7. Tempus fugit
Irene flinched as she felt something strong and quite forceful envelope her waist and she awoke with a start. She tried to fight the strong arms that held her captive and trashed about as she was lifted from the bed in a fluid motion.
"Will you stop?"
The woman froze and blinked against the light and her own panic, as she felt one arm sneak under her knees. Holding her bridal style, was Sherlock Holmes himself, who was frowning unkindly at her.
"Mr Holmes...?" Irene asked and her voice was still thick with sleep. "What time is it?"
"5:55 AM," he replied as he turned around with the woman in his arms and walked to the door.
"You know, you're supposed to lift a woman into bed, not out of it," she yawned and relaxed into his arms. "What are you doing?"
The man carried her into the living room and explained as he put her down in his arm chair, "I need your opinion on a case. I called John to get his opinion, but he didn't answer his phone. I'm left with you."
Irene opened her mouth as her tired mind searched for words. "And this couldn't wait an hour or two? Until I'd awoken naturally?"
As if the idea was preposterous, Sherlock frowned. "No."
Certain this was another part of his mental deterioration, the woman sighed. She tried to quickly work through the options in her head, and at last asked, "Is this a reaction to my marriage?"
The man's frown intensified as he put both hands behind his back. "You were married?"
"Are you serious?"
The thought that Sherlock had somehow forgotten about that vital piece of information disturbed the woman. John had once told her that Sherlock Holmes knew just about everything, but would forget things he considered unimportant. It hurt her ego now, to think information about her was something the man filtered out. She quickly raised her left hand and flashed the tan line on her ring finger.
"Yes, yes, I remember,"The man nodded in sudden recognition. "The answer is no. And even if it could have, why would it? You should stop flattering yourself, Ms Adler."
"And you should stop denying what you know is true, Mr Holmes," the woman gazed up at the man.
"What I know is true and what you are pretending I know aren't compatible in the real world, Ms Adler."
The woman sighed. Sometimes, it was easier to talk to a wall than to Sherlock Holmes. But she couldn't stop now, she needed to push him for answers in order to figure out the source of his problems which seemed to be rapidly building to a dangerous culmination. In her most challenging voice, she whispered, "Something isn't right with your mind. Tell me I'm wrong."
The main raised his chin and glared at her. "You're wrong."
Irene squinted her eyes and rose from the chair as she approached the pj-wearing man slowly. "No. This time, I'm not wrong."
The implication to her words were clearly not lost on Sherlock as his posture stiffened and he glared back at her with a murderous stare. The muscles in his jaw tensed before he swirled around. "I haven't revealed why I woke you yet, aren't you curious? Then again, I'm starting to think I shouldn't share anything, for risk of you slipping through my fingers. We don't want you to run to Moriarty and tell him all my secrets, do we?"
"I don't work for that man. How many times will you make me say it?" the brunette sighed in exasperation and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance and frustration.
"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!"
The short man stood his ground firmly, "Stop acting so irrational and listen to us. We just want to help! You can talk to us!"
Sherlock laughed in mockery and the other two felt the sting of his disbelief. "I think you just made it very clear that I can't."
With that Sherlock left the room brusquely. Irene and John gazed at each other in silence, unsure what could be said about the situation. The tension lingered in the early morning air, as if touchable despite not taking physical form. At length, the doctor opened his mouth to comment just as the detective re-entered the room frantically waving something small and black in the palm of his hand. John recognized it immediately and ducked just as his friend fired the first bullet. It hit the wall next to the sofa. John and Irene both ducked low as Sherlock fired another round.
"Stop! Sherlock, stop!" the blond man shouted and covered his head as he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. One of the windows had obviously been hit. Oh, he'd have to explain this to Lestrade later…
John's heart pumped wild in his chest and he knew he had to do something to stop this madness. Thankfully, Sherlock didn't seem to aim towards either him or Irene, but the whole situation was still terrifying. He turned from his hunched position and noted his friend turned his back to him and pointed the gun elsewhere. John saw the opportunity and didn't hesitate as he dove forward and wrestled the larger man to the ground, quickly pushing the gun away from the man's grip. The detective continued to struggle and shout about their betrayal of him. John glanced up at Irene and his gaze pleaded for assistance. She hurried over and crouched by Sherlock's side.
