Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sasha woke up to the sound of a violin.
Stretching, she let out a small contented groan. She was sore. But pleasantly so. She was under the heavy blankets of the bed in the rented flat. Muted sunlight was streaming through the lace curtains.
She took a second to just enjoy the moment. The beautiful violin music drifting through the space. The coziness of the bed. The fact that for just that one solitary space of time, she could just be.
And not have to deal with the fallout of who was playing the violin.
And what they’d done the night before.
And what they were about to do going forward.
But like the fading of a dream, she had to get out of bed and deal with those things.
Climbing out from under the sheets, she wasn’t surprised to find out she was naked. Irene Adler would definitely sleep naked. And after what they’d done the night before? Who cared what Moriarty saw? She pulled on a dressing gown, tying it at the waist, and went to go find the man in question.
He was standing on the balcony, eyes shut, still playing the mournful piece of music that he had been when she woke. Leaning against the door jamb, she waited for him to finish, not wanting to interrupt him.
Professor James Moriarty really was something to behold, even in just a tucked-in white dress shirt and black pants.
Beautiful. Intense. Intimidating. And the music he was deftly producing spoke to such depth within his soul that it almost made her want to weep.
But she knew he was entirely inaccessible.
She had more of a chance romancing a literal rock than she did him.
Sherlock and Moriarty had no ability for love.
That was a constant feature in their stories.
Sherlock cared for his friends, however.
Moriarty did not. And it was Sherlock’s caring and attachment to Watson that this all hinged on. In more ways than one.
When the song finished, Moriarty lowered the violin. “I hope I did not wake you.”
“No, but you might have woken the rest of the neighborhood.”
“It is nearly noon.”
Ah. “Then thank you for letting me sleep in.”
“You are welcome.” He smirked. His gaze was focused on the apartment across the street where Sherlock had spied on them. She assumed he was long gone. “The trap will be very well baited now, I expect.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And if not, the price was not too insufferable, I hope.”
Was he asking her if she enjoyed the sex? Seriously? With an incredulous laugh, she turned and walked into her apartment. “Tea or coffee, James?”
“Coffee.”
“Good man.” She headed to the kitchen to brew them a pot. She had no idea how Victorians made coffee, but she figured somewhere in her head she had the information. Or rather, the story knew how. She just had to let the fiction guide her. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Neither.”
“Coffee as black as your soul.”
“Indeed.” He shut the door to the balcony and placed the very-likely-extremely-valuable violin and the bow carefully and meticulously into the case. Interesting that he brought it over. He had expected to spend the night. She’d be annoyed at his making assumptions if that wasn’t his entire thing.
Moriarty stood in the kitchen and watched her silently as she went about making the coffee. It was a French press system, it turned out. Which was good, because she knew how to work one of those, and not one of those wacky alchemical-steam-engine looking things she’d seen in a book once.
Finally, when she placed the cup of black coffee in front of him, she couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Are you expecting me to say something?”
“I suppose, yes.”
Pouring cream into her own mug, she topped it off with coffee.
She always put cream in first, then the coffee.
It just made more sense that way. One, she could see how much cream she was putting in.
And two, that way it self-stirred. She never understood people who did it the other way around.
“Perhaps you expect me to be upset? Or to tell you that I had hidden cameras in the house and now I plan to blackmail you?”
“I searched for those before you arrived.”
She shot him a look.
He merely smiled as he sipped his coffee. “I heard what you did to the Grand Duke. You cannot blame me for simply being prudent.”
“The Grand Duke deserved every ounce of embarrassment he had coming his way.” Did she know that for certain?
No. She was making that up. But that was the fun part of fiction, she supposed.
Taking her coffee into the drawing room, she sat down.
She was still in her dressing gown, and entirely naked underneath—which would be scandalous in any normal scenario. But she couldn’t care less.
And it seemed neither did James. Though his eyes lingered on her legs as he sat across from her, sipping his own coffee. “To be frank, Irene, I do not know what to expect. And that is rare for me. I dislike variables in my life and I have found you are one.”
