At eight in the morning the Woman opened her eyes – and found herself in bed once again, as so long before. She lapsed into a satisfied smile, and mourned
'Still not dead.' For her surprise someone answered her.
'It seems. However, you could've been, if you wouldn't have come to me.'
She sat up in the bed, and found Sherlock sitting in the sofa opposite of her.
'Good morning.' she greeted with her common cheeriness, like he wouldn't have told her about her possible death.
'Your friends were here.' the man continued.
'I don't have any friends.' she told now seriously.
'They wanted to see you desperately, however I can't figure it out why.'
'Me? Who were they?' she frowned.
'Glimmer came to sense and came to me for help.'
'Glimmer?' she narrowed her eyes.
'DI. He's got your case, he wanted to speak to the whore and asked me to find her. I told him I'm not interested any more.'
Irene searched his face cautiously, but did not reflected. Sherlock stood up and turned to the window.
'It seems a lot are after you, not only Moriarty.' he told, and pulled the veil away to look down on the alley.
'One or a lot – it doesn't make difference.' the Woman rolled her eyes and get up off the bed.
'It does, till you have to play false more than one mind. And it's better if the worst doesn't find out you are alive – here, with me.' he turned to face the female, and happened to look at a completely naked body.
'Who's that – the worst?' she asked while picking up her dress, and locking on the man's frowning face. She wasn't surprised he didn't seemed to be moved by her nakedness.
'My brother, who else.' he said scouting.
'Mycroft?' she said surprised, almost giggling. 'It wasn't very difficult to play him false last time, it won't be now either.' she shrugged. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, and then slowly turned away.
'Anyway, we have to be precautious. Here are the rules.' he put down a slice of paper on the bed. Adler narrowed here eyes and halted for a moment.
'Rules?' she asked then, disbelievingly.
'Yes.' Sherlock told, and did not move. The woman stepped closer to the bed, and picked up the paper. She read it through rapidly, and blinked back at the man, who was still unmoved at the other side of the bed, than back to the sheet.
'”Not going out unwatched.” What does it mean? I'm no child, Sherlock.'
'But you are dead, and we want to keep up that appearance. You were away for months, I was here all the time. I know what to be cautious with. And who.'
'Thank you, but I kept alive in the last five days by myself as well.'
'Yes, till you were quiet. But now you got noisy by that affair with the Russian fellow, and not one knows about you already. You have to be more wary.' he told, and the woman seemed to accept his word.
'And what about my appearance? You can't expect me to wear floppy clothes...' her voice was near to loury.
'Your first of all markers are your clothes and make-up – the most wouldn't recognize you without them at all.'
'No.'
'It is necessary.'
'No.'
'As you wish. I'm not responsible for your life.'
'No, you're not.'
'Then please, you know where to find the door.' he lifted his arm to show her the way out. She exhaled frustrated.
'I won't wear sweater and jumpers. Not a chance.'
'As I told, I'm not responsible for your life.' Sherlock told without any interest, his arm still lifted to point the exit. Irene bet with her foot edgily, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the detective, waiting for his yield – but Sherlock Holmes wasn't a men of yielding. At a minute of mental battle she rolled her eyes and widen her arms.
'Al right.' she sighed. 'Jeans and blouses will do?'
'And a haircut.' Sherlock nodded. Irene made a face, which made him narrow his eyes, and he understood the conversation was over from her side. She watched him taking his long steps towards the door, and leaving the room, and she couldn't decide what she felt: anger? Huffiness? Restraint?... She lumped down the bed, still crossing her arms. How did she come to be overseen by anyone, not to speak about a sociopath.?! She was confused, and angry, and powerless, which made her feel uncomfortable. But from the other side, this was her only chance... If she wanted to survive, she had to follow that man without a question. She imagined how she would look with blond hair...
