A Relaxing Evening? (Irene)

[Sherlock Holmes]

It had been a hard case. Not hard in the sense that it was hard on his mental mind (it was actually quite elementary to solve). But rather, that it was hard on his physical body. He had not slept since receiving the case, which was two days ago. The man who had stolen the millions from Lord Chershiers mansion had a fond liking to many strapping young thugs.

Though Holmes was able to fight them all off, he still ticked off the injuries he had sustained in the brief skirmish as he rode back to Baker Street in a cabby:

Two cuts on forehead, one obtained from a grazed bullet, one from just barely stopping a knife from penetration. Several bruises on chest from small blows that he allowed to make contact because he knew they would not be forceful enough. And finally, a jammed pinky from the force of a police officer slamming the door accidently on his face after all was said and done.

Honestly, he would have had nothing on him if he had been accompanied by Watson tonight. But Watson was having dinner with the in-laws (again). Watson was getting married, he was moving out. What was done was done, and Sherlock would have to get used to little bumps and bruises as being part of the job. Time to press on.

The cabby finally halted to a stop outside of Baker Street. Tiredly, he paid the man and stepped out from the carriage. He was looking for a night of just relaxing besides a roaring fire, perhaps have a whiskey in celebration of a case well done. And of course, sleeping the rest of the week away before the ‘dark-mood’ set in.

But the moment he walked into the entry, he knew that something was wrong. There was the slightest whiff of a perfume he had not smelled in a long time. And that perfume always came with a dangerous woman.

“Mrs. Hudson, has anyone come in tonight?” He called into the kitchen, where he heard the land lady moving around.

”No one but yourself, Mr. Holmes.” She called back, almost impatiently.

A frown affixed on his face, the detective made his way up the stairs until he stood in front of his room. He caught another whiff of the infamous perfume, and turned the knob. He opened the door, knowing who he would most likely see beyond it.

There went his relaxing evening.

[new123]

Empty back alleyway. Check. Unlocked stairwell window. Check. Busy landlady. Check. Sherlock unlocked room. Check. All and all, he simply made it far too easy for one Irene Adler to enter without so much as a fly knowing. For such a brilliant detective he might have thought to have a more observant landlady in charge of his location of residency. Ah but one must never complain when they get what they want and Irene even in the most terrible of circumstances would get what she wanted.

Carefully she surveyed the room, finding comfort in the familiarity of it all but not too comfortable that she wouldn’t notice something out of place. To the untrained eye, one may suspect that someone came in and destroyed the room due to the seemingly cluttered mess of it all. To the young woman, she knew this to be the regular state of Holmes’ personal spaces. There was after all chaos in order. Taking her black feathered hat off and ridding herself of a dark velvet coat, her eyes scanned the room for any amount of valuables. Very few of those indeed. What would appear valuable to a common man would never be of interest to Sherlock. Pity.

Irene idly tossed her belonging on to a chair and made her way to a picture framed against the wall. Meaningless to most. She shook her head with a knowing smile. He really should change safes if he wished to keep whatever valuables he did have. Pulling back the frame, her smile grew as she saw the safe inserted into the wall.

“That would be easy enough,” she sighed contented, placing the frame in its rightful place. No sense stealing from the man when it would be so terribly easy.

She took a few more casual steps towards an end table, glancing upon it for something specific. Yes, the picture was still there. Those were the two things she always managed to look for first when she entered the room. The safe, (purely for curiosity, not that she would ever steal from there…again) and the picture. Her picture. Now that her checklist was complete she could go ahead and get started on tea. Sherlock would be arriving back at anytime she would assume. The sound of footsteps making their way up towards the room caused another smile to form around the edge of her lips. Almost domesticated it made her feel. Almost.

“I was almost beginning to worry that you would not make it home for tea, dear,” she spoke without looking at the man who had just opened the door.

She was nearly certain it was in fact Sherlock for his footsteps were far heavier than the landlady’s. Plus, they were slow enough for her to assume he had realized her presence as soon as he opened his front door. Anyone else would not have been weary. Her tone proved pleasant and playful yet still off-putting as she shuffled around the room, gathering the proper ingredients for tea.

[Sherlock Holmes]

He had been right in his deductions. Irene Adler, appearing once again in his home without announcement for god knows what reason. And of course, she had appeared without even alerting anyone living in the residence. There were some times that she would appear when he was asleep, and not even waking him up until she was cracking walnuts in his ear.

Adler’s name was not spoken between Watson and himself. Or rather, Sherlock would only call her The woman. The only woman who had ever out witted him. The only woman who he would ever deem to accept as his intellectual equal. Yes, equal, it would be foolish of him not to accept this fact.

