A/N: This will all work out in the end. But this upcoming chapter might be a bit rough. You've been warned.
She stared at the screen, brow furrowed trying to determine how things had gone from so right to so horribly wrong. Men were idiots. That was the best solution she could come up with. Probably the main reason she preferred women actually.
Of course her thoughts were halted when her new burner cell began to ring. She reached for it and picked it up. She didn't recognize the number and decided to just let it go to voicemail. Besides, no one should have her number?
After a minute that felt more like an hour, Irene lifted the phone up and listened to the message that had been left.
"Hello Irene, darling," Moriarty purred. "Did you miss me?"
Her breath caught in her throat as he heart started to speed up. No, he couldn't have found her. She considered just hanging up, but it was obvious he knew the truth and trying to hide would do nothing.
"Of course," she managed, doing her best to put a smile on in spite of her fear.
"Well then, why don't you just explain why there's a dead body as my Christmas present instead of that information I wanted. Daddy's getting a little teensy bit angry," he singsonged.
"I had to avoid some killers out to get me," Irene said. "I couldn't work with them tailing me. With them gone I can focus on it. I'll get you your information."
"Deal's changed since you decided to play hide and seek with me. I want your whole phone."
Irene froze. "That's not…" she cleared her throat. "I promised you the information I received. I will get it I just need more time."
"I'll translate it myself. You've taken enough time," Moriarty said. "Plans, now. Or else I will go after that redhead like I said I would."
Irene bit her lip. "Fine, I'll get it for you. Just give me a few days."
"Good girl. I'll be waiting."
She nodded, closing her eyes and pressing the end call button.
So, it was going to be like this. Giving Moriarty everything he wanted or watching Kate die. There was no middle ground.
Her eyes opened, and she looked down at the figures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Such a pity things couldn't have worked out differently. Now, finding the right strategy would be difficult. But if she played her cards right…perhaps she'd make things work after all.
She grabbed her phone and dialed in a number. She counted the rings until a sweet familiar voice answered.
"Veronica, darling, I'm afraid I'll be needing your help," Irene purred. "Be a dear and go pick up a guest of mine. Head over to Baker street and I'll explain to you on the way."
The echo of violin music in the flat was becoming a daily experience John was steadily growing more and more used to. Sure, Sherlock had played the violin from time to time. But never like this. Never for hours on end, long melodies of sad music drifting through Baker Street.
John rubbed his face as he listened to the umpteenth piece in a minor key. How much longer could this go on? He still wasn't even sure why this was going on. But the only thing he could attribute it to was the death of Irene Adler.
He tried again to think back to Christmas Eve. Everything was fuzzy. He had some vague recollections of the party, and Sherlock being an arse especially to Molly. He knew Irene Adler had been found dead, and he'd broken up with Jeanette due to his need to stay with Sherlock due to it being a danger night.
But after that…
He'd woken up on the couch with a massive hangover. His head was pounding, he could barely sit up. But when he had managed to finally push himself up a bit he'd discovered some amount of stickiness in his pants…like he'd tried to clean himself up and had failed. John had vague recollections about some dream with Sherlock again…pushing him down onto the bed and having his way with him. Mmm…
Sherlock had been at his chair when John woke, watching him carefully. John had half expected some snarky remark or something rude about his drinking. But instead Sherlock was silent.
Of course, once John had properly cleaned himself up and taken something to help with the headache, he'd gone back out and tried to have a word with Sherlock. But it hadn't gone so well.
He'd mentioned not remembering much. Asking if Sherlock was all right and if he needed anything. Sherlock had stared at him for a few minutes, asked a couple of clarifying questions, and then gone silent. Without another word he left the flat for an entire day. When he came back John had a horrible suspicion he'd been using again, but there wasn't much John could do about that. And after that he'd simply disappeared into some kind of odd brooding phase that has lasted for far longer than John would have originally guessed it would.