"This is a conspiracy!" the detective shouted as the woman moved closer into his personal sphere.
"Sherlock, look at me," Irene's firm hands on either one of his cheek forced the mad man to meet her gaze head on. "Think, Sherlock. John has seen you at your worst several times before. Would he be concerned unless he actually thought something was wrong? Think. Feel. You know it's true. And if you don't, you're not as sexy clever as I thought you were."
"No. I-"
The woman grimaced and put a hand over his mouth as John sensed Sherlock's muscles relax somewhat. "Will you shut up for one second and stop trying to prove us wrong?"
The man's muffled response came quick, "Will you stop trying to dominate me?"
"When you stop misbehaving, Mr Holmes," Irene said and removed her hand from his mouth.
"I'm not misbehaving."
"Yes, you are."
"You're the one who's plotting against me! And you've taken John from me, too!" there was genuine fear in Sherlock's voice now and his friend pushed away so that the detective could see his honest face, too.
"No one's plotting anything, Sherlock," John tried to reassure his friend in a soft tone, but his words of comfort went in one ear and out the other. The detective merely shook his head and managed to push away from both Irene and John. Without another word, the man left the room, hurried down the stairs and fled out the front door despite still being clad in his pj's and robe.
"It's just getting out of control. The symptoms resemble a panic attack, but I don't know..." the doctor said in a low voice and sighed painfully. It hurt him to see his friend acting this way. Like he sincerely couldn't trust even his best friend anymore, after everything they'd been through.
"We can't keep ignoring the elephant in the room. Sooner or later he's going to injure himself… or us," Irene breathed, she, too, visibly affected by the recent events. "We have to figure out what's going on. He started behaving like this about two weeks ago, didn't he? What happened then?"
John shot her a half-amused, half-disbelieving look. "Except you moving in, you mean?"
"You believe that I have something to do with this?" she asked and this time the blond man thought there was actual pain even in the woman's voice.
"No. But that could just be because I'm not clever enough to actually read you correctly," John answered honestly. "I don't think you're lying. This time, that is. I don't understand you any more than I understand him… But I don't think you're collaborating with Moriarty any more than I think Sherlock's insane."
"Thank you," the woman smiled and John cocked his head to one side. She frowned at the doctor upon noticing the change in his eyes. "What now?"
"Sorry. It's just, you seem so… soft. Like it's genuine."
Irene's eyes were once more cold and the doctor was reminded of the dominatrix he first had met four years ago. "Poor man… poor John. You think I do this because I care?."
The man sighed and shrugged. "Then why?"
"Sherlock is the only one who has beaten Moriarty at his own games. And the only one who beat me. He's the only one that can help me stay alive. But he won't be able to protect me if he's involuntary committed, will he?"
John pondered her words. "You know what? I can't tell if you're serious or just playing me."
"Good," Irene cooed in her best voice of misbehavior. "Besides. I want Sherlock to owe me one in return."
"Ah. He saves your neck from being cut off and you save him from losing his mind? Inspiring plan."
"What else happened two weeks ago?" Irene asked and there was a beat as John saw all the wheels in her head turn. Suddenly, her eyes flew up to meet his and he could see a new light shine within them. "I think I know."
"Great!" John breathed in relief. "What?"
Without responding, the woman swiftly flew up from the floor and she, too, ran out the front door though dressed in pj's.
The doctor remained alone and left behind on the wooden floor, attempting to understand what had just transpired. Distantly, he turned his gaze in the direction of the door, "Were we finished…?"
--
John wasn't sure what to make of it. A few hours after both Sherlock and Irene had left the flat without explanation, Lestrade had rung him. The police had urged him to come into the station at once. John didn't need to be told that their old friend had bad news about the detective.
The doctor had hurried out, hailed a Hackney carriage and soon found himself standing face to face with Lestrade in the latter man's office.
John stared with large, unblinking eyes at the DI after having been told the reason for Lestrade's phone call. "Detained?"
The grey-haired man seemed sincerely apologetic as he explained, "I had to, John. Sherlock came to my crime scene and acted wild… I didn't have any other choice."
The short man nodded in understanding and urged the police man to continue.
"I have to warn you," Lestrade's voice lowered despite the door being closed and the two men being alone. "There are rumors…"
"What rumors?"
"That Sherlock's lost it. Donovan and a couple of others believe he's become a psychopath."
