15. On Holiday
"You have to introduce her to Anderson, Sherlock!" John exclaimed one grey afternoon a few days later.
Irene and Sherlock had been over at Mary and John's welcoming, warm flat at the other end of London, when the detective had received a call from Lestrade. There had been a promising murder and Holmes had decided it would be a nice test as the woman's first crime. The married couple had encouraged it and it hadn't been difficult to sway Irene's mind in the end.
The detective frowned in the man's general direction as he threw his coat and scarf on. "Oh, no. Not that poor excuse of a man. You know, I'm surprised he got himself together after everything."
"No, Sherlock. That's precisely why he should meet The Woman..."
The dark-haired man flashed his friend a wide grin, having received the point clearly. "Ah!"
Irene exited the bathroom then and stopped beside the tall man. "Will this work?"
She waved at her outfit while she raised a questioning eyebrow in the others' direction. Following Sherlock's clear instructions, she had been forced to change clothes and Mary had been sweet enough to lend her something. Apparently having a dress and stilettos could be a distraction for everyone on a crime scene. Instead, she had borrowed a pair of dark pants, sneakers and a loose, dark-blue blouse. On top of her head rested her deerstalker mockingly and the detective eyed it wearily.
"Yes, yes, that will do," he conceded with a nonchalant shrug. "We were just discussing Anderson, one of the worst medical examiners in England. The man looks like he has an IQ of 13… and looks aren't deceiving. He went through a rough patch, and lost his work for awhile for... various reasons. Lestrade found a way to get him a test period, which he's currently on."
"I have a feeling it won't be a pleasure to meet him," Irene ventured a guess as she shrugged on her pale coat.
"He'll most likely lower your IQ with 130."
The woman smiled up at her detective. "Oh, so you believe my IQ is higher than 130? I'm flattered."
The tall man shrugged. "Same as Mary. Based on your abilities of perception and logic I'd place your intelligence quotient in the range of 120-140. Am I close?"
"Don't know. I've never done an IQ test. Have you?"
Sherlock's face fell as his eyes darted away from his current company. "John and I did one once long ago. Obviously it was faulty. It said John was cleverer than me."
The blond man sighed and glanced at his wife briefly before he replied, "You don't have to sound so condescending when you say that. I'm clever enough to be hurt by it, you know."
"Sorry. You are clever, John. In your own way. …But to set the record straight, can we-"
The man let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sherlock, your IQ is higher than mine! The test was stupid. There. Happy?"
The other man nodded and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Mm. Thank you."
"That's what friends are for," John assured.
Mary took the opportunity to change the subject, "But how will Greg solve Irene's presence at the scene? It's not like she has any authorization. I mean, he could allow John because he was at least a doctor."
"Well, I do hold a PhD..." Irene offered with an innocent shrug and a teasing smile.
Sherlock whipped his head in her direction so fast John thought the man must have injured it permanently. "PhD? In what subject?"
The woman merely shrugged with the familiar sparkle to her eyes.r
The detective harrumphed in obvious irritation of her sudden silence. "Come on, then. The dead await!"
--
After a long drive, the crime solving duo parked and exited the rental car, stepping into the small, picturesque village in the countryside. As Sherlock walked round to the passenger side, he beamed down at his companion.
"This is fun, isn't it? A woman murdered with mysterious markings on her body. This will be a nut to crack!"
Irene eyed the man walking beside her with an amused grin on her thin lips. "You really find this more exciting than sex, don't you?"
Sherlock snorted. "Not even a competition."
Ahead of them, lay a small cabin with white, stone walls and billowing ivy growing up the south facade. As they came closer, Greg exited the house and strode over to meet them. The gentle policeman offered his friends a wide smile. "Morning, Sherlock, Irene."
"Lestrade," the detective greeted and frowned down at the DI. "You look happy today. I thought I was the only one who was cheered up by a good death."
"Yeah, well, it's not that. I bought a lottery ticket yesterday. I think this might be my lucky day!"
Sherlock threw the man a condescending glare. "Honestly, Lestrade. I thought higher of you."
