A jangly tune rang out. A familiar song, but tinny.
Sophie and the other two men beside her paused.
Moriarty sighed, scrunching his face up. "Do you mind if I get that?"
Another pause. John's politeness overtook his instinct for danger, and he shrugged. "I don't see why not?"
A click as he answered the phone. "Hello? Yes, of course it is, what do you want?"
Sophie rolled her eyes, trying to keep her shivering under control. The coat she had slipped back on over her clothes was now wet too, and very heavy on her skin. As Moriarty spoke on the phone, her and John shared a 'what-the-hell-just-happened' look, and Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently.
"We could just go," Soph whispered to John. "Or at the very least you could let me wear your coat."
"Technically, the best thing for a swimmer to do when they're too cold out of the water is to get back in."
"Fuck off."
John gave her a cheeky grin as his tall friend elbowed him, still listening in on the phone conversation.
"SAY THAT AGAIN!" John's face paled as Moriarty yelled out, but Sophie just rolled her eyes. "Say that again," the Irish drawl continued, "and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you." He was holding up the OK sign, but Sophie imagined it wasn't meant in that context.
He finally put the phone away. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this little game of ours at a later date. Raincheck."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Got a better offer?"
The man simply shrugged, and put the phone back up to his ear, continuing to threaten the voice on the other line and slinking away into the shadows.
"What happened there?" John asked shakily.
Soph opened her mouth but Sherlock bet her to it. "Someone changed his mind; took his interested off us. We need to find out who that mystery caller is."
"Who gives a shit?" Sophie's original response was still pertinent, but Sherlock's look implied he disagreed. "Well," she explained, "this is all just a game to him. As proven earlier, he doesn't want to kill us, he wants to play with us, and, most of all, he wants us to play back. So you can bet your ass that if that call becomes relevant, he'll tell us. Get us to solve a little puzzle or something that reveals it. There's no point wasting our time on something like that. If you want to win this, Sherlock, you've got to start thinking long-term."
The weeks went on. Sherlock and John both testified to Lestrade that Sophie in fact wasn't in cahoots with a criminal, and cases were solved.
Sophie, still living at Baker Street, was forced to change her lifestyle. Hiding things from a genius detective was impossible, and she wasn't interested in exposing her own secrets.
This wasn't as easy as expected; although she was careful not to get too withdrawn, she did find herself taking scalding showers and stubbing toes more often than normal. She had even changed her shaving routine to a waxing one, and to be fair, it was rather addicting.
For a few weeks of her life, things were back to normal. Sherlock and John were slowly rising to celebrity because of the blog, and her workload increased to sifting through almost 20 cases a day. Of course, Sherlock became more picky, forming a system of 5 easy cases for the money, and one 'goldmine' – a case that took some 'actual brainpower' to solve. Today, however, it was John going to a big paddock on the side of a road, some twenty minutes out of town. Sherlock's system led him to pick up the case, but later decided it wasn't interesting enough to actually go.
He was currently sitting in nothing but a white sheet (thankfully expensive enough to be a solid thread-count), skyping to John. "Look," he explained, "this is a 6. I don't leave the flat for anything less than a 7."
Sophie was making them a cup of tea (maybe Mrs. Hudson wasn't their housekeeper, but Sherlock clearly thought someone was) when the doorbell rang.
He ignored it. "I'll get it," she called out to him, sighing. He ignored her.
She padded down the stairs, pausing at the coatrack to cover her flannelette pajamas with Sherlock's massive coat.
Standing by the front door were two burly men in suits. One of them looked her over, pausing heavily on her fluffy bed socks, before addressing her. "We need a Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh, he's…naked, currently."
They blinked.
"Not because- We aren't- Ah, please give me a minute, we'll be right down."
She shut the door behind her, much to the men's chagrin, and yelled out at Sherlock.
Sherlock, looking away from the laptop at the men who had clearly opened the door again and followed her up, huffed.
"Get some clothes on, Mr. Holmes," one of them commanded in a gruff tone.
Sherlock handed the laptop over to a confused Sophie, and remained sitting in a single white sheet, staring petulantly at the pile of clothes put beside him.
John was still on the other line, asking through a bad connection what was going on. She slipped away down the hall for some quiet, and was about to explain to him what was going on, not that she really knew, when a police officer entered the frame.
John spoke with him for a minute, and turned back to Sophie. "There's a helicopter here to pick me up, what's going on?"