Sherlock was bending over a file, sitting on the floor, when she came out from the room an hour later. She leaned to the doorway and crossed her arms, but he seemed not to notice her, he was glaring at the paper unfocused. She guessed he was pacing in that brilliant of his mind. She watched him for a little while, thinking about their first met, and the second, and the third one... and the last one, there, in the Arabic desert, surrounded with Arabian terrorists, just the two of them. She remembered the scent of his when he enclasped her to protect from the bullets and she knew she'd never felt so safe before, like there in his arms. It was something which made her heart race, and she was afraid of that feeling, it made her feel vulnerable. And that she couldn't afford: to be vulnerable. Not even for him.
She shook her head and stirred and cleaned her throat.
'I have to go shopping.'
'You don't.' Sherlock told, not looking up from the file. She rolled her eyes.
'You told I have to cloth more low-key, it is written in the Rules.'
Sherlock roared, and turned a page.
'I changed my mind.' he told, still not looking up to her, who was frowning.
'You did?' she asked mistrustfully.
'Uhum.' Sherlock murmured, and waved to the kitchen. 'However, you are right, you have to go shopping. You need something to wear. Mrs Hudson will be here in five minutes, she will guide you to her beloved fashion stores. Have breakfast.' he commanded, and she smirked. Shopping with an ancient lady... How charming a punishment. she thought, but thought it was rightful. Of course she won't be able to buy anything wearable with that lady, but at least she will be safe. No one would recognize her with and old thing like her.
She paced in the kitchen to make a coffee for herself when she noticed the mug and plate with toast and eggs on it, untouched. She frowned and was to ask Sherlock, but he anticipated.
'John prepared it for you.' he told, still not looking up from the files. And before she could ask anything, he cut her off again 'He's gone to work, you can thank him in the afternoon if you're still alive.' he told without emotion, and she narrowed her eyes, but decided not to grab the end of the sentence.
'Thank you anyway.' she told, and sat down to eat, while Sherlock still analyzed the papers. She watched him closely, though without words – she tried to figure out what the man liked. She didn't even realized she was doing that, but old habits didn't let her go so easily, and she was very interested in him. She even imagined how would it be if... but the noise of steps distracted her, and the thoughts flew away.
'Oh Sherlock dear, what are you doing on the floor?! Go sit up on the sofa, there – I won't nurse you if you get a cold.' the voice of the old lady she heard, and she saw Sherlock to wave in her direction.
'Mrs Hudson, Maria von Hells. You go shopping with her this morning.' he told in a monotone voice, and the old lady looked in to the kitchen.
'Oh, hello dear.' she turned to her 'a new client?' she asked, but she noticed the night-gown of Sherlock on her, and she gave an understanding 'aah', and turned back to Sherlock. 'You had a good night, didn't you?' she whispered grinning, and it made Sherlock to look up and frown.
'I'm sorry?' he asked distracted, and Irene rolled her eyes and stood up.
'I think Sherlock forget to mention he had a girlfriend?' she asked the landlady, and she turned back to her, while Sherlock's face went more annoyed.
'A girlfriend?!' he ejaculated, but the gaze Irene gave him made him understand. 'Oh yeah, a girlfriend. She'll live here for a while.' he waved to Mrs Hudson and went back to examine the files. He didn't want to make space for the landlady's triumphant words.
'A real woman?! Sherlock, I'm so glad! But' her face darkened 'I expect John know it? Not if it would be my problem, you know my motto.' she turned to Irene 'Live and let live. If you like it by three...'
'You are right, Mrs Hudson, it's not your problem. Get your coat and show Maria the nearest fashion store. The airport lost her luggage and she has nothing to wear, so please. Here's my credit card.' he reached the thing to her, and the woman took it.
'So you're new in London, dear? How lovely! I hope he didn't caught you in the airport, he is a big one-er.' she whispered to Irene, who pulled up her eyebrows, but Sherlock's 'Mrs Hudson!' kept her busy.
'Al right, al right, I'm going for my coat. I'll be baack!' she sing-songed from the stairs as she descended. Irene looked at Sherlock interested.
'Maria von Hells?' she asked eyebrows pulled up.
'She will be back in three minutes.' he warned her, and she laughed up a bit and stood up from the table.
'Still better than Belle du Jour.' she smirked, and passed by him towards the bathroom. She knew he was following her with his eyes when she showed him her back, and it made her feel confident again.