CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: A LOVER ON THE LEFT, A SINNER ON THE RIGHT
"Check the rest of the house." Amelia ordered, years of training start to kick in. "See how they got in. We need to know if there's more of them. She hoisted up the hem of her dress, retrieving her Beretta 92FS from a thigh holster.
She had received it while working in the United States-she wasn't entirely sure why the CIA had given it to her, but she wasn't going to pass on opportunity for a new gun, although getting it across seas had been rather painful, even with Mycroft's help on the paperwork. Pulling out a magazine from her blazer pocket, she loaded it, then turned off the safety, Irene watching in mild interest.
"Well," said Sherlock, flipping the phone in the air, "that's the knighthood in the bag."
Amelia raised her eyebrow. "Don't be cocky."
"Ah," Irene eyed the phone, mouth going drying as Sherlock nonchalantly tossing and catching it. "And that's mine." She stuck her hand out, taken aback when Sherlock ignored her and turned it on.
I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED appeared on the screen, the phone demanding the password. Irene could hardly contain her smile.
"All the photographs are on here, I presume." Amelia said, letting out a heavy sigh.
Irene was quick to assure her. "I have copies, of course."
"No, you don't." Sherlock said as soon as Irene had finished speaking. "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."
She lowered her outstretched hand, realising that she was not going to be getting her phone back. "Who said I'm selling?"
"Well," Amelia nudged one of the bodies littering the floor, "why would they be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs." She hesitated for a moment before turning on her Beretta's safety and tucking it away.
"That camera phone is my life, Ms Watson." Irene said, voice taking on a metallic edge. "I'd die before I let you take it." She leaned in, keeping Amelia's gaze. "It's my protection."
"Sherlock, Ames!" John called from upstairs.
Amelia caught the phone in mid-air before Sherlock could catch it. "It was." she corrected, turning it over in her hand. Amelia handed it back to Sherlock, "Go see what John wants. I need a moment."
Sherlock hesitated but then left the room, flashing a complacent smile at Irene.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Ms Watson." Irene warned her. "You'd best be careful."
Amelia pushed her hair away from her face. "And you're playing against a dangerous opponent." she replied. "What you makes you think you can win?"
Irene had Amelia's left arm before she could defend herself, yanking Amelia's blazer sleeve up to reveal the tattoo underneath. "I know what this means, Ms Watson." she hissed, eyes flashing.
Amelia laughed, but it was shaky and she didn't sound as confident as she wanted to be. "And, pray tell, what does it mean?"
"It means," Irene started, "you know who he is, and you know that he is more dangerous than any of us. Do not take his games so lightly."
She pulled her arm out of Irene's grasp and pulled her sleeve down with trembling fingers. "You're not telling me anything that I don't already know." said Amelia.
"If you know all of this, then you should be as far away from him as possible." Irene said. She revealed her right wrist where there was a small, nearly invisible tattoo of a spade symbol with an A in the centre done in white ink. Amelia wondered if Sherlock had noticed it, but upon reflecting on the events at a later time, she would realise that Irene Adler had cleverly kept her wrist hidden from Sherlock. "Don't make the same mistake I did, Ms Watson."
Amelia swallowed at this new revelation. "He's marked you, which means you know that isn't possible. He will find each and every single one of us in the end, and if you try to run, the punishment will only be worse."
Irene's eyes travelled towards Amelia's forearm briefly. "Left arm and in black ink-you were certainly very important to him. His third?"
"His second." Amelia corrected. "After what happened, he wanted to keep me close, and I'd like to think I'm still important to him. Perhaps not in the same way, but he's certainly infatuated with me now. I like attention but..."
"Not his attention," Irene nodded. "Few of us do. The colonel was the only one who ever enjoyed it. Ms Watson, you never should have returned to this country."
She shook her head. "It's not safe for you either, but we can handle ourselves, can't we?" Amelia didn't wait for her answer and marched upstairs, ready to draw her gun out at any moment. When she heard John and Sherlock quietly muttering to each other, Amelia relaxed.
"She's unconscious, Sherlock. We should call an ambulance." John said in a hushed tone.
"Don't be absurd, the police are already on their way. I imagine they'll be bringing an ambulance as well, they did hear several gunshots, after all. Someone might be hurt."
"But they aren't."
"How on Earth are they supposed to know that, John? If they're a bunch of dimwits who are only half good at their job like the people at Scotland Yard are-"
John hit him. "Sherlock,"
"Yes, Sherlock." Amelia said walking in. "Don't criticise the people who might, one day, save your life." She frown, making her way to the bathroom, stopping when she saw the large, open window. "Talk about a security fault. Must have come in this way."
Sherlock was behind her in moments. "Clearly."
"It's alright," John said as Irene entered the room, seeing the way she eyed Kate's unconscious body in concern. "She's just out cold."
Irene relaxed. "Well, God knows she's used to that."
"I don't even want to know what that means." Amelia said. "I'm uh...going to go downstairs, I have a call to take." She had started dialling Mycroft's number before she had finished speaking and rushed back downstairs to, as Amelia would later describe it, give him hell.
