Fic: Love is a Word I Don’t Understand
Title: Love is a Word I Don’t Understand
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: Mycroft Holmes / Irene Adler
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Words: 2260
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: You can't choose who you fall in love with. But you can choose whether to act on your feelings.
Author's Notes: This was written for the winter round of holmestice 2012 for musamihi. Title inspired by a line in "New Age" by Marlon Roudette. Many thanks to garonne for excellent emergency beta-reading!
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
Love is a Word I Don’t Understand
It had started as a normal enough day. Of course if one worked for the British government, and especially if one had a brother like Sherlock, one’s definition of normal was somewhat different to the rest of the world’s. But as far as Mycroft was concerned, meeting his brother clad in a sheet in Buckingham Palace to discuss the affairs of the Royal family didn’t count as one of his more extraordinary activities. Now the affair in question was extraordinary, and so was the woman (or The Woman) involved - but no, he wouldn’t start that again. Sherlock would take care of it all. Of her. No need for Mycroft to get involved and no need at all to lose oneself in pointless memories.
<-<-<-
Her first impression of Mycroft Holmes is how out of place he looks. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, hand tailored and of the highest quality to be sure, but in a club like this he looks like a fish out of water. His serious expression is no help, either. Did nobody tell him where they’d meet? Or is he the kind of person who doesn’t even own casual clothes? Irene knows the type - always working too much, not keen on relaxing. She’s very good at getting them to relax, though. She sips at her drink and wonders whether this will be too easy.
Her second impression, however, is how young he is. Not younger than her, obviously (no one ever is), but from reading his case records Irene expected someone older. He’s had quite an impressive career then, being in his position at just over thirty. He must have had some kind of natural talent. Irene smiles. It’ll be fascinating to find out whether his competence is limited to paperwork or whether he’s good with actual people, too. He doesn’t look like he is, but Irene is careful not to underestimate her opponents.
She waits for a while, taking occasional sips from her glass and tapping her fingers against the table in rhythm with the music, as Holmes scans the club, looking for his contact. Of course he won’t suspect Irene. She has disguised herself well, blended in - and anyway, men in Holmes’ position would never assume a pretty young woman to be any kind of important contact. Not that she really was his contact - he was quite happy to exchange his appointment with some other sort of entertainment. When Irene gets tired of watching Holmes watching the club, she gives him the signal that’s been agreed on.
If Holmes is confused by her being his contact, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, methodically evading the other guests. When he reaches her, he extends a hand in greeting. Even with Irene sitting on a bar stool, he is taller than her.
“Miss, ah, Smith, I presume?” He almost has to shout in order not to be drowned out by the music, but somehow it doesn’t seem like shouting. For all his manners, he could be standing in a quiet private parlour.
Irene doesn’t allow him to control their meeting on his terms. She shakes his hand and flutters her eyelashes. “What a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes. Shall we start with business or would you like some entertainment first?”
She knows that Holmes has noticed her tight top and short skirt, but he keeps firm eye contact as he answers, “I make it a habit never to indulge in any sort of entertainment when I’m working.”
Of course he wouldn’t. She hasn’t made enough of an impression yet. But habits could be broken easily. Best to lull him into a false sense of security first, though. Irene gives Holmes her most radiant smile and casually links arms with him when she hops down from her bar stool. “Of course. Let’s start business then, Mr Holmes. This way, if you please.”
Holmes allows himself to be lead to a more private corner where the music is quiet enough to allow for conversations. Not once does he take his watchful eyes off her, though, and when they reach the small velvet couch, he lets go of Irene’s arm immediately to gesture for her to sit down. Trying to take control again. Irene doesn’t like that. It means her assignment might not be so easy after all.
<-<-<-
Mycroft started to take the day a bit more seriously when he learned that his brother had apparently managed to overthrow three members of the CIA in armed combat. That alone wasn’t surprising, but the fact that it had all happened in a respectable neighbourhood in Belgravia had drawn attention and taken Mycroft five phone calls and two more hours of paperwork. That wasn’t special, though, only annoying. But what finally did manage to make his day extraordinary was the appearance of Irene Adler right in his office.
Involuntarily, Mycroft sat up straighter, while at the same time pretending to be absorbed in the report he had been reading until a moment ago. He watched Irene out of the corner of his eye. She was as beautiful and radiant as ever. And - he couldn’t help but notice - she was wearing nothing but Sherlock’s coat. Mycroft looked back to his report again, trying to find something, anything really, to concentrate on.