And so, he followed her movements as she appeared randomly across the world. Sometimes as an unnamed thief, other times as a bride who had run away with the family jewels of her husband. Obsession? More like a strange interest. Adler was a never-ending puzzle box. She had the same illogical tendencies of the rest of her gender, but she utilized them to her advantage. And Sherlock, being the riddle-solver he was, was determined to figure out Irene Adler (even if it meant he was acting like a masochist).

“I was almost beginning to worry that you would not make it home for tea, dear,”

“Yes well, so sorry to keep you waiting.” He mentioned, slightly sarcastic. But his eyes were not on her. They moved to the painting that hid the safe. It had been moved slightly, indicating that someone had indeed been there recently. Not that he minded, since her last visit he had moved all his valuables from the safe to a more secure location in the house. He doubted even Mrs. Hudson or Watson knew where it was.

Cautiously, he walked over to where the central seating’s of the room were. His brown eyes seemed to drink in every detail of her. From the fact that she had a type of dirt unique to the northern French region on her boots, to the fact that she seemed to gain a new set of jewelry that he hadn’t seen on her before. And that she had no ring on her left finger.

How strange, that whenever she visited she was never in one of her faux marriages. Sherlock categorized this fact into his brain.

He waited until she was turned around, tending to tea preperations, that he extended his fore finger and pushed her picture so that it was now face down. Even though she must have seen it already. He then moved smoothly to sit down in his chair, sitting on the edge as if waiting for her to pull out a knife and run at him.

“Once again in-between husbands, Miss. Adler?” He set his elbows on his knees, fore arms horizontal and clasping together. “Those earrings are new, though they look particularly like the ones that Lady Muncier has claimed her ex-daughter-in-law has run off with….”

The tone was mockingly conversational. Several years of playing this game with Adler had made the detective a champ. She would make tea, they would converse about past husbands and robberies, and then she would either drug his tea or she would ask for a case or favor.

Strange, but he actually missed this game. It was as if Irene Adler was the most destructive and addictive drug, one that was near impossible to gain, and quite easy to lose.

[new123]

“Once again in-between husbands, Miss. Adler?”

Of course he would bring up her track record of failed marriages. It was so very like the detective to rattle out facts he could deduce simply by looking at her. In normal everyday chit chat, people would feel it improper to just mention that one was no longer married. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Irene always enjoyed his company. Nothing was ever really deemed as improper as long as it was interesting. If it held no interest for Sherlock then she doubted he would even bring it up. “You would be correct, Detective. I was becoming bored with the act,” she admitted with a non committal wave of her hand as she continued to prepare the tea.

While Sherlock acted out of the ordinary for modern society, Irene had an element of this as well. She did try her best to see as loving a wife as possible during each and every one of her marriages yet when she was in the privacy of Sherlock’s company, she found it to be meaningless to continue the act. That was one of the extraordinary things about the man. He judged and deduced all day long yet he never seemed to have an overwhelming issue with her methods of securing husbands over the years. It was refreshing.

“Those earrings are new, though they look particularly like the ones that Lady Muncier has claimed her ex-daughter-in-law has run off with….”

But there was always that downside to having a conversation with him. Though he never argued with her marrying a man, he did seem to have an issue with her stealing from them. Pity. He would be the perfect gentleman had he not have some semblance of morals. Nevertheless, she was quite aware that his feelings on the subject were far less severe then that of his friend’s Dr. Watson. “I suppose they do look somewhat similar. My ex-mother-in-law’s taste must have rub off on me,” her voice carrying no real fear or threat by the mention of the stolen property. Of course it was stolen. They were beautiful earrings that belonged on someone worthy of them. Irene never did get along with her mother-in-laws…

As she turned around with the tea tray in hand, she instantly noticed the picture turned down. Her picture. With a small roll of the eye, she set the tray down on the table before Holmes and casually walked over to the end table. “I happen to enjoy that picture Sherlock,” her tone shifting from that of false heartedness to something much more real. Why he couldn’t just look at the picture while in her company was beyond her… Carefully she sat the picture rightfully once more, an act she had done countless times in the past but usually on her way out the door. She smiled softly at her own face, not out of narcissism but rather by the idea that he continued to keep the picture around after years of owning it.

“There. That is much better,” smiling again as she sat down across from the detective. “Please, stop looking so worried. I’ve simply stopped by for a visit. I was in town and in between husbands as you put it.”

[Sherlock Holmes]

“You would be correct, Detective. I was becoming bored with the act,”

Exactly! Reason number one why getting close to her is a bad idea. Irene Adler does not marry, she divorces. Though Sherlock doubted he would be anything but a bachelor for the rest of his life. He simply wasn’t the marriageable type. He was out late at night, he liked things to be in a ‘orderly mess’. The idea of having a child and wife to take care of while he was out creating enemies with his work made him shudder.

