Sherlock and Irene
“Trust” she whispered as she turned around slowly to meet his eyes “I’m sure you can always buy a better door”. She noted his posture, he hadn’t moved, probably thought it would look weak per say to keep adjusting his viewpoint for her. Behind him on the wall she noted a half-faded smiley face; she could see the small holes riddled across its surface, gun shots. Probably what happens when get gets bored, she thought to herself, Sherlock with a gun. The image got her almost giggling, not because she didn’t think he would pull the trigger, but because his weapon of choice was usually his mind.
She cocked her head to the side as he waved his hand, matching his movement ever so slightly. “Would you like me to also tell them who has tied me up?” she didn’t bother trying to hide her smirk, and he mind neither had he, seeing as she could see the way his lips had curved along with the particular muscles in his face. Irene moved almost silently toward her coat, snatching her phone from her pocket, the effort was useless though. In the time they traded remarks, the caller had hung up, obviously it wasn’t that important or they would have started calling again. She checked the number, unknown; it didn’t strike her as odd. Most of her clients came up the same way; she slipped the phone back into her pocket but not before sending a quick two word text message.
She knew by the time that Ms. Watson would be coming up the stairs in about half an hour, and John would be coming back in around 2 hours. It was not a guess, she disliked guessing, and rather she liked knowing for sure that something was going to happen. She knew Sherlock was trying to figure out her motives while making sure she hadn’t brought any kind of trouble upon those around them. She may not have been good, but she knew the basic rules their game depended on, and she didn’t intend to break those ones. He should have figured that all out by now, but she didn’t want to rush him, she preferred to savor her moments with him. At any point they could be her last, she wouldn’t assume he would save her again. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate him saving her, she just knew not to expect it, and she wouldn’t depend on someone coming to her rescue. That is why she never thought she was the marrying type, for many other reasons as well, but that was the main one. She didn’t like depending on others, it made her feel weak. She guessed Sherlock wasn’t the marrying type either, or one for intimate interactions either, that is where the line of similarities between them was drawn.
She concluded to go to the window, looking out upon the busy street, her back to Sherlock. She didn’t like having her back to him, for the simple reason being she couldn’t see his face, but he couldn’t see hers. It was trade off of sorts, giving up the sightline for another to lose their sightline. In her mind’s eye she could still picture him sitting in the chair, down to the way his hair was parted , his eyes bore into her back. She would not turn around. Not yet. Let him figure it out.
"I think you’ll find Mrs Hudson is rather fond of this door, tell them to aim for the back window - I know you normally do.”
She moved back into his line of sigh, head tilted somewhat to the side in what he couldn’t help but consider somewhat challenging. Then again, perhaps that was the near innate hostility that she evoked in him. Not to be misunderstood, this woman in front of him, the Woman, was one of the few people in this world whose company he not only accepted but genuinely enjoyed. She was clever, oh so clever and she cared little for social convention. She was free spirited and let nobody be the master of her. Sure, she’d been tripped up in her own game once, but Sherlock knew better than to think he might succeed in doing so a second time. She was a fast learner. She was everything so many others were not. All of that made him respect her. It also ensured he was never bored, after all, he never knew quite what to expect - no matter how much he’d pretend to have foreseen things sometimes. That was part of their game.
"If you think they can handle it." His tone was light, not quite over on the joking side of the spectrum - still firmly grounded in sarcasm. The caller hung up, and with a few clicks Irene put the phone back into her jacket pocket. Too many button presses for a quick check for caller id, too few for a significant message. So either a note to self or a very short message. Interesting. She once again walked out of his line of sight, but this time he stood to follow, leaned against the table next to the window with his arms crossed over his chest. Not a defensive stance, regardless what one might first think; the smirk still playing on his lips.
He was looking out the window, lazily observing details drawing conclusions and discarding the utterly irrelevant information. Simultaneously, of course, he was observing her. There was a slight tension between the shoulders - too many potential causes and effects to draw any deductions based on that alone.
"You’re going to give my brother’s agents a fright, standing there in the flesh." He wasn’t actually concerned, those blubbering idiots paid at best poor attention to that which mattered and at this distance were unlikely to say with certainty if it was a woman or the woman. But he found himself shockingly short on things to say, and surprisingly unwilling to be quiet.
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