Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing
Perhaps I should mention that the words "I won´t plug your wings" from Irene refer to the wonderful song "Promise this" by Cheryl Cole in the version sung by Adele. I could run it in a 24hour loop and not tire of it!
Quote: "Though I'm walking through the shadows / you are with me and you comfort me. / Lay me down now time for sleeping / but before that would you miss on me. / Before I pluck your wings cover me / please spread your wings cover me and / promise this if I die before I wake oh / promise this take a time to say your grace."
Reviews could get you a nice English tea :-)
Irene
Five months later I actually feel like a different person. On my first hike near Kathmandu, the sight of a mountain struck me as so unearthly beautiful that I spent nearly two hours taking in its sight. It was perfectly covered by snow, enourmous in its height and simply breathtakingly magnificient. The following weeks, I searched successfully for further experiences of a similar spiritual and healing impact on my battered soul, venturing as far as Tibet, completely disregarding the danger the transfer over the Chinese border might hold.
Time passed quickly with journeys to remote places and monasteries and hikes into the mountains, and I successfully managed to erase my home and my friends from my memory, replacing them with impressions of a high, cloud-filled sky, the never-ceasing winds and ancient villages nestling on slopes and peaks. After five months, in September, I finally returned to Pokhara, right at the base of the Annapurna mountain range.
On a very bright day with white clouds floating swiftly ahead due to the high winds, I enjoy a tea outside a small restaurant. The sun is relaxingly warm, and I am deep in thought about my further moves, when a familiar voice adresses me in English.
"You look far too fit and healthy for a corpse", a female voice whispers into my ear. Shocked, I turn to look into the face of the woman. Irene Adler, who nearly fooled me and Mycroft in what seems an era ago.
"May I join you?" she asks and smiles at my darkening expression. It is hard to connect the Irene I met in London to the Irene who sits down next to me. She has cut her hair and outdoor clothing has replaced her usually elegant attire. She is deeply tanned. Her eyes sparkle and her smile is as alluring as ever.
"Irene Adler," I say.
She shushes me with a smile. "I´m sorry, you must be mistaken. My name is Myra. Like the star. And you are?"
"Timothy Cushing. Tim," I offer.
"I like men with black hair and brown eyes," she purrs. "Say, what are you doing in Nepal, Tim?"
"Hiking. Seeking reclusion."
Irene laughs. "You look like a loner. But perhaps you would find pleasure in company, for a change?"
"Why do you think I would?"
Her smile is unreadable. "Because you are homesick, longing for news?"
"I am not longing for news from old acquaintances," I dismiss her offer.
She reaches out and touches the scar on my forearm. "Oh, but you would like to know about your adversaries, don´t you?"
Frowing, I silently wonder how she can possibly know that I am waiting for news from Mycroft regarding the new leader of the web. "I´ll always listen to a good story," I answer warily.
"It is a rather grisly one, in fact. Mind if I tell you in private?" Irene still traces the scar with the lightest touch of her forefinger, looking me in the eyes intently, and I see. The woman knows something vital for my pursuit, and she is obviously prepared to share it with me.
Whatever her motivation, I will not let slip the chance to learn something important from her.
"What do you mean, private?" I ask, and she tells me.
I don´t throw her offer down. Irene is pleasurable and beautiful, after all, and, as much as I hate to admit it, company. It suits both of us to pose as a couple since that way we can avoid questions about our lives in Europe, about our families. We rent a small hut in a nearby village. We stay together with her disappearing every now and again on some errand on her own, never saying goodbye, always returning unexpected.
She reminds me of a stray cat which will never curl up in my lap, but watches my every move closely when she is at home. She doesn´t advance on me, sensing my unease and my resentment. Instead, she tells me about her work for an Indian businessman who is closely associated with Grimbsby Roylott´s smuggling business. It seems that the quarrel on who is to follow Moriarty is not yet settled. Roylott tries to extend his smuggling business to China, whereas Milverton has a hand in bribing several European politicians, forcing small favours from them which are of importance for the webconcerning regulations and laws.
Several weeks pass. Irene leaves and returns, while I frequently accompany a farmer from the village to collect honey from the wild bees. One or twice, I return covered in stings, hands and parts of my face swollen, but still I enjoy the tedious task of searching for their hives and stealing the honeycombs with bare hands.