And then, for the briefest of moments, he thought about what Irene and his children would look and act like. He pushed this idea out of the way with horror. No, absolutely not! He would not go there at all, there was no need and it was completely inappropriate.

“So, Miss Irene Adler again?” He raised an eyebrow, sitting up in his chair as a small smirk graced his features before disappearing into its usual mask.

“I suppose they do look somewhat similar. My ex-mother-in-law’s taste must have rub off on me,”

“Hmm.” The small noise was all he gave her in return, knowing full well that she had stolen those earrings. But her ex-mother-in-law was not his client, and it seemed for Irene (for the most part) he could look the other way. He knew that one day Scotland Yard would come to him asking him to hunt her down. He dreaded that day, deep down.

He watched as she turned with the tea tray, and that she noticed her picture was face down again. When she set the tray down, he immediately picked up the pot and poured the liquid into two cups. He completely ignored her next words, and when she put the picture up once more.

“I happen to enjoy that picture Sherlock,”

That was another thing. She was the only person besides Mycroft that called him by his first name. Not that he didn’t like his first name, he just found it rather ironic. He certainly didn’t have ‘bright hair’, as was the meaning behind the old English name. His hair was brown and curly, like his mother’s. He just wondered now why his parents decided Sherlock would be a suitable name for a brown-haired baby.

“There. That is much better, Please, stop looking so worried. I’ve simply stopped by for a visit. I was in town and in between husbands as you put it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply handing her the cup of tea he had poured out. His intense brown eyes still staring her down, waiting for the slightest detail his puzzle box would let out. She was here for a reason, there was always a reason. If it was not a case or a favor, it was certainly to drug him or to make a fool of him (again).

“Terribly unlike you Irene,” He almost whispered with a frown, “To come by without a reason.” He didn’t touch his tea, not until he was certain that it was not drugged. She would be taking the first sip.

[new123]

“So, Miss Irene Adler again?”

It was as if he found pleasure in her no longer being married. Or rather he found amusement that she divorced yet again? All and all it was no longer a surprise that she did not stay married to any one of the men she called ‘husband’ at one point in time. They were all a drag. How often could one attend the theatre or Opera in a manner of a week was beyond her. Irene desired more of a spark in a relationship. Though to be with a man who actually intrigued her would never happen. To fall in love truly with a man she married would be her demise. Marriage was business and to muddle that with feelings of the heart would be a misfortune.

Gladly accepting a cup of tea from the detective, she slowly blew on it, a force of habit. Even if tea was at the proper room temperature, Irene would always blow on it. If wine had just been open the she would allow it ample time to ‘breath’ as it were. No matter what beverage she would be consuming, she tried her best to give her conversation partner a chance to take the first sip. You never knew when one might try to drug you. Holmes on the other hand was quite weary of taking the first sip it seemed these days when in the company of Irene. That thought alone amused her.

“Terribly unlike you Irene,” He almost whispered with a frown, “To come by without a reason.”

These words caused a frown to appear upon Irene’s face as well. It was true that she usually only dropped by with a case or some desire to outwit the detective again but this was not one of those times. “Am I not allowed to merely speak with you?” her was voice soft as she took the first sip of tea. The joy of watching him squirm dissolving with his words. Irene didn’t know why she felt some sort of aching feeling in the pit of her stomach. Likely just the exertion of the climb up to the stairwell. It was perfectly logical for Sherlock to assume she had something or interest for him. Then, deep down she wondered why she wasn’t of enough interest. Never mind that. He was just being himself and she was the one being out of character. Irene always had a reason. Always.

Pushing a few strands of her curly dark hair, she took yet another sip of tea. A silence had fallen over the pair that caused the woman to feel uneasy in her seat. “You look tired,” she commented softly, looking over the visage of the man in front of her. He only looked tired when a case was complete. Any other moment he was roaring with energy that was manufactured by the interest of the case. Sometimes he seemed so alive but on days such as these, he looked defeated physically but rarely ever mentally.

[Sherlock Holmes]

“Am I not allowed to merely speak with you?”

When she took the first sip, he easily picked up his cup of tea. After inhaling through his nose once to make double-sure she hadn’t spiked it, he took a calm measured sip of his own. He couldn’t taste anything out of the ordinary. He didn’t feel dizzy after the sip. Was it true that she really didn’t come here to drug or mess with his mind?

“You know that I always welcome a visit from you, Miss. Adler….” He set his cup of tea down, and looked off to the side with a slight frown. His tone of voice suggested both sincerity and jocularity. For she was able to welcome herself into Baker Street quite easily.

