A/N - Hiya! Sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I have about 5 different attempts at this chapter but I thought this one was best in the end. It's a bit of a long one so grab a snack, make some tea/coffee, sit down and enjoy!
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Elizabeth had fallen asleep shortly after John had departed. Of course, beforehand she had left the window open, but the moment she sat down on the sofa (which was her bed for next couple of evenings) all of the exhaustion from the day hit her as though someone had successfully landed an incapacitating hit.
As 1am quickly approached, Irene managed to get into 221B through the open window. She couldn't help but think about all the people in her life who had underestimated her abilities and had called her nothing but a pretty face. Little did they know, she possessed skills they never thought possible for 'a woman like herself'.
Once in the flat, The Woman's gaze fell upon a sleeping Elizabeth. She couldn't help but think the thief looked sweet in such peaceful bliss. Little did she know that she was enduring the complete opposite.
Elizabeth only wished that the exhaustion brought her happier dreams than the nightmare she was enduring:
Elizabeth was sat in the chair that Sherlock and John normally had their clients in. The overwhelming feeling of being unable to move unnerved her. But then Sherlock appeared, pacing in front of her, John too, sat in his chair. It was quiet. She found she couldn't speak. When she did try, no sound came out.
Then Sherlock stopped and turned to her. The look in his eyes accused her, of what, she didn't yet know, but the gaze made her stomach turn.
"I thought you said you didn't kill?" Came Sherlock's worryingly controlled, quiet question. He looked as though he had been betrayed.
She tried to speak again, yet still found she couldn't. How would she ever be able to defend herself if she couldn't argue back?
Sherlock shook his head, and expression of pure disgust gracing his face, "I was wrong about you. You're a murderer. A fickle coward and a liar. I should've known you were still working with Moriarty all this time."
Elizabeth wildly shook her head at the accusation. It wasn't true. She hadn't - she wouldn't kill anyone. Of course, she knew that she hadn't told them about the phone call she had received from Jim...then, when she did remember that, the reality dawned on her. She did kill a man. She had killed a man by speaking.
Lestrade walked in, accompanied by a pair of handcuffs, as did Mycroft who strolled into the room, a smug look about him. He had been right about Elizabeth. A leopard could never change its spots.
"I told you, Brother Mine, not to get your hopes up, didn't I?" The older Holmes sneered.
Sherlock kept gazing at her with this, not angry, but disappointed glare. It broke her heart. She felt the tears gather in her eyes as Lestrade cuffed her hands and finally broke her free from the feeling of being frozen in place by standing her up. She couldn't even defend herself. It was true after all.
Mycroft strolled over to her, leaning in close to her face as he hissed, "I did say thin ice, Miss Parrish."
The moment Lestrade had walked her out of the flat, she had appeared in a cell. Cold, dark and damp. She was alone. She had lost her voice. No one cared. It scared her, it truly did. And again she felt the tears slip down her face as she slid down the wall, trying and failing to keep calm.
As a pariah, she had no one and no freedom.
While Elizabeth slept, Irene wandered the flat silently, admiring all the little trinkets the two men (well, mainly Sherlock) had that decorated their flat. She studied the bookcase, picking out some of her favourites. She even studied some of Sherlock's notes he had on cases, one of which she solved for the detective by leaving a post-it note answer on the paper. Irene smiled to herself, knowing this would annoy Sherlock no end.
Her eyes fell upon Elizabeth's laptop sat upon the desk as well. Irene knew there had been a listening device planted on it. Where could she put it so that Jim wouldn't hear the conversation that she was about to have with *his* thief?
Making a split second decision, she decided to take it to the bathroom, placing it upon the wash basket before closing the door behind her. As long as she and Elizabeth spoke quietly, she didn't think the laptop would hear.
When she returned, she took a seat in Sherlock's chair, her hand delicately tracing invisible scribbles on the leather arm. This intimate moment was ruined by the mutter that came from the sleeping Elizabeth. As Irene looked up, she noticed the shine of tears on the thief's face. Irene's brow hooded over her eyes, which burned with worry for her. She saw no choice in having to wake her up now.
"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, wake up, are you okay?" Irene tried to nudge her awake.
The thief opened her eyes quickly when she felt the touch of a hand on her arm. When she did, she saw Irene looking down at her with an air of concern. How late was it? How long had Irene been in the flat for?
"Hm? When did you get here?" Elizabeth asked, sitting up on the sofa, "How late is it?" She was still weary having just been woken up.
"A few minutes ago." Irene replied quietly, "But are you okay?"
She looked around the flat as though worried that Irene would have stolen things, regardless of the irony, "Yeah, of course - "
"You're crying."
Elizabeth paused. Her brain processed the damp on her face and she brought a hand to her cheek, only to come into contact with liquid. She knew why. She just didn't expect it to have been expressed physically as well as unconsciously. Nightmares could come across so realistically sometimes, no matter how improbable the situation seemed in a rational state of mind. But she ignored it, rubbing the wetness away from her cheeks quickly.
"Sorry for not staying awake."