On a crisp October night, Irene returns from one of her mysterious trips and finds me perched in front of the fire, lost in thought, gazing into the void.
She sits down next to me, sendin me glances, but I don´t elaborate. Silence settles between us, and only the wind sings its song of the winter´s arrival. Several minutes pass, and I feel strangely comfortable with her by my side.
Finally, she breaks the silence. "You are lonely," she observes.
"The Nepalese bees were perfect company. As are the wind and the frost."
"And there´s nothing left for you to do except wait," she continues, unfazed.
I turn to look at her. "I don´t need the chase anymore."
"Of course you do. You are dying to know who Moriarty´s first man is, who the sniper is who was trained on John." She pushes her hand through my hair, and I flinch. "It´s a shame you keep telling yourself you don´t need human contact," she says and straightens a stray lock.
"I had encounters. Most of them were far from pleasurable," I answer her unspoken question.
Her fingers proceed towards my neck, gripping it lightly, and I feel my skin prickle. I catch a breath and she smiles knowingly.
"You prefer to deal with puzzles, with problems professionally," she says. "I am a professional, you know. You just need to make your decision." Her fingers proceed to stroke my neck and I close my eyes, gritting my teeth, trying to ignore the warmth of her fingers.
"I don´t think I want to," I say. "It distracts me from my work."
She leans in closer, and this time I don´t flinch. "But there is no work here for you to do. Roylott, Milverton and Moran are in England. You can stop thinking of you as Sherlock Holmes. Think of yourself as Tim", she whispers, her lips touching my cheekbone.
I tense and my eyes are fixed on the fire again, but she doesn´t relent and kisses the edge of my mouth.
I feel cheated and used and confused, but these feelings are connected to a forgotten past. Her light-feathered kiss is a spark igniting a flame in my body I assumed I had extinguished a long while ago.
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to lean into her touch, but I can´t give in to this weakness. I push her away, and she still smiles her knowing smile at me. It is not a victorious smile, it is the proud smile with which a collector might regard the newest addition to his collection, the dearest, priceless piece he has always been hunting for.
"You are a hunter," I say. "But I am not prey."
She reaches out to touch my face again, and I grab her wrist, feeling the hunger for her body finally collecting in my chest. "I am no one´s prey."
"You never were. You are a strange creature, a fallen angel. I promise not to plug your wings," she replies, smiling.
Without further hesitation, I kiss her. Even though this is not what I truthfully desire, it is a distraction, a new game of which we both know none of us will be winner or loser.
Hours later I wake. All tension has drained from my body. The fire has burned down, but I am comfortable, for a second blanket covers me. Irene has left, or so I reckon until she appears several minutes later. She leans in the doorway and watches me with a tender smile.
"You are leaving," I observe.
She nods. "I wanted to say goodbye to you this time. It was nice meeting you, Tim. Take my advice – never become a prisoner of your fears again. You will be invincible."
"I don´t aspire to be ruled by my heart."
"But you already are. John is your heart, your compass."
"John?"
She smiles again, a sad spark glistening in her eyes. "You were talking in your sleep. And it was obvious the first time we met. Believe me, if you don´t follow your heart, you will never be happy." Her gaze travels into the distance, but quickly settles back on mine. "Go back home, or else you will be miserable forever."
"I can´t yet."
She steps nearer, sits down on the bed and strikes back my curls. "Don´t punish yourself for leaving him. You did the right thing. But you two are an entity and you are broken, dead men walking. Put the pieces together again." She bends down and kisses me on the forehead. "Go back and confront Sebastian Moran before he finds you. He is leading the web´s drug-dealing business. You´ll find him in London."
With another caress she gets up and walks toward the door, where she turns and looks back.
"Goodbye, Tim. And good luck. Give my regards to Sherlock. Perhaps he would like to have dinner with me some time."
She is gone and I am alone in the dark, listening to the wind rustling the rooftop. Already, I feel strangely bereft of her presence, even though I know she has simply returned me the favour of her rescue.
It feels, though, as if she actually has taken some of my fears with her and left me with a new strength. For once, I am not afraid of nightmares as sleep claims me again.
