"Well," Irene began slowly, "I suppose that explaining how I'm here will also answer why I'm here." John nodded, encouraging her to continue. "After Sherlock unlocked my phone my options became, well, limited. I no longer had much leverage. Mycroft could have made me disappear, but that wouldn't have been as...amusing for him." The bitterness was evident in her voice.
"Initially I went into hiding in Turkey, but quickly needed more money. Mycroft had not been generous. I decided that I would have to tap into my insurance." She stopped momentarily to wave her phone at John. "Since I knew Mycroft was watching me, I couldn't sell state secrets. I was also no longer considered a trustworthy collaborator by Jim."
"Moriarty," John interrupted, unable to stop himself.
"Yes," Irene continued, "he no longer trusted my information, knowing that I had made a deal with Mycroft. Despite these limited options, I still had information – valuable information – if I could find the right buyer." John realized what Irene was implying.
"So you went to Pakistan to sell information about Moriarty." Irene nodded, and John let out a low whistle under his breath.
"Or so I thought. Little did I know that Moriarty, like Mycroft, had been keeping tabs on my movement. The 'buyer' ended up being another of Moriarty's men. Apparently he's global."
"It still doesn't explain how you are siting here in front of me."
"Sherlock." John found his jaw dropping for the second time that night. "It was an accident, really. He was tracking Moriarty's network and noticed that they were plotting to kidnap an Englishwoman in Pakistan. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together."
When Irene finished speaking she returned to sipping her wine. John was slumped in his chair holding his head, trying to process what he had just heard. Finally, he broke the silence, "so what is the point of knowing all this now? It's just another adventure of Sherlock Holmes. It doesn't do me any good."
"Doesn't it?"
"I don't follow."
"Obviously." Her imitation of the consulting detective was too much for John. Without responding he rose and left the table.
John stood over the bathroom sink considering what he had just heard. He knew that The Woman was not to be trusted, yet couldn't fathom how she could benefit from lying to him. Besides, his mind told him, her story doesn't seem that far-fetched. Sherlock had always been willing to risk his "transport" when seeking out an adventure.
Even if her story was true, John still did not understand why she had bothered telling him. Looking at his reflection, he felt that something important was just beyond his grasp. His mind worked in high gear.
If she's telling me the truth, Sherlock saved her from being killed. A pretty typical day in the life of Sherlock Holmes. But Mycroft honestly thought she was dead. Everyone did. Sherlock didn't even tell me the truth, despite his usual need to share all thoughts aloud.
John gasped aloud as the implication of Irene's story clicked into place. It wasn't just a rescue mission. Sherlock had done more than just save Irene—he helped fake her death!
If Sherlock could do that for Irene Adler, why couldn't he do it for himself?
It's just a theory, just a crazy theory, John rationalized. Worst-case scenario, I am overestimating Sherlock's abilities. John could live with that, because it allowed for a best-case scenario: that Sherlock might somehow be alive.
When John returned, the table was empty.
##################