After Irene had gracefully and speedily abseiled out of the building, she hurried out of the alley and onto the busy London pavement. A car pulled up in front of her and she froze, half-expecting more Americans to be sat behind the window, however, the dark-tinted glass rolled down to reveal Jim.
The Irishman smiled, "Your ride, Miss Adler."
Smiling gratefully, she opened the door and he slid across the seats at the back to the other side so that she could get in.
"Have to say, nice coat." He complimented, "I can only wonder where you could have gotten it from."
"Well, I won't divulge that information but I'm quite sure you already know." She looked at him knowingly before putting on her seat belt.
The sound of sirens made her pause though and she looked up to see out of the window screen. Even Jim didn't want to risk staying in the area any longer than need be so he tapped the back of Seb's seat. Moran had been driver enough times for Jim to know what the wordless action meant and the car left promptly.
"So, how is my Lizzie?"
"She seems fine, Jim. Seems to enjoy playing detective. But..."
"But what?"
"She still feels out of place. Elizabeth still believes that all the men want her for is for information about you."
"Well," He scoffed, "That's probably true."
"Although both men appear to think differently. I think they enjoy having her around."
"Why?" Jim frowned, confused by this revelation.
He certainly didn't expect that. It was almost like she still wasn't fighting it at all. If that was true, then it certainly would be a cause for his concern.
Irene shrugged, "She must have made an impression on them - like I did with Mr Holmes."
Jim smiled amused by this thought. While he wasn't intending to play matchmaker, he did wonder how the detective would react to the loud presence of Irene, who almost matched his intelligence.
"All I'm hearing is that it will be harder to get her back unless you talk to her and persuade her that they are not what she needs." The psychopath paused.
Impulsively, Irene had to ask, "And you believe that you are what she needs?"
"I'm all she ever needs, all she's ever known."
Irene nodded, trying to get into the mind of the psychopath that Jim was. After all, she liked detective stories and couldn't help trying to create her own one. Getting into the mind of such a controlled killer would be an awfully great adventure.
Quietly, Jim added, "And personally I'd prefer trying to use a softer method first after the last one..."
Irene scoffed, "Now that is a rarity...Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Jim's head was leaning against the window as he watched everything zoom past.
"Why do you care about her so much?"
He turned to look at The Woman, "She's - important to me."
"Important how?"
Jim's face formed a thoughtful frown, trying to search his complex mind for the explanation, "Have you ever had a little trinket that reminds you of something special that happened in your life? Something so...unique to your life that you would rather die than let it go?"
Irene's brow lowered as she listened to him explain.
"My dearest Lizzie is like that. She's my little trinket. My reminder of the beginning - my beginning. She was there when it all started. She was there to see my empire of sorts grow. And I helped her grow too." He gave a little chuckle, "She's the only one to have stolen any kind of feeling from me but I don't know what that feeling is. I've never known. I've just felt it. And it doesn't feel right when she is gone."
He leaned his head against the window again, "I guess, in some strange way, Lizzie's the closest thing I have to a family. A trinket that resembles my entire life."
The unexpected therapy session had caught Irene off-guard. She certainly hadn't expected him to actually talk to her. Instead, she simply thought it would have been one of those 'worth a try' moments. Clearly Elizabeth's absence was affecting him in ways she hadn't thought possible for a psychopath such as he.
"Stop the car." Abruptly, Jim's voice disrupted the thoughtful silence.
Without looking at Irene, he said, "Miss Adler, I believe this is your stop. Don't forget my message for Lizzie. I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out a way to get to her without causing too much suspicion. Goodbye now." He waved her off.
And off she went. Had to return the detective's coat and phone after all. Not before she sent a text though and added her number to his contacts.
* * * * * *
Back at 221B, John and Elizabeth were sat in the living room. It was late evening. Sherlock was still out of it and had been for hours now. Elizabeth realised that their lives were much less exciting when the detective wasn't up and about.
The thief's phone buzzed with a notification. She frowned. Who would be texting her at this time? Unlocking the phone, she saw it was a message from Sherlock. Except, why wouldn't he have just called them from his room instead?
When she opened it though, she understood.
<Leave a window in the living room open. I'll be round by 1am. - I.A.>
Then another message came through from an unrecognised number.
