Who: Irene and John When: Monday, July, 10th What: Irene initiates phase 2 Where: John's clinic Status: Complete
“Fortunately an infection hasn’t developed. I’m prescribing a corticosteroid cream for Mrs Layland, and an oral electrolyte for her dehydration.” John’s patient had gone to Brightford and stayed out too long on the beach without the proper protection and got a horrible sunburn. He peeled off the latex gloves he was wearing and tossed them into the recycling bin, then picked up the clipboard to fill out the prescription form.
The clinic where he worked kept him busy with a steady stream of patients, and busy helped as a distraction. However, it wasn’t enough for him to keep remembering his run-in with Moriarty, earlier in the week. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see the criminal mastermind sulking nearby. Not seeing anybody wasn’t any better, because he’d begun to assume that he was constantly being watched and followed, the same as Sherlock, but that they were too good to be sighted. Was this part of Moriarty’s plan, to agitate his mind? Psychologically terrorizing him? Because John had to admit to himself it was kinda working. Not enough for him to be full blown paranoid, refusing to step out of his apartment - John was too stubborn to let that happen. But it still affected his daily thoughts and actions. Hell, who knows? His next patient could be somebody working for Moriarty.
“Ms Lieberman is waiting for you in Room C, Dr Watson.” The receptionist handed him the new patient file, freshly filled out, and as he went down the short corridor he flipped through the information.
“Good afternoon, Ms Lieberman, you say you’ve been experiencing shortness of breath…” John walked through the door of Room C, and looked up from the file at the woman sitting on the exam table, then flopped his arms down to his side out of exasperation. “... oh shit. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s not exactly the sort of reaction I was expecting,” Irene replied. “And I couldn’t very well leave a comment on your blog, now could I?” Well, she could, but then, someone else would know that she was here as well. And that was a meeting that she wasn’t looking forward to having, even if she knew that she could only postpone the inevitable for so long. “You going to throw me out for falsifying medical records?” she asked, completely ignoring the fact that she’d been reading his blog. “After all, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done that, is it?”
Standing, she regarded him for a moment. “Surely you should have expected this. Did Sherlock not tell you of our little discussion? It was his idea, after all. Well, perhaps not the location, but I hardly believe that dropping by your place would be appropriate, would it? Not when one intends to keep their presence as low key as possible.”
But that hadn’t exactly answered his question. Sure, Sherlock could have deduced everything she intended from that bit of information, if he hadn’t already known. But Watson was not Sherlock. “If you must know, I’m here because of you, Watson. You, Sherlock, me, and a certain someone that as far as I know, is still unaware that I am here. That is likely something that one will not be able to keep from him forever. Thus, steps must be taken. Steps that, in order to get there, necessitates me being here to invoke an action on your part.”
John stood, scowling at Irene, deciding what to do. The last time he saw her, she was working for Moriarty, and had manipulated Sherlock into cracking a ‘code’ that ultimately spoiled a secret operation Mycroft was working on to foil a terrorist plot. His natural instincts to protect Sherlock at all costs arose, as well as an initial pang of jealousy. But then he recalled the conversation he had with Sherlock a few days ago, where he convinced John he wasn’t romantically interested in Irene, and only then he was able to settle down. For some reason, Sherlock felt a bond with Irene, believed they were simular, felt compassion for the danger she was in with Moriarty. It was for Sherlock’s sake that John would hear what Irene had to say.
Grimacing while looking away in irritation, he then quickly peeked out into the hallway to make sure nobody had overheard what had just been said, then closed the door so they could have some privacy. “Yes, Sherlock told me he was going to meet you for brunch,” John said a little gruffer than usual. “But we didn’t discuss what you two talked about.” He gave her a skeptical look. “Sherlock wanted you to see me?” He sighed. Probably to clear the air and help establish trust. But from what Irene explained, it sounded like she wanted more from him, which piqued his curiosity.
The clipboard with Irene’s falsified information was now useless to him; he tossed it carelessly upon the nearby counter, then folded his arms across this chest, impatiently. “What do you want me to do? Sherlock already told me that I shouldn’t try to go after Moriarty, though I’d like nothing more than to put a bullet in that bastard’s skull.”
“Oh, such passion, John.” Irene said. “Though I’m curious if you truly know where that passion is coming from, or where it should be directed.” She shook her head slightly. “And please, I made certain that no one knows I’m here. I’m not so eager to go looking for trouble as to openly announce myself. Which is why I arranged to meet you here.” Moving, she sat on the examination table, making herself comfortable, given that they would likely be her for awhile. “Yes, we had brunch, and as for what we discussed, well, that would be why I’m here, talking to you. Sherlock, for whatever reason, does not want to see what I can, and you… well, I don’t think you actually see it yourself, despite me telling you once.” That wasn’t entirely true, given the conversation that she’d had with Sherlock, but… this was something that John would have to find out on his own.
