OK, so I kept you waiting again. But you cannot rush my creative brain! It has to be ready to write! Thank you as always to my wonderful supporters who have reviewed/favourited – Nocturnias, wholockedfan13, PurpleYin and akunohana especially! xxx
Please read, enjoy and review! :)
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Chapter 7
THE WOMAN WOMAN!
As Sherlock turned he shone his torch into the face of Irene. But it did not look like Irene at all.
"Want a better look?" she said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and flicked on the main light. The room was illuminated by a single bulb encased in a decorative glass lampshade hanging from the ceiling and enabled Sherlock to make a closer inspection.
The person standing before him certainly did not look like Irene Adler upon the first glance. What Sherlock observed was a short man, early 30's, dressed in a suit, large overcoat, with thick, dark hair that framed his face. Accompanying the shaggy hairstyle was a moustache of the same colour. As he looked closer he could tell that both the hair and moustache were false and that it was no man that stood before him.
"Ah…" Sherlock said as he deduced the truth. "Mr Derrian I presume?"
"You deduce correctly Mr Holmes," Irene replied before pulling off the wig and the fake moustache.
"You didn't want certain people to know you were back in London, so you created an alter ego to enable you to go out and about unobserved. I should have realised sooner damn it! Lee Derrian is an anagram of Irene Adler. Stupid, stupid!"
"Well I wanted to leave you some clue, just in case our paths crossed again."
"Why are you back?"
"Well seeing as Jim Moriarty and his network are no more, thanks to you. London is a lot safer for me than it used to be. But there are still some individuals that I would like to avoid, so the disguise was needed. Of course only my most loyal clients know where I reside. We're all very discreet."
She moved towards Sherlock and touched his cheek with a gloved hand. He flinched and stepped back away from the contact.
"Oh I forgot," she said, almost blushing. "You still think that love is a disadvantage. I thought you might have reconsidered since we last saw each other. After all you did save my life."
"Yes, and then you immediately disappeared. I didn't even get a thank you."
"I didn't think you would have appreciated the… sentiment…"
"Quite right… back then I wouldn't have…"
Irene shed her overcoat, gloves and suit jacket, casting them onto a nearby armchair. She stood facing Sherlock in a simple white shirt and trousers.
"What do you mean by 'back then'?" she enquired with a frown.
"Um… I meant nothing by it, nothing at all," Sherlock replied, almost a little too quickly, sounding a little too nervous.
"Something has changed! I can see it in your eyes!" Irene exclaimed with a look of triumph and amazement.
"Nothing has changed; nothing at all!" Sherlock protested, repeating himself somewhat. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet awkwardly in an attempt to avoid eye contact. How did she know? How could she see through him so easily? She could read him like an open book. What made her so different to anybody else he had ever met?
"Alright, I confess, I did not see it in your eyes, I made other observations. As soon as I pounced upon your 'back then' comment you became a little too defensive, doing that thing you do when you talk too fast, almost stumbling over your words. And your body language changed, your eyes went straight to your feet and you shuffled uncomfortably."
As Irene spoke she slowly advanced upon Sherlock, and he gradually backed away until the backs of his legs came into contact with a chair.
"That could simply mean that I am uncomfortable being around you…"
"I think it's so much more than that Sherlock," she replied and then quickly put a palm to his chest and pushed him back into the chair. Before Sherlock had a chance to react, she had restrained his wrists with the leather cuffs that were attached to the arms of the chair.
"What are you doing?" he spat, as he tried half-heartedly to free himself. He accepted the fact that he could not escape his bonds, but he had to look as though he was making some sort of effort to resist.
"This has turned into an interrogation Mr Holmes."
"An interrogation? What do you want?"
"I want the truth. You're holding something back and I want to know what it is!"
"That's not… I… I have n-nothing to tell you…"
"And now you're stuttering. I seem to have hit a nerve…"
She leaned in close so that their faces were only inches apart. He could feel her breath on his lips.
"What. Has. Changed?" he articulated slowly and breathily into his face.
"N-n-nothing!"
"Hmmm… stuttering again, that's a promising result. Would you like me to get the riding crop? I could always beat the truth out of you…" she suggested with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.
"I'm not going to tell you anything because there is nothing to tell!" Sherlock barked at her, his face contorted into a snarling expression. He had regained his composure and command over his speech and once again tried to resist the restraints that held him in place. But his arms were helf firmly in place and there was no chance of loosening them without help.
Irene did not verbally reply, she simply gave him a look of contempt and went to one of the shelves. Taking a black, leather riding crop in one hand and running the other along its length, she returned to her captive. Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he realised she was actually going to carry out her threat.
"Are you sure there is nothing you want to reveal?" she said with a wicked smile.
"NOTHING! Now release me!" he retorted, through gritted teeth.
"Why would I do that when I have you right where I want you?" she whispered softly, as she dragged the end of the crop from his neck to his cheek.
"Stop that! Stop that NOW!" he commanded.
"Um… nooo," she replied, and without warning, brought the crop down hard across his thighs. Although he was partly protected by the material of his trousers, it still hurt and he grimaced.
"There's… nothing!" he gasped.
Irene replied with another strike with the crop, this time Sherlock reacted with a small whimper.
"There IS something Sherlock Holmes, and you will tell me! I can keep you here for days if needed!"
"W-why are you so eager to know?" he said, panting.
"Because I want to know what makes you so… special…"
"Special? How?" Sherlock was puzzled and the expression on his face conveyed that.
"Because you're the only man that I have ever had… feelings for," she stated, looking away from him.
"Ah, the sentiment!" he exclaimed as the old Sherlock returned. "That's what this is all about! I made you slip up once and you want to know why as it has never happened to you before and now you're worried, concerned that it might not be a one-off. You thought you'd beaten me, but then I turned the tables and triumphed over you and now you're…"
"It's not THAT Sherlock!" she snapped, interrupting his speech. "You do realise that I have never been… attracted to a man before."
"Ah yes… because you're gay…" he said, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, Sherlock. I always have been and always will be. But then there is you, the fly in the ointment. At first it was a game, that I enjoyed, playing the part of the bisexual dominatrix, out to capture the heart of the cold, unfeeling detective. I thought you had played right into my hands, that I had awakened something inside of you. Then you trounced me and I realised then that you had been playing your own game with me… that you never had felt anything for me, you were just acting how I wanted you to. But then you saved me from being executed, and I didn't know what to think."
"Why did you leave right after I… rescued you?"
"Because I was afraid, Sherlock. Afraid of the possibility that I might have feelings for you. Afraid that you'd reject me."
"You were right to flee, as I would have rejected you then, as I would now."
"But you said…"
"Yes, I did imply that didn't I?"
"Something has changed! But it's nothing to do with me!" she exclaimed.
Sherlock did not reply verbally, he merely gave her a look that indicated she was correct…