Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.

17. Moriarty's ultimate weapon

The following day, Sherlock awoke early by the morning light piercing through his bedroom window. As the detective suppressed a yawn he came aware of a gentle pressure on his chest. As he gazed down, he found his vision blurred by a mane of chocolate colored, curly hair. It carried a scent of gentle lavender that slowly filled his nostrils.

The man realized he had grown accustomed to Irene and her scent around him. The idea of any such familiarity towards anyone was entirely new to Sherlock, and he was still not sure how he felt about it. The idea of sex and closeness, which previously had been unwanted enigmas, had began to make sense to the man's unique brain. Warm skin on skin, breathing synchronized in perfect echo, two bodies moving together as one.

He had to hand it to The woman, she had promised him an outlet for his brilliance and she had delivered. Sherlock believed he now understood why John had gone through so many girlfriends over the years.

This, too – awakening beside the woman – was a tradition he didn't mind terribly.

As if sensing he had awoken, the fair brunette on his chest stirred with a disgruntled moan as the light outside played on her ivory pale skin above the covers.

There was a knock against the closed door and through the wood, John's voice inquired softly, "Sherlock? You awake? Lestrade just phoned me and I came right over. Said he'd be here, too, soon with an emergent case for us."

"I'll be right up," the detective replied at once and pried himself free from his lover's grasp.

"Must you?" Irene's tired, muffled voice asked as she tiredly snuggled into his pillow now that the man had disappeared from her grasp. The man couldn't help but smile down at the woman in his bed. When her stay at Baker Street had begun he hadn't expected she could sometimes be more unwilling to rise in the mornings than either her flat mate.

Sherlock swiftly dressed into his pj's and as he reached for the blue fabric that hung over the back of the chair, Irene's soft voice stopped him. "Dibs on the robe."

The man sighed indignantly and threw the garment atop her slim form beneath the covers.

Less than ten minutes later, the grey-haired policeman knocked on the door to 221 B and was swiftly let in. Lestrade patted John's arm in a friendly greeting as the two hurried up the stairs. The blond man couldn't hide the pained hiss that escaped past his lips. The doctor swore internally as he gazed up and realized Sherlock and Irene, who both stood in the kitchen, had heard his pained groan. The silence seemed tense and thick, though John prayed that was simply his imagination.

"What's happened to your arm?" Lestrade frowned.

"Eh," the man tried to think of an answer that wouldn't automatically set his friend's keen mind off. "Just rough massage at the spa this weekend, you know."

The inspector nodded and then let the topic slide as he turned to face the detective consultant in the room. It was plain to them all that these were pressing times and there was no room for small talk.

"A little over an hour ago, we got a report about a missing, Irish woman," the policeman explained while he dug through his deep coat pockets to retrieve something. "Half an hour ago, this" – he withdrew a small package and put it on the kitchen table in the center of the room – "arrived at the police station with a personal note for you, Sherlock. It's from Moriarty."

The detective frowned down at the small, wrapped box before him. It was off-white with a small, paper rose atop, which seemed a stark contrast to the darkness which ruled the criminal's mind. A small note was attached between two of the flower's thorns. "What's it got to do with the missing woman?"

"Read the note," Lestrade encouraged gruffly. "I can't make a lick of sense from it."

The detective picked up the card and recited for the others, " 'Hullo, Sherlock! Are you ready to meet your maker? Let us start your demise with a treasure hunt! Not quite the whole missing woman awaits at your first destination. XOXO ~ The Alpha and the Omega (P.S: For the idiot police - J. Moriarty)'."

John frowned as he tried to interpret the meaning of the message while he distantly opened the box on the table. It was filled with white cotton to the brim. The doctor carefully began picking at the soft contents. "What does he mean by 'not quite the who-Oh my god!"

He dropped the package back onto the table in shock and along with Lestrade, Sherlock and Irene gazed down at what he had revealed in the midst of the cotton; a severed finger with a red-painted nail at its tip. The dark-haired man handed the card to the woman as he enthusiastically picked the finger from the carton and inspected it closely. From his left, the woman gazed from the card to the red-painted nail in the detective's hands.

"Do you…" she began slowly and turned in Lestrade's direction, "…have a name for the missing woman?"

The police man nodded. "Her name is Katherine Brannick. Age 29, I believe."