“Clearly, you aren’t quite ready to hear it, either, given your jealous little fit. So, let’s clear the air on that, shall we? I have absolutely no interest in Sherlock, at least nothing beyond a professional interest,” she said. “Sherlock fascinates me. We are so very much alike, yet so very dissimilar. Our methods are different, I dare say completely opposite. He fixates on the physical, I the emotional. Emotions can tell you so much more about a person than the particular type of clay one has upon their shoe. Which would you say is more beneficial? Knowing where someone was, or why they were there?” One could reasonably argue either one, but for her, knowing why was more important. Knowing how one did something was truly important, but understanding why gave you more insight into them. And insight granted control over them. Such had been her way before, though now, control wasn’t an option, not for her.
There was always something about the way Irene spoke that stripped away at John’s exterior and laid him bare, exposing him where he didn’t want to be seen. In that way, he supposed, Irene and Sherlock were alike, but John continued to stubbornly refuse to see it that way, even as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His face, set in stone, faltered nervously, but regained its staunchness, and he tilted his head upward as he struggled with maintaining his equilibrium.
But why? Why did Irene make John so nervous. Well, talk about how Sherlock fascinated her reminded him too much of Moriarty, but that wasn’t exactly it. Was it insecurity? The idea that Sherlock and Irene understood one another on a level that John was not privy to, nor would he ever be? Maybe that was closer to the truth. But John had to interject in Sherlock’s defense, “I’d say Sherlock manages both physical and emotional. He just… doesn’t get caught up in those emotions, himself. He did a pretty bang on job deducing your emotions when he finally figured out the code to unlock your phone.” That last bit was meant to be a jab, to needle Irene and make her uncomfortable the same way she was making him uncomfortable.
It was when Irene spoke about how she was not interested in Sherlock that drew the most reaction from John. His facial features relaxed, but not his sense of territorialism. He considered Sherlock as his, whether he choose to acknowledge that or not. “No? Well... “ he flustered a little before saying, “...good. Sherlock already told me the same thing. He’s not interested in you either.” So there. Nyah, nyah, nyah. “I’m glad that’s cleared up. But that still doesn’t answer what you want to talk to me about.” He narrowed his eyes at her as he thought. “Despite telling me once…” he said, thoughtfully. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, nervous again. “Tell me what?” He had an idea what Irene was going to say, but didn’t dare bring it up, himself.
“Touche.” Irene replied. Jab, duly noted. One point, Watson. “Of course, my interest was merely professional, need I remind you that I am gay,” she said. Again. “While I might service men, I have no desire of sleeping with them. Not even one as beautiful as Sherlock. Those cheekbones.” Tilting her head slightly, she regarded John for a moment. “So, given that we’ve both admitted there is nothing more than a professional appreciation between the two of us, might we get on to the task at hand?” Truth be told, of which of course she would never admit to anyone but Sherlock, and hint at to Mycroft, Sherlock was one person that she could not figure out. Perhaps it was due to his emotional detachment.
“Oh, you make quite the couple,” she continued, calling back the conversation she’d had with John before. “And still, you don’t see it. Why don’t you admit you have feelings for him, John? I can’t say how he feels, but you…. You need to face your feelings and deal with them. Get them out in the open and dealt with, one way or the other. Because as they are, it’s something that Moriarty will simply use against you. And that I know, since he told me how to manipulate both Holmes brothers. Yes, it’s something that he might do anyways, but at least if it’s something that the two of you have dealt with, then it won’t be as much use to him as he intends.”
Doubt was something that he was showing, at least always something that he seemed to express around her, despite all the evidence to the contrary that she could see. “One question, if I might ask,” she said. “I’ve no doubt that Mycroft thoroughly analyzed the footage of my death. I can’t imagine that he would have told Sherlock anything. No, he would have left that to you. What did you tell Sherlock?”
Once Irene began talking about him and Sherlock being a couple, John’s awkwardness increased. He immediately looked to the door to make sure it was still closed, a reflex coming more from his past than present. For several moments, John couldn’t even make eye contact with her, his gaze shifting from one corner of the room to another, and indeed, his whole body became restless. There was no use in hiding it any more, and John began to question why did he even need to continue hiding. “A lot has changed,” he confessed. “Since you last confronted me about this.”
An anger arose, though John would’ve had a difficult time pinpointing where it came from. “Okay, yes. I’m bisexual.” There was a bitterness to the word that John hadn’t meant to use. “But I was… am... I’m not…. I don’t feel comfortable admitting that to everybody, okay?” Again, he blurted that out, the same way a dog that is cornered and feels threatened might snarl and bare its teeth. “And at the time, Sherlock was the last person I wanted to know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was complicated. I didn’t think he was… interested… wasn’t sure. He told me flat out once before that he was married to his work, that he didn’t have time for relationships, and I tried to respect that. There were plenty of times I wanted to bring it up with Sherlock, but… something always happened.” Usually his lack of confidence.