“That sounds awfully like a threat.”
“To some, it would be a death sentence.”
“And to me?” Great. Did she get her own ass killed? That was a fun plot twist.
He furrowed his brow, as if considering it. “No. Your…unpredictable nature is one of your assets.”
“My dear James, careful—if you flatter me much more, I will worry you are becoming enamored of me.” She sipped her coffee.
It was so easy to play the game. To let herself fall into the story.
To just pretend. Like this, she didn’t have to worry about Sasha and Sidney and their war with Vile. She was just an actress on a stage.
“There is no worry of that happening. Fear not.” He chuckled. “Though can you imagine the papers if we announced our wedding?”
“The papers? Imagine Sherlock’s face?” She laughed. “You would have to invite him to be your best man. Can you imagine the awkwardness?”
That had James howling in laughter. “If this trolley business of yours fails, perhaps we can think that over. The photos we would have from the event alone would make the whole endeavor priceless.” His smile faded. “No, Irene. I do not think I wish you dead. I find you easy to exist beside.”
“And that is a compliment I know you do not pay lightly. I am…sincerely touched.” She was. It was a low bar for most people to hit—easy to exist with—but for Moriarty? It was a mountaintop. She’d take it.
“To business, then.” He leaned back against the cushion of the sofa. “The crown is getting ready to unveil a new train line. It is set to have its ribbon cut in two month’s time, but construction is not yet finished and testing is underway. It would be the perfect site for such an…accident.”
She nodded. “And a perfect fit for one of your schemes.”
“How so?”
“At first, it seems pointless, until you consider it pits two groups of people against each other who already have high cultural tensions. It digs deeper trenches between them, so a simple match later down the line ignites the fire of social unrest.” She paused.
“You really must get more productive hobbies, James.”
That made him laugh again. “Mm. We all have our small joys in life.” He placed his own empty cup in front of him. “How do you plan on luring the two gentlemen into the train yard? Simply stroll in, late at night, and let them follow you?”
“No. Sherlock will suspect something. If you and I are brazen enough to meet in public, why would we now be meeting in a construction site? He might follow, but he would keep his distance and his guard would be raised. You would have a difficult time trapping him, I think.”
“What do you recommend, then?” It was clear he had his own ideas. But he was letting her come up with a suggestion first. She’d be flattered again, except for the fact that she knew it was still a game to him. Like everything else, this was just another piece sliding on the chessboard.
“I will ask Sherlock to meet with me in a place of my choosing. And I will tell him precisely what you intend to do with the trains.” She smiled at him. “It is difficult to deduce a lie from the truth.”
His brow furrowed for a moment in thought before he looked away, tapping his finger on his chin as he considered her words.
In his silence, she continued. “I will express to him my dismay at your actions. That I originally pursued a romantic relationship with you to spite Sherlock’s involvement in my life.
But that I, a weak and foolish woman, am now in far beyond my depth and cannot stand idly by and watch as you take innocent lives in your personal quest to sow chaos.
And that I knew that only he could stop you.
He will march into that train yard entirely unaware of the trap that waits for him and his dear doctor. ”
When he looked back to her, there was just the faintest glimmer of purple in one of his eyes. “We do make quite the pair, Miss Adler…there is a devil within you.”
Yes. They did. And maybe he was right. Maybe there was.
And that should bother her more than it did. Because at the moment?
All she could feel was a sense of pride in the way that Moriarty and Vile were looking at her.
Sidney couldn’t wait until they got out of this bullshit Sherlock story.
She hated it. Hated it. Between having a pain in her knee that never went away and playing opposite a handsome man that wanted nothing to do with her, in a time period she was completely uninterested in, it was a recipe for misery.
And the last they left off?
“Watson” had gone down on Sherlock as he had watched Moriarty do terrible things to “Irene Adler.” Who was in reality her sister, Sasha. Who was in the middle of having a fight-slash-fuck-fest with Vile. And Moriarty.