"Sherlock is not a psychopath," John fiercely contended.
"Well… I admit, he's always been different, but never this out of control," the elder man spoke. "The events in his flat, too, with the gun... It all speaks of something being wrong with the man. The powers that be want to… Eh. They want to test Sherlock."
The blond man held up his hand to stop the other man and slowly tried to process what it all meant. "What do you mean test?"
Lestrade's gaze was once more apologetic. "To assess if he can be considered mentally unstable."
"What? You have got to be joking?"
Lestrade obviously wasn't. "I just wanted to warn you, John. I have my standing orders from the authorities. My hands are tied in this. A psychologist is coming in to… determine…"
"He's not insane! I just need time to prove it, Greg!" the other man begged in pure desperation but knew it was pointless from the look in Lestrade's eyes.
At last they said goodbye and as John headed out of the police station, he dialed his phone. He pressed it close to his ear and waited for the receiver to pick up. "Irene. Yeah, it's me. Listen, we have a serious problem."
"I know," her dry voice spoke over the phone before John could explain himself. "Meet me at St Bartholomew's Hospital, and bring your dear friend Ms Hooper."
--
"I really don't see why you need me, John," Molly said as she and the man headed into her lab. The woman had already been at work when her old friend had called her, and it hadn't taken any effort to convince her to help since it concerned Sherlock Holmes. "I don't even know this… woman. Or how she knows of me."
"I wish I could explain it to you," the blond man sighed and held open the door for Molly. She stepped inside the laboratory and John followed right behind. Inside the familiar room that Sherlock often occupied for his experiments, Irene already sat bent over a microscope.
"Hello…" Molly greeted awkwardly and John noticed how she tried to accept the other woman's existence inside her lab. Clearly the experience wasn't too pleasant.
The brunette didn't look up from the microscope and John was reminded of someone else when deeply involved in a case. Irene's voice carried strong, as she said, "There's no time for pleasantries, my dear. Come over here instead and have a look."
The woman pushed her chair back from the table and pointed her open palm at the microscope impatiently.
"What is it?" John asked in wonder.
"I'll tell you soon," Irene said grimly. "Any news?"
"Yeah," the blond man sighed in frustration. "Lestrade phoned when we were coming in. Apparently the psychologist declared him mentally unwell, after all. He tested negative for drugs and apparently threw a wild fit where he hit two police men, one of them being Donovan."
"Oh, bet he wasn't too concerned about that," Molly said jokingly, but the comment lost some of its humor coming from the young woman's mouth. The woman awkwardly walked over to the microscope and focused on the work before her upon noticing the glances from John and Irene.
"Apparently he showed symptoms of what the doctor called a mix between paranoid personality disorder and narcissistic personality disorder. Though I have a feeling the latter is just Sherlock being Sherlock," the short man continued "Because of his violent nature they want to transfer him to a locked ward instead of keeping him detained."
"Which is why we're here," Irene remarked. "I know what's wrong with Sherlock. His pulse was elevated this morning. He seemed to suffer from a short fit of amnesia. Elevation swiftly turning to hysteria. And of course, there were the obvious symptoms of paranoia. I think he knows it, too. He's just… too proud to admit the truth even to himself."
John shook his head still confused. "I'm sorry… These are symptoms of what?"
"A drug."
"What? I… Could you take it from the start?"
Slowly, the woman explained, "The nicotine patches. Sherlock picked up that nasty habit about a month ago. I have one of his patches under the microscope there. You told me he bribed everyone in a six mile radius not to sell him cigarettes and patches. Well… He did find himself a dealer. But not just any dealer. One of the boys on Moriarty's pay roll. It took me a lot of time, but I managed to track the boy down. I have my own ways of finding people."
"Wait!" John breathed and his jaw dropped. "Moriarty? Are you saying…?"
"And it's quite clever, too, isn't it? For what is Sherlock Holmes without his perceptive mind and unchallenged intellect?" Irene asked with a hint of admiration of a plan well conceived. "Moriarty was planning to destroy Sherlock from within, from the only place he would actually care about... His mind palace."
"How?" Molly asked. "What did he do to the nicotine patches?"
"It's very simple, Ms Hooper," the ex-dominatrix cocked her head sideways. "You are the key, after all."
