fic: sherlock
the woman, an irene adler/sherlock holmes fic
starring billie piper as irene and benedict cumberbatch as sherlock
written for mylittlepwny, who requested this ages ago
1,186 words
She had a beauty, shapely grace, and fire that made men shiver. But those paled in comparison to her marvelous wit and cunning, the flash of dangerous challenge in her dark eyes. And while other, lesser men were distracted by her curves and golden hair, Sherlock saw only the brain behind the beauty.
Of course, this didn’t stop him from being just as taken in as those lesser men.
John said it did him some good, to be bested on occasion. But the truth was, this was the only occasion. And it stuck all the sharper for it.
There was some solace, though, in the fact that she was the most singular, most impressive woman he’d ever met. There was nothing of the frivolous or mundane about her. Her mind was as well-oiled as his, a dynamite-powered gun with a hair trigger. Every movement was calculated, every word spoken well-placed.
It took ten and a half months to uncover her tracks. She’d gone to Paris first, and when she left for New York three months later she took a diamond necklace valued at two million dollars with her. In New York he found a very wealthy and very jilted lover with much emptier pockets; in Montreal she had stolen away with incriminating photographs of an influential politician.
By the time he knocked on her hotel door, she’d managed to get herself onto Interpol’s watch list and had been blacklisted in America. He had to commend her work ethic.
She opened the door in little more than a sapphire dressing gown and a string of pearls, utterly unsurprised. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders like new-spun gold.
“Hello, Sherlock,” she said, holding the door open for him. “You never needed an invitation to step in before.”
He glanced around lazily, taking in the unkempt bedclothes and the empty bottle of champagne by the lamp. He had his suspicions for why she’d come back to England and dared Interpol, but she wasn’t the sort to leave blatant clues lying about hotel rooms.
“Would you like to paw through my underwear while you’re at it?” she asked archly, sitting and crossing her pale legs. She lifted a thin cigarette to her dark lips and blew a smoke ring at him.
“Ms. Adler, I doubt there’s anything in your underwear that would interest me,” he replied sharply.
“You’re still cross with me,” she said, voice tinged with amusement. “Nearly a year later. I do believe that’s a new record.”
“That gem you lifted caused a multitude of problems for a variety of people. Including myself and John. There was a whole swathe of bureaucratic tape to cut through.”
“Total bollocks,” she said airily. “I bruised that marvelous ego of yours. That’s what this is about. I know how you operate, Holmes. You wouldn’t exert this much effort for most cases, let alone one as straight-forward as mine tend to be.”
“If I told you I was being paid rather well to track you down? You’ve angered over a dozen wealthy men, four politicians, two art thieves and six insurance companies. The name Irene Adler has become an expensive one to wear.”
“And if you told me that I’d laugh right in your face,” she said. “Since when did money mean anything to you, Holmes? It may mean something to John, and you may take cases for a price when he complains enough about the back rent, but you’d rather starve than debase yourself in such a fashion.”
Sherlock stood before the balcony doors, his back to her as he stared out over the city below.
“My, but you do brood well,” she said appreciatively. “You’ve the face and figure for it. Why are you really here, Sherlock?”
“Clearly, you’ve already come to your own conclusions.”
“Conclusions are one thing; confessions are another entirely.”
“If you’re waiting for me to get emotional, Ms. Adler, you’ll be waiting rather a long time,” Sherlock said waspishly, glancing back at her.
“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “Beneath that breast lies a cold, robotic heart. No finer feelings could stir it. I’m nothing more than an intellectual adversary for you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Quite. And an infuriating one at that.”
“How else am I to keep you interested?” she said, standing and rearranging her dressing gown. “Would you like a glass of champagne? Or would you rather sulk there ominously the rest of the night?”
“You expect me to trust you far enough to drink with you?” He smiled, a bitter twist of his lips.
“No, I expect you to insinuate and hurl insults in my direction,” she replied, uncorking a new bottle with a bang.