She shrugged half-heartedly. "Two fancy pants bodyguards are here to pick us up too. Who knows. I guess we'll see you when we get there. Wherever there turns out to be."
There was no other than Buckingham Palace. Soph had been one, on a school trip, but never as deep into the private hallways as they did now.
The pair of them, one in pajamas (they had confiscated the coat, much to her embarrassment) and one in bed linens, were led to a large and lush meeting room with two upholstered couches facing each other in the center.
Sherlock made himself comfortable. The two guards had left the clothes, although gave no indication as to where the man was supposed to get dressed.
The pair looked up when a familiar face was led into the room. John walked over to the couch, perching awkwardly between the two.
Soph and John shared a grin at the absurdity of the situation, and then he realized what Sherlock was wearing. Or rather, wasn't wearing.
The group fell into a fit of giggling.
John cleared his throat. "Buckingham Palace, huh? I am seriously fighting the urge to steal an ashtray."
"What are we even doing here? My goodness, Sherlock, deduce it!" Sophie leaned across John to stare at Sherlock in wonderment. "Are we meeting the Queen?"
A solitary figure appeared in the corridor, finely dressed, down to an umbrella in his right hand.
"Apparently, yes," Sherlock murmured, and the two men broke into a fit again, but this time Sophie didn't join in.
She now had to face the very real possibility that Mycroft had brought them her to reveal some truths. Truths she knew Sherlock and John wouldn't take too well.
"Couldn't you two just behave for once," the man chided.
"I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I write a blog about crimes he solves, and he can't even be trusted to wear pants. It's worth considering lowering your expectations."
"The hiker, yes? I glanced at the police report; it's obvious, surely?"
"Of course," Sherlock muttered, John giving him a disbelieving look.
Mycroft stared him down as he pointed to the clothes. "Sherlock, we are in Buckingham Palace, the heart of the British nation. For God's sake, put on your trousers."
"What for?"
"Your client." Apparently pajamas were acceptable enough attire for this client, as Mycroft hadn't given her a second glance since entering the room.
"And my client is?"
"Important, in the extreme. And entirely anonymous." An unfamiliar man entered the scene, shaking hands warmly with the older Mr. Holmes.
"And may I apologize for the state of my little brother, and his assistant. Entirely immature." Sophie twitched her nose awkwardly, fiddling with the piped hem of her flannelette top.
"Occupational hazard, I'm sure." He introduced himself to John, expressing his employer's appreciation for the blog, which brought a smug tinge to John's cheeks.
"Now, Mr. Holmes the Younger. You look much taller in photographs."
"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." The smug aura left John immediately.
"And, of course, the infamous Sophie Walters." She narrowed her eyes at the word infamous, but held out a hand to shake. "I'm sure you'll be of much use to this case, with your…specific insight." Before he could grasp it, she let her hand fall.
The man was ready to retort before Sherlock interrupted. "I don't do anonymous clients, it's an unnecessary difficulty and too much work. Good morning," he went to leave, but a well-placed shoe caused the sheet to be tugged off him.
Thankfully he could it at the last moment, but it was more butt than she had ever wanted to see from her employer.
"This is a matter of national importance, brother, grow up!"
"Take your foot off my sheet."
"Or what?"
A second's pause. "Or I'll just walk away."
Sophie groaned. "For the sake of the Her Highness, Mycroft, just let it go."
Both Holmes men turned to glare at her derisively. She sniffed, and sat back down delicately.
"Who. Is. My. Client?"
"Take a look at where you are, Sherlock, and make a deduction. You are being employed by the highest in the land, now for God's sake, put your clothes on!"
Sophie let her displeasure be known by tapping her fingers on the arm of the sofa and sighing heavily every few seconds. Sherlock was now dressed, as was John, but since the guards hadn't brought any of her clothes along, she was forced to change into a spare cleaner's uniform. It was about three sizes too big, and completely boxy. She had to take her hair tie out of her ponytail to tie the pinafore up at the back so as to avoid an inappropriate view. She just thanked Britain that so much money went into the heating bill. Nobody sleeps in a bra, and she was seriously living on the edge here.
Mycroft was pouring some tea, and the man beside him began to lay his case. "My employer has a problem."
Mycroft continued. Nobody touched their tea. "This situation is of a delicate, potentially criminal nature. And in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has risen."
"All the Kings horses and all the Kings men, and you come to me?"
"People talk. This is a matter of highest security, and hence highest trust."
John raised his eyebrows at that, but chose not to comment.
Out of a briefcase came a glossy photograph. "What do you know of this woman?"
