Chapter 2
John made a point of arriving early for his blind date. Entering the restaurant, he was quickly seated and ordered a bottle of red wine. When it arrived he took a large gulp from his glass to calm his nerves. If John were being honest with himself, tonight's date was completely unexpected.
It had taken John nearly a year after Sherlock's death to start dating again, but he had quickly given up after a few failed dinners. In a fit of desperation several months earlier (after a particularly bad date) he had created a profile on an online dating site. Nothing ever came of it, and John had all but forgotten about the account. Then, just last week, he had received a message from a woman asking him to dinner. Her online profile had seemed perfect for him: blonde hair, soccer player, middle school science teacher.
Almost too perfect, Sherlock's voice had whispered in the back of John's head.
I will at least try to act like a normal human being, John responded.
Normal, Sherlock's voice scoffed, boring!
I may not have a "mind palace", John thought, but I do have a "mind cupboard". With that, John pushed Sherlock's voice into the cupboard, locked the door, and tossed aside the key. Then he arranged his date.
Now, waiting alone in the restaurant, John's paranoia returned. What were the chances that a woman would message him out of the blue? John could almost picture Sherlock yelling from behind a locked door, Let me out of here, John! Fine, suit yourself. Enjoy your date. Do you know she lied on her profile? She actually has brown hair, recently got liposuction, and is stealing from the school cafeteria.
John chuckled quietly aloud, before remembering that he was sitting alone in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Best not to draw attention. At least I'm not talking to a skull, he thought, almost causing himself to laugh aloud again.
Just give her a chance, John chided, once the urge to laugh had passed, you haven't even met the woman yet.
Lost in his thoughts, John didn't hear his date approach until there was a hand resting on his shoulder. Before he could turn his head he heard a familiar voice, "At least one resident of 221B knows how to respond when a woman says 'let's have dinner'."
Looking up at the face before him, John realized his mouth was gaping. Irene Adler. The Woman. The dead woman, he thought to himself. She leaned in and let her lips lightly touch John's cheek, as if to prove that she was not a ghost. "It's been too long," she said, sitting down opposite him.
John's mouth remained open, and he was having difficulty catching his breath. How can she be alive? Mycroft assured me she was dead. Fleetingly, John wondered if perhaps even Mycroft had been fooled. For some reason he found the thought discomforting.
"Why are you here?" John said forcefully, causing heads to turn at a few nearby tables. He could feel his temper beginning to rise. Funny how that always seemed to happen when The Woman was around. Irene tilted her head and intensified her glance.
"I'm here because we want the same thing."
Somehow I doubt that, he thought, skepticism obvious in his expression. Refusing to be the next to speak, John crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. Rather than answer John's question Irene smiled and picked up her menu, "I hear the duck is amazing."
For a moment John stared at the back of her menu, confused. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that Irene had something to tell him, yet she seemed more interested in food than conversation. Suddenly he remembered: knowledge was her power, her insurance. She wasn't going to give it up easily. John folded his arms across his chest, hung his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. She wants me to beg for it.
After a deep breath John raised his head and opened his eyes. Irene had put down her menu and was looking at him expectantly, a slight smile on her lips, as if she drew pleasure from John's discomfort. In as controlled voice as possible, he said, "Please enlighten me, Ms. Adler, why are you here?" John gestured to the small, candlelit table they were now sharing.
"Don't you mean how am I here?"
Trying to control the impatience in his voice, John continued, "I supposed I do, now that you mention it. Any answers would be welcome, really. I am entirely at your mercy."
Irene looked at John and must have decided that this was as close to begging as she'd get from the army doctor. After taking a long sip of her wine, she began speaking.
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Hmm, what could Ms. Adler have to say? Stay tuned...
This story is entirely drafted and will be updated often, I promise!