She watched as Sherlock buttoned up his shirt again. It was an irresistible sight, but even though she was interested, her heart wasn't really in it. Of course, the answer why still pressed at her mind. An answer she'd decided to just ignore.
"So, information," she said, stretching out her legs and eyeing him as he slid his jacket back on.
"Yes," Sherlock said, smoothing his hands over the flat plane of his stomach and then his sides, removing the wrinkles. "If you wouldn't mind. Since we gave in to your demands. I don't suppose you'll actually follow through."
"I made a bargain, Mr. Holmes. And I do intend to follow through," she said, throwing him a sultry smile. "So sit down. We'll discuss the few things dear Jim told me."
"And what exactly are those?" Sherlock said. He walked over to one of the chairs and sat, crossing his legs.
"Well, he's going to kill you," Irene said.
"Yes. I already was aware of that," Sherlock said.
"He's going to defame you first," she said. "Make everyone turn against you."
"How?"
She hesitated. "I don't know," she said. "But he is. He's clever that way. You musn't underestimate him. He'll try to destroy you, Sherlock Holmes."
"And are there any other tidbits you're willing to tell me?" Sherlock said with a sigh, eyes boring into her.
She was about to open her mouth when John appeared in the door.
"I'm going out," he announced. "Well…going to pop down to Mrs. Hudson's for a moment and then go out."
"Fine," Sherlock said. He stood again to go over to the table where he'd left his violin sitting. He picked it up and began picking at it.
"Yeah, all right. I'll see you in a while, Sherlock…" he paused in the doorway, looking meaningfully towards the detective, but he didn't respond. "Oh well, don't be surprised if he starts asking for me in a bit," John said, looking towards her. "He'll do that sometimes. Forget I've left. Well, best be off."
She listened to his footsteps on the stairs before looking back at Sherlock still cradling his violin close.
"Won't you come have a seat, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure we have a lot to discuss."
He looked up at last, eyes refocusing. "Hmm? I suppose we do don't we? Now how is Moriarty going to end me?"
She smiled. "Through the man that just walked out that door."
His mind was a mess. He couldn't straighten his thoughts out. For once answers seemed to be eluding him. He couldn't process anything, couldn't sort out the information Irene had just spoken to him. How could he when everything in him wanted to remember the moment John had brought him to—
Sherlock snapped out of his reverie, suddenly becoming aware of Irene sitting there and staring at him, eyes glittering in the low light.
"Where's John?" he asked.
"He went out a couple of hours ago," Irene said with a smirk.
"I was just talking to him."
She smiled. "He said you do that. You are rather fond of him, aren't you, Mr. Holmes?"
He swallowed. More than I'd like to be, yes. "I suppose. He's been useful to me on my cases."
She tilted her head slightly. "Is that all? I'd have thought by now you'd have puzzled it out. You and your cleverness and all."
He frowned, but again his thoughts ran to the events a few hours earlier. John's mouth. The intoxicating heat. The soft kisses ranging from affectionate to sensual. That mark that still was uncomfortable on the side of his neck. Why, he'd give anything to do it all again.
"From what you've just told me, it sounds as though John is a disadvantage," Sherlock said. "Moriarty's plan and all."
"Yes," Irene said. "It's always a disadvantage. But there are times disadvantage can be worth it."
"And why on earth would that be?"
Irene smirked again, but beneath her confidence he could catch something else. Sorrow perhaps. She was a tricky thing, Ms. Adler. He'd riddled her over a hundred times now, but that still hadn't changed the fact that he still felt there was so much more of her behind all the boldness. He tried to picture her younger. A little girl perhaps. Wasn't that the sort of thing John would do? What had made her the way she was?
"Have you ever had anyone?" she suddenly blurted out.
His brow wrinkled, but he didn't respond. She would have to press harder if she wanted an answer to that.
"Besides John," she clarified.
Sherlock remained silent. That was for her to guess, not for him to say. She'd seen enough of his private life for one day.
"And by had, I'm being indelicate," Irene added.
He gazed at her for a moment, clearly discerning her meaning but deciding there was no reason to answer. She'd given him what he needed. Nothing extremely important, but he had an idea now of what to expect from Moriarty so that was something. But as a result he didn't need to give her anymore than she already had.
"Well, I'll be delicate then," she said, rising and sashaying over, eyes never leaving his. "Let's have dinner."