Irene's face turned ashen and she swayed slightly where she stood. John hurried round the table to lend her a steadying hand as she sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. It seemed all energy had been sucked out of her small body and left her fragile. Even Sherlock was pulled from his deep concentration to gaze at the woman's peculiar behavior. The man's eyes zoomed in on the shifts in her appearance. Her face was colorless, her eyes widen and her breathing erratic. He wanted to understand what was going on in her thoughts, but knew she would never answer if he asked out loud.

Instead, the detective allowed himself a second to consider all details he'd learned about her during the time they had known each other. He only needed that short time span before realization hit him. The man frowned and glanced down at the severed finger in his hand.

"Kate," he said shortly and the word echoed in the tense silence. The other men frowned up at him. "Katherine is Kate. Isn't she?"

Irene's wide eyes found the man's and through the mute conversation between their gazes, he knew he had struck gold.

"…Who's Kate?" Lestrade asked at length when it was clear no further explanation would come voluntarily.

"My eldest friend," the woman sighed and stood from the seat once more and returned to the detective's side. The sparkle in her eyes had faded, along with all other emotions, as she glanced down at the finger in his hand. Still, the blank expression on her face seemed to convey all the sadness of the world. "You've met her, too, John. She was an associate of mine."

"Oh, your… eh, secretary?" The short man was brought back to the very first time he and Sherlock had visited her home in Belgravia in hopes of duping the dominatrix. How long ago all of that seemed now. And yet, with Moriarty's apparent new game, maybe the past wasn't so distant after all.

Irene smiled sadly. "Not quite. But something to that effect... She was above all a confidant."

"Your only friend," Sherlock pointed out bluntly and let his eyes travel briefly to John's form before turning his gaze back to the woman beside him. If things had been reversed, and it had been his best friend who had gone missing in this fashion, the detective knew his own reaction would be more than moderate.

"Obviously she's part of Moriarty's game because of me," the woman swallowed, unwilling to admit more about her own heart.

"Have you seen her recently?" the policeman asked gently.

Irene cleared her throat and shook her head. John noticed how Sherlock leaned somewhat toward her, though was positive the detective wasn't aware he was doing it himself. Either way, the brunette seemed to draw strength from his closeness for she hastily continued, "Not at all since returning to England. I haven't spoken to her in over four years. I thought she would be safe this way… I was wrong."

"She'll be alright," the curly-haired man attempted to assure her in a soft voice.

The woman shook her head. "You said it yourself, Sherlock. Moriarty isn't a philanthropist. He doesn't let people live. Besides, she's merely a pawn. It's you he wants. "

"No," Sherlock reassured and forced her to meet his piercing gaze. "I'll find Kate before he gets to her. She will be fine."

Irene gazed into his blue pools and saw his determination burn strong as a flame within him. She slowly nodded and inhaled deeply. She wanted to draw from his confidence, but knew she feared Moriarty more than she trusted in the detective. "I suppose this could mean he's using Kate as a decoy. If we go after her, something worse might happen to us."

"We'll take our chances," John assured with a kind smile on his gentle features. "Figured out the message, Sherlock?"

The detective glared down at the piece of paper that rested on the table top before him. "Maybe. 'First destination'. And here, look at the signature… Alpha and Omega. Where it began, it will also end. Full circle."

Lestrade frowned. "Where did it begin?"

The doctor shrugged, "…The swimming hall where we first met Moriarty?"

"Or the basement he brought me to on new year's eve," Sherlock pointed out. "The platform for his return and the beginning of this final game."

The grey-haired police cleared his throat and gazed at the ingenious detective. "Well, which is it, Sherlock?"

The tall man shook his head and turned to meet the policeman's gaze. "We should check out both places."

"Fine," Lestrade nodded. "I'll take someone with me to the swimming hall and you can check out the basement. I'd implore you to wait for one of my men to accompany you, but you won't will you?"

As John kicked open the door, Sherlock swiftly entered with his gun raised. The basement was almost entirely darkened and abandoned, much as it had been last time he'd been down there. The only exception was that this time, a lamp in the ceiling blinked at the centre of the room where the detective's chair had stood on his last visit. Lying on the ground in the light from above was a small object. The trio advanced slowly towards it.

"What the-?" John frowned as he crouched next to the item. He picked it up in his hand and stared at it in disbelief. "A dead fish…?"

