[CONTAINS SMUT] ‼️18+‼️
WARNINGS: This is a Sherlock book so obviously mentions of drug use
~~~
A simple tune is all it takes. A flood of memories returning to haunt- to plague every thought with regret and/or longing.
For you, a violin composition...
Irene glances up at the detective pacing the flat, tossing a fishing spear from side to side. "Do you always carry that around?"
"Oh, you're still here," he says with a petty voice.
"Do you have a closet full of weapons you bring out to bewilder people from time to time?" she goes on, eyes following his every move. "Why do you ignore me?"
"For one moment, please give me peace," Sherlock sighs out, base of the spear hitting the ground.
"You seem tense," she lifts up, walking over and moving the spear out of the way. "You've been on the same case for so long, relax a little," manicured nails painted blood red drag up his shoulder to wards his neck. "Relax,"
He gives a shuddering breath, closing his eyes at feeling of her cool finger tips against his warm skin. "I thought you weren't interested in me anymore?" he murmurs.
"Maybe... maybe I still am," she admires his soft cheeks, kissing it softly before trailing down to his lips, but just before she kisses them she drags her thumb across. "You're still in love with her,"
Sherlock snaps both eyes open, confusion in his iris'. "What?"
"You still love Y/n," she repeats. "I can tell when a man is thinking of someone else,"
It was true, wasn't it? The moment he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. All he felt was you- he wanted to feel you. Irene's touch was cold and nothing like yours, but he tried to imagine your fingers on his neck, lips on his cheek and thumb across his bottom lip.
"We're done here," he pulls back and walks away, stabbing the ground with the sharp point of the spear.
"Where are you going? To confess?"
"You are living here because I have shown you some humility, do not test it, and do not test me," he says with a venom laced tone.
"What harm would it do?"
"A lot more than you would understand,"
"Then explain to me-" she jumps at the sudden slam of his fists against the table.
"Why won't you just leave me alone?!" Head snapping to her, he looks over once again. "Stay away from her, I know your game, trust me when I say I will not hesitate to proceed with making sure you understand,"
"If you threaten me this much from the slight gut feeling you obviously care,"
"Yes, I care, but it is because I don't want a target on my head because Moriarty heard her mumble about me letting you stay here," Sherlock grabs his coat and scarf, leaving swiftly and forgetting his initial plan to proceed to his room.
~~~
"Irene...?" Your voice was quiet when calling through the flat.
"Yes, darling?" She struts out, wearing slightly more formal clothing. To be blunt she looked... hot. "Something you like?"
"Nothing I'll disclose," finally looking her in the eye, you did tower over her but her demeanor was much more intimidating. "You need James,"
"I want to talk to him," she corrects.
"You need him as well, you think I couldn't figure out why you needed him? My cousin is well aware of your run in with... that group of people," holding up a small card, white bordered with gold with a set time and date, her close proximity was starting to get to you.
"Noted," she glances over it. "That's very soon,"
"He doesn't like to be kept waiting. Ever since a child he was impatient,"
"Two hours will give me extra time," she hums, tugging at the waist band of your pants. "Mind easing my boredom?"
"And how do I do that?" Out of everything you didn't expect her to push you against the couch then straddle your lap. "Woah-"
"I need to ask you something,"
"I don't think this is how interrogations usually work," hand against her shoulder, she takes it quickly, forcing it back against the couch and leaning forward.
"I've worked with Moriarty before-"
"You're going to dominate me while talking about my cousin? That's a little weird-"
"Be quiet, princess," she forces the other wrist back, pinned down against the cushioned seat. "Is he going to get rid of me?"
"If I tell you where will this lead?"
"Depends if you choose to be naughty and lie to me," Irene lets go, lifting your chin, she feels your hands drop to her waist than hips.
34, 24, 34 inches, a body with a perfect ratio. You think to yourself, guessing her bust was the same.
"Yes or no?"
"What's the worst that could happen?" pushing up to kiss her softly, your eyes shut with hers. Her body was still, exact muscles tensing while the others relax. She was nervous, scared, frightened.
Of course she took the lead, pulling your collar up and closer. She wanted an escape. She wanted a release. Fear does things to you, like how a simple tune can tell you everything about a composer, or the writing of an author can show the changes in personal mood.
Elementary.
"Oh..."
"That's the worst," Irene mumbles, looking to Sherlock and John standing, both with lunch.
"You shouldn't have him as your first option to go to... but go to the appointment," you sigh in relief internally, shifting her off you gently. "Sorry, pretend I was never here," moving through the gap between the men, Sherlock took a hold of your wrist, two fingers pressed to your pulse.
He gives a small broken-apart sigh of relief, uneven with every part, looking at you softly with a look of concern. One of care and yet you still avoid his attempt to speak to you.
"You won't see me tonight... or ever again," Irene looks to both of them. "Excuse me,"
~~~
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Do I dislike Irene? Yes. Do I also love her? Yes. Was she a bad adaptation of the original character? Critically, yes. Am I still glad she's gay and will be willing to top me? Yes