The younger woman felt her cheeks flame warm and her gaze dropped to the floor. "Excuse me?"
Irene didn't respond as she changed the topic, "We need to test my theory before we go to the police. The only way to do so is if you run experiments on me."
John pulled out his phone once more. "Right. I'll see if I can buy us more time from the only one who can help now. I'm calling Mycroft."
With those words, the blond excused himself and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the two women alone in the cold, sterile room. Molly cleared her throat and Irene dully glanced at her.
"How…" the lab rat hesitated. "… do you know Sherlock, exactly?"
"I told you, dear," the woman sighed, "there isn't time for pleasantries. I just need you to help me with this experiment."
"It would help, you know," Molly said and there was a trace of irritation to her voice this time, "if you could explain just what we are experimenting with. And why I'm 'the key'."
Irene smirked sensually and leaned in closer to the other woman. "I'll tell you everything you need to know, Ms Hooper. Shall we begin?"
--
Several hours later, after the sun had set and the sky turned dark, John found himself back at the police station. This time Lestrade had led him and Molly to one of the larger conference rooms and they were joined by Donovan, the psychologist who'd assessed Sherlock and the recently proclaimed insane man himself. The latter sat in handcuffs and a somewhat torn up shirt and lounge jacket at the short end of the table while the other people were spread out across the room. Sherlock's dark gaze rested intently on John and Molly at the other end of the table.
"Sherlock isn't insane," the doctor repeated to the people and searched for the right words to describe all the things Irene had informed him and Molly and the results of the experiment in itself. The answer came out short, "He was drugged."
"How?" the detective asked before anyone had a chance to open their mouths.
"The nicotine patches. I told you they weren't good for you," John said with a pointed look and half-smirk. "You bought your patches from a guy who secretly worked for Moriarty. We… found him and learned the truth. The patches were soaked in a special drug which entered your blood stream as you put them on your arms. And since you never use moderate amounts, you basically had an overdose reaction every time."
"What drug?"
"MDMA," Molly explained shortly with a short, kind smile to the man. "Commonly known as ecstasy."
The wheels in Sherlock's head turned swiftly and within a few seconds he nodded in understanding. "Of course. The irony. One street name for ecstasy is 'Molly'. The person who brought me and Moriarty together the first time. He's being nostalgic."
The woman didn't quite know how to interpret his words but at length offered a tiny smile. "Right. The, ehm… The symptoms of an ecstasy overdose include hysteria, mild amnesia, paranoia, severe hostility, anger, narcissism, delusion of grandness-"
"Sherlock has most of those things in his normal state," Donovan frowned and her tone of voice was bitter.
"Not without reason," Sherlock replied just as dryly and sent the woman police a look of disdain. "Though I suppose to a common mind like yours it's incomprehensible."
"Hold on," Lestrade stopped the consultant detective. "Why didn't any of this show up on the drug test we ran?"
"Well, Moriarty is sneakier than that, obviously," the detective smirked and John felt a weight lift upon recognizing his friend's mind was returning to normal. "It was an altered version of the drug. Isn't that right, Molly?"
"Mm, yes," the woman nodded enthusiastically as the consultant detective watched her. "Designed to be virtually untraceable in your blood stream, unless you knew to test it at the same time the drug entered your system. We had a sample of Sherlock's nicotine patches and performed this experiment to prove our theory. All our results are in the files…" Molly held up the folder she'd brought for everyone to see.
"So Sherlock isn't… insane?" Donovan asked, once more in strong disbelief.
"No," John said, but then clarified, "Well, somewhat mentally deranged perhaps, depending on who you ask. It was just the drug that enhanced all of Sherlock's natural attributes until they consumed what was left of him. He should be just fine when the last of the drug wears off, but might suffer some withdrawal symptoms. I suppose that's about it."
Sherlock nodded approvingly. "Good work, John. You too, Molly."
"Don't thank us. It's wasn't our idea," the doctor spoke with a pointed glance. "The woman who thought of it told me to tell you… that you don't have to feel obliged to express that this was remarkable or amazing."
"Ah…" the detective shrugged his eyebrows in understanding and then held out his hands towards Donovan so that she could un-cuff him. The grin on his face was anything but kind.
--
"…And you're not going to tell me how she did it?" Sherlock asked as he unlocked the door to 221 B Baker Street.