"What, you don't ever buy lottery tickets?" Greg frowned back. "Not even with your... talent?"
"It's all nonsense. Do you realize the chances of you dying on your way to buy a lottery ticket is greater than the chances of you actually winning? At least it is for the average person."
"… I know now." The police turned to the woman and muttered, "Wish I hadn't asked… Hey, Molly sends her best to you, Irene! Said she hoped you did good on your 'first day'. Remember, if you get sick from seeing the body, you leave the room at once, you hear? No contaminating the crime scene. And if anyone asks, you're Sherlock's accomplice."
"What? Like a second detective consultant?" the tall man asked with a great lack of enthusiasm and shook his head. He looked like a furious child as he glared at the police man. "No, that won't do. She hasn't earned that title. It's mine."
"Can't I be referred to as a specialist?" Irene offered diplomatically. "What's the manner of this death?"
"Well, eh, it seems the victim died during what appears to be an elaborate... recreational act."
Irene smirked up at the two men with obvious enthusiasm. "Ah, well, gents. There you have it then."
Lestrade frowned down at her but refrained from commenting while the detective exhaled in amusement. The DI excused himself to make a call just a few seconds before Anderson exited the building, spotted Sherlock and grudgingly walked over.
"Oh look, it's the freak," the bearded scientist greeted with a grimace and then noticed the mysterious woman by his side. "Who's this?"
"She's with me," Sherlock said in a short, dull tone.
Anderson nodded in disgust. "I see. The freak's girlfriend then? Like Frankenstein's bride?"
Sherlock felt, rather than saw, Irene tense by his side from the comment thrown in her face. John had guessed right, this meeting could only be fun to observe. Thankfully, the man now had a front row seat to enjoy the circus act. The woman took one slow step towards the short man, and in such a simple move demanded his entire attention. Anderson seemed to smell danger in the air, for he visibly shrank before Sherlock's keen eyes as Irene moved in for the kill.
She looked the medical examiner over with a merciless glare that could have turned any man into a stone gargoyle. "If I only had five seconds alone with you I could make you squeal like the pig you are. And I don't mean that in a good way..."
The man took a step back and silently swallowed.
"Would you like me to try?" the beautiful woman raised her eyebrows questioningly and her innocent, dulcet tones stood in stark contrast to the wicked words.
"No!"
"Smart boy. And the name is Irene, not Frankenstein's bride," she finished and with those words stepped around the medical examiner wand entered the cozy house. Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat and then followed the woman inside, leaving Anderson to ponder what and who he had just had the pleasure of experiencing.
--
Sherlock had (with a little bit of dominating help) solved the mysterious crime before Thursday morning, which meant that both Irene and Sherlock were free to see John and Mary off as they headed for Belfast and their spa weekend.
"You packed, dear?" the blonde woman asked her beau as the man finally entered the living room with his suit case.
"Mm, think so," John nodded but the frown on his face told the others he was still mentally checking that he had gotten everything with him.
"Car keys," Sherlock called from the sidelines. "On the bureau."
"Oh yeah, thanks, mate!"
"Once again, thank you, Irene," Mary smiled as she ran a hand through her short, blonde hair.
"Don't thank me yet, dear," the other woman warned as she leaned against a wall in the Morstan-Watson household.
"Come on, we should hit the road," the blond man smiled and moved towards the door with the bags in tow. "I take the luggage, you open the doors? Bye, Irene. Bye, Sherlock."
The detective, who was busy inspecting the books on the couple's shelves, waved briefly. "Have fun."
--
As the married couple stepped outside in the fresh morning air, the blond man exhaled deeply. Mary noticed and as she walked around their car to open the trunk, she carefully asked, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, of course I am," he smiled back and unloaded their luggage in the trunk of the car.
"He'll be fine, you know," Mary guaranteed as she stepped around the car to face her husband. "He's a big boy. Knows how to cook an egg and everything. And he's got her."
"I know, I know," John sighed.
The woman sighed. "It's nice, isn't it? To have a weekend all to ourselves?"
The man searched her deep eyes and saw the true expectation in the gorgeous depths. "Hey... I am glad for this. I want to go away with you - and our little one - for the weekend – alone, no interruptions – you know that, right?"
