Playing the Fool

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Chapter Seven

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Her eyes were like twin stars twinkling in the depths of shadow, and like celestial bodies, they offered a feeling of smallness, but no serenity. There was never anything resembling peace in a face that had crushed more than one political marriage; there was only fire and all components thereof – light, smoke and flame. John did everything in his power to not become the moth in this particular metaphor.

"You're supposed to be dead."

He turned on the lights to let her bathe in its florescent glow. The curves he remembered were still there, but she hadn't dressed up to show them off. The doctor didn't need Sherlock around to know that Irene Adler was still on the run. Her head tilted coyly as she sat back in the sofa and shifted her legs – almost as if she wanted to attract John to them through the simple motion. She was wearing lacy black leggings underneath a scarlet skirt. John caught onto her game early, and made sure that the only place he let his eyes roam was her unpainted face.

"I think the grim reaper is losing his touch – not that I'm complaining."

That smile again. The devil's smile. Even if John couldn't see her lips, he knew he would have imagined the expression anyway. He raised one eyebrow with uncertainty.

"Sherlock's doing?"

Irene smirked and looked out the window. "Saved my life. I'm trying to return the favour."

John toyed with his fingers, trying not to let them curl into fists. "You came too late."

"Did I?" There was the hint of a laugh in her voice and John knew instinctually that Irene was on the same page he was; Sherlock Holmes was most likely breathing. All thoughts of madness vanished.

"Tell me what you know." John said with a bite to his words. Getting information from a dominatrix wasn't going to be easy.

Irene sighed and relaxed her normally prim posture. "I know that you're being watched." She motioned to John's chair in an attempt to get the doctor to sit, but he remained standing. John wanted her to know that she did not control the situation. Irene could have cared less.

"I've been trying to meet with you for the last two days, but slipping past your surveillance is very annoying. Between Mycroft and Moriarty I'd be surprised if you could shower without eyes on you." The purr in the comment sent a warm shiver through John's abdomen. Irene's eyes looked him up and down as if she knew the effect she just caused.

"Moriarty is dead." He said it with finality, hoping that it was true. Him being alive wasn't a development he had been expecting.

"I wouldn't count on it. He was Sherlock's equal - perhaps even his superior. I would assume that if Sherlock is alive, so is his nemesis. I have a feeling that both men wanted to cut out the commonwealth to stage their own private war without interference." Irene got up and smoothed out her skirt. "Moriarty knew Sherlock was playing with his gloves on because he was working in the confines of the law. James wanted a fair fight – away from the ordinary. The only way they could do it was to stage their deaths. Simple."

"Sherlock needs people. He's rubbish on his own." Sherlock needed someone to stop him from going too far.

Irene walked up to John and caressed his shoulder as she wandered into the kitchen. "So is Moriarty. Both of them need puppets to set the stage, but this is more than just a show now John. This is real. Moriarty thinks he's found his equal and he wants to put him to the ultimate test. He owes Sherlock a fair fight without distractions. Now there is nothing that can hold either of them back. They've descended into hell and only one of them is going to crawl back."

John paused to try and rephrase the half-formed question on his tongue so that it sounded more tactful than it did in his head, but after a second he realized that tact wasn't necessary with Miss Adler. "What does any of this have to do with you?"

The woman poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She held it up to the light before taking a few sips and leaning against the counter to play casual. "Nothing actually. To be honest, I'm just a little disappointed that Sherlock didn't pay me a visit when he disappeared." There was a subtle pout to her lips that upset John, but he didn't know why. "I did a bit of misbehaving to figure out that Moriarty was still in play and figured out the rest on my own."

"Let me get your story straight. You knew Sherlock was alive, so you poked your nose about and found out Moriarty didn't bite it as well? So now you come to me with the information? Why? How did you even know Sherlock was alive in the first place?"

"I knew the funeral director."

"Let me guess... you knew what he liked."

She put the empty glass of water in the sink and grinned. "Aren't we familiar now! You're wit seems sharper than I remember Dr. Watson. Sherlock's rapid exit from your life must have left a noticeable scar. I'd be careful. Sherlock might not recognize you when you come for him."

"What do you mean...?"

The question rolled off Irene like a raindrop over an umbrella and she adopted some playful body language.

"I'm going to have to stay here for the night since I can't leave until you go to work tomorrow and take your spies with you. I've made myself a bed in Sherlock's room... I hope you don't mind." She turned away and started to wander in that direction.

John followed her, suddenly angrier than he had ever been in the last few weeks. He had enough of this cryptic bullshit. Just once he wanted to be treated respectfully and not toyed with. He wanted this entire affair to end now.

"No - stop right there and turn around."

Something in the doctor's voice made Irene comply as if she were held at gunpoint. She halted and looked over her shoulder with an expression of surprise. John was practically shaking in aggravation.

"I get it. You, Sherlock and Moriarty are geniuses. Congratulations. You three might be able to talk in riddles and leave little love notes to each other in complicated ciphers or metaphors or god-knows-what; but I'm not part of the club. I can't wow others by being captain obvious. I can't understand the twisted things that come out of your overzealous minds. All I can do is stand in the background and blunder about at the outskirts of your intellectual drivel, hoping that the light bulb will come on at the right moment so that I don't look like an idiot – which is never by the way." John took a deep breath. He was ranting, but he didn't care. All the frustrations from the last few days were pouring out of his mouth now and he couldn't stop it if he wanted to.

"I need help putting it all together and for you to actually be useful for once. I need to know what actually happened the day Sherlock jumped, and what it means. I need to know what Sherlock is thinking... and I need... I need to understand just what the hell is going on. So if you could please cut to the part where you stop leading me on... that would be fantastic!"