"Why?" he asked, still trying and failing to draw himself out of his thoughts on John. After all the time he'd spent following Molly's advice he'd finally had his chance. And of course, it had to be in Irene Adler's hands. Not because John wanted to. But because he felt he had to.
"Might be hungry," Irene said, pulling him back out of his fantasies.
"I'm not," he said.
Her hand was on his, he stared down at it, wishing for the shorter blunter fingers of John instead. What would it take for that to be real?"
"Perhaps dinner with John then," she said.
"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?" he asked.
"You tell me. Haven't you eaten with him plenty of times when you weren't hungry?"
He frowned. "That's irrelevant. It's John…it's…"
She smiled, hand tightening on him some. "You're a fool to not see it, Sherlock Holmes." Her eyes trailed over him.
His fingers pulled her hand away, trailing down her wrist for a moment. It was there. Unexpected, but there nonetheless. He looked up at her, eyeing her carefully. There was an obvious answer, of course. Not one he wanted. But it was possible. But why try to distract him with John? To better hide herself he supposed. Make sure no one suspected how she really felt.
"If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with him?" she asked.
He opened his mouth to answer, only to hear Mrs. Hudson's voice on the stairs.
"Sherlock!"
Irene drew back, smiling ruefully. "Too late."
"It's not the end of the world, it's just Mrs. Hudson," he said evenly.
She gave him another smirk and pulled back, standing and going over to the other side of the room. There was a sound on the staircase, and then Mrs. Hudson was in the sitting room.
"Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?" she asked.
His mind wasn't on the conversation. He was still thinking about the brush against Irene Adler's wrist. He knew full well what this meant. It was simple. All too simple.
He tried to protest as they told him he needed to come with them. But as always it was useless. He took the plane ticket, staring down at the 007 on the paper. Well, that settled it then.
Her eyes strayed to his as he rose to go grab his coat. He knew she couldn't come, so he drew near to bid her farewell. After all, who knew if she'd still be in 221 B when he came back.
"We'll talk later, Mr. Holmes," she said. "We have so much more to discuss."
For a moment he lingered, looking at her. What more could there be? But of course, those glittering eyes assured him of her intentions. He already knew then.
"Yes, well, until later," Sherlock said, before going to the door.
The car drive was a long one. The other men in the car didn't speak a word to him. He let his mind drift, though every time he tried to really think all he could conjure up were images of John kissing him. John's soft reassurances in his ear. John's lips and tongue and teeth…
He hardly noticed when they arrived at the airport. He was still puzzling through John's motivations. To deny his feelings yet participate in all that…to pretend it meant nothing to him. Why? The obvious answer hung in the balance. Sentiment. Something he still felt he'd never understand. But Molly's answers weighed on him. And he knew the moment he returned to Baker Street he needed to press for some actual understanding.
After the car came to a stop he was ushered out. He walked past Neilson on his way into the airplane. The man made a few snide comments, but Sherlock did nothing to stop him. He would have thought the man would have learned his lesson, but provided there were no threats to John or Mrs. Hudson he would try his best to ignore whatever was going on.
And then he was on the plane, wandering the aisles, staring down at passengers who were far too still. For a moment he thought they might be mannequins. But it quickly became apparent they were anything but.
"The flight of the dead," Mycroft uttered.
He was in a fog. The case he'd just cracked. The woman he'd had chasing after him. John's attentions. And for once….he couldn't think.
Mycroft's sneering words had him at a loss. "The damsel in distress."
Perhaps it was meant to conjure images of Irene. But all he could think of was John. It might even save your life. Or his. Or even better, Irene's words in his ear as he leaned in to try to solve her riddle. Impress your dear doctor, Mr. Holmes.
Mycroft stared at him, eyes boring into him. "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle," he sighed. "And watch him dance?"
"Don't be absurd," he managed to say.
The promise of love. He thought of John's beautiful smiles across the table from him. The pain of loss. His mind drifted to the morning after when John had clearly stated he was drunk and didn't remember a thing. The joy of redemption. There was John kissing at his neck, whispering it would be all right. Give him a puzzle. He'd had so many puzzles. But none worse than the man in his flat. None more meaningful or interesting to him. Watch him dance. And dance he had. Dancing around his feelings. Skirting around his jealousy as John brought home girl after girl. Dancing around the possibility of what a future might be like finally having someone. Knowing he wasn't really a freak after all.
