Although he would never say it aloud, the feeling was painfully present even when he tried to suppress it, make it disappear by using logic or denial; Sherlock missed Irene. The last couple of months were unreal, untypical, dangerously emotional and passionate, as he tried to explain himself, but they had happened, in whatever way he tried to erase them from his hard drive. The scenes, the words, the touches came out of his memory palace into his thoughts, as vivid as they were when they occurred. All of that wasn't even half bad as the sickness in his stomach caused by the feeling of responsibility for potential future events. He was keeping himself together with one thought and one thought alone; it had to be done.
James Moriarty was born as the younger of two brothers in a lower class family in Dublin. His mother did her best to raise her two sons, after her husband abandoned her when she was pregnant for the second time, so her younger son who was named after him never had a chance to meet him. That is until Jim found him when he was around fifteen, right after his mother's death, driven by anger and disgust for being named after somebody who hurt his mother badly, who left the only person he ever cared for. With her death, the few traces of humanity in her psychopathic younger son were gone, as he put his very much hated father out of his misery. And thus began the rise of Jim Moriarty, criminal master mind, unattached to anything human or good.
He needed to settle down for a while, until the newspaper articles of Sherlock Holmes, the fraud detective and the tragically deceased actor Richard Brook became uninteresting to the public. He smiled perversely as he entered his childhood home, which he bought under a fake name many years ago, wondering what hell is like, since he successfully avoided it this time. He will find out one day, he was sure.
He was starting to get bored after a while, having contact only with the guards. It was the most dangerous thing with a man with his taste for fun; being bored. So, when an unexpected guest arrived, Jim smiled at her like a little child when unwrapping his brand new, shinny toy.
Irene looked at him with utter loathing. She knew his happiness couldn't mean anything good, so she didn't share his enthusiasm when he firmly hugged her.
"I'm so glad you came! I was going insaaane. Or even more insane, just to be precise. To what do I owe this immenssse pleasure?"
Irene took a step back, untangling herself out of his embrace.
"I need your help getting back into business. Things are not going as smoothly as they used to, so I decided to hire the consulting criminal once again." She said, giving him her best praising smile.
He started clapping his hands in his childlike manner, and then his face turned dark in a way that deeply frightened Irene.
"You made Sherlock unhappy. And now there is no more Sherlock. You are an evil woman and you shall pay."
"You were the one that made me do it." She said, giving a bit too many emotions in her voice.
"I know; I'm just kiiiding!" he said, laughing hysterically.
She started wondering whether she made the right choice by coming here, straight into the lion's jaws. Suddenly, she felt very insecure.
"I would say what I can offer, but all my propositions have already crossed your mind. And I know your answer is yes, since you are dying out of boredom." She stated, looking at him courageously.
Moriarty stared at Irene, his lips forming a goofy smile, his eyes cold and threatening. He approached her, touching her cheek.
"I could ssskin you if I want; don't forget that. But since the world is soooo boring without Sherlock, God bless him wherever he is, we could make some fuss. After all, we are good at that. I'm listening."
The Holmes brothers sat at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper.
"Are you afraid for her?" asked Mycroft, after a long time of holding it back.
"She will do the job as well as she can, that should be enough." Sherlock said, without looking away from the paper.
"You are lying; you crossed your legs under the chair, which means you're anxious."
"Maybe your deduction skills are weakening."
"And maybe you fell in love. It happens, you know."
Sherlock furled the paper, looking at his older brother.
"I have not." He said convincingly.
"In the end, I believed she truly cares." Mycroft reopening the subject his brother closed.
"Are you trying to mess with me because of the hypothetical weakness I might have, or are you suggesting you misjudged her?"
"Both." He said, smiling and opening his papers.
A week later, when Sherlock reached two boxes of cigarettes a day, his plan finally showed some development. He was used to think alone but work in a duo; for the assistance or the admiration, he wasn't sure. For whatever it was, Mycroft's men following John have found out that he was planning to visit his aunt in Dublin the following day. Sherlock smiled, remembering the case of the car that backfired and how he thought he spoke to John the day before, when he was in Dublin too. He also remembered meeting Irene later that day. Shaking his head, while trying to shake his thoughts of, he started packing a small suitcase and preparing a disguise.
Sherlock wasn't sure if Moriarty kept tabs on John after all this time, but he didn't want to take any chances. He drove to the ferry separately, leaving his car on the English coast before he boarded the ferry on foot. Since Sherlock passed away, John bought himself a small car, not being able to afford Sherlock's cab routine alone. The detective observed him as he went out of the car and headed for the fence, observing the sea distractedly.
John's phone made a noise, informing the army doctor that he had a new text waiting. He took the phone out and read it, holding the phone tight so it wouldn't fall out of his hand:
If convenient, come to the men's toilet bellow deck.
John thought his tired mind was playing him, so he put the phone back in his pocket, when he heard another noise.
If inconvenient, come anyway.
John's eyes widened in shock. He looked around, searching for the creator of this sick joke, but he didn't notice anyone suspicious. He took a deep breath, telling himself that the hopes he still secretly had had no proof, and were therefore just a torture for him. He stood there for some minutes, staring blankly into the water, when his phone attracted his attention once again.
It could be dangerous.
Preventing himself from running, he swiftly climbed down the stairs and headed for the toilet. To his disappointment, it was empty. Before he could turn around, an old man pushed him in and locked the door behind them.
