Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.
Chapter 4: Sherlock's payback
"I find it adorable."
John looked up from the newspaper in his hands and glanced over at Irene at the short end of the table, where she sat dressed in one of Sherlock's pajamas pants and shirts that seemed like a fashionable tent on her slim body. The blond man took a second to ponder the sight. An attractive woman in Sherlock Holmes' pj's who was enjoying a quite breakfast at 22 1B Baker Street. He'd had never expected to see this day, unless either in a dream or during an acid trip. Neither of which had seemed very likely.
Opposite John around the small table, sat the detective thoroughly engrossed in his part of the paper as if there was nothing odd about their little arrangement this morning. John didn't quite know how to approach the subject of the ex-dominatrix in his flat when the great detective himself seemed so keen to ignore it.
"What? What's adorable?" he asked at length when it was obvious Sherlock wasn't paying attention.
The brunette took a sip from her cup of steaming coffee and leaned back in her chair with a feline smirk upon her thin lips. "That you and Sherlock still live together. You are quite the couple, aren't you?"
"We're not!" John sighed.
"I believe we've had this discussion before," the woman cooed in her low, daring voice and the doctor saw her grin widen behind the rim of her cup.
"Regardless, your observation is inaccurate," Sherlock's deep voice sounded and the other two turned their heads to gaze at him. The great detective didn't even bother to raise his gaze from the paper as he continued, "John is married to Mary Morstan - who's not exactly what she seems, but we'll get to that later - and living in a flat quite far from here. They're also having a baby in a few months. The distance means it's sometimes easier for John to stay here at Baker Street when we're working a particularly difficult case and I need him close."
"Moved out? Married? Pregnant? Surely not," Irene breathed and genuine disbelief touched the edge of her voice. "Breaking up your duo?"
Sherlock hummed in disagreement. "Not quite. Mary is quite understanding of our profession, I assure. She's not too stupid, either."
"Oh, what a compliment!" John exclaimed, half in mockery, half in truth. "I'll be sure to pass it on to her later."
"Please don't. Flattery is the means to end compassion in the human nature."
"And yet, you seem to crave it," the blond man pointed out and sighed as he turned back to his breakfast. "Fine… Fine. Ms Adler, could you pass me the sports pages, please, and while you're at it – Could somebody please tell me what happened yesterday?!"
Sherlock barely reacted to John's sudden tantrum, and merely held up his coffee cup in Irene's general direction. "Please, do tell, Ms Adler. Pass the sugar before you do."
The brunette smiled and pushed the bowl of sugar over to the man as the other snatched the sports pages from her. The woman leaned back and shrugged innocently, though the feigned emotion fooled neither man. It only made her seem all the more guilty, like the child who's stolen cookies from her mother and then can't face the confrontation. "What's there to tell?"
"How about starting with... I don't know, your little encounter with the terrorists in Pakistan?!"
"Oh, do keep up, John!" the detective said in deep annoyance, as if blaming his friend's poor confusion for not having been present that faithful day. The fact that Sherlock himself had acted clandestine seemed irrelevant to the detective. "Her death was highly exaggerated, as you can see. I followed her to the terrorist cell and stopped them from beheading her. She ran, I thoroughly covered up all traces of my affiliation and let Mycroft believe the lie I wanted him to believe. Seriously, John. Do at least try to keep up, if you can."
"Okay…" the other man said slowly as he tried to process the implication of what he had just been told. "Why?"
"Because I love playing with my brother's mind," the detective sighed as he placed his paper down upon the table top and leaned his elbows atop of it. Impatiently, Sherlock raised his eyebrows, expecting the question that was so clearly written in John's pale eyes.
The doctor shook his head, "No. I meant, why did you save her?"
"We're asking Ms Adler questions here. Stay on track and stop delaying this time, John." With those words, he turned his head in Irene's direction.
