The Consequences of Sacrifice: Family Ties (Part Three)

In the last installment, we learn that Irene Adler, former dominatrix, is related to Clarky, who is the epitome of cluelessness. More family secrets are revealed, and the Yard learns some interesting details of Sherlock's (ahem) "personal life."

There is a vague reference to some events referenced in Chapter 24 of my first story, "The Meaning of Sacrifice." However, it is not necessary to read it if you don't want to, as I did my best to reference it here.

Warning-Some foul and suggestive language. Nothing too graphic, unless you are Anderson! ;)

"So Irene Adler is your cousin!?" John managed to ask, about twenty minutes later, after Clarky had finally calmed down from his rant, which consisted of a fair amount of foul language and some choice American sayings that John hadn't heard of before.

"My mother was her mother's older sister. So, yes, we are related!" Clarky muttered darkly. "And yes, my dirty little secret is out! We have Brits in the family!"

"I didn't know you knew Sherlock, Clarky!" Irene smirked as she sipped her tea, pointedly ignoring the bemused looks of the other Yarders, who, in light of the circumstances, had apparently forgotten all about the "drug raid" in favor of learning more about Clarky's genetic ties and Sherlock's private life.

Clarky shrugged. "Oh, I ran into Lucky some time back, Irene! Remember I told you about the crazy English bloke I worked with a few years back? Patrick Covington?"

"That was Sherlock?" Irene asked incredulously.

"Oh, yeah!" Clarky said, shaking his head in mock despair. "Apparently, he had faked his death, and my fiancé, Molly, sent him to Tennessee to work at the Body Farm with me! It's a long story!"

"I think I already know enough." Irene giggled. "I met Sherlock before you did! When I was still, shall we say, infamous?"

"Before you had to go and fake your death? Yeah, yeah! I get it!" Clarky muttered, then looked up at John. "Why is it that half the people who can tolerate me have to go and fake their deaths for? I never can remember whether I am supposed to send them a Christmas card or cry fake crocodile tears! It's annoying!"

"I still can't believe you are related to The Woman!" Hopkins noted. He eyed Clarky with an expression bordering on respect and awe. "I mean…bloody hell, Clarky!"

"Stop it!" Clarky growled. "There is no reason to get all hot and bothered by this, Stanley! Every family has a few outlaws! It helps to balance the fact that we have to deal with in-laws!"

"Clarky, you need to calm down!" Irene said as she leaned forward in her chair (which, coincidently, was Sherlock's chair.)

"Renie, I would be a little calmer if I didn't have personal knowledge that you employed your methods on two of my co-workers in the past. And my high school football coach! And my superior officer!" Clarky grumbled.

"Wait a minute!" Lestrade interrupted, waving his hand. "What are you talking about?"

John leaned forward. "Clarky, by superior officer, are you talking about the same superior officer you ran in to save from a burning building while you were still in basic training? But the incident was kept quiet because of the, uh, unpleasant circumstances?"

Donovan's dark eyes became as round as dinner plates. "What unpleasant circumstances?"

Clarky sighed in defeat. "When I was in basic training, my superior officer was in a well-known brothel when the damned building caught fire! I had to run in there and save his naked ass! And I mean that in the literal sense!"

"Clarky was so gallant!" Irene chuckled. "I remember the look on his face when he broke the door down! While his superior officer was drunk, and pretty much useless, Clarky was going around the building and making sure everyone got out safely."

Clarky glared at Irene with irritation. "And there you were, with my commanding officer chained to the bed…"

"He wanted punishment! So I gave it to him!" Irene protested, shooting Clarky a dirty look. "Besides, I give my clients what they want! And I knew just how he liked it!"

Lestrade slowly sank onto the leather couch. "Why am I the last one to learn these things? Clarky, why didn't you tell us that your cousin was sleeping with my consulting detective!?" He moaned.

"Your consulting detective? What are you, his handler?" Irene asked, looking more and more amused.

"And what are you? Sherlock's bitch?" Anderson asked derisively, taking offense on how Irene had spoken to Lestrade.

"Maybe. Or maybe Sherlock is my bitch. I think we are still trying to figure that out." Irene answered, her expression thoughtful, as though she was seriously considering what the answer was.

Anderson gaged. "I think I am going to be sick!"

"Shut it, Anderson! This is getting good!" Hopkins demanded before turning back to Irene. "So? The incident with Clarky's officer! What happened next?" Hopkins asked, giving British etiquiette no quarter as he leaned forward, desiring to learn more details.

"What happened next was pretty funny!" Irene giggled. "Clarky didn't recognize me at first! He just barreled through the door, not really looking at me, and said 'excuse me, ma'am, but there's an emergency. The building is on fire, so if you don't mind to put on some clothes and follow me out…'"

"Then I looked up, and recognized Renie!" Clarky said sadly. "I knew it wouldn't look too good for her if she was caught, so I helped her sneak out the window by tying my superior officer's clothes together to make a makeshift rope, except she ran off with them once she reached the ground!"