And he did enjoy her visits, because they made him think. She made him think, so incredibly complex and dangerous a woman as her. She truly has surpassed her gender. Most womankind were so emotional and needy. Not her, she was strong and what you saw was what you got. There was no Mary Morstern’s way of thinning her lips into a tight smile when John offended her in such a way. Irene spoke her mind. It was quite refreshing.

He hardly felt uneasy at the silence that followed. His eyes going to half-lidded. He still believed that there was some end to her visit, but he hadn’t found it yet. He went through the possibilities. Perhaps she had to lay low from authorities, and so figured his house would be the best bet? Ridiculous, for the Inspector and other officers walked in here as if they owned the place. Surely there was something else….

“You look tired,”

He blinked, realizing that, to his embarrassment, he had been dozing. What an extremely dangerous thing to do in the midst of Irene Adler. Though he doubted that she would harm anything but his ego if he should fall asleep amidst her company, he was too drained to deal with being handcuffed to the bed again. And with Watson out, that meant that Mrs. Hudson would have to unlock him. He shuddered to think of that.

“Hardly,” He sniffed slightly, sitting up straighter in his chair before downing the rest of his tea. “Simply finished a case is all.” And he had been up and running around for four to five days straight. He had lost count.

“What is the date today?” He looked around expectantly for a newspaper, only to realize that Watson hadn’t be present in 221b, and as such he had not brought in the newspaper for his absent minded colleague.

With a sigh, he reached into his coat and pulled out his pipe. Lighting it with a match, and throwing said match into the near by fireplace as he puffed the tobacco alive. His smoking habits came not only when he was stressed and wanted to relax, but when he wanted something to do.

And doing something would be essential if he wanted to stay awake, if only for a few hours longer.

"So, you have been to France. You were in Italy. Anywhere else I need to know about, or do I need to find out the hard way?" His brown eyes twinkled slightly with the small smile on his face.

[new123]

“You know that I always welcome a visit from you, Miss. Adler….”

That comment in and of itself made her smile. Suddenly any remnant of feelings she had about his lack of desire to have a social visit from her vanished. “You welcome a visit from the way the way Watson would welcome a visit from his in-laws,” she smirked, leaning back in the chair with ease. Irene was not like most women in the sense that the majority of the gender would sit on the edge of their seats, always looking as if they were being drawn and were not allowed to look imperfect for a moment. Irene on the other hand took pleasure in comfort. “Surely, they have been married already haven’t they? Heavens, if they haven’t that is to mean I marry nearly twice as quickly as the average couple,” her eyes sliding over to the floor as the found that statistic to be rather shocking.

It wasn’t a race to get married…and subsequently divorced but still to marry at twice the rate of normal well rounded individuals did present to be off putting. With a small shake of her head she returned to the current topic of conversation.

“What is the date today?”

Without so much as losing a beat, Irene made sure her face stayed perfectly still when she spoke next. “It is the 13th of November,” answering as normally as possible. While she gave the date flawlessly, it was actually a lie. It was the 18th of November but it would just be a shame to waste Sherlock’s exhausted state without having a bit of fun along with him…or at his expense. Not fair, of course not but endlessly amusing.

"So, you have been to France. You were in Italy. Anywhere else I need to know about, or do I need to find out the hard way?"

Her body tensed slightly when he made mention of her being anywhere else. She knew the answer to the question. Irene had journeyed to a place she once called home. New Jersey was only given the title of home because she was born there. Whether or not it ever served as a home was debatable. Very rarely did she ever speak of her past when it came to her immediate family with Holmes or anyone for that matter. There was certainly a reason for that. As luck had had it, she had never been in the presence of the detective after just arriving back from a trip to the States. It made it pointless to speak about the journey when there wasn’t evidence on her person. All she could do was pray he would not bring it up.

“Italy was lovely this time of year. France, well, you know how France can be. Lovely fashions but hardly the most hospitable people. Then again, too many people know me in France for them to be particularly kind to me,” she rattled off with a nonchalant way of discussing her work.

[Sherlock Holmes]

“You welcome a visit from the way the way Watson would welcome a visit from his in-laws,”

“He does seem rather fond of them. He is with them now.” Holmes didn’t hold a grudge or any jealously toward his friend. He would deal with losing the valuable Dr. Watson in his own, brooding way. He looked rather disinterested when talking about Mary’s parents. He had met them. Rather uninteresting merchants who ran a bakery downtown.

