post Reichenbach AU - lost and found again

[irene_adler]

The day of his funeral had been cloudless, but the day she had visited his grave, the rain had come. For a half hour it was a misty drizzle, but as time passed it became a steady downpour. Irene's hair had become lank and plastered to her forehead and water had snuck into the gap between her collar and coat. She had stayed there for over a hour watching the raindrops smack against the freshly chiseled letters, forcing and willing and demanding herself to accept the hardest thing she'd had to face in a long time.

He's dead.

He is dead.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Reading the news in the papers had been enough of a shock, but that hadn't convinced her. Words were easily spun to the benefit of the writer or the speaker, and falsifications could make it into the news all the time. But gradually as paper after paper continued to report the same story in different wordings, her curiosity rose higher and higher. It was a trip back to London that forced her to come to terms with the truth. Falsifying a publication was one thing, but falsifying a tombstone - well, that was another league of its own.

It had taken time, but she had come to accept that he was gone.

That didn't mean her life had stopped its moving. Irene Adler couldn't stay in one place for too long, for she was still on the run from the past - the decisions she had made were powerful ones and the consequences just as much so. Keeping herself safe meant moving often, from one continent to the other if necessary, whatever it took to stay ahead - and to stay alive.

For the present time, her home was Berlin. The Schlosshotel Im Grunewald was proclaimed to have luxury rooms, and anything that had been built in 1912 with the purpose of being a residential palace surely had to have its perks. Irene Adler had taken up residence in one of the luxury suites, boasting a private living room and a more than comfortable bed. Berlin itself was cold but the room was warm and pleasant. The only chill was the iciness that clutched at her heart now and again.

Comments

[irene_adler]

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to find a blunt way to throw a comment - but that was all right. She was still far too pleased with his being here - and, well, alive - to be put out by any jab he might throw. Especially since she had been able to sustain well enough with her own circle of contacts, and tonight brought Sherlock to her in search of help. That sort of thing could make a girl feel proud.

"And what about you, Sherlock Holmes? How have you avoided being caught all this time?"

[elementarysaidhe]

"Because most people are morons," he answered, with no more affect of feeling than if he had told her that the Earth goes round the Sun or that the sky is blue. "Once you've planted an idea in their heads it's incredibly difficult to shift it -- faking one's own death, for instance. I'll be riding that illusion for a considerable amount of time, I think. It will become entrenched; ordinary people are so charmingly sentimental." He said this almost wistfully, as if he pitied the lot of them.

[irene_adler]

That remark drew a laugh from her, one that was real and genuine. Leave it to Sherlock to sum up all of humanity in less than ten words. He was right, of course - many of the people they encountered were idiots. But he still had so many people looking for him, and it was surprising to her now that he had come to her for any kind of help. Sherlock did seem to pride himself on being above needing the help of others.

But for now, she wouldn't bring that up.

Irene swirled the scotch in her own glass before having another indulgent sip.

"So what sort of back story shall your new alias have? There are so many possibilities."

[elementarysaidhe]

"Oh, any standard dullard will do," he said. "I'm not interested in attracting too much attention; I require just enough credibility to allow me to finish the business I have in Germany, then get out without leaving too much of a shadow." He, too, had perfected the art of shedding skins. A name didn't matter, really. A name and a reputation could be forged, then abandoned when appropriate. Sherlock Holmes did not operate on the same plane of sentimentality as everyone else; he worked best in the dark, under the veil of anonymity.

"Like you, I imagine. Running from one cover to another. Although, your propensity for the theatrical -- and your taste for the luxurious -- are your Achilles heel. It took only rudimentary deduction to find you."

[irene_adler]

"Is that so?"

In the time it had taken for her to cross the room to the very printing equipment he needed her to use, Sherlock had managed to discredit her. It was a rather impressive feat, that he would put down the very person whose help he was seeking, but only further reason to agree he was far from typical. It was one of the very reasons Irene had been so drawn to him to begin with. The man was handsome, of course, but the mind of the man was one of the most seductive things she had encountered.

Now Irene regarded him from her place on the love seat, the equipment an arm's length away.

"Do tell?"