"His wallet was in them, and I hadn't been paid yet. I was coming back!" Irene protested, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pouting.

"But I didn't know that! Anyway, that left me to carry my drunk, good-for-nothing commanding officer over my shoulder through the flames! And he was butt-naked, too! So you can imagine how that went down with the rest of the guys in my squad! Argh! If I knew where any clothes were in that place, I would have risked burning up to throw a pair of trousers on him!"

"Too bad he wasn't awarded a medal for valor!" John noted, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I mean, Clarky did save lives that day!"

"How did you know about this, John?" Lestrade asked, looking at John curiously.

"The night we went to Mycroft's estate for the first time, when we learned Sherlock was still alive and was after Moriarty. Mycroft mentioned it in front of me." John shrugged, trying to give an impression of casualness.

"Lucky's creepy government brother never could keep his mouth shut!" Clarky grumbled.

"Clarky, I cannot believe this! You, the redneck, are actually related to someone like Irene Adler! The Woman!" Hopkins spoke up, his mouth stretched into an almost-impossible expression of glee.

John, for his part, did not have trouble believing that the two were related. Having seen Irene and Clarky in the same room together, he was able to observe that there was some resemblance between the two. They both had the same eye color, in any case. An unusual jade-like green with lighter specks. And they had similar facial features, although Clarky's six-foot tall build definitely gave everyone the impression of someone who probably played rugby on the weekends, while Irene's shorter build was distinctly more feminine and curvy than that of her cousin.

Plus, they were both clever, although Clarky had much more success at hiding his intelligence than Irene did.

And then there was the fact that Irene and Clarky were two of the craziest people that John had ever met!

Excluding anyone whose last name was "Holmes," of course!

"Stop bothering my cousin, Inspector Hopkins." Irene said. Her tone was cool, but her eyes glistened with amusement. "Or I may force you!"

"NO!" Clarky shouted. "Irene, you promised me you would stop doing your business with my friends! Remember? And that includes any form of punishment that may or may not be covered by the Geneva Convention!"

"Sherlock is your friend?" Irene asked, arching one eyebrow to look at Clarky curiously.

Clarky frowned as he rubbed his hand through his hair. "Well, I consider him to be a friend, but he probably doesn't consider me to be one of his. A colleague, perhaps. Not really sure. I guess I need to ask him."

John frowned as he considered Clarky's statement.

What was Clarky to Sherlock, anyway?

Outwardly, Clarky would probably be the last person anyone would expect to be on good terms with Sherlock. Whereas Sherlock was posh, aloof, and sullen at times, Clarky was causal, friendly, and always strove to see the humor in all situations.

In fact, Clarky was the polar opposite of Sherlock.

Nevertheless, Clarky made it abundantly clear that he liked Sherlock, and put up with his antics with a jovial and forgiving attitude. And he was probably the only person in the room who didn't think it strange that a man would have human body parts in the fridge. So Clarky was far more accepting of Sherlock's ways than the other Yarders.

Of course, Sherlock had changed some since the hiatus (a polite term for the eighteen months that he was pretending to be dead while taking out Moriarty's empire), even if it wasn't apparent to everyone. He was still relatively aloof and insensitive to most people. He would still conduct experiments, go out of his way to drive his brother to the point of insanity, and sometimes even caused minor property damage.

But there were differences.

"But that's not the point! Why the hell are you shacking up at Lucky's place anyway?!" Clarky demanded, abruptly interrupting John's thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

"I'm not shacking up here, Clarky!" Irene complained, raising her chin haughtly. "I was attacked! I escaped, and Sherlock found me! End of story!"

"That doesn't explain why you are sleeping in his bed, Irene!" Clarky shot back. "So what is going on? How do you know Lucky? And if you say he is a client…"

"Irene was part of a case that Sherlock and I took part of some time ago." John explained. "She also helped Sherlock several times when he was hiding from Moriarty's web."

"But why are you here?" Donovan persisted. "Why not go to Clarky?"

"That's what I would like to know!" Clarky said irritably before turning back to Irene. "Irene, we already went through this! I don't care if people know if we are related or not! I'm personally proud that you are my cousin! Now, I don't approve of some of your life choices, of course, but that don't mean I don't care for you! Besides, I don't approve of half the life choices I have made! And you know the rest of the family feels the same way!"

"Your family, Clarky. Not mine." Irene muttered darkly. "My father's side of the family have made it very clear that they would rather die than acknowledge my existence."

"That's because they are a bunch of bastards! Besides, you can't shame your American relatives! We do that on our own!" Clarky answered back slyly.

"It's true, Ms. Adler." Hopkins chimed in. "Clarky's reputation can't get any lower. We all work with him! We know! If anything, knowing he's related to you will probably improve his image!"

Clarky smirked in Hopkin's direction before turning back to the injured woman. "Why didn't you just call and ask me to pick you up at the airport, Renie?" Clarky said, his expression warring between irritation and concern.