"I would if I could…" John sighed as he entered right behind him. "I guess she has her connections, too."
"Yes…" the tall man agreed shortly and the doctor knew it was a signal to end their conversation in case the woman in question would overhear.
The two men removed their coats and walked up the darkened stairs in silence. A lamp shone in the far end of the living room, but the rest was bathed in the great darkness of night. Sherlock glanced over at his closed bedroom door and seemed to wrestle with an inner demon. John couldn't help but smirk at the thought of his friend struggling to find it in him to say a simple thank you to the woman.
"Well. I'd better…" Sherlock's words trailed off as he gazed in the direction of his room and the blond man nodded in encouragement. Personally, he hoped Irene would milk the moment just for the heck of it.
The doctor smirked as his friend readied himself mentally and walked over towards his bedroom door, while John himself stepped into the living room to wait. He yawned loudly and slowly moved over to the desk. He stopped and frowned down at the table. On the top of Sherlock's closed laptop rested Irene's phone. John wondered briefly why it lay out there and distantly picked it up.
"She's not here, John. Where is she?" the detective swiftly walked back through the kitchen and into the living room, his eyes demanding a swifter reply than the doctor could offer.
John frowned back. "She's not? What...? But I made sure she came home earlier after the experiment… She should be sleeping the effects off. Are you sure she's not here?"
"Unless she decided to rest while playing an elaborate game of hide and seek in the flat, John, I'm sure," Sherlock said dryly and glanced down at the object in his friend's hand. John could visibly see the features in the man's long face darken with realization. "Irene's phone."
"Oh, eh, yes…" the short man looked down at it as Sherlock swiftly reached forward and pulled the phone from his grasp. "Found it on your laptop."
The detective wasn't listening as he unlocked the phone and began to search through its contents. John frowned up at his friend. "Eh, Sherlock, what are you doing? That's private."
"It was private until she left it out in the open. Don't you get it?" Sherlock asked and his friend bit his tongue from conveying all the ways he did not get it. "She wanted us to find her phone. The question is why…"
Sherlock's last words died out and John noticed how the frown on his face increased tenfold. Obviously, he had struck gold. "What is it? What did you find?"
"Here. Read it," the man said in a short tone and shoved the phone back into John's unprepared hands.
The man fumbled with the phone before he looked down at what he presumed was Irene's inbox. The detective had opened up her latest received message and John read it out loud, " 'I think it's time, don't you, Ms Adler? Tempus fugit at 0963. – JM.' Oh God… Moriarty? Moriarty texted her? Why?"
"Look at the first words…" the tall man snatched back the phone. "'I think it's time, don't you?'. It's just like the words on the photograph Moriarty sent me. The warning wasn't for me, it was to Irene. Of course! I've been so stupid, John, when it was so plain to see!"
The doctor cleared his throat and blinked up at the other man. "…Was it? Mind filling this slower brain in?"
"She openly betrayed Moriarty."
John nodded slowly. "… So he sent her the image to your email to remind her of his coming retaliation on her? But made us believe the message was for you. … Do you think she realized that when she saw the photograph in your mail?"
"Yes," Sherlock hissed and there was plain irritation in his body language as he paced the room. "That's why her interest peaked when she heard the quote. And why she connected my mental deterioration to Moriarty so quickly. She realized he had me drugged as a cover to strike a meeting with her without us two noticing. When she realized what he was actually up to she withheld that information because if she had told us before we would have stopped her from going. Oh, she is better than I remember…"
"Yes, well, you can tell her of your admiration as soon as we figure out where she's meeting him. If you're right, Sherlock… you think he'll kill her? Tonight?"
The man didn't meet his friend's questioning gaze but nodded in response. "Give me a minute. The answer to their meeting place must be in the text since he's given her no other clue."
"What?" the short man frowned. "How can anyone deduce anything from that?"
Sherlock suddenly stopped pacing and turned back to face his friend. John sighed in frustration as he saw the look on the detective's glowing face and was anything but amused. The doctor sure as hell didn't know what really was going on this time. "...You figured it out, didn't you? And you're not going to tell me, are you?"
The tall man merely smirked and left the room, leaving John alone once more. The man stood baffled and looked about as if the answer to everything was written somewhere in the dark shadows. He then raised his head and looked in the direction his friend has just disappeared. "Again…?"