“I came here because I was curious to see what sort of a woman you’d become,” he said abruptly, his deep voice booming.
She hesitated in mid-pour. “And? What have you deduced?”
“You haven’t changed a jot. I haven’t decided if this amuses or frustrates me.”
“Why should it do either?” she asked, lifting her glass to her lips. “I’m only an intellectual adversary to you, after all, Holmes. What should it matter to you, what I do with myself, and with whom?”
He pressed his lips together, mouth a stern, thin line, and she laughed.
“I’m glad that you missed me,” she said, setting her glass down, stepping over to the wardrobe and pulling out a black satin dress. “That I made such an impression. And that you went to all the trouble of tracking me down so we could have this delightful conversation. Now, my dear Mr. Holmes, I have an appointment I can’t be late for. Pardon me if I damage your finer sensibilities.”
The dressing gown slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet with an iridescent shine. He didn’t blink, and she only grinned. A moment later she was pulling up her dress, turning slightly and giving him a heavy-lidded glance over one smooth shoulder.
“Mind being a dear and zipping me up?”
His expression didn’t change as he pulled up the tiny black tab. She gathered handfuls of her hair and swept it up hastily, twisting her loose curls into a bun.
“Merci. Now, I would love to leave a forwarding address, or slip you my number, but you know how things are. It’s so hard to stay put in one place for long. I’m sure you’ll find me again when you’re in the mood-or I’ll find you.”
“This appointment of yours,” he said as she opened the door. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the oil tycoon Sendhil Martash, would it?”
“A girl never kisses and tells, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “You know that.”
“A word to the wise, Ms. Adler. A certain Detective Inspector Williams already has his eye on Mr. Martash for his slightly unscrupulous business deals. You might be wary of that particular carrot.”
She hesitated in the doorway, turning to look back at him. “And you’re telling me this why?”
“To level the playing field, so to speak.”
“Ah. Of course.” She tilted her head, arched an elegant eyebrow. “Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Adler.”
starring billie piper as irene and benedict cumberbatch as sherlock
written for mylittlepwny, who requested this ages ago
1,186 words
She had a beauty, shapely grace, and fire that made men shiver. But those paled in comparison to her marvelous wit and cunning, the flash of dangerous challenge in her dark eyes. And while other, lesser men were distracted by her curves and golden hair, Sherlock saw only the brain behind the beauty.
Of course, this didn’t stop him from being just as taken in as those lesser men.
John said it did him some good, to be bested on occasion. But the truth was, this was the only occasion. And it stuck all the sharper for it.
There was some solace, though, in the fact that she was the most singular, most impressive woman he’d ever met. There was nothing of the frivolous or mundane about her. Her mind was as well-oiled as his, a dynamite-powered gun with a hair trigger. Every movement was calculated, every word spoken well-placed.
It took ten and a half months to uncover her tracks. She’d gone to Paris first, and when she left for New York three months later she took a diamond necklace valued at two million dollars with her. In New York he found a very wealthy and very jilted lover with much emptier pockets; in Montreal she had stolen away with incriminating photographs of an influential politician.
By the time he knocked on her hotel door, she’d managed to get herself onto Interpol’s watch list and had been blacklisted in America. He had to commend her work ethic.
She opened the door in little more than a sapphire dressing gown and a string of pearls, utterly unsurprised. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders like new-spun gold.
“Hello, Sherlock,” she said, holding the door open for him. “You never needed an invitation to step in before.”
He glanced around lazily, taking in the unkempt bedclothes and the empty bottle of champagne by the lamp. He had his suspicions for why she’d come back to England and dared Interpol, but she wasn’t the sort to leave blatant clues lying about hotel rooms.
“Would you like to paw through my underwear while you’re at it?” she asked archly, sitting and crossing her pale legs. She lifted a thin cigarette to her dark lips and blew a smoke ring at him.