"I have enemies, Clarky." Irene said, her stern expression softening. "Enemies that would do anything to make sure that I was truly six feet under! What would happen if they discovered you are related to me, and went after you and your fiancé?"

Clarky slapped his hand on his thigh. "We are family, Irene! Families protect each other!"

Irene sighed. For the first time since this entire conversation began, she looked troubled.

However, Clarky didn't let up on his demands. "So, Renie? Why don't you tell me who did this to you, so I can form a posse and go after the bastards?"

"Uh, what?!" Lestrade choked out.

Clarky ignored Lestrade's comment. "Now, tell us everything you know about them! I'm sure my co-workers here will help! It will give us an excuse to bond, anyway!"

"And what, pray tell, is a posse?" Anderson asked.

"A posse is a group of concerned citizens who preform justice! Basically, you guys help me find them, and then casually walk away while I beat them to an inch of their lives!" Clarky explained calmly.

"What!?" Anderson squeaked.

Clarky shrugged. "Oh, don't worry, Sil! It's not like we go after them unarmed! Besides, I will let you borrow one of my guns!"

Lestrade cleared his throat nervously. "I don't think we are allowed to do that, Clarky."

"I'm in!" Hopkins piped up cheerfully, raising his hand to volunteer. "I can guard Ms. Adler while you head up your mob or posse or whatever it is, Clarky!"

"Either that or she will guard you, Stanley!" Clarky replied dryly.

"No one deserves to be attacked." Donovan interjected softly, her gaze lingering on the healing bruises that marred Irene's profile. "Tell us who they are. The Met will make sure that the perpetrators are brought to justice. The legal way, of course!"

"But that's the problem! I don't know who they are! And even assuming that anyone finds them, what do I do when they goes to trial? Do I appear on the stand and testify against them?" Irene laughed humorlessly at the idea. "I can't even fill out a complaint! The minute I do so, the rest of my enemies will know I'm alive, and will hunt me down!"

"Irene's former career was rough." Clarky agreed stoically. "She ended up dealing with the wrong people, and got in over her head! Hell, at one point she almost lost her head!"

"What!?" Lestrade asked, bewildered.

Clarky nodded sagely. "Yep! Happened when Irene was trying to hide in the Middle East of all places, which was when she faked her death, by the way. Although it came very close to actually happening! If it wasn't for some British gent who took a liking to her and rescued her from the Taliban…"

Clarky's voice failed him as he trailed off. His green eyes widened as he realized something important. "Holy shit! Are you telling me that Lucky is the CSI guy!?"

"CSI?" Lestrade asked, his face twisted in confusion.

"The guy who saved her! Irene, was that Lucky!?" Clarky gasped.

Irene laughed and nodded her head in assent.

"Oh, dammit, Irene!" Clarky grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and sulked.

"Wait! You said Sherlock was CSI? Surely you don't mean 'Crime Scene Unit?'" Anderson interrupted, looking more and more confused.

Clarky shook his head, disgruntled. "Hardly! CSI is just Irene's creative idea for a nickname! Argh! Now I won't be able to look at Lucky the same way again! I am going to need to dip my brain in bleach or something!"

"But why CSI? Why would you call Sherlock that?" John asked.

Irene smirked. "It stands for 'cute, sexy, and irresistible!'"

Author's Note: Poor Sherlock! However will he show his face at the Yard again?

So what happens next? Will Lestrade and John give Sherlock "the TALK" (although they are a bit late, considering Sheridan's existence)? Will Clarky ever be able to be in the same room with Sherlock without thinking about Sherlock's relationship with Irene? Will Hopkins, Donovan, and Anderson be emotionally scarred for life?

Find out next time!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Or the Woman (sorry Hopkins!). Or CSI. Regardless of what Irene thinks it stands for!

Irene Adler-"Dare I ask why you are chained up to your chair, Peaceful Defender? Don't tell me you are giving up your practice for a career as a dominatrix."

Peaceful Defender (grimacing)-"I sincerely doubt that. Why? Do you think I should give up law and become one?"

Irene Adler-"Is there any point to that? I mean, we both like to punish people! Just in different ways!"

Peaceful Defender-"True enough. Actually, I am being forced to write down drabbles for the 'Meaning of Sacrifice' universe until a certain number of reviews are received or until I die. Whichever comes first.

Irene Adler-"Hmm. Well...that's a first!"

Peaceful Defender-"I know! Who would have thought that my characters would do this to me!? I mean, yes, I will admit it! I do write some of these drabbles when I am in court, and I am hard-pressed to keep my expression serious sometimes. I mean, can you imagine if I start giggling during a hearing involving a murder or something?"

Sherlock Holmes-"It could be worse. You could be caught giggling at a crime scene."

Peaceful Defender-"True. Maybe a review or two will cheer me up. Hopefully, someone out there will take the time to review. At least, I hope so."