"Still… it wouldn't kill you to be a bit more enthusiastic about it."
"I'm sorry, I've just been…" John haltered. He wasn't sure how to explain his mental attempts at figuring out the relationship of Irene and Sherlock. He decided to leave it behind in London for his holiday, Mary was worth getting pampered without any such competition, as was their love child. "You know, spending so much time with that man has an effect on you sometimes. A weekend off feels great! You'll have my undivided attention and more!"
His wife smiled and pecked his cheek sweetly. "And you'll have the best company, too."
"Definitely better than Sherlock," John wiggled his eyebrows and pulled the woman closer to his chest. "You do know I love you, right? Besides… I was thinking this trip gives us a chance to plan some things for the arrival of the stork."
Mary positively beamed up at her boyfriend and glanced down at her growing baby bump. "Sounds great! Though my first priority is the mud bath at the spa, I hear it's excellent."
"Oh, get in the car, you!"
--
Many hours later the tired duo finally arrived at their small bed & breakfast in Belfast. As they had driven there they had passed billowing landscapes straight out of fairy tales and John had tasted freedom on the fresh air.
After having checked in, the two headed up to their suite. The room was white and romantic in its simplicity with a view of the beautiful, untouched landscape outside covered partially beneath a wintery cover of snow and ice. John made a mental note to thank Irene again when he returned to London for having fixed this perfect setting for a romantic weekend.
"So, what do you wanna do first?" the man asked as he unloaded their luggage on the bed as Mary flipped through a catalogue of the spa's experiences.
"I told you already; the mud bath. The spa is quite known for it… Do you want to join me?" the blonde asked.
"Nah, I'm not much for dirty bathing," John shook his head and caressed his wife's growing stomach without thinking about it. "I figured I might check out the environment and just get some air while you're occupied. Wanna meet back up here in… one hour? Have a late supper and… maybe something more."
Mary laughed up at him as he wiggled his eyebrows in comical flirtation. "That sounds like a plan! I'll see you later then, dear."
--
John headed back down to the reception in hopes of getting advice from the receptionist as to a fitting scenic route to drive. He walked over to the tall, oak counter and leaned his elbows against the top to await the receptionist. From the corner of his eyes he saw a lean figure step towards him.
"Hello, John."
"Oh!" In complete surprise, the man whipped his head to the side and felt as if his heart would jump out of his chest upon seeing the person beside him. After a minute his heart had managed to settle down enough for him to comment, "What the devil are you doing here?"
Irene flashed him a crooked grin and leaned against the counter by his side in a relaxed pose. "Misbehaving."
"Oh…. Oh, no, no," John said as a thought struck him. "Sherlock doesn't know you're here, does he?"
The woman shrugged and untied her wine red scarf from around her lean neck. "I told him I was going out for a couple of hours. I forgot to specify to where."
The short man only managed to shake his head as his thoughts swirled round and round in a desperate attempt to make sense of the situation. He didn't do very well. "…How could you have gotten here so fast?"
"You drove, I flew."
John inhaled and readied himself for his next question. It was better to do this quick, after all. The sooner he could figure out her intentions, the sooner he could return to enjoy his holiday. "What do you want, Irene? ...I knew this wasn't a free trip. You offered me this holiday only to do help you misbehave, didn't you? And since Sherlock doesn't even know that you're here for me, this has to be good."
The brunette inclined her head and her pale eyes searched her friend's. "I'm sorry, John. You're right. I need your help."
"No, no. This is my one weekend off with Mary!" the doctor half-pleaded. "I'm not gonna misbehave with you!" At that point, the receptionist returned to the counter and frowned as he heard the conversation on the other side of the desk. "I didn't mean like that! Stop eavesdropping!"
Irene grabbed hold of John's sleeve and pulled him away from the counter and into a more secluded part of the lobby, where no one could overhear them.
In a low, dark voice, she explained herself. "I'm here for Sherlock, John. I know I'm asking a lot by interrupting, but I need to at least try to make a change. I thought you'd understand."