“Ms. Adler, I doubt there’s anything in your underwear that would interest me,” he replied sharply.
“You’re still cross with me,” she said, voice tinged with amusement. “Nearly a year later. I do believe that’s a new record.”
“That gem you lifted caused a multitude of problems for a variety of people. Including myself and John. There was a whole swathe of bureaucratic tape to cut through.”
“Total bollocks,” she said airily. “I bruised that marvelous ego of yours. That’s what this is about. I know how you operate, Holmes. You wouldn’t exert this much effort for most cases, let alone one as straight-forward as mine tend to be.”
“If I told you I was being paid rather well to track you down? You’ve angered over a dozen wealthy men, four politicians, two art thieves and six insurance companies. The name Irene Adler has become an expensive one to wear.”
“And if you told me that I’d laugh right in your face,” she said. “Since when did money mean anything to you, Holmes? It may mean something to John, and you may take cases for a price when he complains enough about the back rent, but you’d rather starve than debase yourself in such a fashion.”
Sherlock stood before the balcony doors, his back to her as he stared out over the city below.
“My, but you do brood well,” she said appreciatively. “You’ve the face and figure for it. Why are you really here, Sherlock?”
“Clearly, you’ve already come to your own conclusions.”
“Conclusions are one thing; confessions are another entirely.”
“If you’re waiting for me to get emotional, Ms. Adler, you’ll be waiting rather a long time,” Sherlock said waspishly, glancing back at her.
“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “Beneath that breast lies a cold, robotic heart. No finer feelings could stir it. I’m nothing more than an intellectual adversary for you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Quite. And an infuriating one at that.”
“How else am I to keep you interested?” she said, standing and rearranging her dressing gown. “Would you like a glass of champagne? Or would you rather sulk there ominously the rest of the night?”
“You expect me to trust you far enough to drink with you?” He smiled, a bitter twist of his lips.
“No, I expect you to insinuate and hurl insults in my direction,” she replied, uncorking a new bottle with a bang.
“I came here because I was curious to see what sort of a woman you’d become,” he said abruptly, his deep voice booming.
She hesitated in mid-pour. “And? What have you deduced?”
“You haven’t changed a jot. I haven’t decided if this amuses or frustrates me.”
“Why should it do either?” she asked, lifting her glass to her lips. “I’m only an intellectual adversary to you, after all, Holmes. What should it matter to you, what I do with myself, and with whom?”
He pressed his lips together, mouth a stern, thin line, and she laughed.
“I’m glad that you missed me,” she said, setting her glass down, stepping over to the wardrobe and pulling out a black satin dress. “That I made such an impression. And that you went to all the trouble of tracking me down so we could have this delightful conversation. Now, my dear Mr. Holmes, I have an appointment I can’t be late for. Pardon me if I damage your finer sensibilities.”
The dressing gown slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet with an iridescent shine. He didn’t blink, and she only grinned. A moment later she was pulling up her dress, turning slightly and giving him a heavy-lidded glance over one smooth shoulder.
“Mind being a dear and zipping me up?”
His expression didn’t change as he pulled up the tiny black tab. She gathered handfuls of her hair and swept it up hastily, twisting her loose curls into a bun.
“Merci. Now, I would love to leave a forwarding address, or slip you my number, but you know how things are. It’s so hard to stay put in one place for long. I’m sure you’ll find me again when you’re in the mood-or I’ll find you.”
“This appointment of yours,” he said as she opened the door. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the oil tycoon Sendhil Martash, would it?”
“A girl never kisses and tells, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “You know that.”
“A word to the wise, Ms. Adler. A certain Detective Inspector Williams already has his eye on Mr. Martash for his slightly unscrupulous business deals. You might be wary of that particular carrot.”
She hesitated in the doorway, turning to look back at him. “And you’re telling me this why?”
“To level the playing field, so to speak.”
“Ah. Of course.” She tilted her head, arched an elegant eyebrow. “Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Adler.”