Chapter Text
It was a very ordinary day in Houston, Texas. The sky was blue, the sun was burning, the unremitting concerto of the horn blasts barely covered the noise of the air conditioning that cooled every single building. Workers were working; students were studying; children were playing, even in class, inside their heads, while pretending to listen to their teachers. At the top of a high glass building, Irene Adler was dropping the inert body of a well-clad man onto the floor of his own office - office that she immediately began to search.
What a waste of time, she cursed for herself as she realized that the file she was looking for was definitely not inside the dark fake-wood desk. She crossed the room with furious steps, moving the man’s arm out of her way with her foot in the process. Whether she found the file or not, she would take perverse pleasure in binding him in such an intricate way that he would not be able to break free without the help of the next caretaker that would walk into the room - probably not before five in the morning. That would teach him.
Honestly, she mostly felt angry towards herself. She did not care for that man; but she had taken her task lightly, and that was a mistake she would normally never make. When she had been confronted with the importer’s stupidity, she had started to think that this would be an easy job. Such a novice, she kept telling herself, bitter. Things are never as easy as they seem.
The cupboard, though, looked like an ideal spot to hide a secret compartment. She began rummaging through the various items with increasing nervousness, all her senses focused on her task. If she could not get hold of that damned file, she better fly to another state. She could not afford to let her current clients become her enemies.
When her fingertips grazed the unmistakable texture of a false bottom, at the level of her thighs, she felt her heart jump with a mix of relief and delightful excitation. Now the fun was really about to begin. The importer had been disappointedly simple to seduce; from that point, to make him bring her into his office had been a child’s play. But cracking a safe without leaving any trace of her breaking, now that was an interesting game.
She was expectantly running her fingers against the surface when a sound came to her ears. She stood still. It was a deep buzzing, so low that she had nearly missed it. A mobile phone.
She instinctively looked down at her target, still motionless; but the man had left his mobile in his car, she remembered. Another phone? A secret one, dedicated to his not-so-legal activities? No, he only possessed his basic work device. She would have known otherwise. It was not that.
It was her own mobile phone.
She almost ran towards the spot where she had let her purse and quickly extracted the item from it. As ever when she was working, she had silenced her phone; only a handful of her contacts could reach her. Right now, that precise call could only mean one thing.
As she brought the device to her ear, she did her best to slow her heart rate down; her blood was boiling with anticipation and anxiety. She prayed for her voice to sound steady enough as she answered.
“Yes?”
“Milady,” a male voice spoke. “Such a pleasure to hear you again.”
When you are a wanted criminal with few resources and you finally find yourself a particularly skilled informer, you do not show fussiness about his personal character traits - even when it includes bad humour and some difficulties to stay focused. Irene exhorted herself to patience.
“The timing is not ideal,” she said coolly. “What is it? Hurry up.”
“You were right,” the man replied, his tone already more professional. “We found him.”
Irene’s heart missed a bit.
“Where is he?” she asked – too hastily. She bit her lip in an effort to regain self-control.
“He’s been caught. A group of dealers of all sorts. That’s how we knew.”
“Are they related to the Web?”
“I fear so.”
She closed her eyes. She had been dreading this.
Irene had been waiting for that specific call for weeks – she had been absolutely certain that she would hear from Sherlock Holmes again –, but now that it was happening, she had no idea regarding what to do. She had work to accomplish in several areas of the world, including the task she was trying to fulfil at that exact moment – something so important that her success would guarantee her more safety than she could ever afford by herself; to leave it unfinished would not only be frustrating, but decidedly suicidal. And why would she do it? So that she could run to the other side of the world for Sherlock Holmes’ sake? She was glad that he had not perished of Jim Moriarty's hand - although it was hardly a surprise -, but if he had decided to dice with death again, it was none of her business. He was hardly an ally of hers, let alone a friend. To save his skin was no imperative, but only one of two options.
But what, exactly, was the other?
Irene sighed, straightened up, and began speaking again.
“Tell me everything you know.”
[...]
Muffled humming. Faint voices. Heavy pain – diffuse, throbbing, obsessive. Acrid smell – dirt, sweat, mostly blood. Metallic taste – blood too. Swollen tongue and sore face. And nothing to be seen but darkness.
Numb limbs – impossible to move. Spinning head, nausea. Sticking sweat everywhere; too hot, yet too cold.
Hazy mind – impossible to think. Panic. Thinking is the most important thing. Must think. Can’t think. Panic.
Sore throat, furred tongue, dry mouth – impossible to call for help. Panic. Blood leaking against skin. More blood. Panic.
Panic.
A louder voice, closer, just there – terror. Impossible to cry out. Words? Impossible to understand. Too vague, too fast. Blurry mind.
A shadow – a presence. Just there, within reach. Unfamiliar voice – very unfamiliar, and very cruel. Frightening.
Panic.
Help.
I need help.
Impossible to speak.
I need help.
Impossible to–
“… Elp…”
No reply but a snigger.
Panic.