When John dropped his hand out of frustration, the emotions in his chest had swelled and caused tears to involuntarily well in his eyes, but he would be damned if he was going to cry. Pursing his lips together and reigning in his feelings, he continued. “But like I said, we’ve changed. Both of us have gone through… loss… pain. I’m not going to get into that here. But Sherlock… he’s a lot more affectionate than he used to be. A lot more open. Physically, even. But it’s like we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move, but I don’t know why I’m so goddamn nervous.”
Shifting the topic helped to distract John so he could get himself together. “Urm.” He furrowed his brows in thought. “I told Sherlock what Mycroft told me to say. That you had gotten yourself into a witness protection program in America and was now safe, but that you could never contact Sherlock again. I think Mycroft was trying to spare Sherlock the grief.” A pause. “So, I take it that you really didn’t get beheaded by Middle Eastern extremists?”
Irene was rather surprised at the admission, especially given how adamant he’d been the first time. Clearly, there had been a lot that had happened that she was unaware of. “Dear boy, you needn’t admit it to anyone if you don’t want to. Admitting it to yourself is the most important thing. I do, however, think that you should tell Sherlock. Yes, he is perhaps married to his work, but really. After reading your blog, the two of you are quite the couple, even if no one had admitted anything yet. And telling him might just be the thing that he needs.” Not to mention that since she knew how both parties felt, there really wasn’t any need for them not to admit it to each other.
The part about him being more affectionate was most curious, but then, she should have expected that. Given the number of times that she’d texted him, he had only texted her once, wishing her a happy new year. And upon her initial text after arriving, there had been a rather lengthy conversation. Plus, he’d agreed to brunch. Not the dinner that she’d constantly requested, but it was something.
There was a story there. That much was obvious. But, she didn’t press for details. They would come in time, perhaps. At the moment, she needed John’s trust more than whatever details they had gone through. ”No, I wasn’t,” she said, telling him the truth. “Oh, I thought I was going to be. Was sending a goodbye text right before it was to happen. Thus, you can imagine my surprise to hear the recipient of that text standing right behind me. After rescuing me, Sherlock made it appear that I was in fact executed, and I knew I had to fully disappear, as I wouldn’t be able to count on him being there all the time. And I wasn’t certain all who would be after me. Which led to my arrival here.”
John huffed out a derisive laugh at Irene’s comment how he didn’t need to admit his sexuality to anyone if he didn’t want to, when he’d just felt pressured to tell her after being prodded and coaxed. But there was a grain of truth to what she said. . “I know,” he responded, sounding more docile. “I know, but I’m ... “ Afraid? He couldn’t admit that. “Sherlock’s become so… insecure.” John wandered over to a chair and sat down with a sigh. “He talks to me as if he expects that I’m going to reject him, no matter how many times I’ve told him I won’t. Though…” he added, with some afterthought, “... he has been getting better about that.”
He looked up at Irene, and in a flash of vulnerability, John told her, “I don’t know if I can handle it if he rejects me.”
Irene’s story made John think. “He was there? He saved your life?” There were so many questions that came to mind, including how did Sherlock know Irene was in trouble and how did he manage to go to her without him knowing about it? and How was Sherlock able to fool Mycroft, who’d said he was very thorough in his investigation to make sure that it was actually Irene? John rubbed his mouth and chin with his hand, considering these questions, then decided that knowing those answers weren’t as important as understanding, “Why? Don’t take offense, but you’d manipulated him, insulted him.” But just as the words left his mouth, John realized the answer on his own. “Mycroft said something.” He’d forgotten it until now. “I told him that Sherlock called you the Woman, and I thought it was an insult. Mycroft suggested it was a salute. One of a kind. The one woman who mattered.”
Yes, she had prodded and coaxed, but only to get him to admit it to himself, since she’d know herself for some time. She’d tried to get him to see that their first ‘private’ conversation when she’d called them out as a couple. He’d denied being gay, she said she was, then gave him a stoic look, ‘Look at us.’ Of course, her attraction to Sherlock was more professional, recognizing a kindred spirit. And one thing she had learned in all her years, sometimes men needed to be prodded and pushed. It was a delicate act, doing so so that everything fell into place rather than toppling over completely.
Such was the case now.
“Then talk to him, John. Tell him how you feel. If you believe Sherlock feels that you’ll reject him, then show him that you won’t, don’t just tell him.” She paused, considering her next words carefully, knowing that this part, especially, required a delicate touch. “You live with the man, John, perhaps know him better than most. Do you honestly think that Sherlock doesn’t have at least a suspicion of your feelings? I knew it the moment I first met you. You live with the man. Maybe his fears are based on your inactions. He sees you denying yourself, thus denying him. I can’t say what will happen, but I can tell you what will if you don’t tell him. Because I’ve been in your position, John. The one person that I truly care about, do you know how I told her my feelings? I left her a note telling her where a security deposit box was that would take care of all her needs for the rest of her life. A note. Not in person, not even a call. You have a chance for something special, you just have to grab it and hold onto it.”
