Parallel

1.3K 46 19
                                    


     Even as the sleek black car pulled up beside what seemed to be an abandoned factory, you were trying to figure out who this woman's employer was exactly.

     It shouldn't have been difficult for you at all, but it was, and that was what was making you so frustrated.

     What threw you off, no matter how many times you dismissed the idea, was the one name that kept popping up. But no. That was impossible.

     It was impossible.

     Impossible.

That's what you kept thinking to yourself, repeating it over and over in your head as the brunette escorted you into a large room. On the right side of the room was a wall of fogged-up windows, and to the left, a countless number of safes. Well, okay, it only took you one look to determine that there were roughly three hundred and fourteen of them, but to an ordinary person it would've taken longer.

     Impossible.

     Replaying in your head to no end, even as the woman you were thinking about appeared several feet in front of you.

     This is impossible.

     This is impossible.

     This is impossible.

     "Tell him you're alive."

     You hadn't meant to speak. It had just happened. And that was what made you realize that this wasn't impossible, because it was happening. In front of you stood Irene Adler, the woman you'd seen laying lifeless in the morgue.

     Irene smiled sadly. "He'd come after me."

     "And I wouldn't? Miss Adler, he's writing sad music. For you. He's practically heartbroken."

     "You wouldn't come after me," Irene insisted calmly. "You won't."

    "Oh? And why is that?"

    Irene's smile fell, and she suddenly turned very serious. "Because you know how much it would hurt Sherlock, for you to take me down while he thought I was dead."

     "You think he'll find out eventually."

     "Yes," Irene nodded.

     "Then why not tell him now?" you asked. "He needs to know. We saw you... we saw you dead on a slab. It was definitely you."

     "DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep," Irene remarked.

     "And I'll bet you know the record keeper," you growled.

     Irene smiled faintly. "I know what he likes." She folded her arms. "And I needed to disappear."

     "Then why do I get to see you, even though I don't need to?" You narrowed your eyes. "Oh, I see. You need something. You made a mistake and I'm supposed to help you fix it."

     Irene sighed. "I sent something to you and Sherlock for safekeeping. I need it back."

     "I don't have it," you told her.

    "Then I need you to get it, without Sherlock knowing."

     "No."

     "He's grown too attached to me, (Y/N)," said Irene. "It's for his own safety."

     "So is this. Tell him you're okay."

     Irene smiled sadly. "I can't."

     "Fine." You clenched your jaw. "I'll tell him and I still won't help you," you said with finality, turning away from her.

     "B-But what would I say?"

     You whirled around. "Anything! You've texted us a lot!" you yelled.

     "Not all the same stuff," Irene said defensively. You stared at her until she took out a phone, which looked very similar to the other one but was clearly new. Irene sighed and turned it on, pressing buttons until she apparently reached what she needed. "Good morning. I like your funny hat," she read. "I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner... Hmm, you and your friend look sexy on Crimewatch, let's all have dinner."

     You narrowed your eyes, staring at Irene in disbelief. "You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?"

     "At him," Irene corrected you. "He never responds. And neither do you- very rude to leave a girl hanging, you know!"

     "You flirted with me??"

     "Yes!" Irene threw a hand up in exasperation. "But you're completely blind to it! It's almost better with Sherlock just because he's not oblivious to the-" Irene stopped. "Oh, never mind, it's no use trying to tell you about it now. The point is, like I said, he never responds."

     You blinked verrry slowly. "Why? Sherlock is a child, Miss Adler- he always has to get the last word. As John would say, he's Mr. Punchline. He always replies."

     "Does that make me special?" Irene asked, cracking a smile.

     "I don't know. Maybe. Yes."

     "Jealous?"

     You scoffed. "We're not a couple."

     "Yes you are," Irene rolled her eyes, lifting her phone and typing something in as she spoke. "Even Mycroft thinks so. And have you read the fan pages, the gossip sites? People ship you two like the Royal Mail." Irene turned the phone around so you could see the screen. "There. I'm not dead, let's have dinner."

     You took a step closer so you could verify the text, even though you were fully aware that she did indeed send it. You would be able to tell if Irene was lying-

     Suddenly there was a muffled female moan.

     Your eyes widened with alarm, but judging from Irene's parallel expression, she wasn't the one who had made the noise.

     It was a text alert... and it definitely hadn't come from your phone.

     "Sherlock!" you blurted. Almost immediately you and Irene heard quickened footsteps walking away. You took only a second to run some quick calculations through your head and concluded that it was really Sherlock. You ran after him, leaving Irene standing alone in the cold, empty corridor.


Published 3/16/18.

     *long exaggerated sigh*

Okay, you can go now.


A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]Where stories live. Discover now