"What the hell..?" John started yelling at this bad joke when the old man took of his beard.
John felt his knees betraying him and his hand shaking because of the ghostly apparition before him.
Sherlock smiled at his best friend in a gentle way, as he rarely did.
"Hello, John."
John just stared at him. Then he spoke in a shivering, insecure voice:
"I've lost it. I knew I'd lose it one day."
Sherlock's smile widened:"Punch me in the face to test if I'm real. And do it, because when you do realize it's the truth, you'll want to punch me anyway, so let's get over with that."
Three seconds later, John accepted Sherlock's kind offer. Sherlock had an expression of pain while pressing his aching cheekbone, but he found strength to laugh:
"At least you still love me, my nose and teeth are intact." He quickly added" It was a joke, calm down.", when he saw the anger rising in John's eyes.
"How the hell did you manage this?" John demanded, not knowing whether to be furious or ecstatic.
"I'll explain everything, but first, do you mind giving me a ride? I had a plan to sneak into the trunk of your car and come out somewhere along the road, when I'm sure nobody is following us."
John shook his head in disbelief of the situation; it was more than he could take at the moment.
"Follow us? Who? Why? You know what, I don't care. Get in the bloody trunk."
"Thank you. And John...I'm sorry that I put you through all of this, I had no other option, you'll hear about it later."
John opened the door discovering that quite a line has formed in front of the toilet during their conversation. Some old man commented:
"You two could have gotten a room."
Giving in to the enormous happiness he felt, John replied, smiling widely:
"We don't need to. We have a whole flat."
After almost an hour of driving on Irish soil, John pulled off the road, stopping the car. Sherlock jumped out of the trunk, happy to share another adventure with John. He joined him in the passenger's seat.
John couldn't help himself, so he pulled Sherlock in a tight hug. Sherlock was secretly happy by this act, but he only patted him on the shoulder twice as a sign of approval.
He started telling the story of how he had survived, why he had to jump in the first place, how he was hiding and how he now had a plan to solve the final problem. He left out the part about Irene in Amsterdam and in China, so in the end he only added one sentence that made John's mouth open in shock:
"Oh, and we have to save Irene Adler from Moriarty, I sent her to spy on him undercover."
"What did you just say?"
"I said we have to..."
"I've heard you. But Irene Adler is dead."
"You mean she is in a witness protection program in America? Come on John, I know there is no Santa Clause."
"You knew, all along? Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I saved her from the very certain death Mycroft sent her in; I couldn't resist messing with him." He added, to prevent John for asking about his motives.
"You saved...wow...this is a day full of surprises. And how does she fit in the whole story?"
Sherlock's mind was racing to find an explanation that is not a complete lie, since John wouldn't believe it, but that presents a mild, naive explanation:
"I asked her to help me, since she's skillful enough in the matter and she owes me."
John thought there was more to it, but he decided to drop the matter.
They drove for a while, and before entering Dublin, Sherlock went out of the car, keeping John's visit completely unsuspicious. They agreed that John should behave as always during his visits, and that Sherlock will call him when and if he needs him to jump in. The two friends parted with shaking their hands, proving that real friendship can survive a lot.
The next evening, Sherlock texted John to meet him in an abandoned house.
"What's the plan?" asked the army doctor, eager of action.
"I made an arrangement with Irene for her to come here, leading Moriarty's mercenaries to my hiding place. That's how I'll get in, and with her help, hopefully out. Since I don't trust her with my life, that's where you come in. Mycroft provided me with a locator which I've concealed in my shoe and a tracking device which you can use to find me and come to my rescue if everything else fails."
"Basically, you're putting yourself at risk to save a woman that will possibly betray you, relying on the possibility that I, and to make it clear, just I, will be able to help you against all of Moriarty's men?"
"Don't be so dramatic John. Mycroft is on hand, he's landing as we speak. But yes, it is a bit risky. Risky, but necessary. I hear steps, quickly, hide!"
Sherlock sat in a chair in the corner, looking as if he was in the same position for hours. Seconds later, Irene passed through the door and he slowly stood up to meet her. They looked at each other in a way that John interpreted as non verbal communication. Not wasting any time, she rushed towards him, making up for the time she hadn't seen him. John's eyes widened in shock when he realized Sherlock was letting her kiss him so intensely, and even more when he realized that he was responding quite enthusiastically to her actions.
She ran her hands all over him, driven by the fear of what is to come and the happiness that he stood in front of her once again. He held her tightly, trying to comfort her but also to remember every curve of her body, for just in case.
She pulled away from the kiss, leaning her forehead on his, holding his face with both of her hands. They shared a deep look, trying to express what should have been said, if there was time.
"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice giving away how nervous she was.
He nodded, taking both of her hands into his and pulling them down gently. She stepped back since she heard a number of people approaching them fast.
Five men with big guns rushed into the room, pushing Sherlock onto the floor as he looked at Irene in a hurt and angry way, his eyes speaking more than his words could. She laughed coldly, her gaze cold as ice, mocking at him. They both played the part flawlessly. The men cuffed him and the whole group exited the house, leaving John alone in his hiding place.
If it isn't clear, Irene is just helping Sherlock in the end, not betraying him, I'm not sure if I explained that well enough. Thank you for reading and please review :)