“Surely, they have been married already haven’t they? Heavens, if they haven’t that is to mean I marry nearly twice as quickly as the average couple,”

Sherlock chuckled, “They took longer to become officially engaged, let me assure you. They plan to marry in the spring.” Which was rather sensible, as London’s spring seemed a lot more comfortable that its other seasons. Watson was neck-deep in marriage plans. And he defiantly pitied the poor fellow. If ever he married, though he prayed he would never be forced to go to the alter, he was eloping. Invite Mycroft, Watson, and maybe a few guests of the bride. That’s it. He wondered why Watson didn’t approve of the idea.

“It is the 13th of November,”

“November already?” His first reaction, indicating that he didn’t really pay attention to the numbers, let alone the months that went with them. Surly she was pulling his leg! It was October the last time he checked (not sure what day, but maybe mid October). If that was the case, and she wasn’t just having fun at his expense, he had been up and about for a good week or so. No wonder he felt so tired.

“Italy was lovely this time of year. France, well, you know how France can be. Lovely fashions but hardly the most hospitable people. Then again, too many people know me in France for them to be particularly kind to me,”

He noted that there was some hesitation when she answered him. He would ask about that later. “The French are rather prideful. Hardly the type of people you want to steal from, Miss Adler.” He gave her a pointed look, “Especially priceless paintings…”

He knew that Frenchmen were prideful and vain from experience. His own mother was a French noblewoman. Apparently, the day he had been born, she had been more concerned about how her hair looked than if he had survived the birth or not. Perhaps it had been a sign for things to come, or the fact that he wouldn’t have much of a mother.

“Not pining for the Americas then?” He knew from his investigations of Irene Adler that she had been born in New Jersey. Often, she would mention the state in passing fancy. But there was something about her tone that was off. As if she would rather not talk of such matters if she could avoid them.

Understandable. Sherlock never discussed anyone from his supposed family. Irene and Watson didn’t know that he had spent five to six years in France with his vain mother. They didn’t understand Mycroft and himself, how they could both look so different, and yet be brothers. That was dangerous territory to discuss.

[new123]

“He does seem rather fond of them. He is with them now.”

”Really?” she asked immediately following his comments about Watson. It never occurred to Irene that someone could actually enjoy spending time with their in-laws. Perhaps father-in-laws yes, but mothers never really seemed to gravitate towards Irene. Maybe women had the strange ability to tell when another woman was only out to take their baby’s money? That would just be foolish to think that an entire gender had that ability. Nevertheless, mothers did not like Irene. “I can’t imagine wanting to spend time with in-laws.”

“They took longer to become officially engaged, let me assure you. They plan to marry in the spring.”

Irene allowed this bit of information to linger in her mind for a moment before commenting on it. With her vast number of marriages, it was easy enough to pick which season was better for the ceremony. She was after all an expert. “Springtime in England is rather lovely. I believe I’ve had two of those before. Oh, I had one ghastly wedding in the winter,” she cringed at the thought of being cold the entire day. “That was per his mother’s request. Never again will I marry a man who loves his mother more than his future wife,” shaking her head and yet ignoring the obvious that she never truly loved her future husband either. That was beside the point. “All of my ceremonies have been constructed for grooms. Never for me,” she shrugged, playing it off as if it didn’t matter to her.

“November already?”

Taking a sip of her tea, Irene attempted to hide the smile that danced along the edges of her lips. It really was too easy to fool the man when he was tired from a case. Too easy and unkindly unfair. It would not stop her from doing it again in the future however.

“The French are rather prideful. Hardly the type of people you want to steal from, Miss Adler.” He gave her a pointed look, “Especially priceless paintings…”

Those statements quickly angered her as she set down the tea cup and began on a small rant. “That painting was hardly priceless! I swear, you would have thought I had stolen Parliament itself with all the fuss around that painting. It was dreadful! Not an ounce of creativity in the whole thing! To think, I married him for that… Honestly, I barely got a thing for that painting,” the usual façade she painted diminished in an instant. She would usually attempt to mask her career or subtly make not of it in conversation but every once in a while, she would out and out discuss it, especially when angered.

“Not pining for the Americas then?”

His words should not have caught her off guard. Possibly it had been her anger that clouded her judgment which then caused her to be taken back when he brought up the States. Her eyes fell to the floor once more. “Not today…,” she whispered, desperately not wanting to be analyzed in that way or of that topic today.

[Sherlock Holmes]

”Really? I can’t imagine wanting to spend time with in-laws.”

Sherlock chuckled slightly, almost opening his mouth to tell her that Watson and Miss. Morstern were getting married out of love, not of wealth. But he paused, because he honestly didn’t know why Mary Morstern had chosen Watson as her groom. He knew the old boy loved Mary. But Mary could be marrying a doctor because it was a good prospect. Really, was there any woman on earth that loved a man despite his wealth besides in stories?

