just finished watching 2x01 ; spoilers in the comments!

[byherheart]

What is it, that they say?

'The game's afoot.'

How thrilling.

Comments

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

'They' say?

[byherheart]

A woman never repeats herself.

[As she toys with his collar.]

Are you jealous?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

What are you playing?

[byherheart]

Nothing.

[Quite simply, as Irene lets her hand drop, though her fingers duck just inside his coat towards his breast pocket, just as a little tease, to get at his phone.]

Unless you consider saying 'hello' a game.

[Which it is. It always is. Though she is genuinely happy to see him.]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

[He holds her wrist. It could be tender, except that his grip is so very firm.]

Then I'm not jealous.

[byherheart]

[She grins a little, but doesn't move to pull her arm away.]

So I should have said that I was playing a game with someone other than you. I'll remember that for next time.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

You've already played that card. I know you were there for my brother.

[byherheart]

Politicians are boring. So are madmen.

[Irene folds herself into a chair, watching him intently, a hand underneath her chin.]

I owe you my life.

[Quite sincerely, which should be a miracle in and of itself.]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

I don't much care if you engage with Mycroft.

[Although she would be wise to allow herself to remain dead for some time yet.]

But if you do, do not use me as a weapon against him ever again. Remember that, and I will consider us even.

[byherheart]

[Irene will be a ghost on the pages for as long as necessary -- or for as long as James Moriarty will allow her to be.]

Even.

[A soft laugh as she leans back into her chair.]

Your life would have been boring and bland without me, Sherlock. I think my little game was well worth your antics in a terrorist camp.

[But there's a warmth in her eyes, as she says it, and it's quite clear, without saying so, that Irene will do as he asks.]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

There was case-work.

[He defends, oh-so-mildly.]

And I have a friend.

[His very first, and very peculiar. And Mrs Hudson, too, of course. But Irene is right, he values her presence in this world.]

[byherheart]

You do.

[Indifferently, though Irene inclines her head toward him, eyebrows arched. John Watson. He had been so angry with her, when she had wanted to keep her survival a secret. It was interesting. Heartwarming, she guessed. And Irene was quietly glad Sherlock had someone so dedicated.

Not that she would ever say so.]

He has a mouth on him. I should teach him a lesson.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He would never agree to that.

[Dismissing, quietly.]

And if you forced the issue, he'd simply refuse to learn.

[byherheart]

Of course he wouldn't. He has no sense of adventure, nor the amount of confidence necessary to perform.

[Just as dismissively. And, suddenly, she is on her feet again to step just within his personal bubble.]

You, on the other hand --

[And Irene reaches up to touch his cheek before drawing away her hand, changing the subject smoothly, with a quick smile.]

What next, then, for the great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Moriarty.

[A grim little smile. There are a number of people in his life who will not be safe until Jim is dead. She is only one of them.]

[byherheart]

[She pauses at the name before looking up at him, almost sharply.]

Best to let sleeping dogs lie, Sherlock.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Maybe I am a masochist.

[byherheart]

[That gets a laugh out of her, after a few moments of silence.]

Shall I psycho-analyze you and let you know for sure? I love a good masochist.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

I would cherish your insight. As a professional in the industry, after all.

[byherheart]

[Is he messing with her? Irene eyes him for a moment or two before she steps forward, to eye him, gently adjusting his head by a few fingers to his chin, arching her eyebrows.]

I'd love to slap you to be sure, but --

[Irene tilts her head slightly before patting his cheek lightly.]

An addict of adrenaline is not the same thing as a lover of pain, my favorite genius.

Moriarty will tear you to pieces. You won't enjoy it.

[Neither will I.]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Ah, yes, your favourite threat.

[Or promise. He leans into the pat, eyes closing, but smiles.]

Moriarty is overconfident. I will move slowly, once I know enough for interference to prove effective.

[byherheart]

[The thoughtful expression turns into a smile, at that, fingers brushing away his curls gently before she sighs.]

Moriarty may be overconfident, but he's also horrifically patient. And he lacks that delightful little moral subcode that you've seem to developed for yourself over the past months, with your friend and your landlady.

[But Irene is curious, and she has to know -- ]

How will you defeat him?

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

I don't know yet.

[He informs her, patiently.]

But I will turn my mind to it, with all my concentration, and it will make our little skirmish look like a game of hopscotch, the planning it will entail.

The moral code does chafe, a little- but it will help in this instance. You see, I would still kill any number of people to keep them from being hurt.

[byherheart]

A flexible moral code is useful in your line of work.

[But that won't save him from Moriarty and his brilliant insanity.]

The difference between you and he, Sherlock, is that he would murder an entire city just to keep you running. You must admire his tenacity at the art of causing pain. He's a perfectionist.

[She searches out his eyes, for a moment.]

He will stop at nothing to win.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Then I hope I do not learn what I am truly capable of.

[He answers her, meeting her gaze.]

Because I have long suspected that I would.