"Absurd?" Mycroft sneered. "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"
Sherlock was still lost in John's blue eyes. He didn't get a chance to reply. But he didn't need to. A voice answered from behind him.
"I think it was less than five seconds."
He turned to look at her. The Woman. In full regalia. Hair coiffed. Makeup on. Ready for her next move in this game they were playing.
Mycroft looked from her to Sherlock and back again. "I'm sorry," he said at last.
Were it not for the distraction of Irene's sudden appearance, Sherlock might have scoffed at the apology. But for once, he didn't know what to say to his brother.
"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk," Irene purred.
He glanced at her, thinking over how he should proceed. But it was true, there was more to cover. Had all of her efforts merely been a distraction? Had she been trying to push him at John to have his help?
"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on," Sherlock said, eyeing her.
However, to his surprise she didn't even glance at him. Instead, she pushed past him, smirking. "Not you, junior. You're done."
He recoiled slightly, trying to process what she was saying. Hadn't it been him who'd fascinated her this whole time? But instead, as she began conversing with Mycroft about her phone, he began to realize it wasn't in fact true.
"If you don't mind, Ms. Adler," Mycroft interrupted. "Perhaps we can move this to a more…comfortable and private location. I am willing to open negotiations. But not here."
"Sounds lovely," Irene said with a bat of her eyelashes.
Sherlock said nothing still. He had no words. There was still so much to consider. The world passed around him in a blur as Mycroft led them back to his car. Mycroft selected the passenger's seat while Sherlock and Irene slid into the back.
One of her hands slid up his thigh, breaking his train of thought.
"I am sorry you know," she whispered. "I would rather not have hurt you that way."
"Then why do it at all?"
Her eyes sparkled. "We all have our reasons, Mr. Holmes. I had mine. Just like you have yours. I told you…love can be a disadvantage."
She turned to look out the window, and he was well aware she was closing the conversation. He let his mind puzzle over her words. She'd said them to him regarding John. But here she was admitting this was her own weakness. Her own pressure point…one he could potentially use against her.
It didn't take long to arrive at Mycroft's residence. Sherlock sighed as he stepped out, though Irene soon was at his side again, practically clinging to his side. He wondered for a moment if she might be frightened of Mycroft. But of course, the idea was absurd. There was no possibility of that, especially as he watched her straighten when Mycroft glanced in their direction. She smirked, wrapping one arm around Sherlock's and leaning closer.
"Your brother truly detests me," she whispered.
"Of course," Sherlock responded. "He has every reason to. After everything you did."
"I told you already, I had my reasons," she said calmly. "So I ruined one little plot from the British and American governments. Trust me when I say there are bigger things coming."
"Moriarty," Sherlock said. "You've mentioned that already."
"Have I?" she asked, blinking. "Hmm well one forgets in such fine company. So…have you decided what you'll do? Will you tell John?"
"Perhaps," Sherlock said.
"You ought to. He'll help you. You should hold onto him while you can," Irene said. "You never know when you'll lose—" She broke off though Sherlock couldn't place if it was because they'd arrived in Mycroft's office, or because she'd begun to say too much.
She and Mycroft went straight to the table to sit down across from each other. Sherlock decided hiss thinking might be more productive were he to sit to the side. So he settled onto an armchair a few feet away, not even daring to look in Irene's direction, or especially not Mycroft's. He had no desire to see his brother's famous scowl.
"I suppose you think you've won then," Mycroft said. "Ruining our plot."
He could hear her smirk in her tone. "Haven't I? As I said, the information on your little plot serves me little good though. It's already out. Already destroyed. But I have other files you'd be interested in too…alongside those pictures of your client you'd rather not have exposed."
"And I suppose you have demands then?"
"Some, yes," she said. "Why I'm half inclined to take your brother, Mycroft. I think that might be a very fitting punishment for you with your carelessness."
Sherlock stiffened some. Would Mycroft trade him over in return for information? He knew the man was heartless at times, but surely not quite so bad as that.
"I'm afraid that will not do," Mycroft said. "But as to your demands, I'm still not sure you've earned them. After all, we could still find some ways to recover the information." He paused for a moment. "We have people who can get into this."
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, listening as Irene stated her case. He knew the facts already, even if Mycroft was still in denial. Irene had been thorough. She'd made her game perfect. Every so often he gave Mycroft some help in why the plan was unbeatable. He could hear his brother growing more and more disgruntled by the minute.