The detective gazed down at the fish that dripped a dark-colored liquid onto the dirty floor. "Painted red. It's a red herring. Clever play of words."

Behind the two men, Irene leaned forward and placed both hands on her knees as she inhaled a couple of deep breaths. Sherlock took notice of her sudden reaction and hurried over to her side. As he came close, he placed a hand on her back for comfort and support. "You okay?"

"You realize what this means, don't you?" she asked as she stood tall once more and her eyes danced with hidden tears. "Kate's dead."

Her dark words had barely passed her lips as a low humming noise echoed in the vast shadows of the room. All the sudden the stone wall close by was lit up from a video source. The trio turned towards the improvised big screen that seemed to take up most of the wall before them. The wide image flickered twice before Moriarty's smiling face appeared and the recorded video message began.

"Are you up for another story, Sherlock?" the recording of Jim spoke with glee shining in his dark eyes. "This one isn't entirely about Sir Boast-a-lot, but it's still rather good. This story is about Lady Misbehave. She was the fairest of all the maidens in the kingdom, and the favorite of Sir Boast-a-lot. Though he believed they could find happiness together, the Lady had other plans. The Lady was only interested in misbehaving, and so went behind her knight's back to do dark deeds with Sir Boast-a-lot's nemesis. Oh, can true love win when our brave knight finds out about his Lady's misbehaving?"

Sherlock turned his gaze towards the woman by his side in hope of getting some sort of explanation out of her. Irene, however, had closed her eyes tight in dread of what was to come. The man couldn't help but be more confused by her reaction and hurriedly turned back to gaze at the video message.

"Don't believe me, Sherlock?" Moriarty's innocent voice continued. "Well, I always believed some fairy tales made better movies than books. So here's the feature film of our dark love story. Enjoy the show, I know I did!"

With those words the image flickered again and before Sherlock, John or Irene could react, the video jumped to a new scene. The detective felt his heart sink at the images that now played before him on the big screen. This part of the film was obviously recorded by a surveillance camera up in the corner of a ceiling. The date at the bottom told him it had been filmed five weeks ago, the night before Big Ben had exploded. The recording showed the insides of what appeared to be a very expensive hotel room.

In the centre of the shot stood a grand bed and upon it sat none other than Jim Moriarty himself, dressed in nothing but boxers, a tie and hand cuffs. As the trio watched, a slender, familiar figure entered the picture from the bottom-hand corner.

It was The woman.

It was undoubtedly and unmistakably Irene Adler herself, the detective was certain as he gazed intently at the recording. She wore bold, red lingerie, that seemed to expose more than it concealed, and was wielding a riding crop as she walked towards the man on the bed. There was a smug smirk visible on her profile that spoke a great deal of upcoming misbehaving. Sherlock found that his eyes could not stray from the image even as she straddled the criminal and proceeded to do far more R rated things then he wished to see.

From his side, he faintly heard Irene's voice calling to him now, "Sherlock…"

With a set jaw, he turned and looked straight at her. Her pale eyes were pleading with him but what she wanted from him, the man neither could nor wanted to read. He kept his face impassive as he beheld her a second longer. At last, he looked away and strode with wide steps towards the exit.

"Sherlock-" the woman called after him again.

"Don't," He said in a short, abrupt tone and then exited the cellar.

Irene gazed after him with a pained expression even as he disappeared out of view. In the silence that followed, she slowly turned her gaze in John's direction.

The doctor's eyes showed hurt, too, for his friend's sake. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to find a way to portray the immense deception he felt in regards to her. Finally, John glanced back to the screen and asked, "…Why did you do it?"

Irene smiled sadly. "I didn't."

With those simple words, she turned on her heel and, too, exited the cellar as she withdrew her phone from her pocket and dialed a familiar number. She held the phone close to her ear and waited for the person on the other end to reply.

"It's me," she said at last when the person did. "We need to talk."

The woman ran up the stairs to the flat and turned towards the bedroom. Even as she came towards him, Sherlock barely registered her presence. Irene stopped right outside the door and took a peek inside at what the man was doing. He was hurriedly packing all her belongings into a bag, prepared to throw her out in a heartbeat.

"Can we talk?"

"Of course," the man conceded and stopped what he was doing. For a second, she felt relief wash over her, but it was soon washed away as he swiftly moved towards the door. "Just not with each other. Good bye, Ms Adler."

