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A Bit Worse	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 7
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- 9
TRIGGER WARNING: Major character death... by the hands of another major character. If you want the cliffnotes just scroll to the bottom.
It hadn't been her best move, returning to London, but she never was one to tread carefully. Plus all of her connections were here, she had nothing in the states. It had taken a while to build back her client base, but she had, and a lot more subtly than last time.
She had been out with a particularly private client, and was glad to be home for the evening. Her key stuck a little more than normal as she pushed her way through the door to her small, one bedroom flat. Something wasn’t right, but it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go, or anyone to call for help, so she stepped inside definitely, scanning the room quickly for disturbances. She didn’t see anything.
Closing the door softly she ventured further into the flat, her senses running on overdrive. Suddenly the smell of nicotine and the dirty London winds whipped around her as a dark figure wrapped one hand around her mouth, the other pressing the cold barrel of a pistol up to her temple.
“I thought we might have dinner.” Came his soft voice. He knew she’d recognize him instantly. He felt her body relax into his like it was some sort of game, or a joke they’d play on each other, and that made him feel even worse with what he was about to do. His fingers gripped her face hard where they covered her mouth and he felt himself slipping more and more into hatred of himself as each silent second ticked by.
“I actually have something I need to talk to you about...” his voice was sad, and it wavered with his unspoken emotions.
Irene had heard of Sherlock’s jump of course, but she hadn’t been so quick to believe he was actually dead. He’d proven time and time again he could fool even his own brother into thinking someone was dead. There had been the issue of John. She couldn’t imagine what would make him leave John like that, goodness knows the army doctor couldn’t act to save his life, obviously he had been fooled by the jump.
Even if she’d had a way to contact Sherlock, she wouldn’t have. She didn’t understand what had led him to find her in the first place.
Bringing her hands up she grabbed at the large hand pressed against her face. She wasn’t too worried about the cold metal pressed into her temple at the moment. She nipped at the inside of his hand gently, as if to say, we can’t talk like this.
He let her hands pull his away from her mouth only far enough so that it encircled the base of her neck, palm resting against the hollow between her collar bones, keeping her flush against his body. She smelled like sex and heavy French perfume, and it all went to his head like things often did with her. He had to steel himself if he was going to do this.
"I know you think I'm cross that you hadn't told me you were back in London, the truth is I've only been back a little over a week myself. I've been otherwise preoccupied or I would have found out sooner or later, but I'm afraid this isn't just a social visit." He bowed his head a little, resting it atop hers. In her heels she was almost as tall as he was, strong and confident, but he knew better.
"It's Moriarty.He's come back, the real one, and he's taken John hostage. He's told me to keep him alive.... To keep him safe I have to..." He couldn't finish. She was smart, he knew she would figure it out.
She was silent for a moment, one thumb rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. She knew he didn't want this, her clock had just run out. Pressing back against his body she let him know she wasn't going to run.
"How long has he had John?" What she was really asking was how desperate are you? Her voice was steady, no reason to get upset, it wouldn't change the outcome.
"About fifty-two hours." He replied. The number sounded so small and insignificant compared to the hell he'd been through in that time. "He's using Devil's Breath on him. Making him do things he wouldn't normally do.... Irene... I should have been there for him... Protected him, but I'd just thought he needed time to think. This wasn't supposed to happen." After the past few days just releasing all the pent up tension by explaining things to the woman made his shoulders relax a bit.
"Moriarty is going to kill me one way or another before this is all over... I feel like I'm going mad..." His hand holding the gun was starting to shake but the calming circles she was drawing on his bandaged hand kept him grounded just enough to keep him sane.
"It's so odd for me not to know what to do but, I feel like a blind man being led through the dark here, and each obstacle is worse than the last..."
His voice cracked, and she could feel the metal moving slightly. He needed John. Irene knew that better than anyone. "You've made it this far, it can't get much worse. Deaths been chasing me for too long anyhow" Her right hand moved to cover his, steadying the weapon.
"You'll get him back Sherlock. You can't let Moriarty win.." Her breath hitched for a moment, "Don't let me die in vain."
"I won't let him win. I can't." He shook his head and felt the pricking behind his eyes start to become unbearable. He hadn't been able to let her die before, and now he had to kill her.
"I examined every possibility but I can't figure out a way to fake this one... I'm sorry that we won't get to have that dinner after all. Will you save me a seat in hell?" He gave a soft chuckle that sounded a little more like a cough than a sound of mirth.
"Oh dear... You really don't see how wonderful you are do you?" She paused, letting him think about that. "I suspect I'll be dining alone, but you won't. You and John make it through this and you are sure to have a place saved for you in heaven." She smiled softly at the thought. Irene was not a religious woman, but if anyone deserved a peaceful death it was the two of them. Leaning her head back so it rested against his chest she whispered, almost to herself. "The guardian angels of London."