Sophie's heart dropped, and she clutched her hands together in her lap to stop them shaking.
"Nothing whatsoever."
"Shall we take it to the group?" Mycroft looked at her, but she didn't return the glance. "Well then, you should all be paying more attention. She's participated in two scandals this year, including ending the marriage of a prominent novelist, exposing both the participants separately."
"Who is she?"
"Irene Adler. Professionally known as The Woman."
"Professionally?"
Mycroft smiled at John, but Soph knew his gaze was still locked on her. "There are many names for what she does. She prefers dominatrix."
"Dominatrix…" Sherlock looked closer at the photo.
"Don't be alarmed, it's just sex."
"Sex doesn't alarm me."
"How would you know?" Soph glanced up at Sherlock, who was trying to hide his hurt. Mycroft continued. "She provides recreational scolding."
John laughed in disbelief. Sophie's veins were filled with icy water, she could feel the color leave her face. Better that than it blooming in embarrassment, she figured.
The Iceman chuckled. "Some people enjoy that sort of thing, you know."
"I'm assuming this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?" Sherlock stared at Mycroft. "Of whom?"
The man started. "We can't tell you at this time."
John frowned. "You can't tell us anything?"
"Well," Mycroft allowed, "we can tell you it's a young person. A young female person."
Goosebumps began rising on her arms. She only hoped the other two men on her couch didn't notice.
"How many photographs?"
"A considerable amount. She did go quite often, it seems."
"I assume this young lady and Miss Adler are together in these photographs, in a number of undignified…"
Sherlock's voice began to fade out. Nervously, Sophie raised her eyes to Mycroft. Still listening to Sherlock, he turned slightly towards her. She raised her eyebrows in question; he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Relief. Her hearing came back, the shudder in her nerves slowed and she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.
"…what case? Pay her now, in full."
"She doesn't want any money. She got in touch, informed us she had the photographs, but had no intention of using them to extort either money or favor."
Sherlock had a grin on his face now. "A power play with the most powerful family in the nation? Ooh, that is a dominatrix, this is getting interesting. Text me the details of where she's staying." He got up to leave.
"And you'll get results, then?"
"I'll get you the photographs. I'll need resources, of course. Could I have a box of matches? A cigarette lighter will do."
"I don't smoke."
"Your employer does."
The man took a step closer. "We have taken many precautions to ensure that this fact is hidden, Mr. Holmes."
"I'm not the Commonwealth."
John shook the man's hand one last time. "That's about as modest as he gets. Good day, gentlemen."
That same day, their taxi pulled up outside a residential area.
Sophie had been dreading this moment. She tried to get out of it before they even left, but Sherlock hadn't forgotten about Mycroft's remarks. Of course, he thought her 'special insight' was female intuition.
At the very least, she had ditched the beige uniform in favor of a knit dress. Although she'd deny it, she was dressing up for the occasion.
"Alright, we're two streets away, but this'll do. Punch me, John."
"Punch you?"
"Yes, punch me. Didn't you hear me?"
He considered this. "Well, I always hear 'punch me' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext. Why exactly are you asking me to punch you?"
"A disguise, John. If I pretend to be a victim of a mugging, it'll get me into the house."
Sophie furrowed her eyebrows. "Why don't we just knock on the door and ask to come in?"
He stared at her. "Don't be ridiculous, that won't work."
"Yeah, it will. Loser's on the next grocery run."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine."
She started off towards the house.
The two men jogged to catch up.
"Wait," Sherlock called out, "how did you know this was the right direction?"
Her step faltered. "Uh…" She glanced around frantically. "The other way is a cul-de-sac. I took a guess."
John laughed, and nudged her on the way past. "Hey, that was pretty good, you ever consider being a detective?"
She tried to fight the grin. "Shut up."
As usual, Kate answered the door. "Hey, Sophie."
She choked. This was a mistake. The men were staring at her in confusion. "Oh my god, Kate? From high-school?" She laughed nervously, giving Kate crazy-eyes as the universal code to shut the fuck up. "Small world, huh? We're actually here to see Irene Adler. Does she live here?"
Kate gave her an odd look. "You've come to the right place. The living room is down the hall, feel free to take a seat." John quietly excused himself to the bathroom. "She'll be with you two shortly."
This time, Sophie allowed Sherlock to find his way to the living room. They both sat down, and it was only a few seconds before Irene's familiar voice echoed into the room.
"So strange that I have visitors, I wasn't aware we had an appointment."
