Sherlock and The Woman

Tempus Fugit

"As many times as it takes until you tell the truth," Sherlock swirled back around and his eyes were barely illuminated by the morning light outside, but still plainly filled with conflicting emotions. The distance between them seemed greater than ever. Irene noted there was an unspoken threat in his ocean colored eyes. "You must think I'm thoroughly stupid."

"Au contraire, my dear," she cooed.

The tall man moved closer and Irene thought he acted much like a predator closing in on its pray. She recognized it, for it was a tactic she usually mastered as the predator. She squared her shoulders as he moved right into her personal space, uncomfortable about playing the prey for once. Whatever was different with the man had officially moved from confusing to incomprehensible. There was still something dark in his eyes as he raised his right hand towards her. His hand closed around her slim throat somewhere between a soft caress and a hard squeeze. The woman focused on keeping her breathing calm and heart rate low.

"I. Don't. Trust. You," Sherlock emphasized every word as he articulated them with great care. As he finished his fingers closed tighter around her throat until she felt her breathing somewhat impaired.

She said nothing as she kept her gaze locked with his. She tried to read the intention in his stormy eyes, but there was no clarity visible for interpretation.

Swift steps suddenly ran up the stairs and panting breaths echoed in the silence of the room. Both Irene and Sherlock turned as they saw John Watson lingering at the entrance of the living room with fear slowly being replaced by perplexity in his wide eyes.

"…Sherlock? What's going on here?" the man questioned as he tried to calm his breathing. His eyes traveled from one person to the other in the dark living room before his gaze landed on the hand around the woman's throat.

"It's alright, John," the woman assured and her face was a perfect blend of a snarl and a flirtatious grin. "Mr Holmes doesn't realize this is only a turn on for me."

"You came, John!" the detective exclaimed in relief and shock seemed to wash over him momentarily.

The doctor blinked in confusion. He shifted from one foot to the other as wet his lips and tried to contain his rage. "Of course I came! I rushed here, Sherlock! You left Mary a frightening message that said it was an emergency! I thought you'd experimented on Irene or something! And I see I wasn't entirely wrong, was I?! What's going on?"

"She's one of them, John. Not one of the angels," Sherlock explained cryptically and shot a swift glance in his friend's direction, as if that one look ought to convince him.

"Maybe…" the blond man acknowledged and stepped inside. The fact that his friend's words were the complete opposite of those he had uttered the morning after Irene's arrival did ring as a warning bell in the doctor's head. "Or maybe she's telling the truth."

Sherlock's focus on the woman shifted at once then and he pushed her away with a firm shove. His fury now directed solely at his best friend. "…You, too, John?"

"What?" the man questioned and glanced at the woman who backed off to the side with one hand rubbing the sides of her red throat. "What the hell are you talking about, Sherlock?"

"Are you in on this, too?" the madness seemed to rise up in the man's eyes as the high tide. "Are you collaborating with Moriarty, too?"

"No one is collaborating with Moriarty!" John claimed loudly but saw it was to no avail. "Don't you think you ought to calm down a bit? Listen to reason."

"I am reason," Sherlock argued back in his own logic. "And I see I can't trust you. Either of you. You should leave my house. Both of you!"