For a second he said nothing, though John thought he saw something in the man's pale eyes brace itself. It seemed the great detective mentally prepared himself to read the woman beside them. The blond man thought it odd, for he had never seen him actually make an effort to be able to read anyone ever. It always seemed too simple for Sherlock Holmes to read even the most intimate of secrets from just a mere glance.
At length, the dark-haired man simply commanded, "Explain it to me."
"Explain what?" the woman asked in played ignorance as her eyes boldly met his in yet another duel of gazes.
"Everything. Why you're here. How you came here. Why you looked for me. Why you conspired with Moriarty only to turn on him and save me. Everything."
The brunette sat in silence for a minute, in which John could see Sherlock's patience wear thin. The doctor noticed how the muscles on his friend's neck strained against his skin and there was something haunting about the man's unblinking eyes. For a brief second, John wondered if he'd need to find some medication in case the man had a stress-related heart attack.
At length, the woman leaned forward over the table, so slowly John was unsure whether she was attempting to seduce or further irritate the detective.
Her eyes danced with glee as her face stopped about a foot from Sherlock's. "Tell you all that and spoil your little fun? You know you want to figure it out for yourself."
The detective leaned closer until there weren't many inches separating their faces. The doctor rolled his eyes at this little dance of theirs. "Stop teasing and at least explain your involvement yesterday."
Irene disregarded the blunt command and continued to play with the detective, "It's quite simple, Mr Holmes. You must have already figured it out. I'd prefer to hear your theory."
Sherlock inhaled quickly and John knew what was coming next. What followed was a very fast run-through of the man's skills of deduction. The words seemed to pour from his mouth in the same pace a computer can process information, "Two years ago, while still in good favor with the British government, you and Moriarty did business. You played a game together. But you, Ms Adler, lost most brutally. There was however, still a score to settle with the criminal, you still owed him something. I expect Moriarty isn't the type of business partner who forgives and forgets a good deal. He contacted you recently, asked you to play a pawn in his new game and that you help kidnap me on New Year's Eve. You had no choice but to accept and return to London, of course. … But: You owe me more for saving your life. Being the clever woman you are, you saw a chance to repay both your debts in one excellent hand. Though, I dare say you and I are still not even."
Irene gazed intently at the man, like a predator might eye it's prey, or a lover might gaze upon her companion. With The woman, there was always a thin line between those two options, "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"
John cleared his throat awkwardly as the detective ignored the sexual innuendo by saying, "You're not safe, Ms Adler. He'll consider you his enemy now. And, with the exception of myself, Moriarty's enemies don't tend to live long. You'll need protection."
The brunette smiled. "You've obviously already thought about that, too."
"You can't go public," Sherlock pointed out matter-of-factly. "I hardly see my brother or the government allowing you to become a public figure once more. When they learn you've returned to life, they'll consider you a dangerous threat like last time. You should remain underground, at least for the time being."
John caught onto where the conversation was going and interrupted before, "Hold on. You want her to stay here - with you - at Baker Street then?"
"It's the only plausible way," the dark-haired man nodded.
The other merely frowned. "Only plausible…? You don't owe her anything, Sherlock! Remember why the government and your brother aren't fans of Ms Adler?"
"How could I forget?" the stoic look in Sherlock's eyes spoke volumes of his lack of amusement that his friend even remotely had suggested he had missed a vital piece of information."But things are different now. She's stripped of her powers this time."
"I didn't mean that, Sherlock. I meant that she's… on the other side."
This time, it was the woman who interrupted sharply, "If you mean to imply that I'm bad, Dr Watson, I believe you are very right. But if you're insinuating I'm evil, I suggest you try again… I'm not evil, I'm just not a very good girl either."
"You had incriminating photographs of people in high places," the blond man protested loudly.
Irene gave the short man a scolding look. "For my own protection. Not to use for the greater evil."