"John's a lucky man. I'd be jealous, but I never really was competition was I?" Laying her left hand over his, she continued a little softer. She didn't want to die, but she wasn't scared either. "I've come to terms with my demons. I'm ready to face them, but... Could I ask for one last request?"
“What kind of executioner would I be if I didn’t grant you one last request?” He grit his teeth and lifted his head finally from hers, telling himself he couldn’t let this cause his resolve to falter. Not now. John was still in trouble, he needed the detective to have a clear head. If only he could find the emotionless serenity he’d had before he’d met the doctor, but it seemed like unlocking his sentiment had forever damaged the dam between Sherlock and emotions. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the foreign things.
“Tell me Ms. Adler.... what can the world’s only consulting detective do for you?”
"Kiss me."
She spoke strong and defiant. Her chin pressed forward, her hands still lying over the detectives. "My hearts been yours since before I met you. I don't mind that my level of sentiment is unrequited, in fact I understand. You and John... Well if you don't set things right when you find him I'll never forgive you." She took a breath, her voice finally began to quiver as she continued. "I just want that to be my final memory. I want to be happy. Can you do that for me?"
The request struck him as odd at first, but as the seconds ticked by and the wheels turned in his head he realized it was not so farfetched or unreasonable. Moving the gun away from her head, the arm that was draped across her shoulder, circling her throat gripped her left shoulder and turned her so that she was facing him. He knew he looked different than she remembered, dressing much more casual, his shorter hair and scruffy, dirty face. The swollen eye and multiple scratches marring his haunted expression, but as he looked down into her eyes, he could tell she didn't care that he looked different. He was still the Sherlock she loved, and in that moment he knew that he had to tell her.
"Irene. Had I never met John.. I want you to know that things might have been quite different..." His free hand reached up, pulling the clip that held her hair in that intricate twist, and let the long dark hair fall down her back. He tossed it to the side, and let his long fingers slip through the waves, "No, not might. They would have been. You are an intriguing woman, and the only person to truly baffle me."
That said, he tightened his fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, tilting her head back and pulling her tight against his chest. He looked at her for one long moment, his eyes begging for forgiveness he knew she'd already given him, and whispered a thank you against her lips as he slanted them over hers. The hand holding the gun slid over her hip, the curve of her back cradling the weapon almost longingly as he pressed their bodies close together.
A wetness touched his cheek and he didn't know if the tears were hers or his, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that for that moment, however brief and just for her, he would allow himself to belong to someone other than John. She kissed him slowly, drawing out the moment.
Her hands rested softly on his shoulders, letting him pull her in and control the kiss. This was something Irene had never been able to have, something only Sherlock could give to her. She waited as long as she could, trying to memorize the moment so she could hold onto it through whatever waited for her on the other side. Finally, she let her left hand trail down the detectives arm, catching his hand in hers. In an instant she had wrapped her fingers over Sherlocks and pulled the gun to her temple, using her other hand to keep him pulled close to her. Opening her eyes, seeing the shock and fear in the detective's eyes she kissed him again, softly, as if to say, ‘It’ll all be okay, trust me.’ Then her eyes fell shut as she pushed Sherlocks finger down against the trigger. It was easier than she had expected.
Instantly her hand fell limply from Sherlocks as she slumped against his body.
The gun slipped from numb fingers as his arm went around her waist and his knees buckled. The two of them crumpled to the floor together, and blood gushed down her side and back coating his hands and staining his shirt. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he pulled her lifeless body to his chest once more. Her head flopped sickly onto his shoulder as his fingers moved back up into her curls holding her to him.
Rocking back and forth he pressed his face into her hair, eyes shut against the pain and hatred welling up inside of him. She didn't have to die. He'd protected her before and now the great Sherlock Holmes had failed her. He whispered softly to her, as if somehow he could ease her passing even though she was already gone.
He'd never been overly religious, but he silently prayed to whoever was listening, hell even Irene, asking for John to be kept safe until he could get to him.
"Please..." He said, voice cracking with emotion, "watch over him for me..," he kissed her head then stood, his body shaky as he reached for the gun. Bloody fingers slipped into his pocket and typed out a short message to Lestrade as he left, locking the door behind him.
446 Amherst Lane
Clean up crew needed at once -SH
Cliffnotes: Sherlock had to kill Irene. He went to her apartment. She let him/helped him kill her, but she had a final request, a kiss. So they kissed, Sherlock told her had he not had John things would have been different between them. It was... sad... yeah.. So. Onward. <3
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- 8
- 9
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A Bit Worse