He went with a more subtle approach. “I’m sure they are simply thrilled that their daughter is marrying a doctor.” He shrugged slightly, as if the thought didn’t bother him. But it did. Perhaps from watching his own parents, and hearing the story that brought them to matrimony. A woman shouldn’t marry just because her parents liked the groom and his money.

“Springtime in England is rather lovely. I believe I’ve had two of those before. Oh, I had one ghastly wedding in the winter, That was per his mother’s request. Never again will I marry a man who loves his mother more than his future wife, All of my ceremonies have been constructed for grooms. Never for me,”

He blinked, and let out a soft chuckle at her rant. “Well, you will have to wait and see if the mother’s are dead first. And therefore, avoid the requests of in-laws.” He paused, realizing that his own mother was dead and buried, and that the thought didn’t trouble him. What troubled him was her following words. ‘Never marry a man who loves his mother more than his wife’. Sherlock didn’t love his mother…

“Anyway, I thought that the wedding day was for the bride, by the way Miss. Morstern goes on.” He had seen Mary on quite a rampage the other day, bursting into his private rooms to demand where Watson was so that he could tell her which silk napkin was best. It was rather humorous.

“That painting was hardly priceless! I swear, you would have thought I had stolen Parliament itself with all the fuss around that painting. It was dreadful! Not an ounce of creativity in the whole thing! To think, I married him for that… Honestly, I barely got a thing for that painting,”

Her sudden anger surprised him, and it also intrigued him. This lack of control was a side to Irene he had never seen before. He found himself leaning forward, brown eyes sparkling as if he had just seen a new clue in a case that put all the links together. Usually, when discussing her ‘work’ she would deftly change the subject. Or talk about it as if it was more like an interesting hobby. He had never heard her defend it before with such passion.

“So why did you steal it, even though you knew it was worthless?” He couldn’t help but ask softly, his demeanor turned to that of a detective, even in his tired state. He was interested now.

And then the sudden mood-shift. The way she seemed almost sad as he brought up the topic of America. She had never seemed sad about her home country before. More like indifferent. He tilted his head to the side, a small frown that could almost be counted as concern spreading across his face. “Bad news from home?” It wasn’t sympathy, or pity. It was concern, yes. But open enough for interpretation.

[new123]

“I’m sure they are simply thrilled that their daughter is marrying a doctor.”

Her face altered in a way unbeknownst to her. “Oh. I suppose that is a valid reason.” Irene was a pro at marriages but she never knew what it was like to tell her parents that she was marrying a Prince, a Duke, countless other members of suitable royalty and rank. It was a completely foreign field for her. If she had a daughter and was to hear of her engagement to a nice gentleman then perhaps she would desire to spend time with her future son-in-law as well. But who was to say?

“If they are all pleased with the upcoming marriage then who am I to debate that?” she asked with a shrug. It was true. What reason did she have to argue the joys of others? Was that not petty and childish? Should she not be happy for Watson to have found such a woman that made him happy? Again, it was difficult for Irene to fathom a marriage born of love and not monetary gain.

“Well, you will have to wait and see if the mother’s are dead first. And therefore, avoid the requests of in-laws.”

“No, no,” she replied with a smirk. “Though I do complain about in-laws, mothers in particular, they do offer a lovely amount of challenge to any marriage. To just marry a man without any obstacles would be far too easy,” Irene smiled, thinking over the countless times she had to persuade her futures grooms to take her side over their overbearing mothers. A thrill that she would never grow tired of…

“Anyway, I thought that the wedding day was for the bride, by the way Miss. Morstern goes on.”

“Again you are wrong, Detective. A wedding is for everyone but the bride, at least if you plan on throwing a proper wedding. I am sure somewhere out there, women are placing themselves at the center of the wedding but they are then doomed to be the laughing stock of society,” answered Irene with great confidence in her voice. “Look in that file of yours with my name on it. You’ll find newspaper clippings of nearly every single one of my weddings. Why? Because I know that in order to play the part of royalty, one must put themselves at the very bottom of the list. Please everyone but yourself and in the end….you shall get what you want,” she smirked with ultimate satisfactory. It really did make her proud that she could be so perfect with her weddings. Sherlock prided himself in his observation skills. Irene prided herself in choosing the right type of flowers. To each his or her own.

“So why did you steal it, even though you knew it was worthless?”

Why did she steal it? Was there a good reason behind such an act? Irene swiftly stood up and began to walk idly around the room, glancing at the odds and ends upon the surfaces. “It provided press,” she answered simply, without giving much information other than that.

“Bad news from home?”

