|Irene Adler (makethembeg) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-01-30 21:18:00
|Entry tags:||irene adler, jim moriarty|
Who: Adler and Moriarty
When: This evening, starting around 6pm
Where: Wherever he decides
Planting the camera in Sherlock's apartment had been easier than she'd anticipated, even if he was obviously suspicious. No doubt he'd find it soon - if he hadn't already - but if it helped Moriarty bring him down, she'd accept any repercussions it brought. He had no way to prove it was her, at least, and using Carls name for the courier would hopefully make him suspect Moriarty more than her. And Moriarty was impressed, which amused her and annoyed her in equal measure. Did he really think her so ordinary? Well, dinner would change his mind. On that point she was determined.
The woman opened the latest text and smiled. 8pm. She could be ready by then, definitely. Standing and opening her wardrobe - she had insured to find an apartment with a proper walk-in - she started to browse. The money he'd provided had helped replenish her selection somewhat, and a few of her newly acquired clients had been very obliging, so her choice was adequate at least.
Some time later she'd settled on a McQueen dress and a pair of Louboutin shoes. The shoes she chose partly for their name - Lady Lynch. She felt it fit. Laying the dress out on her bed, she added sheer silk stockings and a garter belt and nodded to herself, satisfied. Then, remembering the temperature outside, she choose a fur opera jacket and added it to the outfit.
Now, she thought. Make up. Moments like these she missed Kate - the little red head had been so good at applying it just as she liked. But her own skill would do, and after a while she had carefully created subtly smoky eyes, and lips the same red as the soles of her shoes. After all, most of her acquaintances valued a kiss from one as much as a kiss from the other. Somehow she imagined Jim wouldn't value either, but the sentiment was there.
She dressed carefully, missing Kate yet again when she had to contort herself to pull up the zip on her dress, and popped her lipstick and phone into a little black clutch. One last check in the mirror, and she left the apartment at 8 on the dot. Timing had always been an innate skill of hers, and she imagined that punctuality was valued by the Irish man. Whom she had no desire to annoy - yet.