His words made the silence afterwards almost tangible. Irene stared at John like she had witnessed a particularly entrancing train wreck. The doctor stood like a rock - stubborn and irritated; waiting for the moment the woman would come to her senses.

"Sherlock knows he's rubbish at doing things alone..." She whispered to the tension between them.

"I'd be lost without my blogger" Long forgotton words mixed with a quick smiles as Sherlock flipped up his coat collar and walked out of the flat.

Why did the small memories always hit John the hardest?

Irene lowered her eyes to the hardwood floor and the worn rug that adorned it. "And I wasn't kidding when I said they had descended into hell John. Hell is the only word appropriate for the brand of underworld they both have been living in for the past few months. The reason I came here-"

She couldn't seem to bring herself say it, but not because of sentiment. There was something else that was bothering her and John couldn't place it.

"He... trusts you. You - of all people John. I tried to worm my way into that man's heart with all of my cunning, and failed, because I didn't know that someone else had tread there before me."

"Oh here we go again. I'M NOT GAY!"

"You don't have to be John. You were a soldier. You were trained to throw your life in front of a bullet for queen and country, but off the battlefield... you do it for Sherlock. That, Dr. Watson, is telling."

"Oh please-"

"You know what hell is like John! You wouldn't hesitate for one second to follow Sherlock into it." Irene stared John right in the eye as if daring him to tell her otherwise. "And he knows that John. He knows."

"Biding my time. Knew you would show up." The way Sherlock looked at him that night, as if John Watson was the most fascinating man in existence, it thrilled him. He had hardly known Sherlock for 48 hours, and yet he shot a man in his defence. It wasn't even a man in a uniform, or a man holding a gun. It was an elderly cabbie in a sweater armed with nothing but a pair of bottles.

It had been enough to warrant a bullet with his name on it.

"You will find him John. I'm only warning you that you will be a distraction for Sherlock in the deadly tête-à-tête he's facing when you do." Irene commented as she slipped into Sherlock's room. There was nothing left to say. There was a subtle understanding that was just now settling in the space between them. "Good night Dr. Watson."

John merely stared at the closing door and retreated back into his mind. Now there were too many perspectives in his head regarding Sherlock's death. Every person he talked to just made the situation worse by adding motives that may or may not exist. Everything was speculation at this point - and the topic was the mystery of Sherlock Holmes. No matter how good the world might have thought John was, no one could solve Sherlock.

He was about to stalk off to the living room and go through Sherlock's hard files when he heard the doorbell ringing from the hallway. After a quick glance at the clock John wondered who the hell would be visiting this late, and if it were necessary to pick up his gun on the way downstairs incase it was someone unfriendly.

Thinking statiscally, he took it because between Sherlock and Irene it was most likely some manner of nasty person. He slunk down the steps like a thief in the night, hoping that he wasn't going to get a shot gun to the face, or kidnapped - again. He mustered up his courage as he approached the door to look through the peep hole with baited breath, but instantly relaxed and lowered his pistol when he saw Molly fidgeting on the other side.

She nearly jumped when John opened the door suddenly and let her inside.

"I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced, but I e-mailed you twice before I realized you probably don't have your laptop back from the Yard... and I don't have your number... and you haven't checked your blog in ages..."

"Yeah... sorry, I'm a bit hard to get a hold of. Um..." John had no idea why Molly was suddenly at his doorstep, and he didn't want to invite her up for tea because Irene might wander out and then there would be some awkward introductions. On top of that there was the gun in his hands...

Molly provided an easy solution to the situation by handing John a piece of paper with a nervous smile. "These are the descriptions you asked for. They're not the best... but I don't think they're that bad either. I sometimes have to do them for unclaimed bodies that pop up on my list..." She stopped herself before she started to ramble. "Anyway, I have date tonight and thought I'd drop this by personally since it wasn't too much trouble."

"Perfect Molly, thank-you. This will be very helpful." He took the list and gave it a quick once over as Molly turned around and headed back out the door. But before she could even take the first step towards the street, John's arm shot out and he grabbed her by the shoulder. "Molly, tell me about the first two people on the top of this list." He wagged the paper back in her direction with some vigor. "The doctor and the nurse."

Molly looked stunned at the blanched expression on John's face but complied easily. "The doctor was middle aged, wearing a suit... had tawny hair and there was a nurse with him both times I met him. They were the first ones I thought of since they were directing Sherlock's 'abduction'. Once the doctor had called the nurse 'Matty' which I thought might help identify her if the description wasn't good enough."

"Oh, that reminds me, Matty and I were wondering if you played poker."

John let Molly's shoulder go. He folded the piece of paper she had given him and stowed it in his pocket. "I see... thank-you again. I hope your date goes well." He was talking far too quietly, as if he had detached himself from the situation at hand. Molly opened her mouth to voice her concern but John was already half way up the stairs. She shrugged and left 221B thinking about the candlelit dinner she was going to be attending.

Up in the flat John was sitting in his chair staring into the darkness yet again.

It was Doctor Spencer's turn to shed some light on Sherlock's suicide.

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Author's Notes:

So I think I did better this time around. A nice longish chapter! I had to fetch myself a new keyboard (which I'm still not used to) in order to fix that 'e' and 'u' problem. I'm aiming to try and wrap this story up in ten chapters, but knowing me it'll probably stretch itself out into twelve like my other finished fics. Thank-you all for the wonderful reviews. I always log on in the morning like a kid at Christmas to read them before work/school. Sometimes I read them out loud to my roommates who think I'm an absolute nut for staying up late at night just because:
"I have to get this chapter up or I'll disappoint them!"
"Who?"
"My adoring fans! They will be expecting it~!"
It is at this point where they debate whether or not I have gone insane. I don't care. I will forego sanity just to know that their are people out there who don't think what I write is crap (it is, but at least it's entertaining crap). Please Read and Review!