Her eyes shot over to the dark haired man, without budging for even the smallest of seconds. “I said, not today,” her tone warning as he ventured into places that she did not want to resurface. Sherlock could analyze he criminal acts, her marriages, the dirt on the bottom of her boot but not her family…

[Sherlock Holmes]

“Oh. I suppose that is a valid reason. If they are all pleased with the upcoming marriage then who am I to debate that?”

Holmes shrugged his shoulders slightly at that. He always felt rather moody at the idea of Watson moving out. Having a companion on cases did help, as he saw tonight. He knew that Watson loved the girl, however, and so if he wanted to become shackled into marriage then so be it. While Adler had the skill to be shackled and break away, Sherlock wouldn’t try his luck.

“No, no, though I do complain about in-laws, mothers in particular, they do offer a lovely amount of challenge to any marriage. To just marry a man without any obstacles would be far too easy,”

So strange how she talked. However, if there ever was an expert at marriages, it would be Irene Adler. How many times had she been married, then divorced? Even Sherlock himself had lost complete track. She hardly stayed married for more than a year, before she got what she wanted and left the unnamed man.

So she liked a challenge? He could relate to that. Holmes almost needed a challenge when it came to cases. If they were not challenging enough, he could solve them from the comfort of his own home. It frustrated Watson to no end when he would list them off, and he would solve them soon afterward.

“To think that any man wouldn’t fall into your whims without question, Miss. Adler, in-law or not.” He was teasing her again, that half-smirk on his face, brown eyes twinkling. It was also the closets Sherlock would ever get to call her attractive. Because the truth was, Adler was attractive and seductive. He first hand has witnessed her ‘techniques’. Most of the time, they worked flawlessly against his gender. It was one of the things that made her dangerous. She thought like a woman, but struck like a tigress.

“Again you are wrong, Detective. A wedding is for everyone but the bride, at least if you plan on throwing a proper wedding. I am sure somewhere out there, women are placing themselves at the center of the wedding but they are then doomed to be the laughing stock of society. Look in that file of yours with my name on it. You’ll find newspaper clippings of nearly every single one of my weddings. Why? Because I know that in order to play the part of royalty, one must put themselves at the very bottom of the list. Please everyone but yourself and in the end….you shall get what you want,”

He listened to her explanation quietly, choosing not to point out that he did not read the descriptions of her multiple weddings. He was more concerned about who was her new husband/victim, and what she could possibly steal from the family she was entering. But he found her words rather… sad. Not only had she never married out of love, but she didn’t even experience what Mary Morstern was experiencing now. Watson was letting her and her parents plan the wedding of her dreams. Because, as Watson had explained, he wanted her to feel beautiful that day. (Or some sort of sentimental thinking).

But such was the life of a wedding con-artist. “…. If ever I get dragged to the alter, I’m eloping.” He took another long drag of his pipe. Bloody weddings. As if that explained his outburst. He didn’t much care for dealing with such trivial things. What did it matter that there was a big wedding that in-laws and not the actual bride and groom had planned? If eloping meant that he could have a say in his own wedding, then elope he would!

“It provided press,”

Sherlock chuckled slightly, “So you steal to provide press? I didn’t know you liked so much attention, Miss. Adler.” But his tone suggested that he had guessed just that. She liked attention, no matter how small. Proof of this was in the newspapers all around the world that he had in her ever-growing case file.

“I said, not today,”

He didn’t answer her, but took the sudden flash of anger as a ‘yes’. He looked off to the side, his brown eyes reflecting his ever-moving mind. But though he categorized this touchy side of Irene into his brain, he did indeed dropped the questions about her home country.

Instead, he changed the subject. “They finished construction on the new London Bridge today.” His tone suggested that he didn’t care much about the bridge, more like how innovative it was. They lived in a truly industrious Empire…

[new123]

“To think that any man wouldn’t fall into your whims without question, Miss. Adler, in-law or not.”

“Far too difficult to believe,” she smiled with a small shake of her head. Irene was quite aware that Sherlock was now teasing her in the way only he could tease, with that silly half-smirk that nearly made him appear smug. Be that as it may, she was confident in her ability to seduce men and ultimately lure them to their demise. Most women would not be so comfortable describing what she did in such terms but she was not like most women. It was true the amount of marriages and subsequent divorces was staggering to the majority of people she encountered, to Irene however, it was merely a number. The stigma that often times attached itself was of no concern to her. If anything, it made the chase a bit more fun as her prey became hesitant when they heard she had been married more than once. Oh, she was no fool. Irene Adler would not for one minute tell exactly how many times she had been married. Not to a soul.

