Work Text:
The storm was over, the harsh wind started to become a caressing breeze. Sherlock Holmes stood by his window, looking at the mist the rains had caused.
With the coldness of the past days, he couldn’t help but think about her. He played her theme over and over as the wind howled on London, the music calming the trembling of his heart.
Sherlock shook his head, feeling rather ridiculous. Sentiment isn’t something he adored, and yet the mere mention of the word made his thoughts linger back to her. He took out her Vertu phone from his drawer, the object familiar in his hands. He had held this thing whenever he is reminded of her, her perfume no longer clinging to the object.
He sighed, putting away the Vertu. The last time he saw her was in Karachi, when she looked up to him and brushed his lips goodbye. She was an attractive woman, a face that any man would die for, he admitted to himself, and yet she was cunning and… a complete puzzle.
He must see her, he thought, convincing himself that it was merely out of curiosity on how she was doing, rather than to fill the inexplicable emptiness in his heart.
Sherlock took out his phone, opening the only content of his saved messages folder. ‘The Woman’ it read. He pressed on her name, the call button appearing on the screen.
Quite hesitant at first, he shook his head, convincing himself that this is something professional. Nothing sentimental.
He pressed the button, placing the mobile phone to his ears. Everytime the ringing pauses, Sherlock’s breath hitches. As he was about to give up, a voice was heard on the other line.
"Mr. Holmes?" he heard her say, noticeably surprised.
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Ms. Adler.”
"Is everything well? I didn’t expect you’d call." Irene said, a smile probably playing on her lips.
"I… Erm… I need to see you. No… Erm… What I meant was I need to talk to you about something… important." Sherlock stammered. He hated himself for it.
Irene laughed softly. “Mr. Holmes, are you missing me?”
She was playing him, he realised, his pride somehow hurt. “Forget it, Ms. Adler. I was just…”
Irene cut him off. “Should I go there? I wouldn’t really mind.”
Sherlock was silent for a moment. He looked out the window, the sun somehow reflected in the raindrops. It was aesthetically pleasing, almost as beautiful as…
"Ms. Adler. London Fields, tomorrow, 3 in the afternoon." He told her, ending the call before she could even reply.
Sherlock sighed, slumping down his chair, feeling drained. She was very unnerving, inflicting fear in him more than Moriarty or Magnussen. He hated himself for slightly admitting it.
'Don't be alarmed. It has something to do with sex.' he remembered Mycroft's words.
Irene Adler was more than just sexual to him. She was a mind game. A labyrinth. A thorn in his mind and heart that he could not take off.
***
Sherlock arrived a couple of hours earlier than the time he had told Ms. Adler. He picked out a rose on his way to London Fields, thinking that it was something he could greet her with. It was not because this was something else, just a polite gesture, he convinced himself.
He brought a blanket for them to sit in, laying it out under an enormous tree in the quiet corner of the field, with the lushest leaves among all the others.
Sherlock sat nervously, not knowing what to say to her. He told her that he would tell her something important, a fib obviously. After what seemed like an eternity, he spotted her, his surprise undeniable.
Irene Adler was wearing her hair loose on her shoulders, gracefully tucking the strands behind her ears as the breeze blows, her dress a combination of black and white, her heels are not as high as he expected. This was more of the Irene Adler who slept on his bed, who walked around in his dressing gown, who stared at him around the firelight in 221B. This was not The Dominatrix.
He stood up to greet her like a proper gentleman should.
"Mr. Holmes. A pleasure to see you again." Irene purred, her eyes glistening at the sight of him.
Sherlock swallowed the bile in his throat. “Ms. Adler. Please, sit.” He offered her the rose, her expression suddenly filled with controlled delight. If only he could understand what was going on in that head of hers.
"You wouldn’t risk my safety for nothing, right Mr. Holmes? I should be dead, you seem to be forgetting."
Forgetting? Sherlock scoffed. He couldn’t get her out of his head!
"Well?" Irene mused, her eyes piercing through him.
"I have a case, Ms. Adler. Something that is a familiar field to you." Sherlock muttered, not looking at her directly, trying to compose himself. "This case revolves around another Dominatrix. Instead of sexual pleasures, however, she is a complete manipulator. A mind hacker." he explained, trying to be as vague as possible.
Irene leaned nearer, interest in her eyes. “Go on.”
"She tries seduction, physical at first and then re-routes to a mind game. Very clever woman. " Sherlock added.
Irene’s lips quirked to a small smile.
Sherlock glanced at her, then averted his eyes after seeing her smile. “The most dangerous thing about this woman is that she has the ability to implant herself to the minds of even the most difficult men, dominating their thoughts, bending their beliefs.”
Irene was now a breath away from the detective, her finger sliding under his chin, forcing Sherlock to face her.
"I know women like those. I also know that the men who can beat them are arrogant, self-praising, but brilliant and… a sentimental person in denial." She whispered the last phrase, her breath prickling the detective’s lips.
Sherlock was paralysed. He was aware of how much his heart is pounding in his chest, Irene leaned closer. He let her.
Her lips was warm to his, this time more persistent than the soft kiss she had given him in Karachi. Her hands moved to his nape, sliding through his curly hair. He moved his hands to the small of her back, his touch tightening around her, closing the space between them.
Both of them vaguely took in the rustling of the leaves, the whistle of a passerby and the mist reflecting the sunlight, glowing like the stars that night he saved Irene from Karachi.
Karachi. She was in trouble and he was risking her safety right now.
Sherlock pulled back, shaking his head slightly.
"Problem, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked playfully, leaning in for more.
"No." he replied coldly. Irene moved away from him, her lips moist from their kiss.
"I should’ve just let you be, Ms. Adler." Sherlock muttered, shaking off his coat and putting it around The Woman.
"It’s going to rain soon, best be on your way." He said, turning away from her, trying to look away from her confused (or is it hurt?) expression.
"Thank you. I will definitely need this coat, Mr. Holmes. Immense coldness is very painful." Irene said, just loud enough for him to hear. Sherlock noticed the cracks in her voice.
As he laid down in Baker Street that night, he smelled her perfume in his clothes, tasted her lips in his own and he heard Irene’s theme play in his mind.
Sherlock closed his eyes and for the first time in his life, he could not delete this bittersweet memory in his mind palace.