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"A certain Red Lady is next on the list brother dear." Sherlock heard Mycroft say on the other line.
The consulting detective, now under the name Jonathan Calper, was resting in his flat in Hong Kong after 3 whole months of tracking down a notorious weapons smuggler in Kowloon. With the help of James Moriarty, the smuggler has developed a network of his own, importing customised weaponry filled with chemicals that cannot be bought off the market. After a year and a half of tracking down Moriarty’s network, this one deemed to be the most challenging… But then again, the great Sherlock Holmes outsmarted him.
A new name to track down, apparently. The Red Lady.
"According to our findings, she was fairly a recent client of Moriarty. Her play? Seducing influential public figures, getting them alone and the next time they are found, they’re in an induced coma. Her last pseudonym was Catherine Miller."
"Interesting." Sherlock replied.
"Reminds you of someone?" Mycroft asked, evidently teasing.
'Hello Mr. Holmes,' he heard mind-palace Irene Adler purr. He shook his head to dismiss her.
"Where is this, Mycroft?" he asked.
"New York. I have arranged a place for you to stay as well as security and a new identity. Off to America now, David Rolfe."
***
Sherlock arrived in New York and directly went to talk to Mycroft’s colleague, Millford Cast.
"Mr. Cast, I’m David Rolfe." he said, stretching out his hand to the fat man in a pinstripe suit.
The man took his hand and shook it firmly. “Come now, Mr. Rolfe. According to Mr. Holmes, you are one of their best. I believe he briefed you about the situation at hand?”
Sherlock nodded. He was brought to the hospital room where the new victim lay. He was a business tycoon planning to run for office in the upcoming elections. Sherlock noticed bondage marks in his wrists, though there was no pressure on the marks.
"Do you know what caused the coma?" He asked.
Mr. Cast pursed his lips.
"In what state did you found him?" Sherlock leaned towards the victim, noticing a syringe mark behind the man’s ear.
"He was disoriented, lying on the ground on their back, trying to get up but they can’t. We tried to ask them who did this but their words were slurred, drunk-like. A few moments later, most of the victims almost choked on their own vomit. And then, that."
"Interesting. Take me to the lab where you tested the chemical."
"But that’s off limits… I can only take you as far as…"
Before Mr. Cast could finish, Sherlock walked out for the room. He needed to think. There was something familiar about the way the victims were found. He was having his suspicions, but he dismissed them immediately. This can’t be the work of Irene Adler. She’s cleverer than this. Still…
"Mr. Rolfe! Mr. Rolfe!"
He turned and saw Mr. Cast, all wide eyed and red faced. “There’s another one!”
***
Sherlock gave his firm instructions to Mr. Cast that his involvement in the case must be kept in the shadow. He watched from the distance as the victim was being taken on a gurney, confirming his thoughts that the victims experienced the effects of Ketamine—-the same drug Irene Adler used on him.
As soon as the investigators were out, Sherlock entered the hotel room, catching a whiff of Casmir in the air. He shook his head. No. Still no. She wouldn’t be this reckless.
He opened the closet and found a pair of Louboutins and a note that read, ‘Greetings from The Red Lady’.
Sherlock found this too elaborate. As if this person wanted to be found. He walked over the room once more, catching a Llamasqua lipstick by the bedside table, a brand that can only be found in West End, London.
Hearing a slight ruffle by the room’s loo, Sherlock sneaked slowly and opened the door, only to find a woman rummaging through the cabinets.
"Ms. Adler?" Sherlock mused, completely expecting her from the beginning and yet not quite believing the evidence himself.
"Mr. Holmes. It’s not what you think." she replied, her hands folding to her chest, head defiant.
Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom and jerked his head to the rest of the room. Irene followed him.
"All the evidence leads to you." Sherlock simply stated.
Irene nodded. “Yes. They are. But I’m sure you know that this is not my work.”
Sherlock looked at Irene, her hair tied in a bun, loose curls framing her face. She was dressed very differently from the one he met, not wearing a dress but rather a turtleneck and jeans. There was something wrong about the entire picture, them being surrounded by all this mess that was telling him it was her and yet it wasn’t.
"Why would anyone want to set you up? No one knows you’re still alive or did you tell anyone?" Sherlock asked.
Irene shook her head. “That’s why I’m here, investigating. This kind of recklessness will put me on the radar once again. Surely you will help me, Mr. Holmes?”
***
A few nights after they saw each other, Sherlock found Irene in his new flat, sleeping on his bed wearing one of his shirts. She had a cut on her cheek, her dirty clothes neatly folded by the hamper, arms protectively tucked under her chin.
Sherlock sat by the bed and watched her. Since the last time he saw Irene Adler, he had an inexplicable urge to see her, to hear her ‘customised’ alert noise in his phone, to read what she had in store for him in those texts of hers. She would always pop out in his mind palace no matter how hard he avoided. The mere shade of bloody red reminds him of her lips and as pathetic as it may sound, even the sight of his riding crop reminded him of her.
He tucked a loose strand of her hair, his hand softly caressing the wound on her cheek. He remembered the twinge of relief he had felt when he saw her seeking refuge in his bed that day in Baker Street. The same relief passed over him now.
She moved and Sherlock drew his hand away, his heart pounding in his chest. Her eyebrows scrunched in the middle, The Woman whimpering. Not thinking, Sherlock went back to her side and put his arms around her awkwardly.
