Okay, I'm back. I'm sorry for the ridiculously long hiatus, but school and my social life actually comes before all this. I apologize deeply, but since I sprained my ankle at work this past Sunday, and I've been enduring hours of just sitting on my ass (no working out for me!). So naturally, I caught up on my missed Sherlock (it's "new" here in America), and found myself completely fangirling at Lara Pulver's appearance in "The Sign of Three". And I don't normally fangirl. (Like seriously, I was sitting there giggling and clapping like my neighbor's 18-month-old kid. Pathetic, really.) Anyways, I decided I'm going to do a riculous time skip and pick up from "His Last Vow" (because I totally googled it and read a review from a blogger. So I know Sherlock "dies" and Moriarty's back. Which, anyone coulda expected. Mary's CIA background was a great touch, too.)
I know, I know. But your plot line doesn't follow the series... Sherlock's already back.
Guess you'll just have to read to find out.
John rubbed his eyes furiously and rolled over, almost smacking into Mary's back.
Ugh, the damn thing won't shut up!
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm clock was just over Mary's shoulder... if only he could reach it...
Instead of taking the risk of waking Mary up out of her sound sleep (she could be a total brute when she didn't sleep her full hours), John rolled back over, slid on a robe and slippers, and walked over to her side of the bed. He smiled a little while he pressed the "off" button. There laid his wife, sleeping soundly, head tucked down into her chest. Tying his robe tighter, he turned and headed out into the living room.
There, on his couch, sat Sherlock, busy scrolling through John's recent blog post. "I was just about to bother you to turn off the alarm. Does Mary have a hearing disorder of some sort? I mean, the clock is right beside her bloody head."
"Good morning to you too, Sherlock," John muttered while making himself tea. He wasn't in a coffee mood at the moment, plus the smell would wake up Mary. He wanted to take a moment and talk to Sherlock.
"You've received twelve emails in the past three hours from different parts of the world with cases we could explore. They're all cut and dry, but don't you think and international adventure awaits us, friend?" Sherlock continued to scroll through John's blog.
"Um, no. I have a doctor's appointment with Mary today. Don't you remember?"
"It's not of true importance to me, John. This will be your child. Not mine. Besides, Mary has been acting like she needs some time alone."
"So?"
"So, let's go on an adventure."
John sat, silent, moving the tea bag around in his cup. "I had the craziest dream this morning, Sherlock."
"I'm booking our flight to Paris now."
"That wasn't a diversion. I'm being serious."
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, then. Care to elaborate? Wait. If it was a fantasy of some sort you need help analyzing, forget it. You're the bloody doctor."
John rolled his eyes and moved to the living room with Sherlock. "I'm not that demented, Sherlock."
"Actually, it's perfectly normal to have fantasies. It's part of your male psych-"
"I'm the bloody doctor," John mocked, repeating Sherlock's words. "It wasn't anything like that. Ish."
Sherlock shut the laptop. "Begin."
"Oh, it was just about you and... the... Adler woman."
Sherlock's snapped open. "Really?"
"Yeah. It was... weird. I mean, she's dead but-" John stopped, watching Sherlock's reaction. Oops. Wasn't supposed to let that one fly.
"She's not dead, John." Sherlock stood, moving to the coat rack.
"Yes she is."
"Oh well, the main point. What about me and Ms. Adler?"
"It was like a completely different version of you being dead... and then you coming back. And you were... Dating her..."
Sherlock's face crumpled.
John nodded. "Exactly."
"Well, obviously, John, your mind is expressing your subconscious. You're obviously wanting a different outcome to how previous situations occurred, especially with the fact that you secretly knew Ms. Adler was alive."
"Doesn't matter. I was just telling you. But Mycroft told me she was dead..."
"That 'vacation' I took?"
"Oh."
"I was actually in Kirachi. And I sent her off with a passport and told her I never wanted to see or hear about her again."
John nodded, sipping his tea. "I see."
"Good. So we're under the understanding that if you attempt to uncover her whereabouts I will murder you with the rat poisoning I have in the pantry."
"Someone's a little defensive. Have you been snooping?"
"Why would I snoop? I'm sure she's doing just fine."
"Sure, sure." John stood. "Well, I should go get Mary up. We have to be at the doctor's in a couple of hours."
"Right." Sherlock opened the laptop and started typing.
As John entered his bedroom, he picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed a number. "We need to talk."
Irene Adler kicked a rock that was in the middle of her path with the tip of her shoe. The air around her was crisp; spring in New England was the equivalent to winter in Florida. However, it was a lot clearer in Vermont than it was in London. Pollution was nowhere to be found, just clear, blue skies littered with small, puffy white clouds and rolling hills with waves of flowers blooming on the trees. Irene sometimes hated how it was so quiet here; not "hustle and bustle" (as the Americans said) like London. There were no sirens or car horn, no ships or people wandering the streets. If anything, it almost seemed dead. However, Irene would always stop walking, close her eyes, open them, and reevaluate her surroundings. Only then would she remember why she chose Vermont as her hiding place: it was peaceful and tranquil. When thought of in the right mind frame, it was equivalent to an island in the middle of the Atlantic. Paradise. For once, Irene could be who she once was before and not be ashamed of it. Sure, the townspeople had originally been a little skeptical of her and her sudden move-in, but soon after she charmed her way into their hearts and lives, they absolutely adored her. She was coaching the girls' high school volleyball and tennis teams, and almost every male high school student was fawning at her heels (some of them deserved her attention, they really did, but in reality, they weren't worth the hassle. Boys are so inexperienced compared to men.) To Irene, this concept of the "American Dream" and "settling down" were things she'd felt she was above, things that only mere mortals did. Normal people didn't understand the full depths they could engage in with their minds and bodies (especially bodies). Irene prided herself in the fact that she knew that and understood it. It was what drove her to live how she did.
