A/N I've always loved that little moment in ASIB when they first meet Irene- Sherlock's glance over to John is just incredibly interesting, like he's seeking some sort of reassurance in the normality.

Thanks to johnsarmylady, Natalie Nallareet, Hummingbird1759, hjohn302, 666BloodyHell666, sparrowismyhummingbird, and Song of Grey Lemons

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.

LXXIV. Are You Challenging Me?

Irene Adler has cold eyes. Ice-hued blue, sharpened with the intense gaze of a hunter. For no particular reason, that's the first thing that Sherlock notices about her—those eerie, almost haunting eyes. They're framed by heavy swipes of dark liner, of course, farther emphasizing their frostiness by forming a shadowy backdrop. The rest of her face is accentuated in all the right places, too—a light chestnut deepening her cheekbones, merciless scarlet painting her already full lips, and pale powder ghosting over the whole expanse of smooth skin, forehead and jaw and cheeks, temples and nose and chin. She's like a portrait, something fake, a sketched character with no actual depth.

And as Sherlock's eyes travel around her, trying to find something in the pale peach curves of hips and shoulders, artistically knotted swirls of glossy brunette hair, she remains that way—a cardboard silhouette, a name on a page of unrelated words. She gives away nothing—nothing. Blank. A blank canvas.

There's exactly one thing he can tell about her, which is the fact that she's done all this on purpose. Erased her very self, replaced it with splashes of falsity, a slim projection behind which to hide. He's good, but she's better, because she knows that he's good and has chosen to challenge that, to make her own move in a game that hasn't even started yet. She can see past his disguise, too, knows who he is, but seemingly not beyond that, unless she's choosing to keep it to herself. They're at a standstill, a stalemate, one that can only be advanced by exchanging words.

Rather than doing so, though, he permits himself a glance towards John, a quick reassurance that it really is Adler behind all this, that he hasn't simply lost his own powers. To his relief, the weary figure of his blogger and assistant conveys as much as always, from the polished state of his shoes to the ashen shadows under his confused eyes. It's comforting, relieving, and Sherlock lets out a small breath, trying to hold himself together as his gaze flits back to the nude woman, curled comfortably on her chair and watching him with those absurd eyes. John's unknowingly done his job: Sherlock knows that his mind is still functioning, and that he has nothing to worry about.

Nothing but Miss Adler herself, who seems to have the potential to be a much more interesting adversary than he ever anticipated. A daring dominatrix is one thing; a clever dominatrix, something else entirely. A new opportunity. A challenge.

He can tell that John is unsure about just about every aspect of their situation, but he wishes he could correct him, explain that this is far from a threat—they've finally been given a good puzzle, an intriguing one, and Sherlock can't wait to get started.