“You sent your brother to deal with me, Mr Holmes. I am disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing you again so much.”
Mycroft made a non-committal noise and kept his eyes fixed on his paperwork. Her heels clicked on the parquet as she closed the distance to his desk. When Irene was close enough, she slowly extended her hand to cup Mycroft’s chin and lift his head. Mycroft didn’t protest but he didn’t lean into her touch either. When he met Irene’s eyes, he could see something like amusement.
“And you didn’t even tell me you had a brother! And such a dashing one at that. Isn’t he rather impressive? And smart, too. Smarter than you, I wonder?”
Several impossible replies flashed in front of Mycroft’s inner eye. I still remember our first meeting. I thought about you more than is seeming for a man my age and my position. As always we are on two different sides. Instead he carefully but determinedly removed her hand and nodded towards a chair opposite of him.
“Please do take a seat, Miss Adler. May I ask what brings you here? I hope Sherlock has done nothing too inappropriate?”
He managed a thin humourless smile.
To his relief Irene did sit down. She kept on talking. “Oh, Sherlock’s a dear. Not as innocent as he seems, but innocent enough. Who does that remind me of, I wonder?” She winked, but Mycroft held her gaze without flinching. ”Speaking of dear Sherlock, you may want to visit him tomorrow. He might be a bit confused about today’s events. I don’t think he’s used to being beaten. So few people are.”
She gave him a wicked smile and Mycroft felt his mind starting to wander. He took a deep breath, concentrating, keeping his thoughts in order. Anything else just wouldn’t do.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Adler?”
<-<-<-
Holmes is a tough negotiator. It doesn’t help that Irene does not really have the information their meeting is allegedly about. But they usually don’t and that’s why she is here to do the job, isn’t she? Because she has other methods of getting men to speak than the mere exchange of knowledge. And every other man would be ready to do whatever she asks now. Holmes, however, hasn’t shown any reaction at all. It’s like flirting with a block of ice.
It should be frustrating, annoying, but for some reason it’s rather intriguing. Maybe even exciting. Irene moves closer to Holmes and makes a show of crossing her legs.
Holmes clears his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Smith?”
“Obviously not very successfully if you need to ask.”
Irene flutters her eyelashes in mock disappointment. If Holmes hadn’t been completely devoid of any emotions for the last hour, she would have sworn she could now see the hint of a smile on his face. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he continues.
“Just so that you do not have to continue to make a fool of yourself: Obviously you’re not my contact. I know how this works: A lonely naive man desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. Now, I may be lonely, but let me assure you, I am not naive.”
Irene tries her best not to let her surprise show. She’d known that Holmes would be good, but that good? Instead she takes the offensive again. “Why are you talking to me then? Could it be that you like me after all?”
This time he does smile, but Irene isn’t sure whether the smile is meant for him or for her. “You are interesting, Miss Smith.”
“Interesting enough to share some of your information with me?”
Holmes’ smile vanishes. “I’m not going to betray my employers,” he says.
Irene nods towards his suitcase. “Would you, though? Are any of these papers actually of any importance?”
He regards her with a guarded look. Probably trying to decide how much to tell her. Eventually he shrugs. “Not of the highest importance, I suppose. I understand that you know a lot of men in the government? Quite important men, too, I heard say. Let’s very theoretically assume I gave you some of the information you’re after, could you guarantee that such cooperation would be to our mutual benefit? ”
And there it is, finally, a little glimpse at the real Mycroft Holmes. The first clue to how the man has managed to be in this position at his age.
“Well,” Irene smiles, “I know what some of them like.”
Holmes, apparently, likes power. So does Irene. And she’s never met a man who could resist her before.
<-<-<-
Sharing a cup of tea in his office, it almost felt as if they were old friends who simply hadn’t met for a long time because of their jobs or other obligations. Of course it wasn’t that simple.
“Why are you here, Miss Adler?”
“As I said, I wanted to see you again. Old memories, sentiment, I am sure you know how it works. Theoretically, at least.” Irene laughed and he hated her for it. Hated himself, too, for a short moment. But it didn’t last. Caring wasn’t an advantage and Mycroft knew that well. He took another sip of tea. It was too hot, almost burning him, but Mycroft didn’t let it show.