"…'Look at us both'?" John asked, echoing words she had spoken to him almost four years ago. Still, he wasn't sure if she was using it against him in a grand game, or if the words were honestly spoken.
"Exactly," Irene nodded with a smile. "I had to be sneaky about this, this is the only way Sherlock won't find out."
"Find out about what?"
The brunette shook her head and glanced about, as if they were in fact in an old spy movie rather than in a spa lobby. The man had to admit he understood less and less the more she seemed to explain. "It's better you don't know just yet. For your own safety."
The doctor decided to stand his ground. "I'm not playing your games, Irene. If I'm doing this, I'm gonna need to know why."
John saw the struggle in the ex-dominatrix's eyes as she determined whether or not to release some of her power and hand it over to him. "Fine. I'll tell you. But not here."
The man waved his hands out to indicate acceptance. "Then let's go somewhere we can talk."
"We have to hurry anyway," she said and leaned closer. "Listen, go up and get the gun I packed into your suitcase-"
"You did what?" John hollered and his eyes widened in horrified shock. "How did you even-? Irene, that is not okay!"
"I had to. I couldn't carry it with me on the plane, could I?" the woman sighed and he thought she'd spent just a couple of months too long in the company of Sherlock Holmes. "Just go up and get it and we can do what I came here for. The faster we get out of here, the faster we can return."
"Mary will know I'm gone," the short man argued stubbornly.
"You underestimate the power a spa has on a liberated woman. I've told the employees to give her the 'Royal treatment' tonight. She won't notice you're gone for hours."
--
As John exited the car on the driver's side, he eyed the sign up ahead. Colin Glen Forest Park. He frowned and gazed over at Irene in hopes of getting his explanation. She slowly walked around the car and shrugged her coat closer to her body as if trying to protect it from the chilly, fresh air of the February evening.
"Well…?" the man asked impatiently as she reached his side. "What are we doing in a park?"
"Parks are great places to meet people, John," she explained cryptically. "Especially when it's someone you can't meet in public."
Warning flags flew high in the man's head and he eyed the woman suspiciously. Suddenly he was reminded of his past fears of her scruples and questionable nature. "Irene… who are we here to see?"
"He calls himself Hazaar," the woman explained and then proceeded to give John the full-length version of the explanation he craved. "It is Urdu and loosely translates as Thousand. He claims it's about the amount of people he's killed so far..."
John gazed at the woman with unblinking eyes as he failed miserably to wrap his mind about the meaning of her words. Irene saw his struggle and eventually continued as to clear out his confusion, "Remember Sherlock came to my aid in Karachi four years ago? Truth is, we had a little help escaping by an assassin who had infiltrated the terrorist cell. His name was Hazaar."
The man's eyes widened again, if that was even possible. "You've lost your mind, woman!"
"Listen to me, John… Hazaar helped us escape because he believed in us. Or in Sherlock's money at least. He's on our side. He's a rogue agent from Pakistan who travels the world on different assignments. He's been working in Ireland infiltrating ETA little over a year now, which is why I thought Belfast a good place to strike a meeting with him. He's the only one who can do it."
"Do'it'?" John questioned quickly and felt his throat go dry. "What? …Irene, do what?"
The woman's large eyes gazed at the man with a sincerity he had seldom seen in her blue orbs. "He is considered one of the most lethal assassins. He might be the only one who can take out Moriarty and his henchmen before they can get to us. He's already an ally and wants to stop Moriarty because the man is once more gaining influence on the criminal market. It's theonly way to stop this before the mad criminal starts his final game."
The blond man exhaled in shock and leaned against the hood of the car attempting to let the inventive plan sink in. "Let me see if I got this straight. We're here to strike a deal with an assassin to kill Jim Moriarty...?"
"First, I'll ask him to keep Sherlock safe from afar. Then to target Moriarty's henchmen until the main character makes a faulty move and can be targeted himself. I admit, it's risky, but do you have a better option?"
"Look… It's not that I don't want Moriarty dead before he hurts Sherlock…" John felt at a loss of words. "But you're asking me to help you hire someone to kill a man. Oh, for- Okay. Sod it. Say we do this… why am I even here? Why can't you do this alone? Or on the phone?"
