He knows. The realization hits her suddenly, like one of the flashes of lightning in the oncoming storm. Of course he knows; the greater surprise would have been the knowledge escaping his notice. Irene does not feel a rush of shame or embarrassment, but rather a touch of relief. She does not care to show any sort of weakness, most of all in Sherlock's presence (something carried over from their first meeting), but he knows now and there is no undoing it. Add this to the realization that were the motorbikes a cause for concern his demeanor would be different than it is now, and Irene Adler feels some of the tension in her body relax. Not all, but some.
She does not respond right away, instead takes another few steps to the window. The outside world is dark for now, the wind picking up further. Irene lifts her hand, touching her fingertips to the glass. The surface is slightly cool but warms quickly with her body heat. Another flash of lightning comes, closer still, and while she does not start from it, she does return her hand to her side. Her face is illuminated with the flash and she turns from the window, this time lifting her eyes to his face.
"Yes, it will." Of course it will. From what she was able to see in the bathroom's mirror, there should be no permanent damage. The soldiers were not aiming for killing or crippling blows, but rather something to pass the time. To them, Irene Adler deserved exactly what was coming to her. But Sherlock Holmes had other plans, and because of them she was standing beside him now. The question was echoing quietly in the back of her mind, over and over in its own rhythm. Why did you come for me? Not the first time she had thought it and certainly not the last. Thunder crashes again, closer than before. The pattering of rain is distant.
Irene takes the step that will bring herself into Sherlock's immediate space. Slowly her hand lifts and comes to rest atop his own, the one not occupied with the teacup on its saucer. It is not unlike the gesture she made on Baker Street, when she crossed the room and knelt before him, the room illuminated by firelight.
"It should pass over us in a few hours." Now she is talking about the storm, though previously she meant something else as well. They are similar in more ways than perhaps either is yet aware.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-09-26 08:07 pm (UTC)He knows. The realization hits her suddenly, like one of the flashes of lightning in the oncoming storm. Of course he knows; the greater surprise would have been the knowledge escaping his notice. Irene does not feel a rush of shame or embarrassment, but rather a touch of relief. She does not care to show any sort of weakness, most of all in Sherlock's presence (something carried over from their first meeting), but he knows now and there is no undoing it. Add this to the realization that were the motorbikes a cause for concern his demeanor would be different than it is now, and Irene Adler feels some of the tension in her body relax. Not all, but some.
She does not respond right away, instead takes another few steps to the window. The outside world is dark for now, the wind picking up further. Irene lifts her hand, touching her fingertips to the glass. The surface is slightly cool but warms quickly with her body heat. Another flash of lightning comes, closer still, and while she does not start from it, she does return her hand to her side. Her face is illuminated with the flash and she turns from the window, this time lifting her eyes to his face.
"Yes, it will." Of course it will. From what she was able to see in the bathroom's mirror, there should be no permanent damage. The soldiers were not aiming for killing or crippling blows, but rather something to pass the time. To them, Irene Adler deserved exactly what was coming to her. But Sherlock Holmes had other plans, and because of them she was standing beside him now. The question was echoing quietly in the back of her mind, over and over in its own rhythm. Why did you come for me? Not the first time she had thought it and certainly not the last. Thunder crashes again, closer than before. The pattering of rain is distant.
Irene takes the step that will bring herself into Sherlock's immediate space. Slowly her hand lifts and comes to rest atop his own, the one not occupied with the teacup on its saucer. It is not unlike the gesture she made on Baker Street, when she crossed the room and knelt before him, the room illuminated by firelight.
"It should pass over us in a few hours." Now she is talking about the storm, though previously she meant something else as well. They are similar in more ways than perhaps either is yet aware.