“That’s a very nice story. Very... emotional. But why are you really here?”
Irene fixed him with such an intense look that Mycroft felt goosebumps creep up his neck. “To warn you, Mr Holmes. You don’t know what you getting involved in. You don’t know what we’re playing for. You don’t even know who’s playing. But I know you’ll be the one who loses.”
She had stood up from her chair now, slowly coming closer. She looked feline, like a predator circling her prey. Mycroft had never seen anything more beautiful or dangerous.
He sneered, “And you are warning me because you still feel some kind of sentiment towards me? Because of back then?”
That made Irene laugh again. “You know I’m not one for a long-time engagement.”
“No,” Mycroft agreed, “you aren’t.” Then he added almost like an afterthought, although that question had constantly been on his mind since this morning, “Does Sherlock know this?”
“I don’t think he’d be interested in me otherwise.”
Irene had almost walked around his desk. She cocked her head, hesitating for a second, then she asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, Mr Holmes?”
Irene was standing so close now, Mycroft could smell the faint smell of her perfume and hear her breathing. If he tried, maybe he could hear her heartbeat, too. And if he stretched out his hand, he could touch her. But if he did, he might never let her go. He didn’t work that hard to throw it all away now.
“I made it a habit never to eat when I’m working. It only leads to - complications.”
“That’s a pity. You know, I might get interested in other people if you don’t care. Sherlock for example seemed pretty smitten with me. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”
And with that she bowed down to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Mycroft closed his eyes, treasuring the touch. Just for a second life was perfect. They both remembered two young people and maybe they wondered what could have happened had they not been so ambitious and determined. If only - ... But of course it ended too soon.
Mycroft refused to see her leave - he kept his eyes shut even as he heard the sound of her heels on the parquet, heard the door open. And maybe it was because his eyes were closed and his other senses heightened that he heard a low whisper, too.
“Goodbye Mr Holmes.“
Then the door closed and Mycroft was alone again. For one more minute he sat in silence, surrounded by the lingering clouds of her perfume. But he could not turn back time. And even if he could, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. So he opened his eyes again and allowed himself a small sigh before he started on another bunch of papers. There was work to be done.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: Mycroft Holmes / Irene Adler
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Words: 2260
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: You can't choose who you fall in love with. But you can choose whether to act on your feelings.
Author's Notes: This was written for the winter round of holmestice 2012 for musamihi. Title inspired by a line in "New Age" by Marlon Roudette. Many thanks to garonne for excellent emergency beta-reading!
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
Love is a Word I Don’t Understand
It had started as a normal enough day. Of course if one worked for the British government, and especially if one had a brother like Sherlock, one’s definition of normal was somewhat different to the rest of the world’s. But as far as Mycroft was concerned, meeting his brother clad in a sheet in Buckingham Palace to discuss the affairs of the Royal family didn’t count as one of his more extraordinary activities. Now the affair in question was extraordinary, and so was the woman (or The Woman) involved - but no, he wouldn’t start that again. Sherlock would take care of it all. Of her. No need for Mycroft to get involved and no need at all to lose oneself in pointless memories.
<-<-<-
Her first impression of Mycroft Holmes is how out of place he looks. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, hand tailored and of the highest quality to be sure, but in a club like this he looks like a fish out of water. His serious expression is no help, either. Did nobody tell him where they’d meet? Or is he the kind of person who doesn’t even own casual clothes? Irene knows the type - always working too much, not keen on relaxing. She’s very good at getting them to relax, though. She sips at her drink and wonders whether this will be too easy.
Her second impression, however, is how young he is. Not younger than her, obviously (no one ever is), but from reading his case records Irene expected someone older. He’s had quite an impressive career then, being in his position at just over thirty. He must have had some kind of natural talent. Irene smiles. It’ll be fascinating to find out whether his competence is limited to paperwork or whether he’s good with actual people, too. He doesn’t look like he is, but Irene is careful not to underestimate her opponents.
She waits for a while, taking occasional sips from her glass and tapping her fingers against the table in rhythm with the music, as Holmes scans the club, looking for his contact. Of course he won’t suspect Irene. She has disguised herself well, blended in - and anyway, men in Holmes’ position would never assume a pretty young woman to be any kind of important contact. Not that she really was his contact - he was quite happy to exchange his appointment with some other sort of entertainment. When Irene gets tired of watching Holmes watching the club, she gives him the signal that’s been agreed on.