"Shhh… Shhhh…." he whispered, trying to comfort her.
Irene started trembling, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up and saw Sherlock next to her, arms protectively around her. When he saw that she was awake, he drew his arms away, smoothing his clothes as he stood up.
"I’ll be outside if you need me, Ms. Adler." he breathed.
"Sherlock, dear. Would you stay with me instead?" Irene asked, her breathing hitched from the nightmare.
Sherlock eyed the couch by the room’s window and nodded. An understanding has passed between them and as Sherlock laid on the couch across Irene Adler, he felt a smile creep up his face as she saw her sleeping more peaceful than before.
***
The next morning, Sherlock found out that Irene was almost attacked in her own house, causing the cut on her cheek. She also sprained her ankle, making it difficult for her to walk. Sherlock holds her by the waist most of the time for her to move around the flat.
One day, she was surprised that Sherlock suggested she should take on the identity of his wife, Jennifer Rolfe, just in case they were asked in the process of their secret investigation.
At one moment, Sherlock went out to buy some food and Irene decided to do some dusting. With her limping leg and her attempt to dust the cupboards, she almost fell if Sherlock did not arrive just in time to catch her. She landed on top of him, both faces reddening in embarrassment.
"I told you not to move around." Sherlock told her.
"Well, somebody’s got to do the dusting." She replied.
"It’s an irrelevant chore."
"We sound like an old married couple."
Most of the days, in between investigation and tracking the Red Lady, this was what went on between them.
***
One night, a letter came addressed to Sherlock.
'I have my terms, Mr. Rolfe. The information that I have is very crucial. I need an audience with Mycroft Holmes. If interested, you can find me over at the address below. The Red Lady.'
Irene looked over from Sherlock’s shoulder and leaned in to see the letter clearly.
"It can’t be." She whispered.
"What is it, Ms. Adler?" He looked at her urgently. Her expression was twisted, eyes wide.
"I know the handwriting. I am certain…" Irene said. "We should go meet her."
Sherlock stood up, grabbing his coat. “You are not going anywhere tonight, Ms. Adler.”
She limped over the drawer and drew a gun, sliding it on her coat pocket. “Trust me. You’ll need me there.”
***
Sherlock didn’t ask Irene of her suspicions. After the couple of weeks they had shared together, he learned more about her, that she would never back down from someone who tries to ruin her reputation.
They knocked on the door of the address given to them and was greeted by none other than Kate herself.
Irene rolled her eyes. “Can you be any more obvious?” She said, studying her past assistant.
Kate laughed. “Oh please, come in.”
"Ms. Adler." Sherlock mused and Irene nodded.
They went into the receiving area and Sherlock confronted Kate about what she was doing. Apparently, the news of what transpired between Mycroft and Irene had been spread across Moriarty’s network. Irene’s tactic were being perfected and plans to hold the British Government by the neck are being laid out. Kate, being Irene’s assistant for so long, believed she perfected the craft of being a power-playing Dominatrix and had tried to capture the attention of Mycroft by leaving reckless trails.
"Irene, I loved you dearly, I did. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do so… I’m sorry." Kate said, both hands raising a gun towards Irene and Sherlock.
"You’re just a copycat, darling." Irene said, pulling the gun from her coat and shooting Kate on the shoulder.
Another fire was made and Sherlock caught Irene falling.
"Ms. Adler…" Sherlock whispered, his hands trembling at the sight of her bleeding abdomen.
Kate dropped one gun and held her bleeding shoulder, holding out the other to Sherlock.
"This will send your brother a message, Mr. Holmes." she said, fingers on the trigger.
In a split second, Sherlock pulled out a syringe from his pocket and plunged it into Kate’s leg. The girl buckled on her feet, dropping the other gun and fell to her back, almost bouncing from the floor. Her eyes fluttered and then closed.
"I didn’t kill her. Used your trick, Kisetamine." He smiled weakly at Irene, his hand over the bullet wound in her stomach. He rested her head on him and dialled 911 as well as Mr. Cast,
As soon as the ambulance came and Irene was being carried on a gurney, Sherlock was held back by the Paramedic.
"Immediate family only, sir."
"That’s my wife." Sherlock said, his eyes not leaving Irene.
The Paramedic was studying him but Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved him out of the way. As soon as he is inside, Irene reached out for his hand. Sherlock took it.
***
Irene woke up in the hospital, Sherlock’s head by her arm. She fondly touched the detective’s curly hair and Sherlock looked up at her with sleepy blue eyes.
"Feeling better, Ms. Adler?" He asked, surprisingly reaching for her hand. Irene raised her eyebrow but said nothing.
"Yes. Thank you for staying the night, Mr. Holmes." She beamed.
"I… I couldn’t leave knowing that you’re not fine." Sherlock said.
They were silent for a moment, just looking in each other’s eyes.
"The case has been solved and Mycroft has arranged my flight to Tibet." Sherlock muttered.
Irene’s eyes saddened. “Oh. I mean, oh! That’s great, isn’t it? What time are you leaving?”
Sherlock lowered his eyes, not able to meet hers. “In an hour.”
Irene blinked at him, nodding. “Of course. Well, you better run then.” She faked a laugh. Sherlock nodded.
He stood up and carried his coat, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“‘Til next time, Mrs. Rolfe.” He said, turning towards the door.
“‘Til next time, Mr. Rolfe.” Irene replied, a small smile lingering both their lips but not quite reaching their eyes.