Morstan and Adler

Ten: Irene

IRENE

Irene had been seeing Sherlock again. She was pretty mad with him, with the whole Janine thing. But she couldn't stay mad at him, no way.

They'd discussed Mary, and how Irene knew her. She, too, left out the details about Moriarty's return and how Mary was an assassin.

Mary was her best friend, now. Her Watson. Or was she the Watson? Anyway, she was happy for her relationship with the actual Watson, and had been to the wedding. Irene had told Sherlock that she'd been, but just to keep an eye on him. The truth was that Irene had been there for Mary.

She knew that she couldn't be a bridesmaid or anything - that was for her own protection, but nevertheless, she had wanted to. All the more reason to hate Janine.

Anyway, now she was really P.Oed.

All those feelings about being there for Mary, and being jealous of Janine, had evaporated like tears in an oven. Now there was only hate, hate and worry. Hate for Mary - the woman who'd shot Sherlock; and worry; worry for the man that had been shot by her.

Now she was leaving him, asleep in his bed, leaving a rose in the vase on the table next to him. She wiped tears from her eyes as she walked through the hallways of the hospital.

"Irene!"

Irene looked up to see the killer herself, Mary striding through the hallway towards her.

"F*** off, would you?" Irene snapped.

"Irene, please!" Mary caught her arm.

"What?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Sorry?" Irene laughed bitterly. "You're just so full of yourself, aren't you? God.... You'll never be forgiven for this. Never." She shrugged away Mary's grip and hurried on.

"Wait! I saved him!"

Irene stopped and turned around. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have been asleep when the world decided that the definition of saving somebody was putting them in hospital with a bullet in their chest(!)"

"I called the ambulance!"

"After almost killing him. There's time for him to die yet."

"Irene...." Mary pleaded.

Irene's blood boiled. "You don't understand, do you?" She pointed towards Sherlock's room. "I know him very well, that man. I was with him just now. Do you know what kind of man Sherlock is?"

Mary didn't answer, just looked at Irene with sad eyes.

"He's a pained kind of man," Irene continued. "Magnussen, he says that everybody has a pressure point. Sherlock has many. He is a very vulnerable man, that's why he acts strong and cold. Because if he doesn't, he'll fall to pieces. He's seen things that would shock a military man.

"You're married to one, aren't you? John Watson... you see the way he walks, the way he talks? Like he's happy, but he's hiding pain. Like he's carrying a weight. That's the way Sherlock acts. All the time.

"When I visited him, just now... I saw the trauma he carried. He was shot in the chest. By somebody he trusted. Trusted, Mary, trusted. God only knows what that does to a man. And do you know what the worst part is? He lies there, with a bloody hole in his chest, and he pretends it doesn't hurt. He smiles at me. He lies to me. And for my own sake, I lie back, and pretend I'm OK, because I know if I don't I'll break down.

"And do you know what else? I can see that he feels betrayed. But he's going to forgive you. He's going to forgive you, because he likes you. You're lucky. I don't know how you've won him over... but you'll never get such compassion from me. I will tear you apart, with his approval or not." And with that, Irene Adler left the hospital, hot tears streaming down her face.