If Holmes is confused by her being his contact, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, methodically evading the other guests. When he reaches her, he extends a hand in greeting. Even with Irene sitting on a bar stool, he is taller than her.
“Miss, ah, Smith, I presume?” He almost has to shout in order not to be drowned out by the music, but somehow it doesn’t seem like shouting. For all his manners, he could be standing in a quiet private parlour.
Irene doesn’t allow him to control their meeting on his terms. She shakes his hand and flutters her eyelashes. “What a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes. Shall we start with business or would you like some entertainment first?”
She knows that Holmes has noticed her tight top and short skirt, but he keeps firm eye contact as he answers, “I make it a habit never to indulge in any sort of entertainment when I’m working.”
Of course he wouldn’t. She hasn’t made enough of an impression yet. But habits could be broken easily. Best to lull him into a false sense of security first, though. Irene gives Holmes her most radiant smile and casually links arms with him when she hops down from her bar stool. “Of course. Let’s start business then, Mr Holmes. This way, if you please.”
Holmes allows himself to be lead to a more private corner where the music is quiet enough to allow for conversations. Not once does he take his watchful eyes off her, though, and when they reach the small velvet couch, he lets go of Irene’s arm immediately to gesture for her to sit down. Trying to take control again. Irene doesn’t like that. It means her assignment might not be so easy after all.
<-<-<-
Mycroft started to take the day a bit more seriously when he learned that his brother had apparently managed to overthrow three members of the CIA in armed combat. That alone wasn’t surprising, but the fact that it had all happened in a respectable neighbourhood in Belgravia had drawn attention and taken Mycroft five phone calls and two more hours of paperwork. That wasn’t special, though, only annoying. But what finally did manage to make his day extraordinary was the appearance of Irene Adler right in his office.
Involuntarily, Mycroft sat up straighter, while at the same time pretending to be absorbed in the report he had been reading until a moment ago. He watched Irene out of the corner of his eye. She was as beautiful and radiant as ever. And - he couldn’t help but notice - she was wearing nothing but Sherlock’s coat. Mycroft looked back to his report again, trying to find something, anything really, to concentrate on.
“You sent your brother to deal with me, Mr Holmes. I am disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing you again so much.”
Mycroft made a non-committal noise and kept his eyes fixed on his paperwork. Her heels clicked on the parquet as she closed the distance to his desk. When Irene was close enough, she slowly extended her hand to cup Mycroft’s chin and lift his head. Mycroft didn’t protest but he didn’t lean into her touch either. When he met Irene’s eyes, he could see something like amusement.
“And you didn’t even tell me you had a brother! And such a dashing one at that. Isn’t he rather impressive? And smart, too. Smarter than you, I wonder?”
Several impossible replies flashed in front of Mycroft’s inner eye. I still remember our first meeting. I thought about you more than is seeming for a man my age and my position. As always we are on two different sides. Instead he carefully but determinedly removed her hand and nodded towards a chair opposite of him.
“Please do take a seat, Miss Adler. May I ask what brings you here? I hope Sherlock has done nothing too inappropriate?”
He managed a thin humourless smile.
To his relief Irene did sit down. She kept on talking. “Oh, Sherlock’s a dear. Not as innocent as he seems, but innocent enough. Who does that remind me of, I wonder?” She winked, but Mycroft held her gaze without flinching. ”Speaking of dear Sherlock, you may want to visit him tomorrow. He might be a bit confused about today’s events. I don’t think he’s used to being beaten. So few people are.”
She gave him a wicked smile and Mycroft felt his mind starting to wander. He took a deep breath, concentrating, keeping his thoughts in order. Anything else just wouldn’t do.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Adler?”
<-<-<-
Holmes is a tough negotiator. It doesn’t help that Irene does not really have the information their meeting is allegedly about. But they usually don’t and that’s why she is here to do the job, isn’t she? Because she has other methods of getting men to speak than the mere exchange of knowledge. And every other man would be ready to do whatever she asks now. Holmes, however, hasn’t shown any reaction at all. It’s like flirting with a block of ice.
It should be frustrating, annoying, but for some reason it’s rather intriguing. Maybe even exciting. Irene moves closer to Holmes and makes a show of crossing her legs.