Irene grimaced and leaned back against the car, too. "You're my protection, John. There's a price on my head for all my past misbehaving. It's possible he'll take the easier prize money… That's what the gun's for, too. That, and these were his terms. He never makes a deal without a reliable witness. Don't ask me why."
John released a distressed breath and shifted anxiously from side to side. This was madness, pure madness. Then again, he hadn't expected her tactics to be anything akin to normal or conventional. He could clearly see why she had asked for his help and not Sherlock's. The detective wouldn't have let her, rather risking the final encounter that was undoubtedly to come sooner rather than later. This way, however, maybe a final meeting between Moriarty and Sherlock could be avoided all together...
"So… will you help me?" Irene questioned and met the man's gaze head on.
--
I can't believe I'm doing this, John thought to himself as he hiked on the trail behind the woman who led them further into the vast park. All across the ground lay fallen leaves in bright colors ranging from red to yellow buried beneath a thin layer of palest snoe, while most of the trees stood naked and pale around them in the winter cold.
Suddenly, Irene halted and the man gazed ahead to see the cause of it. In the meadow before them stood a lone figure in a brown tweed-coat. The stranger, Hazaar, had charcoal hair and forest-green eyes that beheld the new arrivals without faltering. There was something cold and heartless about him, John could feel as he moved to stand by the woman's side. No matter what she said, he wasn't entirely certain the man was trustworthy with this.
"Salam alekum," Irene greeted and bowed her head. (Good evening)
The green-eyed man nodded slowly and returned the greeting, "Salam… Kya hal hai thera?" (Hello. How are you doing?)
"Main theek hun," the woman nodded. "Aur aap?" (I'm fine. And you?)
"Acche…" (Good...)
John didn't speak Urdu, but still followed the conversation closely in an attempt to search for clues in the body language and general tone as to how this was progressing so far. So far, so good.
"This is John Watson," Irene introduced him and the man waved awkwardly in response.
"Salam, Mr Watson," Hazaar bowed his head without lowering his eyes from the doctor's face.
"I don't like beating around the bush, as you are aware," the woman continued in a dry voice and put both her hands in her coat pockets. "You know why we are here. Can we get to business?"
Hazaar smirked and simply shrugged. "If you wish."
"You know whom I want gone. Jim Moriarty."
"I know of him," Hazaar nodded.
Irene smirked confidently. "Kya aap meri madat kar sakte hain?" (Could you help me?)
"Nahi…" (No…)
Something was wrong. John could feel it in the sudden rise of tension between the trio. It seemed the chilly wind slowed and everything suddenly changed as Irene shifted her feet and stared at the man ahead tensely. Whatever had been spoken had altered the course of the conversation. Though the doctor noticed only a slight stiffness to the woman's features, he was painfully aware things were going steadily downhill from here.
Hazaar explained himself, "I cannot help you, Ms Adler, because you see… He came to me with a proposal."
John swallowed and muttered a low, "Shit…"
"Jim Moriarty came to me shortly after you contacted me," Hazaar offered as if this was a natural way for things to evolve in his world where allegiances changed with the wind. "He offered me a considerably larger sum than you did to kill someone else."
"Should we run?" the doctor breathed quietly so that only the woman could hear.
"I think it might be too late for that," was her reply.
"He offered me a huge sum, to take out you two," the assassin continued. "In fact, he asked me to pass on a message. He asked me to tell you, and I quote… 'Thank you for giving me a chance to get Sherlock all to myself. Check. Your move.'... It doesn't make much sense to me, but I suppose it does to you."
John nodded distantly, "You could say that…"
"Our move," Irene muttered and took a slow step backwards.
Then, from the doctor's point of view, all hell seemed to brake lose in a split second.
Without warning, the blond man saw the woman whip out the gun from her coat pocket. Her move had been expected, however, and with snake-like reflexes, Hazaar pulled out a revolver of his own and aimed it straight at them. John did the only sensible thing and threw himself aside just as two shots echoed between the bared tree tops in the empty forest.
As John hit the forest floor, everything went dark.