It got to be New Year's, and John was growing steadily more fed up. As though the months of dealing with Sherlock being insufferable hadn't been enough, now he had to put up with the reality that the death of Irene Adler had devastated Sherlock. That no matter how much he wanted the detective, he'd never be enough. If only his dreams could be real…
John grabbed for his coat, eager to get out for the day. Go somewhere else. Leave the sound of wailing violin in 221 B where it clearly belonged and pretend for a while that Sherlock Holmes did not exist.
He eyed Sherlock's form by the window, trying his best to be nonchalant about it, even as he felt a spike of something warm but unmistakably melancholy as he regarded his best friend. Love, and sorrow, and arousal, and anger, and confusion all mixed into one.
Mrs. Hudson scooped up Sherlock's untouched plate, commenting on the music. John sighed.
"Composing?" he asked, doing his best to smile even though he didn't feel the slightest bit happy at the moment. How could he with Sherlock acting the way he was?
"It helps me think," Sherlock muttered.
He turned back to continue playing. John eyed his slim form in that familiar blue dressing robe. Once again he conjured up images of those fantasies. Sherlock on his back with John pulling that robe away and—
God he needed to stop thinking like that. But it was so hard. Imagining Sherlock naked…that pale sculpted chest and those gorgeous long legs and his—
"Still stuck at one-thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," Sherlock said.
He pulled himself out his thoughts in a moment to see what Sherlock was talking about. He felt a little bit of hope as he saw Sherlock studying his blog. Well then, perhaps he didn't think it was as entirely stupid as he pretended.
John peered at the counter and did see Sherlock appeared to be correct.
"Yeah, it's faulty, can't seem to fix it," he said.
Maybe that would get Sherlock. Sherlock liked solving problems. John felt a bit of hope as he glanced at the detective and then back at the blog.
Instead Sherlock replied, "Faulty or you've been hacked," and pulled out a phone to type something in.
There was a loud buzzing noise. Sherlock looked perplexed and then sighed and turned back to pick up his violin again.
"Just faulty," he muttered.
The swell of music began again. The same tune that seemed to speak of heartache and love lost. John tensed.
"Right, I'm going out for a bit," he muttered. God only knew how much he needed some air.
If Sherlock heard he didn't respond. Simply continued to play his music. John wondered for a moment what would happen if he walked over and smashed the bloody violin to pieces. He thought for a moment how wonderful it would be to feel the wood crack beneath his fingers. And then he'd turn to Sherlock and say "You don't need her, I'm all you need" and kiss him on the lips and have his bloody way with him…
God, he needed to hook up again. It had been far too long since he'd had a proper shag. What with Jeanette running off before they could it had probably been almost a month now. He almost groaned aloud at the thought.
He stopped to talk to Mrs. Hudson on the way out.
"Listen, has he ever had any kind of girlfriend…" he paused hardly daring to suggest it, "boyfriend… relationship ever?"
He wondered for a moment if Mrs. Hudson might again try to mention their relationship as though they were actually dating. Her mistake seemed to be a continuing one after all.
Instead she sighed and shook her head.
"I don't know."
"How can we not know?" John muttered, glancing back towards Sherlock's lightly swaying form.
"He's Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said. "How will we ever know what's going on in that funny head?"
John had to agree with that, but he decided it was better not to say anything. If Sherlock heard them after all he'd probably pitch a fit. Or just decide to ignore them even worse than he already was.
He headed down the stairs, relaxing only slightly when the door closed behind him, and he could finally get the sound of violin out of his ears. Until he realized John was playing loud enough he could hear it even through the bloody window. Ridiculous instrument. Why would anyone invent such a horrid thing?
He was just about to turn and go find a cab when a woman spoke.
"John," she said.
He turned to stare at a woman in an elegant black dress. Her long silky hair and attractive features caught his attention almost immediately. Her entire carriage seemed to suggest sex. She smiled and he almost groaned. God why didn't he wank before he left the place?
