Sherlock was doing his job like a machine. Dismantling Moriarty's network demanded a whole person. There was no time for thinking of who he used to care about. To be distracted by sentiment meant to be weak. There were times when he so much wanted to get in touch with John, to tell him everything, but as time has passed, it became harder and harder. He was lonelier than he could ever remember. Alone had been protecting him before, but now he knew what he had lost with being without the people he held close. He had never felt more miserable and pitiful. And he hated it.
One of the last big strings of the consulting criminal's web was in Russia. It was not strictly a part of Moriarty's web but two very remarkable group of the Russian mob connecting to the network with several strings. But in Moscow there was something else, or rather someone else. Irene Adler, The Woman.
Sherlock was hesitant if he wanted to use her help, but after all, by that time she certainly had gained indispensable information about the local gangland, so he convinced himself that the reunion with Irene would be beneficial.
He booked an appointment with her through her new website with his false ID he had been using when he had rescued Irene years ago.
When he arrived in disguise, hair combed back, wearing elegant grey suit with light blue shirt, he merely ringed the bell when the door opened and a very young maid with a face like a doll appeared to invite him.
'Good afternoon, Mr Anderson. Miss Fiamma is already waiting for you. Please go upstairs.' the maid who spoke fluent English gestured towards the wide staircase.
As he reached the top of the stairs the two huge leaves of the opposite door opened and Irene stepped out elegantly. She had long blond hair now and green lenses in her eyes, but it was her. A short, transparent white gown covered her body, letting to see her white lace lingerie. She froze for a moment with wide eyes as she saw Sherlock.
'It's really you,' she whispered.
'Hmm...' Sherlock nodded. 'I see you've changed your style. How vestal.' He said ironically.
'Only my appearance, dear.' She smiled smugly and stepped closer, swaying her hips. Irene put her hands on Sherlock's chest and started to unbutton his shirt, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her.
'I am here for business.' Sherlock said in a steady voice.
'I hoped so.' Irene smirked, raising one eyebrow and bent to press a lingering kiss on Sherlock's throat, leaving a mark with her blood red lipstick. Still holding her wrist he pushed her away and said plainly, 'Business.'
Irene raised her chin with narrowed eyes. 'Go to my office.' She pointed at a small white door at the end of the corridor. 'I'll be there in a minute.'
As Irene stepped inside Sherlock saw that she had changed from her professional suit into a more casual black, long sleeved dress. She sat down on an armchair, crossed her legs and looked at him expectantly, tilting her head with one raised eyebrow. Sherlock was pacing up and down in the bright glamorous room. He stopped as he looked at Irene.
'I am here to cut out two big families of the mob, who still have great ascendancy in Brittan through Moriarty's connections. I require your instrumentality.'
'What makes you think I am involved in such things?' Irene smirked playfully.
Sherlock sighed rolling his eyes. 'Oh, please. There's no time for this.'
Irene's eyes went cold, her smile faded away and she was tapping with her coral coloured nails on the arm of her chair.
'What will be my reward?' Irene looked into his eyes.
'Anything you want.' Sherlock shrugged .
Irene narrowed her eyes. 'I don't need more money or power. You know, what I want.'
Sherlock nodded slowly. 'Then you will get it.'
'Shiny.' Irene's smile was back again. 'Then enlighten me about the details.'
Three days later they were sitting disguised in a luxury bar owned by one of the most powerful members of the Krilov family. While Irene was occupied to place the small but quite strong bomb under the coach, pretending to adjust her high heels, Sherlock was hanging a bullet with a chain on the suspended lamp in the men's lavatory room.
According to Irene the peace between the Krilov and the Asajev clan had been quite fragile since Moriarty's death. They both wanted the bigger slice of the cake, but they knew too well that they had the power to totally destroy each other if they go into a war. So they had a mutual agreement to let the other do their own business until everybody stays away from the other's territory.
One of Irene's long term client was the Asajev clan's feared assassin, Ivan 'The Bullet' Prekov, who did all the dirty work for the Asajevs from a simple shooting through car accidents to blowing up whole buildings. In every scene he did a job, he left an empty bullet on a chain in a well noticeable place, so everybody knew the job was done by him. According to the gossip once when he was younger he got into a fight and was shot right in his heart. He had survived but the bullet remained in there. Hence every time did a job, he wanted to remind everybody that he was indestructible.