<In case you wanted my number. - I.A.>
Elizabeth didn't want to message back but she couldn't help herself. And, of course, getting her priorities straight, she asked:
<Do you still have Sherlock's coat? - E.P.>
<No. - I.A.>
<Where is it? - E.P.>
<You seem awfully concerned by a missing coat when there are bigger things to worry about. - I.A.>
Elizabeth scowled. What was she she implying? She merely asked for the sake of her - owner? No. Big no. That sounded way too weird. Made her sound like a slave and she wasn't a slave. Was she? No. She shook her head, annoyed by her own overthinking and replied.
<It was a nice coat. - E.P.>
<I know it was X - I.A.>
John looked up from the book he was reading, distracted by all the buzzing of texts that came through.
"Popular for someone who shouldn't have many contacts on their phone?" John perceived.
"Hm?" Elizabeth looked across the room at him, the realisation dawning on her, "Oh, it's - uh - Mycroft. I did say he wanted to use me for my so called 'abilities'."
"Why is he messaging you now? It's late."
"He is - scaremongering. Making sure I didn't forget." She nodded, looking back down to her phone.
<Don't forget. Window. - I.A.>
John had another question on his mind that he had been meaning to ask her, "Elizabeth?"
"Mm - Yeah?" She looked up at him again, putting her phone away.
"Did you ever go back for the heels Adler tried to give you?"
"Yeah..."
"Were they - your typical heels?"
"Of course." She spoke a little too quickly, "Why are you asking? Did you want to wear them?"
"What? No - "
"I wouldn't judge if you did."
"No, Elizabeth - "
"They were nice heels after all - "
"I'm not stupid, Elizabeth." John gave her a look.
She looked away silently.
"Did - "
"Elizabeth? John?!"
The detective's call drew their attention away from the conversation they were having. They looked from the direction of Sherlock's room, to each other, and then both leapt up and headed to his room. They walked in just in time to see Sherlock fall off the end of his bed. Elizabeth's lips pursed as she silently winced in sympathy for the detective.
"You okay?" John asked.
Sherlock, while on the floor, whipped his head around to look at them, "How did I get here?"
"I don't suppose you remember much, you weren't making a lot of sense." John paused, sharing a look with Elizabeth, "Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."
"I did too." Elizabeth admitted with a smirk, "You're kinda cute when you're delirious."
"Cute?" Sherlock frowned, standing up albeit with difficulty, "First adorable, now cute?"
"Adorable?" John questioned but he got no answer.
The two watched him stumble around the room in a wobbly circle. Neither could deny it wasn't a little funny seeing the normally composed man now falling around the place like a drunk.
Sherlock ran his hands over his face, "No!" He exclaimed, frustrated by his foggy mind, "Where is she?"
"Where's who?" John asked.
"The woman." He stopped in front of Elizabeth, looking at her closely and then from further back as though he were expecting Elizabeth to be The Woman in disguise, "That woman."
"What woman?" The doctor asked again.
"The Woman!" He repeated, "The Woman, Woman!"
"Oh, Irene Adler? She got away, no-one saw her."
But the detective seemed determined to confirm that she was here and headed over to look out of the open windows.
Elizabeth tried to reason with him, "She wasn't here, Sherlock."
The detective fell to the floor, either intentionally or unintentionally, it wasn't clear which, and immediately started pulling himself to look under the bed as though The Woman would be there.
"What are you? What?" John shook his head, "No, no, no. No. Elizabeth help."
Elizabeth stepped over Sherlock to help John get the detective up by his other arm. Together the two lifted him and managed to get him to stumble and collapse back onto his bed instead. His body bounced slightly upon impact but the detective didn't fight it.
"Back to bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."
"Of course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine."
"Yes. You're great." Said Elizabeth, sarcastically.
"Now, we'll be next door if you need us."
"Why would I need either of you?" Came his muffled speech.
Both John and Elizabeth looked hurt by this statement. Even trying to remember that he was still slightly drugged up didn't make the pill any easier to swallow. But John nodded for Elizabeth to go back to the living room first. She walked out of the room but waited for John in the hallway.
With an exasperated sigh, John said, "No reason at all." And then shut the door.
He turned to Elizabeth. Unsure of what to say. And there was a brief silence. Had he forgotten about his question about the shoes? She hoped so.
"Sherlock will be Sherlock." Was all she could think of.
"Hm, yeah." He nodded, "I better get to bed. Work in the morning."
"Yeah. Okay. Goodnight John." She called after as he left the flat for his one upstairs.
She was just thankful that Sherlock had distracted John from asking about the heels.