Sophie glanced up and froze. The sight itself wasn't unusual, but in the context, seeing Irene completely naked was a shock.
Sherlock was similarly mute.
She grinned and walked in. "You haven't come round in months, Sophie, was it something I did?"
"No ma'am," Sophie answered automatically, before realizing what she did.
Sherlock gave her a more confused reaction that he gave Irene.
The Woman laughed. "It is so hard to keep up appearances when you've had a fright. Does the whip not do it for you anymore?"
No words came to her mouth. It didn't take Sherlock long to work out the situation. Thankfully, he chose not to comment, although his mouth still hung open.
"Now, we're both revealing ourselves. And, of course, it's nice to meet you for the first time, Sherlock Holmes."
He swallowed hard. "Irene Adler."
She leaned into him. Soph pushed down the illogical stab of jealousy that caused. God, she missed Irene.
"Those cheekbones," Irene cooed, "I could cut myself slapping one. Would you like me to try?"
"I suppose I should ask Sophie first if it hurts or not."
She sucked in an involuntary gasp. Irene turned back to her, and smiled. She slowly leaned in. "If we let him watch, I'll give it to you for free," she murmured, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, the other on her face, blood-red lips coming closer until Sophie's eyes fluttered shut.
Their lips had barely touched when a strange choking noise broke them slightly apart. Sophie looked up; the hand on her cheek sliding across her face as she turned to face John.
He cleared his throat. "I've missed something, haven't I?"
Sherlock patted the space beside him. "Sophie is a regular customer of Irene's, do keep up."
Irene watched the man walk around her, studiously avoiding looking at her bare skin. The woman settled for a quick peck on Sophie's cheek before standing back up again.
While both men's attention was on Irene, Sophie softly brought her hand up to the red mark left on her cheek and quietly smiled.
"Well, if you'd like to have some tea, I can call the maid." Irene curled herself up into an armchair.
"We had some at the Palace."
"I know," she retorted.
"I, uh, I had tea at the palace too, if anyone's wondering." John stammered nervously. "Could you put something on, please?"
"Why? Feeling exposed?"
"I don't think John knows where to look."
"On the contrary. I do quite like the look of your dress, though, Sophie. Surely you don't need underwear and clothing. Seems selfish."
Sophie glanced back and forth between Irene and the two men. Hesitantly, she grabbed the hem of the dress and went to pull it up.
Irene laughed, and she paused. "Still as obedient as ever, little Sophie."
Sophie twitched her nose, smoothed down the dress, and stood up. "It might be better if I just wait outside."
"You could always wait inside, Sophie. I'm sure I won't be long."
She shook her head, not finding the words to respond. She simply sat down as Sherlock handed over his coat to Irene.
"Tell me about this hiker case, then," Irene said, swathed in the dark fabric.
"That story's not been on the news yet. How did you know about that?"
"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes."
"Oh. And you like policemen?"
"I like detective stories. And detectives. And detective's assistants, it seems. Brainy is the new sexy."
Sherlock blurted out some gibberish, before clearing his throat and starting again. "Blow to the back of the head, nothing to do with the car backfiring."
"Then how was he murdered?"
"He wasn't murdered. He was an excellent sportsman, fan of foreign travel, and I know the photographs we're after are in this very room."
"Ah, a business call. How did you know that?"
He grinned. "So they are in this room. Thank you for confirming that. John, man the door; let no one in."
According to their preconceived plan, John left the room, shutting the door behind him.
As discussed, Sherlock engaged Irene in conversation, speaking about the case, while Sophie looked around the room for any sort of hiding place or secret cavity.
The room consisted of a few couches and a table, and not much else. The fireplace on the far side had a massive mirror above it, gilded and clearly expensive. But it wasn't properly fixed to the wall. Sophie's 'female intuition' told her that it came away from the wall on a hinge to reveal a safe. She had seen this safe at work before, when Irene would occasionally go to it between clients, when Sophie was either arriving or leaving. She caught Sherlock's eye, mouthing 'mirror' when Irene wasn't looking.
A fire alarm rang out, John's work. Automatically, Sophie looked over at Irene. As Sherlock expected, she glanced towards the photographs: the mirror.
Sherlock shared a look with Sophie. The pair of them grinned.
.
Because this episode is so Irene-centric (whoop whoop!), there's a lot of additional content being added in. This is why I'm choosing to split the episode in two, so I can go fully into the ins and outs of their relationship.
Please let me know what you think! I'm dying to hear.