"Any plans for New Year tonight?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.
"Er…nothing fixed. Nothing I couldn't…heartlessly abandon," he said, letting his eyes roam over her figure. He couldn't remember where he'd seen her before. He must have though since she knew his name. And she seemed to want him, so why not?
"You have any ideas?" he asked, studying her. God there were hundreds running through his head, but he was hoping she might just give him a few more of her own.
Instead she smiled and said, "One," before nodding to a car pulling up in front of the flat.
John groaned. It was all suddenly very apparent. Mycroft. Probably trying to check up on Sherlock without letting his brother onto the fact that he was concerned. John had never hated the Holmes brothers and their screwed up relationship more than in that moment.
"You know Mycroft could just phone me," he grumbled under his breath. "If he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex."
Nonetheless, he had agreed to help Mycroft. Why he wasn't sure, but for now he'd stick with his original agreement. He was a man of his word. And besides, for some ridiculous reason he was set on trying to help Sherlock Holmes. And if trying to figure out how to make him better with the help of Mycroft worked, then so be it.
The drive seemed endless. He had to sit next to the pretty woman the entire way and think about how much he'd love to have sex with her as a substitute for Sherlock.
He asked her a few questions, but like Anthea she seemed pretty tight lipped. Managed to wrestle out her name (Veronica) and that she was in fact already in a relationship. Well, wasn't that just marvelous. Otherwise most of the drive was silent.
They pulled up at a power station outside of London. John stepped out of the car, frowning as he examined his surroundings.
"Couldn't we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere." John sighed, wishing in some ways he would. It might be proof the man wasn't stuck as deep in his feelings as he seemed to be at the moment.
Veronica just smiled and led him deeper into the bowels of the building. John followed after her, trying not to stare at her arse. It had nothing on Sherlock's but still. The moment he arrived back home he was going to find one of his old favorite videos, wank, and then see if he couldn't set up another date on that dating website.
She pointed him on into another room and disappeared back towards the car. He continued on, just deciding to speak the frustrating thoughts to the empty air while he awaited Mycroft's dramatic entrance. Such a drama queen.
"He's writing sad music," John said, voice carrying and echoing in the large room. "Doesn't eat, barely talks—only to correct the television."
He sighed and said the unthinkable. "I'd say he's heartbroken…" perhaps he was. Perhaps that truly was the case. Saying it somehow made it more real. "But, er, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway—"
He broke off and stared towards the figure that had suddenly appeared in the room. He was expecting Mycroft's tall well-dressed form. But instead it was Irene Adler, much better clothed than the last time he'd seen her but nonetheless still appearing quite sensual and deadly.
"Hello, Doctor Watson," she said.
Every emotion possible flitted through him simultaneously. Anger and confusion and sorrow and joy. Sherlock had been heartbroken for nothing. Sherlock had been wrongly hurt. Sherlock would be with Irene Adler and not John. Sherlock would be elated to know that Irene was alive…and that he no longer needed to mourn.
Regardless all of those didn't suit John's desires. He wanted Sherlock for himself.. But at the same time he knew in a moment that some things came at a price. And to buy Sherlock's happiness he would sacrifice his own.
"Tell him you're alive," he snapped.
Irene eyed him carefully. "He'd come after me."
"I'll come after you if you don't," John growled, fists curling. He would. He'd chase her to the ends of the earth to have Sherlock's happiness back. Just to see one of his quirky siles or catch a glimpse of joy glittering in his attractive eyes.
"Mmm, I believe you," Irene said with a smirk. The way she eyed him made him want to squirm some, like she was able to somehow see through all of his clothes. He did feel exposed, she was right.
Bitch, John thought, before saying, "You were dead on a slab. Definitely you."
All this conversation was doing was making Irene feel more confident in herself, John could see that. With every passing moment letting him know she knew exactly what the record keeper liked he felt more and more uncomfortable.