Until she was forced to move here.
Well, she wasn't really forced. After barely escaping death in Kirachi, she had two choices: have the man who saved her life kill her for not obeying his orders or follow them. And at that moment, following them had seemed like a good idea. Then, she was presented with another problem. Where would she go? There were plenty of options. Paris, the English countryside, Istanbul, Beijing, Sydney... However, she had people trying to kill her in all those places. Even the Americans were after her. New York, Los Angeles, Miami, and New Orleans weren't options. A small voice in the back of her head (that sounded a lot like him) sarcastically suggested Antarctica, however, Irene wasn't a fan of penguins. She looked through the other, smaller countries, however, most of those had connections to the underground Communists she knew. And Russian wasn't her favorite language. Irene moved back to America, running over the states in her head. She didn't want the country, but she didn't want the city. After glancing at a map, her eyes landed on Vermont. In fact, her eyes really landed on a post card from there; the fall landscape captured her attention.
And she'd found her answer.
Irene turned and headed up the steps to the front of house she was renting. It was a renovated Dutch colonial; the house had been separated into four apartments, and she was lucky enough to be renting one of them. All of the tenants were single, like her, and they always had Friday night dinners with each other. At first, Irene had been skeptical, her plan had been to fly under the radar, however, her neighbors were the first ones to welcome her and help her with anything she needed. As she started to ascend the stairs to her door, Derek, one of her downstairs neighbors stepped out of his door, smiling. He wasn't a bad looking fellow; he was tall, lean, and had ginger hair and freckles. He was an English teacher, and Irene enjoyed his company, as well as his ability to handle her "I'm-too-good-for-you" attitude. "Hiya, Chelsie. How's your day been?"
Ahh, Chelsie. Irene had met a Chelsie on her plane ride over to the states and instantly liked the name. She liked it so much she decided she'd take it over and take the last name "Smith" (how classic). The people in her small town were so naive to believe it that they didn't question it. Besides, no one asked to see the passport of "Abigail Myers." And the DMV didn't even blink at her homemade British driver's license and her vacation Visa. In fact, the woman behind the counter had made it her personal mission to eventually invite Irene over to dinner to meet her family. Coincidentally, her husband happened to be the mayor of the town. Irene just had that kind of luck. "It's been alright, Derek. Yours?" She'd adapted a long back story to the question, "Why move here from England?" and everyone accepted her "I just put my finger on the map with my eyes closed and went where it was" line. No questions asked.
"It's been okay. Did you ever read that blog I mentioned to you about?"
Irene paused. "I haven't gotten a chance to. I've been so busy planning the girls' next workouts. I get the feeling they're bored... Because I am." She glanced at her watch. "Which, if I'm going to get started on that, I should probably get going. Good day!" She faintly heard Derek chuckling about her accent and word usage as she raced up the stairs in her five-inch heels and into her apartment. Without even thinking, she locked the door and threw her coat and keys on her sofa. After kicking off her shoes and grabbing herself a beer from her refrigerator (Irene had always detested beer, however, her new American friends had gotten her into the darker ales) she sat down at her small dining table and opened her laptop. She guessed it was finally time to check up on the men who had gotten her into all of this.
As Irene went through all of the recent blog postings, she learned a great deal about them. John was married and expecting a baby, and Sherlock was... well, being Sherlock. They'd been solving cases right and left, and Irene was glad to learn that no mention of her had been considered. Sherlock had even been "dead" again, however, her heart started to race when she read John's little blip about Jim being alive. However, his game didn't seem to be tying up loose ends. Irene sighed in relief, leaning back a little more in her chair.
"No one can know of this. I was never here."
"Thank you."
"Just doing my job."
"Your job ended when you unlocked my phone."
"My job is to help others. And I think I just helped you."
"No, your job is to insult others and make them feel inferior to you."
"And have I performed at my job well?"
"No."
"Wrong." He continued to drive the jeep down the dusty road, swerving just to be an asshole. As the silence filled around them, Sherlock suddenly burst the bubble. "When I drop you off at the airport, you'll take the passport and go. You'll never go back to England, and you'll never contact me again."
"So I'm guessing that's an indefinite 'no' to dinner, Mr. Holmes?"
Glare.
"Okay then."
He pulled the jeep up next to the curb at the airport and leaned across her, opening the door. As she stepped out, he handed her a passport and a two preloaded cards, along with a fake British driver's license. As she took the belongings, he put both hands on the wheel and faced forward. On a brief lapse in judgement, she leaned back in and kissed his cheek. Without giving him time to respond, she shut the door and walked into the airport. She heard the jeep roar as it sped away, and she smirked.
"Good-bye, Mr. Holmes."
That was four years ago. Four years that she'd spent living up to his rules and regulations. Four years that she'd lived without any of the daring lifestyle that she'd involved herself in when she was fresh out of high school. To Irene, that was something she'd never thought she'd do, and for a brief moment, she contemplated depleting her visas and going back home. But then, she thought about how she'd felt there, on her knees, completely vulnerable (and unaware of who was around her) and decided it was a good idea to listen to Sherlock.
After all, Jim was back. And Sherlock would be hunting her soon enough.
Gah, that took like three hours to type. I don't know how some of you do it. My eyes are killing me. Alright. Thoughts? How does everyone feel about these past fifteen chapters being only John's dream? I know, I know, wasted time and chapters.
Just don't kill me.
Well, review away!