"It's okay." Irene nodded understandably, the atmosphere a little tense, "But are you - "
Standing up, Elizabeth interrupted, "Please, don't make small talk. I've already seen you naked today - yesterday - so I wouldn't say there is any more ice to break. Yes, I was crying but it's fine. I'm fine."
Irene watched Elizabeth pace over to the other side of the living room, by the fireplace, back turned to her. Elizabeth, having just been awoken from a nightmare, just needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She had questions that she was sure Irene would at least have some answers to. She was also sure Irene had something to say as her note had alluded to.
Changing the subject, Elizabeth turned around and asked, "Where's Sherlock's coat?"
A teasing smirk reached Irene's lips, "You really like him, don't you?"
"What? No? I just - he likes his coat. I know he would miss the coat if he never got it back - "
"You mean *you* would miss the coat?"
"Well, yes. That too. As I said before - "
"It's a nice coat?"
"Yes. Exactly."
Irene just nodded, brow quirked, suspicious of the thief's feelings, "Nice to know you care for Mr Holmes...no need to worry about his coat. I left it in his room."
"You were here earlier?"
"Of course, Elizabeth. I had to return his 'nice' coat because I, too, understand how much Mr Holmes likes said coat."
"Right. Okay. Good. Great." Elizabeth nodded.
The coat was safe and well. Good to know. But now one couldn't ignore the real questions that needed to be asked. Elizabeth couldn't really avoid it for long. She needed answers after all.
"Why did you leave me the note?"
"I felt like helping."
"Who? Yourself, Jim or me?"
"A mixture of all of us really."
"What did you mean by 'they're listening'?"
Irene answered, "Your laptop. Jim placed a listening device on it. I've moved it out of this room for now. It's in the bathroom."
Distress, grief and anger crossed Elizabeth's face when this was said. She faced away from Irene as though consulting with herself. How hadn't she thought of that? Her laptop was one of the few untouched items in her old flat and she didn't question it? The masquerade - them trying to find Shaun - Jim had known about all of that. She had killed Shaun - and almost herself too with her own stupidity.
"Elizabeth?"
"Ye - yes?"
"Are you alright?"
"Fine. I'm - fine." She felt sick to her core.
Irene continued, with the strong impulse to not linger on this note for long, "If you haven't worked it out already, Jim wanted me to pass on a message."
"Okay."
"But I wanted to ask you something first?"
Elizabeth muttered the same response.
"You don't seem as cruel and coldhearted as Jim. Why do you stay with him?"
She scoffed, fiddling with the ring on her finger once again, "Family. Or at least I used to think it was that."
"And now?"
"And now I know it was because I never could have left in the first place."
"Jim spoke about you to me."
"Oh?" Elizabeth's brow knotted in the middle as she continued to play with the styled silver on her index finger, "What did he say?"
"That you're his 'little trinket'. Those were the words he used. But when he explained - or at least tried to explain it - he said that you were 'the only person to have ever stolen any feeling from him'. He said that he viewed you as family."
Elizabeth shook her head, finally daring to meet Irene's troubled gaze, "That's not right. He would never say - "
"Something like that. Why?"
"Well, we all know. He's a bloody psychopath. He can't really feel anything."
"Contrary to almost everyone's beliefs, psychopaths are still capable of feeling certain things. They do not lack feeling. They lack empathy. They may never be able show real 'love' but they will have their own versions of 'love' - this often being their respect. Which you have with Jim. He said it himself that you are 'important' to him."
Elizabeth shook her head, "But then we also know that if we wrong a psychopath, that they will also cut us out of their lives - potentially permanently."
"Ah, you've also kept up to date with your studies of psychopathy. I'm glad." Irene smiled, thankful for Elizabeth's intelligent response, "But studies of psychopathy have never been an absolute representation of the entire population of psychopaths. Even professionals have said it's not so black and white and that it is mainly dependent on the individual and their experiences."
"So?"
"So, whether you like it or not, you have gained Jim's respect over time - "
"And have now lost it."
"No. But you have also become his obsession."
"Psychopaths don't have obsessions - "
"Psychopathy isn't black and white." Irene countered quickly.
Elizabeth sighed, "If he's obsessed with me, why did he try to kill me?"
"If he isn't obsessed with you, then why did he give me a message to pass onto you?"
Touché. Again. Irene was good at this. Perhaps she missed her calling in life, Elizabeth thought. Could have studied psychology. How did she even know all this?
"Why do you know so much about it?" Elizabeth asked.
"I know a psychologist and I - "
"Know what he likes?"
"No." Irene chuckled, "I was going to say and I have books and Google."
Elizabeth promptly shut her mouth after that, an apologetic look upon her face.
"Don't worry. I won't hold that statement against you considering I was the one to make it in the first place..." She paused, approaching Elizabeth by the fire place now, "At the end of the day, Jim is a complex person. I don't even think *he* knows why he does half the things he does. What I do know is that he wants you back by his side, where he believes you belong."
Elizabeth looked at Irene while she spoke, drawn in by the blood red lipstick that she had been wearing since yesterday.
"What message did Jim have for me?"
"Jim wants to meet with you next Sunday. He's asking you to make a choice. It could be your chance to build back up whatever trust he lost in you."
