InsaneJournal

WHO: Irene Adler & NPC!Zombies.
WHAT: A zombie attack with fatal consequences.
WHEN: Mid-afternoon.
WHERE: Irene's brownstone.
RATING: PG-13ish, to be safe. Mentions of death and zombies but nothing too descriptive.
STATUS: Complete; Narrative.

Irene had never been a fan of Valentine's Day. While that might not have been a surprise to some, as a professional dominatrix scarcely was the sort to make one think of flowers and chocolates, the truth was that her reasons had very little to do with her occupation and much more to do with her own, personal belief that romance was not something that needed to be force-fed down the throats of consumers by corporations who cared nothing for the subject itself and were solely focused on making a profit. Which was why, despite the fourteenth of February being one of her most highly requested days of business, she was officially off work for the entirety of it. She simply refused to profit from people who were feeling exceptionally lonely solely because they didn't have someone to warm their bed on one singular day of the year that, really, wasn't any more or less special than any other day of the year in the scheme of things.

So yes. Irene had made quite certain she had no clients scheduled for this particular Tuesday and, instead, had decided to spend it as she always did - alone. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest idea she could have had, considering the threat of zombies of all things that was plaguing the city currently, but hindsight really is 20/20 and when she had woken that morning, she'd certainly never thought that her tried and true way of not celebrating Valentine's Day was going to cause her as much trouble as it did. If she had known, she might have taken precautions. As she hadn't know, though, she was wholly unprepared for what the afternoon had in store for her.

Sitting beside her fireplace in a silk robe, with a book open on her lap and a glass of rather expensive red wine beside her, the sudden sound of shattering glass from the vicinity of her study caused her to jump slightly in alarm. Eyes wide, she set her book down and silently rose to her feet as she tried to pinpoint precisely what had caused the noise. It wasn't until she was halfway out of her sitting room, brandishing a fire poker instead of her firearm, as her revolver only had a singular shot in it and wasn't nearly as effective without more, that she realized just what it was she had heard. Or, rather, what she was continuing to hear that also explained what had caused the crashing sound to begin with.

The low groaning, accompanied with the sound of someone half-walking, half-dragging their feet across well polished wooden floors, was more than enough to alert her to the situation. In her mind's eye, she could practically see the zombies slowly gathering outside of her home, searching for a way inside. Whether one of them had intentionally shattered the glass of the french doors in the study in order to gain entrance, or whether it had been a sheer accident, really was entirely beside the point. Now that they had a way in, they certainly weren't stopping. In fact, by the time Irene had cautiously exited the sitting room and taken a left down the corridor, there were at least a dozen or so making their way toward her. With a audible swallow, she spun on her heel and made her way back toward her front door only to register the banging and groaning on the other side as a sign that it clearly was not going to be used for escape.

With no where left to go, Irene quickly dashed back into her sitting room and slammed the thick, wooden doors shut behind her. Tossing her makeshift weapon aside, she then went to work sliding first her sofa, then coffee table, against the doors in an attempt to buy herself a few more seconds of time. Already, though, the banging had begun and she knew the wood wouldn't keep the creatures out for long. Trembling with a mixture of terror and adrenaline, the woman quickly gathered up the fire poker once more, holding it out in front of her as she placed herself in the center of the room and waited for the inevitable wave of zombies to get through.

Seconds seemed to tick by into an eternity but, all too soon, the reanimated corpses managed to break down the door and claw their way past the quickly constructed barrier. As the first handful ambled inside, Irene wasted no time in using the poker a bit like a bat and smashing them in the head with all of the strength she possessed. However, when a few zombies quickly became a dozen, with even more climbing through the hole in the door in an attempt to get in on the action, she knew she had to do something else. And when one of them managed to grab ahold of her robe and came dangerously close to biting her arm when she flailed in an attempt to shake loose of his grasp, the dread at the thought of becoming one of these creatures all but determined for her what she had to do.

Backing up until she was directly in front of the fireplace, with nowhere left to go, Irene swallowed her fear and exhaled slowly to calm herself. She slid one hand into her pocket, fingers expertly dancing across the keyboard of her PDA as she sent out a message to the only man to ever best her. Eyes sliding closed, she then reached out with her mind to the only other person she had truly bonded with during her time in the city, saying her goodbyes to him as well.

Then, ignoring the pain as a zombie managed to finally bite her on her shoulder, as well as the roar of their frenzied groans of hunger in her ears, Irene calmly drew her revolver from the other pocket of her robe, pressed the muzzle to her temple, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.