“I’ve asked myself that many times,” she replied. “And no offense taken. I won’t deny it. It’s the truth, and in the end, he beat me at my own game. The only thing I can think of was it was that which he respected. My mastery at playing the game.” She gave a soft smile. “Well, truth be told, everyone calls me that, I believe,” she said. “Though, as far as Sherlock goes? Who can say? Professional admiration can lead to poor objective decisions. Do I mean anything to Sherlock? Not in that way, I assure you.”
Irene’s discussion about Sherlock unconsciously made John’s left hand tremor, as it always seemed to do when he was anxious about this topic, causing him to flex his fingers to shake off the sensation. The corner of his mouth twitched into a wry smirk while quietly listening. As much as he hated being lectured by the dominatrix, he had to admit she was correct, which he acknowledged with a tilt of his head, and finally a nod. There was a good reason why Sherlock admired her, and while John had a difficult time believing it himself, he had an unflinching faith in Sherlock. That alone would place Irene in John’s favor.
“Alright,” he finally said. I’ll give it a shot. No more beating around the bush.” Then he looked at her, quizzingly. “But what do you get out of this? You don’t strike me as being a matchmaker.”
Irene nodded at the admission, a slight tilt of her head at the question as she pondered it briefly. Matchmaker? No, she wasn’t that, at least not in the general sense. “A mixture of things,” she replied finally. “Do you believe in karma, Dr. Watson? I do. Before coming here, I would say that I was heavily in the red. I came here for a new chance, and I think part of that includes making things right.”
She turned, facing the wall. Not the wall itself, but as if looking past it, seeing herself in another time, another place.
She smiles at the teller as he hands her the safety deposit box, waiting for him to leave. Sitting at the small table, she opens it, giving a quick glance at the contents. One small notebook, a ledger with several bank accounts and access codes. Keys to three different properties bought under an assumed name, no way to be traced.
Picking the tablet up off the table, she tears the top sheet off, leaving no trace as to what she intends to say. Her hand is quick and fluid as it glides over the page.
Kate- Not safe. You need to go into hiding. Box 1138, key is you know where. There’s enough to keep you provided for. I’ll be in touch.
Locking the box back up, she folds the note, placing it in her purse. She’ll have to find some means of delivering it to Kate later, once she knows she’s not being followed.
“Regret is a powerful thing, Dr. Watson. It’s not something that you want to experience yourself. I look at the two of you, and that’s what I see. Both of you heading towards regret. We tend to think ‘there’s always tomorrow’, but… sometimes, tomorrow never comes. You and Sherlock have a chance at something wonderful, but only if you reach out and take it. That is what I would save you from, that is why I do it.” Turning back to face him, she picked up her purse. “Talk to him, tell him how you feel.”
John leaned his elbow against the arm of his chair, and propped his chin up with his hand, his finger covering his mouth as he took in what Irene had to say. It never occurred to him before that she might’ve had a relationship - she never seemed the type. But her words struck him on a deep level. When she finished speaking, he raised his eyebrows and asked, “You know what happens, right? Probably not, since it sounds like you left before that, but I don’t know if you found out, or if Sherlock told you. But Moriarty forced Sherlock into a position where he had to fake his suicide.” Even though he now knew it was staged, the mental image still affected him, and the tone of his voice became devoid of emotion. “He jumped off the roof of a building, right in front of me, while we were on the phone. It was pretty damn convincing. He never thought to include me on the plan. He went into hiding, on some… mission.” he waved his hand dismissively, though he knew what Sherlock was doing was technically important. “To dismantle Moriarty’s gang. For two months, I was convinced he was dead, so yes” he continued with a sharper tone, I know what regret feels like. But at the same time, I want to respect Sherlock’s boundaries.”
A sigh. “I’ll take your advice, though.” When Irene picked up her purse, that was a clue for John that she was going to leave, which was just as well; he had patients to see. He rose to his feet and sincerely told her, “Thank you.”
Irene nodded. She hadn’t known the specifics, but there had been the hint of something happening. “That feeling you had when you thought he was dead? That’s what you’ll be feeling all the time if you don’t tell him, Dr. Watson. I’m certain the two of you can work things out. You’re both grown men. And I do believe I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll see you around.”
Turning to the door, she paused, glancing back at John. “Oh, do tell Sherlock that he still owes me dinner.” Not that he would actually take her, but it had become something of a running joke between them. “Good day, Dr. Watson,” she said, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.