In all actuality, it wasn’t too terribly difficult to accumulate so high a number when you were barely married a year. The con-artist tried her best to never make it over a year and two months. The amount of time was thought out carefully. The honeymoon period could last very nearly up to a year. The higher the social rank, the more parties and social functions the couple must attend before the news has been properly spread that they have become married. Once Irene was satisfied with the amount of ‘affection’ shown by her husband in way of presents, it would fast be approaching the one year mark. Well, surely you cannot pass up the lovely anniversary parties in which the finest presents are to be given. Sadly, any further than that and husbands start to expect heirs. Irene never planned to have children. Never. Certainly not with a husband whom she was only going to divorce in a matter of months. No child needed her as a mother.

“…. If ever I get dragged to the alter, I’m eloping.”
“Eloping?!” she exclaimed with genuine shock. Quickly she pushed a strand of her dark auburn hair behind her ear as she struggled to understand the word that so easily escaped Sherlock’s lips. “But that would take only an hour or so to plan. Where is the joy in that?” she asked, wondering what it would be like to marry without planning. Irene was in fact a planner by nature. Perhaps all women were in some sense planners. They all enjoyed planning weddings even if they were vastly different. To simply marry a man for love and not for the press was a ridiculous idea. Love? What good was that? Yes, she had been in love before but obviously it was not the love that people speak of in warm embraces or whispers into knowing ears… It was the kind of love that was fleeting and temperamental which ultimately all types of love turn into. To say Irene was a cynic might be an understatement.

“So you steal to provide press? I didn’t know you liked so much attention, Miss. Adler.”

With a flick of her wrist, the young woman gave a small smile. It was not a happy smile but one that had been practiced to look happy. It was all an act. “We all want some amount of fame Sherlock. You and your fame bring along new cases. I desire fame for a different reason,” and as soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Truth be told, Irene wasn’t sure why she enjoyed seeing her alias’ in the paper. She was not vain nor narcissistic but she craved it badly. Perhaps deep down she knew it was her only connection to Sherlock at times. No… That was far too ridiculous of a reason.

“They finished construction on the new London Bridge today.”

She was grateful for the change in topic but it still did not cause her mind to wander down the path of her once home. “I am sorry I raised my voice with you,” her voice soft as she ignored his ill attempt at changing the topic. Sherlock was never good at idle chit chat and bringing up the bridge was as good as saying it was rainy outside.

[Sherlock Holmes]

“Far too difficult to believe,”

Sherlock’s lips twitched into that half-smirk that Adler seemed to find so ridiculous. He himself had lost track of exactly how many husbands Adler had had. He was sure he would be able to find out, what with the folder of all her exploits that lay in the corner of his room somewhere. He should really put that in with his valuables. Who knows what Adler would say if she saw that folder again, and this time with many more newspaper clippings in it than before.

Watson called him a masochist for continuing to keep tabs on Irene. Sherlock called it common sense. After all, one must always keep an eye on people like Irene Adler. Eventually her exploits would have the Yard wanting to hunt her down, and then he would. Whether he would be foiled by her again or actually catch her when the time comes was all apart of the game afoot.

“Eloping?! But that would take only an hour or so to plan. Where is the joy in that?”

The detective shrugged, noting that she looked generally shocked. It seemed that Irene, like all women, enjoyed planning things out. “Well then, I’ll let the woman deal with it. I’m afraid I don’t see the joy of weddings the same way you do.” He noted that he had just said ‘the woman’, which was how he referred to Irene when not in her company. Like other things, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Adler did seem to love her weddings, he wondered why. It couldn’t be that she got to plan them, because she had recently reveled that she was not allowed to plan any of them. So what was the joy of walking up the alter? Perhaps it was more the thrill, that she had finally won over the man and would soon be robbing him blind. Sherlock wasn’t sure, and didn’t think he would ever know for sure. It was one of the many mysteries of Adler.

“We all want some amount of fame Sherlock. You and your fame bring along new cases. I desire fame for a different reason,”

The detective paused, though his eyes were staring toward the fire. “What exactly is that reason?” His eyebrow went up slightly, as he went through the different reasons. Why possibly would she want fame? Especially since she rarely used her real name in her exploits. What could she gain from it? Certainly not new husbands, or even any sort of respectable job.

“I am sorry I raised my voice with you,”

Sherlock was indeed terrible at small talk. But it was usually enough to move the conversation away from troubled waters. And if Irene Adler did not wish to talk about New Jersey, she would not talk about it. From what he had gathered from her exploits, she had family still living there. Enough family that she wanted to keep them away from her life-style.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Sherlock reassured calmly. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, continuing to stare at the meek fire that was still in the hearth. His brown eyes already showing that his mind was on something else entirely.