Holmes clears his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Smith?”
“Obviously not very successfully if you need to ask.”
Irene flutters her eyelashes in mock disappointment. If Holmes hadn’t been completely devoid of any emotions for the last hour, she would have sworn she could now see the hint of a smile on his face. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he continues.
“Just so that you do not have to continue to make a fool of yourself: Obviously you’re not my contact. I know how this works: A lonely naive man desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. Now, I may be lonely, but let me assure you, I am not naive.”
Irene tries her best not to let her surprise show. She’d known that Holmes would be good, but that good? Instead she takes the offensive again. “Why are you talking to me then? Could it be that you like me after all?”
This time he does smile, but Irene isn’t sure whether the smile is meant for him or for her. “You are interesting, Miss Smith.”
“Interesting enough to share some of your information with me?”
Holmes’ smile vanishes. “I’m not going to betray my employers,” he says.
Irene nods towards his suitcase. “Would you, though? Are any of these papers actually of any importance?”
He regards her with a guarded look. Probably trying to decide how much to tell her. Eventually he shrugs. “Not of the highest importance, I suppose. I understand that you know a lot of men in the government? Quite important men, too, I heard say. Let’s very theoretically assume I gave you some of the information you’re after, could you guarantee that such cooperation would be to our mutual benefit? ”
And there it is, finally, a little glimpse at the real Mycroft Holmes. The first clue to how the man has managed to be in this position at his age.
“Well,” Irene smiles, “I know what some of them like.”
Holmes, apparently, likes power. So does Irene. And she’s never met a man who could resist her before.
<-<-<-
Sharing a cup of tea in his office, it almost felt as if they were old friends who simply hadn’t met for a long time because of their jobs or other obligations. Of course it wasn’t that simple.
“Why are you here, Miss Adler?”
“As I said, I wanted to see you again. Old memories, sentiment, I am sure you know how it works. Theoretically, at least.” Irene laughed and he hated her for it. Hated himself, too, for a short moment. But it didn’t last. Caring wasn’t an advantage and Mycroft knew that well. He took another sip of tea. It was too hot, almost burning him, but Mycroft didn’t let it show.
“That’s a very nice story. Very... emotional. But why are you really here?”
Irene fixed him with such an intense look that Mycroft felt goosebumps creep up his neck. “To warn you, Mr Holmes. You don’t know what you getting involved in. You don’t know what we’re playing for. You don’t even know who’s playing. But I know you’ll be the one who loses.”
She had stood up from her chair now, slowly coming closer. She looked feline, like a predator circling her prey. Mycroft had never seen anything more beautiful or dangerous.
He sneered, “And you are warning me because you still feel some kind of sentiment towards me? Because of back then?”
That made Irene laugh again. “You know I’m not one for a long-time engagement.”
“No,” Mycroft agreed, “you aren’t.” Then he added almost like an afterthought, although that question had constantly been on his mind since this morning, “Does Sherlock know this?”
“I don’t think he’d be interested in me otherwise.”
Irene had almost walked around his desk. She cocked her head, hesitating for a second, then she asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, Mr Holmes?”
Irene was standing so close now, Mycroft could smell the faint smell of her perfume and hear her breathing. If he tried, maybe he could hear her heartbeat, too. And if he stretched out his hand, he could touch her. But if he did, he might never let her go. He didn’t work that hard to throw it all away now.
“I made it a habit never to eat when I’m working. It only leads to - complications.”
“That’s a pity. You know, I might get interested in other people if you don’t care. Sherlock for example seemed pretty smitten with me. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”
And with that she bowed down to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Mycroft closed his eyes, treasuring the touch. Just for a second life was perfect. They both remembered two young people and maybe they wondered what could have happened had they not been so ambitious and determined. If only - ... But of course it ended too soon.
Mycroft refused to see her leave - he kept his eyes shut even as he heard the sound of her heels on the parquet, heard the door open. And maybe it was because his eyes were closed and his other senses heightened that he heard a low whisper, too.
“Goodbye Mr Holmes.“
Then the door closed and Mycroft was alone again. For one more minute he sat in silence, surrounded by the lingering clouds of her perfume. But he could not turn back time. And even if he could, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. So he opened his eyes again and allowed himself a small sigh before he started on another bunch of papers. There was work to be done.