"Good." Irene said. She turned to John, "There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson. Why don't you accompany your sister?"
John waited for Sherlock's approval-which he signified with a nod-then joined Amelia downstairs. She was shouting vehemently into her phone, her cries of anger turning into violent hisses upon seeing her brother. "What the hell, Mycroft?" he could hear Amelia say. "Were those CIA agents? And why the hell were they after me? I swear to God, if this is your fault..."
She paused only to listen to Mycroft's response.
"I don't give a damn if you don't know why they were here, figure it out. That's your job, isn't it? You're the one with the connections, and it's not exactly like I can exactly call the President, I'm on a case; a case you put me on, actually."
Another pause.
"Oh for God's sake, Mycroft! I was nearly killed! I'm sure you can spare some time from your supposed filing. And come on, we both know you're not filing, unless your filing cabinet sounds like a treadmill."
Sherlock looked at Irene with an intense curiosity. "You're very calm." he observed. She didn't seem to understand so he clarified with a, "Well, your booby did just kill a man."
"He would have killed me." she was unfazed. "It was self-defence in advance."
Sherlock huffed, starting to like the woman before him. That was his first mistake. Irene ran her hand down his arm to momentarily distract him and then stabbed him with the syringe she had oh-so-carefully kept concealed from him while he'd been talking. He was taken by surprise, struggling to grab at the syringe.
"What?" he said, the contents of the syringe causing him to slur. "What is that? What...?"
Then, Irene slapped him, sending Sherlock tumbling to the floor. "Give it to me." she ordered, sticking her hand out. "Now. Give it to me."
His vision blurred, the room starting to spin. He tried, and failed, to get to his feet but looked at her with defiance. "No." That was his second mistake.
Irene's patience was thinning. "Give it to me." she said, starting to sound desperate.
"No." he repeated. That was his third, and final mistake. He had no time to make any more for Irene walked back to her vanity and picked up her riding crop.
"Oh, for goodness sake." she said. "Drop it." She held the riding crop out at Sherlock, sighing when Sherlock continued struggling to get up. "I-" She hit him. "-said-" Another hit. "-drop it." Sherlock collapsed, body refusing to cooperate with his demands. "Ah, thank you dear." Irene picked up the fallen phone. "Now, tell that sweet little posh thing that pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just for insurance. I know she's just dying to report back to your brother." She put her phone in the pocket of her-or rather Sherlock's-coat. "Besides, I might want to see her again.
Sherlock scowled at the thought of Irene and Amelia, and tried to arise once more.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." Irene chastised, pushing Sherlock down with her riding crop. "It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it." She stroked the sides of his face with the leather crop, a small, coy smile dancing upon her blood red lips. "This is how I want you to remember me: the woman who beat you. Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes."
As it always with Amelia and her horrible timing, she chose that moment to walk in, John trailing after her. "Jesus!" she exclaimed as Irene started to escape through the bathroom window. "What are you doing?"
"He'll sleep for a few hours." said Irene, pausing her attempted departure as John rushed to Sherlock's side. "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."
John saw the syringe on the floor, and picked it up. "What's this?" he demanded. "What have you given him? Sherlock!" He tapped the detective's face, trying to get him to stay conscious.
"He'll be fine." Irene reassured. "I've used it on loads of my friends."
Amelia was livid, but she had more pressing concerns. She crouched by Sherlock, "Sherlock, can you hear me?"
"You know," Irene said, directing her message at John, "I was wrong about him. He did know where to look."
John faced her. "For what? What are you talking about?"
"The key code to my safe." answered Irene.
"What was it?"
Irene smiled at Amelia and Sherlock, although it barely resembled an expression of happiness or mirth but rather one of contempt and conceit. "Shall I tell him?" Irene paused for effect, police sirens starting to shriek in the distance. "My measurements." With those words, she rolled backwards out of the window, John sprinting over to the window to see Irene disappear into a sleek black car with no licence plate.
They heard the door being kicked in downstairs, a small team of armed policemen, and a group of paramedics swarming into the building. Amelia pointed to Sherlock, then said to John, "Watch him."
John nodded.
Amelia stepped out onto the stairwell, hands raised above her head. "Amelia Watson, National Security Advisor, MI5. I called, thank God you're here," she said to the paramedics. "My friend-" She figured that was a logical reason as to why should we be so concerned about Sherlock, that was what people who weren't government spies, or Sherlock Holmes for that matter, had. "-is passed out upstairs, my brother's currently with him, but we don't know what to do."
"You said there's been a shooting?" said a police officer, not lowering her weapon as the paramedics rushed upstairs.
"Yes, downstairs. There was a gun, in a safe," Amelia was starting to get really tired, "it went off when we opened it because we got attacked by several Americans-it's all very complicated, and actually classified. I can show you my badge if you'd like."
"That will not be necessary." a cool voice said from the doorway. "I can personally account for the validity of your identity." Mycroft Holmes stepped into the house, and at last, the guns trained on Amelia were lowered. "So, Ms Watson, do you honestly think you'll have the photographs by the end of the day?"
