Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 11- Irene

Millie's POV

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John's waiting for me when I arrive. 

"Millie, try and talk some sense in to him. He's been staring at the wall for the last hour," he sighs.

I look at him incredulously. 

"And what makes you think that I can talk sense to him?" I say.

"Maybe he'll listen to someone who's out of the picture. I don't mean that as an insult, I just think.. try it, okay?"

"Fine. Though it won't work."

"And Millie? Don't tell him about, you know," he says, gestures to his ear. "The phone call, alright?"

"I have no intention to."

He hasn't changed from the state that John described to me. 

"Sherlock...?" I hedge, sitting tentatively down on the edge of the armchair. "What are you thinking about?" 

"Moriarty."

"Evidently. But thinking isn't going to-" 

"Millie, I appreciate your attempts at moral support, but nothing is going to change the situation," he says flatly, before standing up, and shouting suddenly: "I've lost his game. And he is going to strike back. Two years. Two years, dismantling his network. For nothing," and with this last word, he slams his fist on the table, hard. He doesn't cry, or give any indication that he's going to, but I think he's pretty close to it.

"You're right. You're an idiot, Sherlock Holmes," I say bluntly. So much for subtlety.

Whatever he expected me to say, it wasn't that. He looks up at me, confused, his mouth forming a silent "What?", and his fist still in contact with the table.

"You should have noticed. And you've lost this game. But a new one is just beginning, Sherlock. And it's going to be hard, but you don't have a choice. You've got to play it. There's a reason for him faking his death, and you've got to work it out." I say emphasising the last three syllables, "He will kill everyone. If you don't play along."

He looks at me for a minute, then nods.

"Yes."

He sits down again, drumming his fingers on his desk.

"Millie," he says, turning his head to face me quickly. "Thankyou."

I smile,then say-

"I phoned him. Moriarty. Yesterday."

"I know."

We look at eachother wordlessly, then he nods again, before turning back to the window. I settle down and let my thoughts wash over me. I'm so immersed in the turbid tangle of possibilities and emotions,  I don't notice the knock on the door, and start violently in the chair when I hear a man and a woman's voice on the stairs.

"He's just through here, " I catch John saying. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

A hear a woman's laugh. "Trust me, John, I know what I'm doing."

The door opens, and I hear the tip-tap of stiletto heels on the wooden floor. I watch silently as a woman dressed in a long, black dress and fur coat walks from the door, past me, over to Sherlock. He's looking at her in shock, which he quickly masks with blank indifference.

"Sherlock. I thought I'd just... stop by."

"Yes," he says. There's colour in his cheeks.

"I realised I haven't thanked you properly for your appearance at my... execution. I am indebted to you, Sherlock."

"It was nothing," he says, giving her a brief, one-sided smile. 

She grins, and winningly moves closer towards him.

"Oh, but it was," she says silkily, as she places a hand on his shoulder.

He reaches up to her hand, and for a moment I think he's going to rest his own on hers, but instead he gently picks it up and places it back at her side. There's a pause. Then-

"You haven't changed your mind  then," she says, trying to maintain her soft and dignified tone, but her intonation slips, and her voice cracks.

"I'm sorry, Irene," he says. And he looks it, too.

I must have breathed in too sharply, because they both whip around to face me. This is uncomfortable. I shift around on the chair, before standing up- 

"Er... I'm sorry, I'll go now."

"Who are you?" she asks pleasantly. There's still the hint of a tear streaking one of her cheeks, but she ignores it, so I do too.

She turns round to Sherlock, and says a little more sharply: "Who is she?"

Sherlock glances towards the door, silently telling me to leave. I give him a hint of a nod, then turn and walk away. 

"I'm Millie," I say, before I exit the room. "Millie Shon. Nice to meet you, Irene Adler." 

I close the door softly behind me, and go to find John.

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John's POV

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I thought I heard a noise on the stairs, and I was right. 

I see Millie sitting on the bottom step, her chin resting on her hands. 

"Millie?"

She turns round to face me.

"Oh, hello John."

I sit down beside her.

"She's quite something, isn't she?"

"Mhm. Dominatrix. I wouldn't have thought she'd be Sherlock's... type, but each to their own I suppose. I didn't think machines harboured feelings like that," she says, and although her words a joking, her tone is flat.

"How do you know about..?" I gesture upstairs.

"Sherlock mentioned her a while ago, when I used to come over in the evenings. I did some research," she shrugs. "It's a detective thing."

I don't say anything. I just look at her face, pale under the landing light, and think of Irene's made-up splendour, and I put my arm around her thin shoulders. And we sit like this for a while, listening to the hum of voices upstairs, and watching the dust motes swirl gently in the dark corridor.

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