"Then how come I can see you and I don't even want to," John growled. Sherlock's the one who wants to see you. Sherlock's the one who's heartbroken.
"I made a mistake. I need my phone back," Irene said. "I need your help."
"No," John said.
"It's for his own safety," Irene said, something glinting in her eye as she spoke.
"So's this," John said.
"I can't," she said.
"Fine, then I'll tell him and I still won't help you." He turned to go, wondering how he'd even start that conversation. Sherlock, mate, your lady lover is still alive so stop being sad. I might not be able to have you, but I want you happy so there you go. But part of him so desperately wanted to not tell Sherlock. Let him mourn and move on and maybe he'd have a shot.
"What do I say?" Irene called from behind him.
"What do you normally say!" John yelled, spinning around. Of all the obnoxious people in the world Irene seemed to drive him up the wall more than anyone else. He glared at her as she stood holding a phone and eyeing John curiously.
"You've texted him a lot," John added. "And other than trying to manipulate him into touching me for some reason, I don't know what all the other texts were about."
"Just the usual stuff," Irene said.
"There's no usual in this case," John muttered.
She smirked. "Good morning. I like your funny hat. I'm sad tonight let's have dinner. You look sexy on Crimewatch. Let's have dinner. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner." She paused and looked up with a smirk. And then she continued. "John likes your funny hat. He says so on his blog. John writes such lovely things about you. Did you have dinner with John tonight? What's John wearing today. Dinner at Angelo's? Send John my love."
She paused and glance up again, head tilted slightly as she regarded him. John's mouth kept opening and closing.
"You…flirted…with Sherlock Holmes? And all that about me…were you…making him jealous?"
"Flirted at him," Irene Adler said. "He never replies. And as to you…thought he might open up about his favorite blogger. I was mistaken."
"No Sherlock always replies," John said, mind reeling. "He's Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word."
Irene smirked. "Maybe with you. Does that make me special?"
"Maybe," John said, unwilling to tell her outright that she clearly was. What else explained Sherlock's strange behavior the last few months.
"Are you jealous?" she asked.
John's jaw clenched. "We're not a couple."
"No," Irene agreed. "Not at the moment. But I sense you'd like to be one."
"For the record, if anyone cares, I'm not gay!" John snarled.
"Well I am," Irene said. "Look at both of us. Sexuality isn't as simple as little boxes on a survey. It's a spectrum. It's fluid. And just because you might not identify as gay, or haven't had much success with men doesn't mean you're not interested. After all, I'm a lesbian and I can't deny your Sherlock is undeniably sexy."
John tried to think of something to say to that but couldn't think of a single reply. Nothing was right. She'd only turn his words on their head. Besides, she was right.
"If you admit you love him I'll tell him I'm alive," Irene said.
John's jaw clenched. "I…I'm not…I…"
"Tell me and I'll text him. I'm sure you don't want to deal with the messiness of telling him yourself," Irene said.
He sighed, but she had a point. It would be awkward and messy and uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was to have to tell Sherlock that ugly piece of news he desperately wanted not to be true.
"Fine," he said after a moment. "Fine…I love Sherlock Holmes. Was that what you wanted?"
"Yes," she said, lifting up the phone and typing something in. "There, I've texted him. I'm alive, let's have dinner."
She stared at him for a long moment while John tried to decide what to say. He couldn't think of any words. He'd said the most important ones. If Irene cared she didn't give any sign of that. She simply wanted to rub her hold on Sherlock in his face.
He was about to say he was going to leave if she had nothing else to say, when suddenly a female sigh broke out behind them.
John turned and stared just in time to see a dark figure disappearing off in the opposite direction. John felt like his heart might stop beating. Sherlock was there. Sherlock had heard him. God, he could never take those words back. They were out there.
He attempted to walk back towards his friend. Maybe he could do some damage control. But Irene held out a hand and stared at him, and even though she didn't speak he somehow got the message. He sighed and waited a moment. Maybe she was right, maybe chasing Sherlock wasn't the best option anyways.