"He's good isn't he?" Irene added at one point. "I would have on a leash. In fact, I might."
Sherlock sighed at that. The only person he would ever let have him on a leash…well…it didn't matter anyways…
He listened on as she gave her demands. He tried to imagine what might be on that list. Money of course. Lots of it by the sound of things. Escape. A change of identity. But there had to be something else too. Was this really what Irene Adler was after? Money? It didn't fit. The motives just didn't suit her. And he knew if his name was on the list Mycroft probably would already be protesting. So what else could there be?
The answer had to be there. He kept searching for it. Wandering halls in his mind palace. Trying to find it. It had to be here somewhere.
"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," she said suddenly. "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."
Those words for some reason made him notice an inconsistency. Jim Moriarty sends his love. And yet earlier she'd given him information on Moriarty. Was she playing the two of them against each other? But instead it triggered his thoughts on their talk earlier. Love is a disadvantage.
"D'you know what he calls you?" Irene asked, a sneer in her tone. "The ice man." She paused and he could feel her eyes on his back. "And the virgin."
Mycroft sighed again.
"I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man." Irene said.
No, something wasn't right. Something wasn't fitting. Before she could say another word he was standing.
"No."
There were too many inconsistencies. Well I am, she'd said to John. Look at both of us. Moriarty, her kind of man. No. There was only one man Irene had admitted to liking. He'd asked for something. He was calling her bluff. She'd given him information. She hadn't wanted to, but she had.
"Sorry?" she said, eyes flashing dangerously.
"I said no. Very very close, but no," Sherlock said rising.
His mind was working faster over the information. Pressure points. Moriarty knew how to play people. The ice man and the virgin. Virgin. Important. Untouched. Pure. Sexually inexperienced. A conquest. For Moriarty? Perhaps. Or had it been a shove to Irene. He could only guess it was that.
"You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."
"There's no such thing as too much," Irene said with a smile.
Mycroft was eyeing him nervously. Never worry, brother dear. I'll fix this, he thought. It was all in hand. He had his cards ready to play.
"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathize entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."
"Sentiment? The only one with sentiment is you, Sherlock dear," Irene purred, though her smile had dropped some. "Or are you going to still try to deny it? It was my best tool in the end in your undoing. As I told you, it will be Moriarty's too."
"And he likewise played you," Sherlock countered. "Sentiment," he spat out.
"Sentiment, what are you talking about?" Irene said.
"You."
She laughed. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you?" She crossed her arms and stared directly into his eyes. "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"
Her eyes scanned over him, and he smiled as he pulled the last few pieces together. His checkmate was ready.
"No, because I took your pulse," he said.
Her smile dropped and she frowned.
"Elevated. You pupils dilated," he said.
He snatched up the phone. He had it now. In only a few moments he would restore all the wrong he'd done. Mycroft and Britain could be at peace again.
"I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive."
"I imagine he does," Irene agreed. "But what's that got to do with anything?"
Sherlock looked down at the phone in his hand.
"When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this ...this is far more intimate."
He opened the screen looking down at the "2 Attempts Remaining" there in red.
"This is your heart," he said.
Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him. He watched her swallow once. Signs of her coming fall. And she knew it. It was over now.
"And you should never let it rule your head," he said.
He typed in the letters one by one, never breaking eye contact as he did.
"You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for ..."
Her eyes kept steady on his, even as her mask seemed to slip away.
"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage ... thank you for the proof."
And then he was hitting the final button. There it was. He turned to show her, watching her face as she saw the letters he'd chosen.
SHER. He smirked. I am Sherlocked. Clever. Playful. Just like her. He'd told Molly she loved to play games, and he'd been right.
He pressed the button, readying himself for the triumph of being able to hand the phone over to Mycroft. The game was over then. No more of this. Irene Adler, finished.
But before he could tell his brother he'd made up for his mistake, there was a harsh buzzing noise. He looked down at the phone.
"Incorrect passcode. 1 attempt remaining."
Impossible. He stared at it. He couldn't have miscalculated could he? No. This was Irene's heart. He was certain of it. All her ramblings about love and disadvantages. Her elevated pulse. Her dilated eyes. Wasn't that the answer?
"I'm afraid you mistake love and lust, Mr. Holmes," Irene said, her smirk returning. "You are attractive, I'll admit that much. But I have never once entertained thoughts of being romantic with you. Your heart belongs to another."
