screen so she could see it, knowing that Mycroft behind her would also see it.
I AM
SHER
LOCKED
She looked at the screen in despair as it lit up. Sherlock pulled it away and held it out for Mycroft, the opening menu now live on the screen. He did not take his eyes off her, but said, "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."
"I'm certain they will." Mycroft's relief was tangible as he took the phone.
Now Sherlock had to decide just how far to take this. He walked away from her to the other side of the dining room, gaining himself a few seconds to plot the end game. Without the phone, Irene would be of no use to Moriarty. He already had the code that destroyed Bond Air. So, Mycroft would have to use the information on the phone to save his own skin. Sherlock had no doubt that he would. His brother was in his element now.
Sherlock knew that by doing what he had just done, he was jeopardising both Kate and Irene's lives. But The Woman had given him no choice. He hated what he was being forced to do. If she was taken into custody, then perhaps Moriarty would not bother with Kate. Her usefulness as a hostage would disappear. So, he turned and made the suggestion to Mycroft. "If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."
Irene knew her world had just collapsed. She stared at him. "Are you expecting me to beg?"
"Yes."
Her reply was heartfelt. "Please."
He stopped his progress out of the room, but would not look at her.
She tried to reach him with a blatant appeal. "You're right…."
He turned to look at her as she pleaded "…I won't even last six months."
If he asked his brother for clemency for her, he knew Mycroft well enough to know that it would guarantee that she'd be hung out to dry as bait for Moriarty. And, given what he knew about her motives, and why she had made the choice she made, he thought that might be unfair. Both she and he had been kept in the dark. Both had made a mistake about the code. Both were collateral damage, victims of the fight going on between Moriarty and Mycroft. She had been trying to protect Kate, a motive he understood because he was faced with the same issue regarding John. He did not blame her quite enough to want her total destruction. But he had to make sure Mycroft believed that he despised her. That would shift his brother's thoughts to using Irene, rather than punishing her. So, he made his views clear, in a cruel tone.
"Sorry about dinner." He walked through the door without looking back.
