Admittedly, she had not expected a direct answer to her question. There were many moving parts at work here, coming together one piece at a time, the outcome carrying them to an undisclosed destination. Sherlock's thought process was wholly unique, something Irene Adler first glimpsed in her own sitting room. She had been wrapped in his coat (and nothing else, her Louboutin heels on the floor by her bare feet), and the mystery of the dead hiker had unfolded. It had taken her a little longer to come to the same conclusion, to see what he saw, but that did nothing to dull her appreciation of the detective's mind. It was one thing to read of it, another to see it at work herself.
His remark about the water brings back the full extent of her own thirst, but she has enough sense to abstain. Irene takes one of the bottles from its holder and twists open the cap with a soft click. She takes small, slow drinks from the bottle as the highway rolls out beneath them, keeping her eyes trained on the distance ahead. With every mile they travel the tarmac is further away, and while Irene knows they are by no means safe yet, the coldness in her stomach has abated.
A little more than half of the first water bottle remains when Sherlock pulls the car into its space, and Irene Adler replaces the cap as the car is eased into park. She collects the second bottle as well as the tin and pistol, exiting the car and staying in the protection of the night. One water bottle is tucked into each pocket of her camouflage pants, and with the tin held under her left arm she can freely maneuver the pistol in her right if needed.
There is no hesitation - when Sherlock moves along the pier, Irene follows. She casts a quick glance across her shoulder, but they are alone. The saltiness of the sea is a welcome scent, far more pleasant than the combination of sweat, damp earth and car exhaust she had faced the past several days.
"Not at all. I've been on the water before."
Of course, that was on her own yacht that had been acquired from a British banker (she knew what he liked, after all), but that hardly mattered now.
Irene Adler reaches the edge of the pier and doesn't hesitate, springing from the edge and into the boat. More strands of her hair work their way from under the cap, swiping against her face in the slight breeze. She pulls the cap from her head to avoid losing it (leave no trail to follow), tucking it into her pocket. The water bottles are removed and tucked, along with the aluminum tin, into one of the outer pockets of the bags.
Sherlock has, of course, thought of everything. There is no surprise on Irene Adler's face, only the same calm and resolute expression she held as they drove through the night. But she is impressed, and the feeling zips through her in a quick, warm rush. Go on, impress a girl. And he certainly has.
Irene settles herself into the boat, her legs tucked beside her and the pistol held in one hand across her lap. She finds his face in the lights of the city, though his eyes are temporarily hidden by shadow. She is ready for whatever comes next.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-08-30 04:36 am (UTC)Admittedly, she had not expected a direct answer to her question. There were many moving parts at work here, coming together one piece at a time, the outcome carrying them to an undisclosed destination. Sherlock's thought process was wholly unique, something Irene Adler first glimpsed in her own sitting room. She had been wrapped in his coat (and nothing else, her Louboutin heels on the floor by her bare feet), and the mystery of the dead hiker had unfolded. It had taken her a little longer to come to the same conclusion, to see what he saw, but that did nothing to dull her appreciation of the detective's mind. It was one thing to read of it, another to see it at work herself.
His remark about the water brings back the full extent of her own thirst, but she has enough sense to abstain. Irene takes one of the bottles from its holder and twists open the cap with a soft click. She takes small, slow drinks from the bottle as the highway rolls out beneath them, keeping her eyes trained on the distance ahead. With every mile they travel the tarmac is further away, and while Irene knows they are by no means safe yet, the coldness in her stomach has abated.
A little more than half of the first water bottle remains when Sherlock pulls the car into its space, and Irene Adler replaces the cap as the car is eased into park. She collects the second bottle as well as the tin and pistol, exiting the car and staying in the protection of the night. One water bottle is tucked into each pocket of her camouflage pants, and with the tin held under her left arm she can freely maneuver the pistol in her right if needed.
There is no hesitation - when Sherlock moves along the pier, Irene follows. She casts a quick glance across her shoulder, but they are alone. The saltiness of the sea is a welcome scent, far more pleasant than the combination of sweat, damp earth and car exhaust she had faced the past several days.
"Not at all. I've been on the water before."
Of course, that was on her own yacht that had been acquired from a British banker (she knew what he liked, after all), but that hardly mattered now.
Irene Adler reaches the edge of the pier and doesn't hesitate, springing from the edge and into the boat. More strands of her hair work their way from under the cap, swiping against her face in the slight breeze. She pulls the cap from her head to avoid losing it (leave no trail to follow), tucking it into her pocket. The water bottles are removed and tucked, along with the aluminum tin, into one of the outer pockets of the bags.
Sherlock has, of course, thought of everything. There is no surprise on Irene Adler's face, only the same calm and resolute expression she held as they drove through the night. But she is impressed, and the feeling zips through her in a quick, warm rush. Go on, impress a girl. And he certainly has.
Irene settles herself into the boat, her legs tucked beside her and the pistol held in one hand across her lap. She finds his face in the lights of the city, though his eyes are temporarily hidden by shadow. She is ready for whatever comes next.