Scandal Management part 3/9
Title: Scandal Management
Pairing: “Anthea”/Irene Adler, reader is free to squint/raise their eyebrows suggestively at: detectives and their doctors, inspectors and their government
Warnings: A bit of violence that gets almost non-con, but doesn't quite make it there, sexual content
Rating: R
Summary: “Anthea” meets quite a lot of interesting people in her line of work. She usually doesn't meet ones this infuriating this frequently, though. And she usually doesn't enjoy it so much.
Spoilers for A Scandal in Bohemia, although I've taken my own twist on it. I'm only speculating and taking liberties in regards to the BBC's interpretation. Also, Lara Pulver is not as tall as I've written Irene in here. Watch me care.
Disclaimer: not mine, although goodness I'd like them to be
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
Cynthia felt like she was suffocating. She was fine in dealing with Mr. Holmes' colleagues and clients a few at a time. She was fine in dealing with twenty problems at once through her Blackberry. But this? This was the worst part of her job. She had her suspicions that Mr. Holmes despised these functions as well, but he couldn't possibly understand her hatred of them until he'd spent an hour standing in heels and tiny dress while old politicians stared at his chest.
“Cynthia, have you met Mr. Musgrave?” She looked up from her Blackberry at the well dressed gentleman.
“I don't believe so. A pleasure.” She shook his hand and gave her best fake smile. Of course she had met him, just last week in fact, but that wasn't common knowledge to anyone at the gala, and it didn't need to be. She tuned out most of what he said, smiling and nodding when she knew it appropriate.
“Would you be so kind as to bring me a drink? I need a word with the Prime Minister.”
“Of course sir.” She whooped inwardly. Getting champagne required no formal introductions. She avoided eye contact on her way to retrieve the drink. As she turned to return to Mr. Holmes, however, she noticed someone eyeing her; a tall woman in an elegant deep blue dress. She offered a nod to acknowledge that she'd seen her looking, and hurried away. Mr. Holmes was just leaving the Prime Minister when she placed the glass of champagne in his hand.
“Thank you, Cynthia. I don't believe you're acquainted with Mr. Norton.”
“How do you do?” she asked, offering a hand to Godfrey Norton.
“Charmed.” He took her hand and bent to kiss it.
“Now now, dear,” crooned a voice behind Norton. The woman in the blue dress slid up next to him. “don't go stealing all the hearts while my back's turned. Mrs. Norton.” she provided Cynthia, extending a hand. She shook it.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Norton.” Irene winked.
“And you. Cynthia, was it?” She nodded. Irene fell into conversation with Mr. Holmes and her fallacious husband. Cynthia tuned them out, but kept her eyes on Irene. The shimmery quality of her dress and the swing of her almost curly hair was quite mesmerising.
“Cynthia?”
“Oh! Sorry, I was miles away.” She shook her head as if to clear it, and sent Mr. Holmes a guilty smile. He looked vaguely concerned. Irene smiled. “Why don't you join me for some fresh air? It might help to clear that head of yours.” She sent a quick questioning look to Mr. Holmes. He nodded imperceptibly.
“Yes, all right.” Irene grinned and extended her arm. Cynthia looped her own through it and they turned to go. Irene leant in and whispered into her ear. “Did you miss me?”
Irene leant against the stone railing of the balcony and sighed as her shoulders stretched.
“You looked like you needed to get away from that crowd.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Cynthia rested her forearms on the rail and gazed over the darkened grounds. She no longer felt claustrophobic, but still found herself a bit short of breath. She blamed the tight-fitting dress. There was a companionable silence. A light breeze ruffled their hair. Cynthia smiled to herself; a real smile. This was pleasant. She looked back to find Irene watching her. Her face was unreadable.
“I didn't think you'd be returning so soon.” she said. Irene shrugged.
“Jersey's great, but I missed Europe. I'm in a show in Germany next.”
“Staying out of trouble?”
“Of course not. How's Big Brother treating you? Still glued to that Blackberry?”
“Same as ever.” Cynthia waved the mobile. “This is strangely peaceful.”
“How do you mean?”
“Maybe it's just because I'm so used to Mr. Holmes' brother, but when I saw you...I half-expected someone to get into a fight, or-” Irene giggled.
“I'm on my best behaviour tonight. Besides, we wouldn't want to mess up this dress, would we?”
“It is rather lovely.”
“And actually comfortable too, surprisingly. Feel this fabric!” Irene stepped closer. Cynthia hesitated.
“Come on, it won't bite.” She grabbed her wrist and drew it to her waist. The fabric was indeed smooth and astonishingly soft compared to how it looked. It was also very warm from Irene's body heat.
“Aherm.” Cynthia jerked her hand back and spun around. Godfrey Norton stood in the doorway to the balcony.
“No need to panic, Cynthia. It's only me.” He smiled. “Dear, I need to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Holdhurst.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Lovely talking to you, Cynthia.” She moved from the rail and joined her husband, leaving Cynthia on the balcony. She turned and blew a kiss before disappearing inside.
Cynthia returned to Mr. Holmes' side a few minutes later. She didn't see Irene again for the rest of the evening, but she regarded the gala with a bit less disdain after their chat.