That was the reason why Sherlock left exactly the same type of bullet Prekov used as his signature.
When they left as really tipsy lovers, they made sure to make a sight and not to look like sneaking out, it would have been suspicious.
They walked together hand in hand, giggling, towards the city centre to hail a cab. Sherlock waved one to Irene and opened the door for her. She pressed a long kiss on the corner of his mouth.
'Can't wait to get my reward.' She whispered into his ear seductively before pulling away.
'Khm...yes.' Sherlock smiled a short, fake smile then he shut the door after Irene climbed in.
Sherlock shrugged, grimacing as he put his hands into the pocket of his pelisse. His breath was visible in the cold night air. He started to walk. It was only fifteen minutes left till the nightclub, in which they had planted the bomb, closed. Thirty minutes later, when the last waiter left the place, he pushed the button of the little clever bomb's remote controller, treaded on it and threw the pieces into different dustbins in the dark alleys he was walking on towards his hotel.
Next morning the newspapers were all full of the big massacre between the two powerful families of the mob. Not too much survival and all of them in prison. Ivan 'The Bullet' Prekov's body was among the victims but as the article noted he was the only one who apparently had been poisoned and not shot.
Sherlock was reading the details of the slaughter when his phone buzzed.
I think the job is done, my reward is in order. Let's have dinner. I'll be there at 7.
Sherlock didn't answer, it was unnecessary. Irene would come anyway. He didn't intend to run away, on the contrary. He expected his own benefit from the whole situation. Finally delete that night with Molly from his head for good.
When Irene arrived at the hotel's lobby every eye stacked on her. She made a great effort to be irresistible. Perfect hair, perfect face and perfect, not too much clothes. She sensed something off with Sherlock, but she trusted her seductive skills to be self-confident enough.
When she knocked on the door of Sherlock's room, for her disappointment the detective only shouted her a 'come in' from inside, but she put up her most mysterious smile as she entered.
It was already semi-dark in the room and she saw Sherlock's lean figure standing by the window, facing outside. She slowly walked to him while she was taking off her coat, her stole and her shoes leaving them on her way as a trace. She wore only a short black lace dress, not really hiding anything.
'You can order dinner if you want,' Sherlock said gesturing towards the phone, still not turning to face her.
'I would really hate to waste our time with eating, Mr Holmes,' Irene purred as she reached him and sneaked her arms around his chest. She gently turned Sherlock and grabbing his lapels she pulled him down to press her lips to his. First he was unresponsive, just standing there with opened eyes, hanging arms letting her do what she wanted. Irene backed a bit but she narrowed her eyes and started the second attack. She couldn't lose in this battle.
'Close your eyes,' she whispered in a low voice.
Sherlock obeyed in surrender. Nothing had mattered; this had meant nothing at all. But as he closed his eyes Molly's vision came forward in his mind. Her scent, her warmth, her softness. She was everywhere around him. He kissed her hungrily, drunk in her with every sense.
'My Molly,' he gasped lovingly against Irene's lips.
The dominatrix immediately pulled away and backed a few steps. She stared in disbelief but soon pulled herself together and her face became expressionless and cold. At least she wanted to maintain her dignity.
'So, Mr. Sherlock Love-is-a-disadvantage Holmes has finally fallen into the trap.' She lifted her chin proudly, and examined him with narrowed eyes.
'It doesn't matter. Our negotiation is still valid,' he said in a steady voice but his eyes were on the floor.
'No, Mr Holmes. I don't really like to be the second best. It's really ... unprofessional.' Irene grimaced. She turned on her heels and gracefully picked her clothes up. In the doorway she turned once again. 'Go and get that lucky girl, Mr Holmes.'
And with this she disappeared, leaving a miserable detective behind who had just realized that deleting Molly Hooper from his mind would take at least a head shot.
Sooo, here it is. Not too much Molly, I know, but I had to show their separate ways.
I have to tell again, that I love Irene, she is such a great character, and I think they really had a thing, but Molly is more important now. She has several values in which Irene is not really strong.
Also I have to say thank you for all your fantastic support by your reviews and followings. And it's always so touching when somebody favourites a story.
Till next time. :)