With those parting words, he slammed the door shut in her face. Irene gazed up at the closed door before her and drew a shuddering breath. He was shutting her out then, both literally and physically.

"You're not even listening to me!" she called through the door. "Let me explain. Please."

She held her breath and waited. The seconds felt like minutes before the door knob finally turned and the clever man swung the door open. "Alright. Fine. Explain then."

The fury in his cold, pale eyes threw the woman for a second. "I... You don't understand. Listen-"

Sherlock interrupted her with a short, mocking laughter. "Why? Do we really need more words? A picture says more than a thousand words, after all."

"But the truth says more-" she tried once more, but he didn't let her finish this time either.

"Truth? A lie reflects the truth, wasn't that what you said to me? …'Ms Adler's not ordinary. She's more like you and I', 'She never did tie a knot I managed to undo'… All along, Moriarty was dropping me hints. You've lied to me all along, playing your game… Misbehaving. I should have known, after all you've spent a lifetime deceiving everyone around you. You are treacherous, and some people never change."

The tall man expected her to retort, but he was met with silence. With a disappointed sigh, he turned around, picked up the packed suitcase from his bed and handed it to her. With a sigh, she took it from his hands and left Baker Street.

Irene opened the door to the small Irish pub and stepped inside. The old school, comfortable bar was almost empty, besides from a couple of established customers. Her eyes barely noticed them as her eyes were immediately drawn to the lone man on one of the bar stools by the counter. He wore a stylish, grey suit, his hair was slicked back and his scruff was well-trimmed as always.

Jim Moriarty looked up at her and smiled. "Oh, good. You're here. I was very glad you called. Come closer and listen to this. I've changed the ringtone on my phone. What do you think?"

As Irene walked up to stand behind the bar stool next to the criminal mastermind, the man turned on Michael Buble's cover of I'm feeling good. The jazzy music seemed a stark contrast to everybody's moods, except for Moriarty's sunshine smile.

"And I'm fee-eeling gooood," he sang along to the tunes and smiled down at his phone. "I rather like the jazzy feel to this cover. Do you? No? You seem upset. Want a shoulder to cry on? ...Or perhaps a good fuck?"

The beauty squared her shoulders and glared down at him. "Why did you do it, Jim?"

"You know why, my dear," Moriarty commented with a sigh as he swirled a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand.

Irene shook her head. "I don't. Why did you pull me into the middle of your game with Sherlock?"

The man looked up at her with an innocent, scolding look. "You crossed me, love."

She didn't buy it for a second. "If it was just about revenge, I'd be dead by now."

"Would you like me to go after him instead then?" the innocence in his voice was anything but genuine as he blinked up at her.

Jim smirked devilishly and Irene frowned as she chose to ignore the implication. "I don't care what you do to him. I simply want to be left out of it. I only play my own games."

"Ah. Methinks the lady doth protest too much… It's a little bit too late for that now, wouldn't you agree?" Moriarty said and reached out for the chain around her neck. As his fingers caressed the spy glass at the tip, the smug expression returned to his features. "Think about it. You never were a 'free woman'."

"What are you talking about?

The criminal's glee turned into surprise as he saw the confusion still written plainly across her face. "You're serious. Oh, this is awkward… I thought you lied because you wanted to protect both your hearts, but now I see… You simply don't know the truth. Think, dear. I've observed you all this time..."

"Observed? What -" Irene stopped herself but her words fell short as realization hit her in the face.

Moriarty's dark eyes sparkled as he noticed her sudden change. "I think the lady got it!"

"It's all been tests within tests, haven't it?" she asked in a quivering voice. "When you had Sherlock drugged, I assumed it was to cover up your attempt to kill me… but it didn't stop there, did it? That was in turn simply a cover up to observe Sherlock's reaction. How he would react when I was in grave danger. That's why you were so persistent in believing I could be his weakness.. It's also the reason why I'm at the center of your game. You've been testing to see if I can be used as a pawn to complete the destruction of Sherlock Holmes."

"She hits the bulls-eye at last!" the man celebrated and held up his glass in a salute to her brilliance. "And I now know my deductions were correct! Oh, the cleverness of me! You see it, don't you? I created a self-fulfilling prophecy in believing you two could affect each other's hearts in a way no one else could."

Irene shook her head and grimaced at the man in plain disgust. "No, you failed. It didn't work. Your last attempt didn't affect him. He doesn't care."