"She's not lying, John. I understand your worry, but I assure you-"
"Alright…" the blond sighed and raised both hands into the air as if to signal defeat. "But she's your responsibility. I don't live here anymore and I won't help you harbor a fugitive. You have to take care of her, you know. Make sure she eats and pick up after her and all that. This isn't shared custody."
Irene cooed, "And do make sure to take your… dog out for exercise now and again."
John quickly rose from the chair, growing tired of the tension and electricity between the other two. It was just like four years ago, though perhaps John detected a slight reservation between them that hadn't been there last time. He couldn't be sure though, for both Sherlock and Irene seemed rather stellar at hiding their feelings and rather seemed to enjoy their little dance around the other.
Truthfully, the doctor wasn't thrilled The woman would be staying at Baker Street. For all John cared and remembered, Irene Adler was dubious and of quite questionable nature. And if anyone would be affected by her teasing presence, it would clearly be Sherlock, who'd certainly behaved as peculiar as John had ever seen him upon hearing the news of her believed (though later proved to be faked) death in the past. John still didn't comprehend just what his friend's behavior back then had meant, or even if Sherlock himself knew.
For now, the blond man was simply pissed that he would have to spend further effort trying to keep his friend safe while not grasping the complex dynamism that was Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler.
"Coffee, anyone? Coffee?" John cleared his throat and held out the kettle in an attempt to disturb the tense moment.
"Ms Adler will have some more," Sherlock said and the other man quickly poured her some. With a gentle shove, the dark-haired man pushed the sugar bowl back to Irene and then turned back to his newspaper as if their little discussion had never taken place at all. The brunette smirked as she put two pieces of sugar in her cup and proceeded to sip her coffee in great ease.
John looked between the two and eventually turned his back to them with a deep sigh, muttering somewhat about "impossible people".
Not an hour later, the door bell rang at 221 B Baker Street. When neither Sherlock nor Irene reacted, John walked down the stairs and opened. Outside stood Lestrade with a friendly smile and with a heavy coat to protect him from the winter chill.
"How's it going, Greg?" the doctor asked with a friendly smile as the two men climbed the stairs up to the flat.
"Good, thanks, John," the grey-haired man smiled back. "I have a new case… I thought it could use Sherlock's expertise."
Lestrade stopped short in the living room upon noticing the detective and the mysterious woman in there. Sherlock, still clad in pj's and robe, sat behind his desk and the computer. Despite the police's presence, he had not looked up from whatever he was doing on the laptop. Across the room, in the leather arm chair, sat the woman, with her back against one of the armrests and legs dangling over the other. A book by Arthur Conan Doyle lay forgotten in her lap and her gaze seemed lost looking out the window. Lestrade cleared his throat and glanced between the men.
"How you doing, Sherlock?"
"Lestrade," the man greeted in a dull tone.
The police man cleared his throat once more as he brushed off imaginary dust from his coat, ran a hand through his hair and slowly made his way over to the woman. Irene didn't turn her head in the inspector's direction until he stood right beside her chair. From his position still in the open doorway, John noted her eyes seemed almost lifeless instead of being filled with their usual air of mischief.
"I'm… Greg. Lestrade. Greg will do fine," Lestrade stumbled over his words and awkwardly reached out a hand towards her.
The brunette smiled back tiredly and shook the man's hand. "I'm Sherlock's friend."
"No, she's not," the dark-haired man retorted without missing a beat.
"O-Oh…Oh." Lestrade managed with a nod and quickly took a step back. "That's just dandy."
John frowned from the door way at the man's fumbling words and mouthed to himself, 'Just dandy?'.
"What's it about?" Sherlock asked then. His voice seemed to pull Lestrade out of his awkward mess and the man whirled around to face the consultant detective with wide eyes.
"What?" the grey-haired man asked.
The detective sighed and finally glanced up from his laptop. "You said there was a case."
