A Relaxing Evening? (Irene)

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“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.”

Irene smiled slightly at that statement. Oh how true a statement that certainly was. “I am afraid most people, male or female, do not find joy in weddings the same as I do,” her voice filled with knowing as she thought of how unorthodox her love of weddings was in comparison to the love the majority of women felt for the matrimonial vows. Perhaps, somewhere deep in her soul she desired to love planning a wedding in the same way normal women did. They wanted fairytales and perfection only to highlight the love they felt inside for the man they would be walking down the aisle towards. Irene never had that sense of satisfaction but it was not something she outwardly strived to have. True, it would be a plus if she could find a man to truly love once more after years of only marrying those whom she could steal from but it was not a smart business decision. Not in the least.

What exactly is that reason?”

Why must he ask such questions? Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? These were only wishful thoughts for Irene knew there would never come a day where curiosity would lose out to common courtesy. The woman searched through her mind as she glanced out the window in hopes her answer would lay on the dirty London streets. Alas, there was nothing there but dirt and grime. Some would argue that you would find the very same in the mind of a criminal such as hers. That was beside the point however. She was still left without a reason. Why did she desire fame when there were only two people likely in the world to recognize her success?

In an act of desperation, longing to not have to speak the words she so dreaded, Irene glanced over her shoulder at Holmes. For a brief moment, she hoped he would understand that it was because of him. The fame did not bring her new clients, because that was hardly a selling point in a wife; one that enjoys divorces. The fame did not help her obtain more money. The fame did not stroke her ego like it would for the male gender. No. These were not the reasons. Her dark eyes stared into his for only a moment longer, waiting for some sign that he understood her without making her say it aloud. It was an embarrassment that she desired such a connection to the detective. He was her weakness whether either of them admitted it or not.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

That was a relief. Not that she actually cared if she raised her voice to him or not but it was out of character for her. Sherlock had only scratched the surface of a topic she dreaded more than anything else. Her family. While he was her only weakness, they were…of a different nature. Sherlock was a weakness because she cared about his opinion and even valued them to a degree. Her family which now consisted only of her brother and sister was not a weakness but rather a secret. She was not ashamed of them by any means but it was very possible they were ashamed of her. No, they were not aware of her marriages but they were aware of how seldom times she came to visit or the lack of correspondence throughout the years… To them, Irene was more or less an acquaintance and not a member of the family. “ Perfect,” she answered with a bit more perk to her voice, in an effort to get her head away from such depressing topics.

Gracefully, Irene walked over to a chair sitting across from the detective and sat down once more. “Oh, by the way, you are taking me to dinner. I did not have the opportunity to pick up any olives in my travels this time. I am famished.

[Sherlock Holmes]

“I am afraid most people, male or female, do not find joy in weddings the same as I do,”

Sherlock made a small noise in the back of his throat, a ‘yes-no-maybe so’ type of noise. She was probably correct, as not many people would find love in weddings the same way she did. He knew that he didn’t see any joy in them at all, but other females would probably be thrilled to marry a man they love, or at least a man who has money who can provide for her.

The detective wasn’t sure where his dim view of marriage had come from. Perhaps from his own parents, observing their interactions over the years. Perhaps it was from observing the ways of the world, seeing how women were married off to the highest bidder by their families. In a country that was all about money, why wouldn’t it have to deal with marriages? He would bet his violin that Miss. Mary Morstern’s parents would not have been so kind to Watson if he wasn’t a Doctor.

Sherlock noted how she looked away from him when he asked what the reason for her quest for fame was. And then she turned, and gave him the look. The kind she had given him when he once asked what her weakness was. The one that seemed to dig into his soul. He quickly looked away, breaking the stare, but it was too late. She would have probably seen the flash of recognition across his eyes, realizing that he was the reason that she strove to make the papers. She wanted him to know what she was doing.

Bloody woman, why did she have to be so complicated? Better yet, why did he have to continue to look through the papers for any sign of her? It was ridiculous, and extremely dangerous. He was a detective, no matter how private, who worked with Scotland Yard on a daily bases, catching criminals just like Irene Adler. So why was he her greatest weakness? Didn’t she realize the danger? Ah, but this was Adler, she probably enjoyed it.

“ Perfect,”

And she was back to normal, just like that. Then again, as said before Adler did seem to detest talking about her relatives. All Sherlock knew was that she had a sister still living in New Jersey. Mostly, she told all her prospective husbands that her family was all gone, or at least that is what the police reports said. How commendable of her, to keep her family out of her unsociably acceptable acts.

It was more than what Sherlock had done to protect his family. Then again, he only had a brother. And Mycroft was such an important government official, he always had body guards. Besides, he hadn’t talk to Mycroft since three Christmas’s ago. If you counted ‘talking’ as sitting awkwardly by the fire staring at each other, almost begging the other person not to start a conversation. Truth was, they never have gotten along.

“Oh, by the way, you are taking me to dinner. I did not have the opportunity to pick up any olives in my travels this time. I am famished.

Sherlock jerked out of his thoughts, blinking at Irene with a frown. “Well, I’m not hungry at all….” It would have been a very convincing statement, if his stomach hadn’t started growling a minute later. The detective’s frown deepened, clearing his throat as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well then, shall I assume that you wish to dine at the Royale? Or would you rather go some other place?” He sounded as if he was pouting slightly, refusing to look at her.