"On the contrary, my dear, I think he does care. More than he knows."

"Don't be silly. Sherlock Holmes has never been in love, he isn't incapable of loving anyone besides himself in that way."

"Oh, stop! Stop with your petty lies!" Moriarty bellowed and the woman barely managed to keep from stepping back in fright. The mad man calmed himself down just as quickly as he'd flared and continued, "We both know that's not true..."

"I'm telling you: he doesn't care."

"But you do?" the man's innocent voice questioned.

"I don't want to play anymore, Jim. I suggest you back off fast."

"Oooh, was that a threat? I think I'm beginning to like this little chat. Did you bring your whip? I do love your whip," Moriarty cooed.

"If you ever tasted my whip I guarantee you wouldn't like it!" Irene hissed and slapped him hard and swift across the face using the tips of her nails to draw blood. The man pressed one hand to his face even as she saw a few drops of red stain his cheek. She felt immense satisfaction at the surprised look in the mad man's eyes. The brunette stepped closer and glared at the man without a shred of fear in her body. In a low voice, she managed, "That was for Kate…"

Moriarty gently dabbed a napkin against his bleeding cheek as his smile slowly returned. "Sorry about your dear friend, but it was a necessary cost, you see."

He had known all along that the only way he could ever get The woman where he wanted so that she would turn on Sherlock, he had to take away everything from her. He had in one, ingenious move succeeded in permanently removing her best friend, Sherlock's love for her and everybody's trust in her. The woman that stood before him now had nothing to lose. And that was exactly where he needed her.

Clueless to his train of thought, Irene asked, "How much did it cost?"

Moriarty let her lead as he followed her line of thought, "Quite a lot. But worth every penny to have someone find an old sex tape of you and mash it together with a different one featuring yours truly. It was true perfection seeing the look on Sherlock's face as he got to watch my feature film. Don't you agree?"

"You won't win, Moriarty. You won't kill him…"

"You are getting on my last nerve! Someone must die, Ms Adler!" the criminal shouted and threw his glass of whiskey across the room. He closed his eyes and calmed himself down as the entire bar grew quiet. "…Question is: 'who?'"

Irene didn't even flinch at the man's tantrum. "Sherlock will win the war. Just as he has won everything so far against you."

"No… no, Ms Adler. He may have gotten the upper hand in a few smaller battles, but he can't win the war. No matter how hard he tries, he can never beat the evils that exist in this world. …Aren't I just the perfect example of that?"

The ex-dominatrix frowned. "He has beaten you repeatedly."

"But never won..." Jim corrected her with a pointed look.

Irene shook her head and sighed in defeat. "Whatever happens, count me out. Your plan backfired and I won't have anything more to do with either you or Sherlock…"

As she turned to go, Moriarty called her back. "Where are you going, dear? We're just getting started here. You're not getting out of here until you promise me you will help me destroy Sherlock."

The slim woman froze. Slowly, the woman turned back to gaze at the man on the bar stool. His eyes shone with honest expectation and it was Irene's turn to be surprised. At length, she managed a low, "…You're mad."

Moriarty smiled in amusement. "Sherlock seemed to catch on to that fact late in our friendship, too. …You'll still help me, though."

"You are truly insane if you think I won't refuse."

"I'm not giving you much of a choice here. If you won't help me… I'll kill him; point blank, no more games... I admit, it won't be as fun, but I will do it. Don't doubt that for a second! …I just want him a broken man before our final game."

"… That's not fair play."

"Fair play is for the other side, Ms Adler. Not for people like you and I. We never play fair… and that's why we always win. Well, at least I always do. Besides, if you let me kill him now, you'll never know if he could have outsmarted me one last time."

"What do you want from me?"

"It's quite in your area of expertise. Burn his heart… until only the ashes of a broken man remains. Destroy his heart or I'll destroy him," Moriarty explained in a dark, passionate voice and his gaze seemed to penetrate all the woman's defences to bare her soul to the world. "I realized something, Ms Adler. All this time I've tried to destroy him… The easy way, the hard way. Through media, threatening his friends. From without and from within. But it's never worked. And I've finally figured out why. While his brother did give me the perfect ammunition, I've never had the ultimate weapon to destroy him. Now I do. Because I have you. And I can finally win…"

To be continued.