She paused and put a hand on his arm, even as his mind reeled.
"Were you really so blind to all that? A few chemical reactions and you think I'm in love?" she chuckled. "Oh by all means, Mr. Holmes, keep pretending you're so clever. But as I said already, you're a novice when it comes to love. I wouldn't expect you to understand the signs."
"I miscalculated," he muttered. "It must be."
"You aren't my heart, Mr. Holmes. Any more than I am yours. We'd be quite ill-suited for one another."
He frowned.
"You weren't far off though. Like you I need a heart to my brain. Brainy might be sexy…but it requires balance, doesn't it? Why if you only had your John here I guarantee he would have sorted you out."
Sorted you out. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. John. He needed John. She was right. And even if his heart shouldn't rule his brain, for once he'd let it.
He was there. In the dark halls of his mind palace. Stalking through them. He'd searched for answers. But she was right, he just needed the right tool. And as John materialized beside him, he smiled in relief.
"What can you tell me about her motives? I've tried reason and it failed. She used sentiment. I need it too. Help me, John. Please."
Mind palace John smiled. "Gladly. What did she say to me again?"
He frowned. "That she was…gay? But she seemed to be indicating that she was…interested…"
"Oh Sherlock, even gay people can find those of the opposite sex aesthetically interesting. She was pointing out that sexuality isn't always a perfect box to put yourself in. It's a spectrum you know."
That was true. She had said that. And he was a fool to forget it.
"Her heart, Sherlock. Were you to choose a password from your heart, what would you choose?"
He thought a moment. Everything in him wanted to use logic. But of course that wasn't a possibility in the criterion.
"John."
Mind palace John smiled warmly at him. "Of course, because I'm the heart to your brains, as she said. So she must have one too. It stands to reason…it's how Moriarty manipulated her. It's why she's spoken of love the way she has. But it can't have been you. After all, she barely knew you when she first started working with him. Again, lust isn't a motivator. Love is."
He thought back to the day in the house. Fire exposing priorities. Her eyes had turned to the safe first. But where else? And then he remembered. He recalled it. At the time he'd thought she must be looking towards the hall to see if there was any sign of fire. But instead, he knew now what she had to be looking for. That woman. The one in the hall. He'd dismissed it then, but there was something there. Irene's eyes had lit up when she'd been in the room. He'd watched something flash across her face when the woman was unconscious, even if she'd left her there. After all, by the time the police arrived that woman was gone…what had her name been?
He had to find it. Sherlock scrunched his brow in concentration. It was there somewhere. It had to be. He was so good at throwing out details he thought pointless. But the redhead…she had to be there.
After searching hopelessly he looked to John. He smiled warmly.
"Don't remember, love? Want me to tell you?"
"Please."
John whispered it. He leaned in to kiss his helpful assistant before pulling out of his mind palace entirely.
Mycroft's gaze was on him, a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Irene too was looking at him, though she was continuing to give him her famous smirk.
"It is your heart," Sherlock said. "And you were a fool to expose it."
"My heart? And how would you know about it?"
"The heart to your brain. As you said. I suppose your little games with John and I make sense now. Living vicariously probably." He snorted. "You said killers were after you. CIA would never have actually done away with you. Locked you up maybe. So who could that be? Why the man you mentioned earlier. Moriarty. And while he might have given you advice, I highly doubt it was free. So he wanted information? Information you did end up giving him. But at what cost? No, he had something more on you than simple helpful advice. He was the reason you faked your own death. He was the reason you ran. But it wasn't for you. No."
He typed in the letters one by one into the phone. He smiled as he saw her face pale.
"It wasn't real," she whispered desperately. "It was all a game."
"Yes, and this is losing," Sherlock said. "Games of the heart, Ms. Adler. Most costly."
He held up the phone to show her what he'd typed in. KATE. She swallowed, watching as he pressed the enter button. And for once the phone opened up to display its menu.
Sherlock tossed the device to Mycroft.
"There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight," he said.
Mycroft nodded and thanked him.
Sherlock turned to look at Irene again. Her entire posture had an element of defeat to it. She knew it was the end.
"If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."
Her eyes watered. "Are you expecting me to beg?"
"Why not?" he said, cocking his head. "You made me beg you and John. Isn't it your turn then?"
"Please," she said after a moment. "I gave you what you needed. You can pretend all you like that it's a weakness, but you want love as much as I do. And I gave that to you. Without me you would have never seen it."
