From desk worker detective to Sergeant at Scotland Yard, Adelaide Gregson has come a long way from her days in Manhattan. When one consulting detective catches her eye, things get complicated. When a case now means life or death, will sentiment prov...
"I said no. Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much." Sherlock said, standing and walking towards Irene. I shifted to the end of my seat, curious as to what he was getting at.
"There's no such thing as too much." Irene said.
"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but sentiment. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." Sherlock said, and I stood in my place, confused.
"Sentiment? What are you talking about?" Irene asked with a smile.
"You." Sherlock answered, simply.
"Oh, dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes. The clever detective in the funny hat. Careful, you might give Adelaide a heart attack." Irene said, looking to me.
"No. Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive." Sherlock said, taking the camera phone off of the table behind Irene and walking towards me.
"When we first met you told me that a disguise is always a self portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head." Sherlock said, as he began to type a password in.
"You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you?" Sherlock said.
"Everything I said, it's not real." Irene said, grabbing his arm, trying to stop him. "I was just playing the game."
"I know, and this is just losing." Sherlock said, typing in the final number. He turned it so Irene could see. When I saw the screen my mouth dropped open, and a tear slipped out of Irene Adler's eyes.
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I AM SHERLOCKED
"There you are brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight." Sherlock said, handing the phone to Mycroft, who was now standing beside me.
"I'm certain they will." Mycroft said.
"If you're feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her "protection"." Sherlock said.
"Are you expecting me to beg?" Irene asked with tears in her eyes.
"Yes." Sherlock said, walking towards me.
"Please. You're right. I won't even last six months." Irene said.
"Sorry about dinner." Sherlock said as he slipped his arm around my waist and lead me out the door.
A week later I was walking down to Baker Street in the rain, holding my umbrella high above my head. Outside the door of Speedy's I saw Mycroft under his umbrella, smoking.
"You don't smoke." I said, once I noticed him.
"I also don't frequent cafes." He said, closing his umbrella and slipping inside, I did the same.
I sat opposite of him at a table and he slipped a file out of his briefcase.
"Is that the file on Irene Adler?" I asked.
"Closed forever." Mycroft said. "I'm about to go inform my brother, or if you prefer, you are, that she somehow got herself into a Witness Protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive and thrive, but he will never see her again."
"Why would he care? He despised her at the end." I said.
"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?" Mycroft asked.
"I don't know." I answered.
"Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate." Mycroft smiled.
"He'll be okay with this, Witness Protection, never seeing her again, he'll be fine." I said.
"I agree. That's why I decided to tell him that." Mycroft said, I sighed when I understood.
"She's dead." You stated.
"She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi and beheaded." Mycroft explained.
"It was definitely her? She's done this before." I said.
"I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?" Mycroft asked. "So, what should we tell Sherlock?"
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Mycroft pushed the file towards me. Clearly it was best to lie to him in this situation. Sherlock wasn't one for guilt, but sometimes everyone feels it. If he knew Irene Adler was killed he would feel responsible and I didn't want that.
I walked up the stairs to his flat and saw him sitting at the kitchen table, looking through his microscope.
"Clearly you've got news." Sherlock said as I reached the top of the stairs.
"Hi, it's about Irene Adler." I said.
"Well?" He asked. "Has something happened, has she come back?"
"No, no, she's... I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call."
"Is she back in London?" Sherlock asked.
"No. She's in America. Got herself on a Witness Protection scheme, apparently. I don't know how she swung it." I said. Sherlock was now standing in front of me.
"How was your day?" He asked, bending down to kiss me.
'Um, fine I guess." I answered.
"Want to go to dinner?" He asked.
"Yeah, sure. I've got to run this down to Mycroft though." I said, still holding the file. He nodded.
I brought the file down to Mycroft and told him that I had decided to not tell him Irene was dead. I walked back up the stairs, Sherlock was waiting in the doorway.
"Maybe we can skip dinner and go straight to dessert." Sherlock said with a smirk. I laughed.
"You think so?" I smiled.
"Yeah I do." He smiled and kissed me. Suddenly he picked me up bridal style and carried me to the bedroom. I giggled when he lifted me. Sherlock was back, my Sherlock was back, and I was loving every minute of it.