"Oh. I did. Yes," Lestrade cleared his throat once more and walked over to the desk and Holmes. "It's about a missing boy. His parents reported him missing from his home this morning. The mystery is that there are no signs at all to explain his absence. There are no reports that suggest he left the house, and anyway, he wouldn't be able to. The family lives in the woods and the kid's in a wheelchair."
"How long has it been missing?"
"Eh, he has been gone since yesterday night, the parents presume. They found him missing when they awoke this morning, and called the cops as soon as they realized he was nowhere to be found."
"Of course they did," the dark-haired man closed the laptop and jumped out of his seat, as if suddenly filled with new energy. There was a stiff grin on his lips as he nodded, "It doesn't sound promising, Lestrade, but it will do."
"Sounds like fun," Irene said in a distracted voice from her seat.
Sherlock glanced down at his wrist watch and then locked gazes with her, "Oh, you're not coming with."
John nodded in agreement. "Sherlock's right. I thought we just discussed this. Ixnay on the going out, remember?"
The woman met the detective's gaze with a frown and blinked slowly. She shook her head once as if to clear it. "… No. That's not what he meant. Mr Holmes?"
"Yes?" the man replied in mock innocence, and now even John knew the detective was up to something mischievous of his own. Lestrade stood to the side watching the scene play out before him with nothing but confusion written on his features.
"What…" Irene asked as she attempted to stand up from the chair without success. She slumped back into the seat and seemed drained of all physical power. She blinked repeatedly with heavy eyelids. As she continued her words slurred, "…did you put in the sugar?"
"What, for the coffee? That's absurd. Sherlock had sugar in his coffee, too. I saw it," John argued, though a part of him wondered if he was defending a guilty man as it was.
The brunette shook her head and leaned back in the seat, as if powerless to even sit up straight. "No, we saw him ask for it. He asked while you and I talked, taking advantage of that distraction and we naturally assumed that he had taken some sugar, when in fact he never did. What was in the sugar, Sherlock Holmes?"
"A thank you. For your intoxicating present yesterday," the man remarked in a deep, teasing whisper as he walked over to the drugged woman in the armchair. "I thought it more fun though to try something slow working, though."
Sherlock firmly tugged on the woman's arms and helped her stand up before him. Her hand gripped his maroon robe until John could see her knuckles turn white from the effort. Even as she stumbled, she managed a tired, furious frown upon her fine brow. "Why you-"
"You're welcome. I suggest we get you to bed before the drug fully kicks in. You'll be out a long time. No worries, you'll be just fine tomorrow, though, when you've slept it off," Sherlock said in a cruel tone of victory and had barely finished his sentence as the woman slumped over. The man had been prepared and caught her in his strong arms, holding her upright against his firm chest as he did. Her head hung limp to the side and she was clearly out cold.
"My God, is she alright?" Lestrade breathed but found himself so dumbfounded he didn't know how to react.
"Just dandy," the detective remarked shortly.
John and Lestrade watched with matching confusion as Sherlock lifted the slim woman into his arms and disappeared out of the living room in the direction of his bedroom.
As soon as Sherlock was out of view, Lestrade turned to the blond man. "What… just happened?"
The doctor sighed. "Don't really know. Don't really care."
"Are they… is she… Are they a couple of some sort?" the grey-haired inspector asked.
"Honestly? I don't know."
A few minutes later, Sherlock re-entered the living room in swift, long strides. In the short time period, he had managed to change into a simple suit and thrown on his coat atop. The detective passed the other men in the living room just as he put his scarf on around his neck.
"I lied," the man called as he began his descent down the stairs. "She won't be out for long, we didn't have anything strong to mix a concoction of at home this morning. Maybe I should to ask Mrs Hudson to get some things in case of future events. Either way, she'll only be out 'til five o'clock latest. Which means we have a deadline to solve this case before then. Quickly now!"
As he finished the sentence, Sherlock Holmes had already pulled the front door open and stepped outside onto the streets of London.
To be continued