"Seen what?"
"That you're the perfect match for John Watson," she said.
He stiffened. "Your little sexual games prove nothing. As you said, love is not the equivalent to lust. John might have proven enjoyable, but sexual stimuli proves nothing on my feelings."
She shook her head. "He loves you. He might deny it. But he does. I promise. If you ask him in a straightforward manner and confess how you feel you'll get your answer. But it doesn't take a genius to see the way he looks at you."
Sherlock was silent. He had no words for her. His heart was pounding more quickly. Was it possible? He had been suspecting John had lied…but it still seemed so unlikely. Could John truly love him?
"And what's in it for you? Telling me this?"
"I lost the woman I loved," Irene said. "She'll have no part of me since I lied to her. I never…I never even got to tell her how I truly felt….I danced around it. Pretended it was all sex. But it wasn't. And I'll never get a chance to make that up to her.
She was silent for a moment before adding, "Perhaps you're right. Leave me out on my own. I won't last six months… but without her maybe there's nothing to live for. But at least you…I hope you at least won't make the same mistake. Don't let him slip away, Sherlock Holmes. Not while you have the chance."
He looked at her. Ran his eyes over her and her sparkly dress and her red lipstick. This woman who seemed to be every bit as fake as a plastic doll. Perhaps this too was a ruse. A game. But the proof had been there. Kate was her heart. Her passcode.
Mycroft's eyes were on him. He knew that there was nothing he could do. Not now at least. But back at home…after he'd sorted it all with John, maybe.
"Sorry about dinner," he said. "But as you already said…it would never have worked out." He spared her one last look before turning and going to the door. It didn't take a second glance to know she was already crying.
She was in a state of disbelief. She had somehow thought it would all pan out. Giving information to Jim. Giving information to Sherlock. Getting her demands from Mycroft. And with the money and her new protection, she'd hoped maybe she could find Kate…beg her. God she would beg for that woman. A thousand times over she'd ask Kate to be hers again.
But instead she'd lost.
All her time playing the game and she'd lost. She wasn't even sure if her plan with Sherlock and John had succeeded. She'd pushed them as much as she could and still the two stubborn idiots refused to budge.
And now she was truly lost. She heard Mycroft clear his throat behind her and turned. It was difficult to face him knowing there were tears on her face, but she still knew she had to.
"I agree with my brother, I'm in no mood to be generous," he said. "You are free to go as you like. But I'm afraid you'll be given no protection. Think of it as your punishment. If you're clever maybe you'll survive a few more months at least. I'd enjoy them if I were you, Ms. Adler."
She pursed her lips. "And you, Mr. Holmes. What would you do with a few months left?"
"Make the most of them," he said with a frown. "Fix old wrongs. I'm not sure I'd do anything less than most people. Even the most intelligent of us have a touch of sentiment at times." He eyed her. "When you said that about my brother and his friend, were you lying? I won't tell him either way."
She sighed. "No. Not even close. They feel something, the both of them. But whether either of them will ever act on it is a mystery I cannot solve."
Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "As much as I loath to admit it, I wouldn't mind seeing my brother settle down. John Watson has done him a great deal of good." He paused. "I do hope you're right."
She gave a feeble smile and nodded. "At least if he's happy that's something. As I said, I suppose I don't have much to live for anymore."
Mycroft's smile was quite forced. "Well, then find something for a few more weeks. Not long, of course, but it's something. Good night, Ms. Adler. I assume you can find the way out?"
"I suppose I must," she said. She picked up the coat she'd brought with her, sliding it over her shoulders. Without another glance at Mycroft she walked to the door. A few more weeks. A few more months. Who knew how long it would be. She'd flee of course. It was instinct. Simple as that. Anything to keep herself going. But in the end she'd embrace death. After all, all lives end.
A/N: I was originally going to have the phone passcode be Johnlocked but I figured that was too much. And no, I didn't add any attempts on the phone. He didn't try the one in Molly's lab that he does in the show.
So if I'm calculating correctly there should be one more chapter left. Now, that's provided I think I have enough time to wrap it all up, which might end up proving impossible with these two idiots. I'd say max two though (I really really hope I'm not miscalculating on that one…). But the end is nigh!
Thanks to MycroftTheGingerCat, WRose, and French Fabulousness of France for the lovely reviews! (sorry if I missed someone, does glitch sometimes just let me know!
Hope to see you again soon!