♠
Sherlock was sitting in Phil's car. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd got there but he had no time to ponder the validity of the situation he was in for Irene slammed her hands down on the car door. "Got it!" she exclaimed. She held up a finger in protest as he tried to open his mouth to demand for her to let him out. "Oh, shush now. Don't get up. I'll do the talking." She walked to the back of the car, crouching to examine the exhaust pipe. "So, the car's about to backfire." She straightened and suddenly she and Sherlock were in the field alongside the hiker whose head was raised to the sky as though he were searching for something. "And the hiker, he's staring at the sky."
Amelia's image appeared out of nowhere.
"Now, Amelia said he could be watching the birds, but he wasn't, was he?" Irene said.
It occurred to Sherlock that perhaps he was the only one able to see Amelia. "Of course he wasn't." Image-Amelia scoffed.
Irene didn't hear her, walking around the hiker, and following his gaze. "He was watching another kind of flying thing." said Irene. "The car backfires, and the hiker turns to look-"
The hiker snapped his gaze away from the sky, and looked back at the car over his shoulder, a small object flying into the back of the hiker's head, killing him almost instantaneously.
"Which was his big mistake." Irene continued. She looked to the road. "By the time the driver looks up, the hiker's already dead. What he doesn't see is what killed him because it's already being washed downstream."
Image-Amelia, Sherlock, and Irene turned to the river where an ornately decorated boomerang was nestled among the mud and weeds.
"An accomplished sportsman recently returned from a foreign travel with...a boomerang." Irene concluded proudly. "You and Amelia got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy."
"I..." Sherlock sputtered and looked around in confusion. His bed rose up to meet him from behind, the sheets wrapping themselves around him by some invisible force. "I..."
"Hush now," said Irene, bending over him. Sherlock's room came into focus. "It's okay. I'm only returning your coat."
♠
"Amy?" was the first word to leave Sherlock's mouth as he awoke, finding himself in his bed back at Baker Street. Then louder, "Amy!"
She stirred from her sleep-like state on the living room sofa. Treading to the bedroom she shared with Sherlock, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes only to find Sherlock falling off the bed, too groggy to walk properly. She watched him, amused, then said, "You okay?"
"How did I get here?" Sherlock questioned in a low murmur.
"Well, I don't suppose you remember much." Amelia said. "You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."
"Where is she?" Sherlock was suddenly on his feet.
She furrowed her eyebrows, "Where's who?"
"The woman." he replied cryptically. "That woman."
Amelia ground her teeth, exasperated. "What woman? Sherlock, I understand you've been drugged and all, but now really isn't the time for this."
Sherlock stumbled aimlessly around the room. "The woman." he said, voice growing insistent. "The woman, woman."
"What-Irene Alder?" Amelia said. "She got away. No one saw her." Her eyes followed Sherlock as he continued to trip around the room, managing to make his way to the open window, gazing out through it. "She wasn't here, Sherlock."
He half-dropped, half-fell to the floor as he searched under the bed for Irene. All he found was a clump of Two's fur, and several dust bunnies.
"What are you...?" Amelia asked in confusion. "What...? No, no, no, no." She dragged Sherlock back to bed, his face in the pillow. "Back to bed." She covered him with the sheets then whistled for the dog who waddled in on his squat legs. She picked him up with a great big heave and set him down on the bed alongside Sherlock. "You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."
"Of course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock muttered. "You're fine. You. Are. Fine."
"Yes, you're great. Clearly." Amelia said, containing an eye roll. "Now, I'll be sleeping in the living room if you need me." She snatched her pillow from the bed.
"Why would I need you? I don't need you. What good are you anyway? You don't even know where she went."
Amelia grimaced at his sharp tone. "No reason at all." she said curtly, slamming the door behind her. Two, as though knowing that his mistress was upset by Sherlock's words, bit Sherlock's hand. Sherlock yelped, and kicked the dog off the bed, only for Two to bite Sherlock's toes. Amelia barged back in a moment later, "Oh for heaven's sake, why can't you two get along? Come on Two, you can sleep on Sherlock's chair. He won't be having any cases for a while, I don't think." She hesitated this time before closing the door. "Goodnight, Sherlock."
"You're lovely, you know that?" was his only response.
That made her smile. "Thank you." she said, shutting the door.
Sherlock closed his eyes, and just then, his phone lit up with a message, a loud orgasmic sigh-a distinctly female one at that-filling the room. His eyes snapped open for the second time that night, and he fell out of the bed as he scrambled for his phone. He finally managed to retrieve it from his coat, which had mysteriously appeared on its usual hook on the door despite the fact that Irene had stolen it. He leaned against the wall to read the text, too engrossed in the message to notice the lipstick stains around his mouth.
Till next time, Mr Holmes.
A/n: This has to be one of my favourite chapter titles so far. It's taken directly from Panic! At the Disco's Casual Affair, which very accurately describes Amelia and Irene's relationship. Not to mention the fact that the symbolism of the tattoos vs the lyrics please me to no extent - Amelia being Jim's lover, and her tattoo being on the left, and Irene being a rather necessary evil (or a sin, if you will) in Jim's mind with her tattoo on the right. To say the least, this sort of thing makes me very happy.
~Kamilla Thierry