He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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My first time being given drugs I didn't ask for? Hated it.
I woke up in John's room dangling halfway off the bed from shuffling around in my drug induced sleep. The bitch had given me enough to knock out a horse. John had informed me that Sherlock was also drugged and had to be carried back to Baker Street too while blithering on about nonsensical things, all the while Lestrade was filming him. A part of me felt bad for him being filmed in such a vulnerable state but the other part of me wanted to see the video.
Of course I got him to send it to me. It was glorious.
In other news Irene Adler got away with her phone and therefore the pictures. Not a single person saw where she went or had seen her since. If I do ever see her again then I may just have to give her a slap. One thing I do know is that she must have been back whilst we slept - how else would Sherlock be in possession of his phone?
The next day and I'm feeling a lot better, tea in one hand and my phone in the other while Mycroft talks to us like an overbearing parent. Sherlock is sat beside me with a newspaper in his hands, comfortable in his maroon robe on top of his dress shirt.
"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock comments monotonously over the sound of Mrs Hudson bustling away in the kitchen.
I glance up to see the reaction of the elder Holmes, not disappointed at the look on his face. "In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?" Mycroft retorts sarcastically.
"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants...protection for some reason." Sherlock reiterates his point. "I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?" He assumes, finally meeting his brother's gaze. Ah yes, the dead american and shots fired outside of her house.
"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied." Mycroft questions incredulously.
"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock quips and I find myself choking on my tea, scrambling for a tissue to cover my mouth. The man at my side shows a half smile before addressing Mycroft again. "You see how this works, that camera phone is her get out of jail free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft." He continues.
John looks up from his own paper distractedly, "Though not the way she treats royalty." He comments.
"If what I saw is anything to go by..." I trail off, shuddering at the thought, nudging the man at my side playfully. The sudden sound of a woman moaning makes us all pause, Mycroft in particular looking startled.
"What was that?" John asks, eyes landing on me.
I gape, kicking him beneath the table. "Don't look at me." I scold him.
"Text." Sherlock answers, dropping his paper to stride across the room and grab his phone. Since when does his phone make that noise as a text alert? "Did you know other people were after her too, Mycroft, before you send us in there?" He asks his brother pointedly while checking the message.