"You really don't remember, do you?" Irene murmured.
"Remember what?" he asked.
She sighed and shook her head. "You shouldn't dismiss it all so easily, you know. Kate was right, you're just like her. So blind to everything. But I'll give you a secret to a man like Sherlock Holmes. He might play confident, but he's not nearly as self-secure as he pretends to be. If you give it some time you'll figure him out."
"What the hell are you even saying?" John asked.
"I'm saying that you need to look closer," she said. "You see but you do not observe."
He scowled not thrilled at having Sherlock's words quoted back to him like gospel.
"I don't know what you want, but I can promise I'm not going to help you. I have no reason to help you," he said.
"I'd tell you myself, but I doubt you'd listen," Irene said with a smirk. "And I'll figure something out without your help. It's you who needs help if anyone."
"You leave him alone," John snapped. "You're no good for him."
Irene smiled and her eyes glittered. "Is that a threat, Dr. Watson?"
"Yes," John said. "If he wants you that's fine. But you stop playing your mind games."
"And if he does want me," Irene said. "What does that leave for you? You'll go back to a girlfriend or boyfriend every month?"
John froze and stared at her. "What?"
"Oh you know, a new girl to date, or a man you pick up in a bar," Irene said, lashes fluttering in faux-innocent manner.
"I don't know how the hell you know about that, but you'd better just stop talking now before I do something I'll regret," John growled.
"No need, Dr. Watson. We're through here. I can see nothing I say will make any difference. I'll leave you to go tend to your detective."
He shook his head and stormed past her, through with the arguing. He had nothing more to say to Miss Irene Bloody Adler with all her sensual seduction and continual teasing. How Sherlock could fall for a woman like her was beyond him.
"Veronica will take you back," Irene said. "I'm sorry we couldn't work things out. Such a pity. Regardless, it's been a pleasure. Happy New Year, Doctor Watson."
She stalked off leaving him to shake his head and grumble that he didn't need a bloody ride like a child. But at the same time he wasn't exactly near a good place to hail a cab. So another awkward ride with Veronica it was. He cursed his rotten luck as he strode off towards the car, trying to already plan out what the hell he should say to Sherlock when he finally had the chance.
Irene sighed as she watched John go. Well, most of that had gone pretty poorly. The only advantage was that she had in fact achieved some results in getting John to admit his feelings. And also she'd managed to get him to do so unknowingly in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. She'd heard footsteps. She'd suspected. And besides, her feed had showed her Sherlock had left shortly after John, probably after seeing him get into the car. How he'd known the exact location she couldn't be sure.
She'd have to find another way to get the phone. Especially now that her cover was more than likely blown. She didn't expect John to be quiet about it unless Sherlock persuaded him to do so. But regardless of what John thought, Irene was aware Sherlock harbored no feelings for her. It wasn't her name he cried out during climax. It wasn't her he said he loved…
There was a glance towards her phone, and she knew realistically that she should tell Kate. But there was still danger. If all had gone as planned Kate was off in the States now as she'd promised to do if anything happened to Irene. And telling her might simply disrupt everything she'd set in place.
She stood a bit straighter and glanced at her phone one last time before tucking it away. It did no good to linger on these things. She'd get back what she needed, appease Moriarty, and then there would be time to go and try to make things up to her beautiful lover. But for now if she couldn't have her own beautiful romance, she'd settle for making sure her two idiots got theirs.
A/N: So yes…a little more dragging it out I'm sorry. We'll get there eventually. There is a happy ending in sight, I promise!
I'm unfortunately going to be working like twelve hour shifts next week during our county fair, so I'm unlikely to be updating for a bit. I will do my best to get some good updates up as soon as all that nonsense is over.
Thanks for all the follows and favorites etc. and thank you especially to austria332, DevilChild101, and aliciaemilyluca for reviews!