"Meet in person? I can't do that." Elizabeth hissed, worry lacing her tone, "I can't leave without Sherlock or John accompanying me."
"Elizabeth, you have to find a way." A gleam of fear struck Irene's eyes at the thought of the thief not going, "If you completely burn your bridges with Jim, he will make you regret it."
Equally, she mirrored Irene's alarm at thought of making Jim into more of an enemy than she thought he was already, "You're scared too, Irene. Why?"
"Jim is dangerous, Elizabeth. I might be working with him, but not by choice. And I would prefer to live and I just have to get you to meet him and then he'll cut ties with me. Please, go to him."
She found it odd that the Dominatrix of all people was begging. Normally, it would have been the other way around. But the thief saw the dread in Irene's eyes and she wanted to help. But Elizabeth was terrified too. Terrified to disappoint Sherlock and John and terrified a meeting with Jim would all go wrong. She tried to harden herself against it.
"And what if I don't meet him?"
"Then both of our lives will be at risk. Others around yourself too. He thinks I can get through to you and persuade you to go back to him."
Elizabeth wiped her hands over her eyes, feeling the panic rising in her chest. It wasn't fair. She had never been faced with choices like this when she was with Jim. Maybe she should go back. But then, Sherlock and John had so much hope for her. She would disappoint them. If she stayed on the supposed side she was currently on, then she would put everyone's lives at risk.
"Please, Elizabeth. He will kill me if you don't do this."
She tried anything to dissisociate with her feelings, "And why should I care, Irene? Because you've done a lot of bad too. Why should I care if he kills you or not?"
"Jim told me, before we met, that you never wanted to kill and perhaps you haven't. But the choices you've made? They've led to deaths, haven't they?"
That old woman Jim strapped a bomb to and the people in that block of flats. Shaun. Scarlett. The man on the phone whose name and story she didn't even know. If she didn't meet with Jim then Irene's name may be added to the list.
"I - "
"Haven't they?"
"Yes..."
Elizabeth did care. Why did she care? Before when she didn't consider all the sides to the story, when she didn't care about the bigger picture, life was so much simpler. Ignorance was bliss. She longed for it now.
Irene, knowing that she had finally gotten through to Elizabeth, said, "Next Sunday. He wants to meet at your old flat."
The thief nodded. Irene exhaled quietly, relieved that she appeared to have convinced her. Elizabeth's feet dragged herself back to the sofa where she sat down as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Irene headed to the window that she had come through. She turned around to look at the distraught Elizabeth one last time, "I'm sorry that you've become so mixed up in all of this."
"I should have been better." She muttered back, "I shouldn't have been caught. Irene, what if Jim decides to kill me?" Tears gathered in her eyes.
"I - don't think he will." Irene tried to reassure, "He did say that he would rather die than give you up. I don't think he'll kill you."
"Right...thanks."
"Thank you, Elizabeth." And with that, Irene climbed out of the window, making it down to the silent London streets.
A car flashed it's lights from the other side of the street. Irene didn't know that they had been watching. With a gulp, she tried to compose herself as she strolled over to the car.
"I have to say, this is a lovely service you have. You arrive before I even have to call." She tried her very best not to falter as she put on her seat belt.
Jim didn't look at her. He just looked straight ahead of him as he calmly yet chillingly said, "We couldn't hear anything."
"What?"
"Her laptop. There was a listening device on the laptop. Wasn't it in the room?"
"I - I didn't see it. No. It - must have been in Sherlock's room."
Jim gave a single nod. Then, he slowly turned to look at her, practically cowering in the seat next to him. She didn't cower physically, no, but it was the look of terror in her eyes. The fear that she thought she hid well.
"Will she meet with me?"
"Yes."
"Good." He tapped the back of Seb's seat and the car started, "Irene Adler. A famed name given those scandals you were associated with. But the thing is, once you're out of the limelight, people start to forget. And when people forget about you, then they aren't likely to ask about you. And if they don't ask about you, if you just disappeared one evening, then people aren't going to care."
Irene's mouth was dry as she listened to Jim's alarmingly controlled mini speech. He just continued.
"Remember when I said I would skin you and turn you into shoes?"
Instinctively, Irene reached to open the door but the subtle click of the locks told her she was going nowhere.
"See. Now, that just screams to me that you know you have done something wrong. Why would you want to leave when we're having such a nice chat?"
"I - had to get Elizabeth to trust me. If she didn't trust me then how was I to persuade her?" She spoke quickly, angry at herself for showing up her mistake.
"Mmhm." Jim nodded, that dark look lingering in his eyes, "Okay. I'm not unreasonable. But this is what is going to happen now - I'm going to keep you on a little longer."
"But we agreed - "
"What we agreed before doesn't matter now. I want you to know that until I see fit, I own you, Ms Adler. It's either extra work or shoes and if I were you, I know which one I would prefer."
She swallowed, and nodded, despising the lack of power she had. Jim tapped the back of Seb's seat again, letting him know he could stop the car.
"You can get out here. I'll contact you when I need you." He dropped his tone lower again, "And if you disappear, I want you to look at every pair of shoes you find along the way and know that that will be you when I find you because I will find you if you do."