The Love Affairs of Ghosts, by Tyleet (m)
Nov. 16th, 2012 11:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
irony-rocks.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
het_reccersFandom Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes
Fic Title: The Love Affairs of Ghosts
Author: Tyleet
Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/359953
Rating/Warning(s): mature, author cites background Sherlock/John overtones.
Genre: Post-ep Reichenbach
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: A dead man comes to find a dead woman in America. They are not in love. "I am collecting my debts," he tells her stiffly. There is not a version of Sherlock/Irene that I do not ship, but this one is my favorite. And this surely happened, because after Reichenbach, Sherlock simply must've sought out Irene. Who else would there be for a dead man to turn to, but a dead woman? The voices are delightful and genuine.
She catches the Guardian headline informing her of his death on Kate Winslet's iPhone, and she doesn't believe it for a second--who better than the boffin detective, after all, to fake his own death? who better than her to know?--but even so, she's curious enough to check Dr. Watson’s blog while Kate is whimpering and straining in her bonds, and what she reads there leaves her cold.
He was my best friend and I’ll always believe in him.
She taught him that--how to leave your lover with nothing but a single brutal sentence--a cruelty he would never have dreamed of if she hadn't carved it into him a year ago.
It isn't until a week later when she steps into a cab and meets the driver's pale eyes in the mirror that the horror leaves her. Which is selfish, of course, but she's never claimed to be anything else.
"I am collecting on my debts," he tells her stiffly, taking a ferocious left hand turn that would scream Londoner in almost any other city in the world, and she smiles automatically and says "Of course, Mr. Holmes," but her heart is still beating too fast which means he probably knows she means yes, for you, anything.
Ten minutes later they're pulling up to the Bank of New York, and she's striding through security with an ID from Sterling-Bosch while Sherlock slinks in through the service entrance in a blue uniform he's produced from nowhere. Her charm is delicate, like a syringe, and his is blunt, a hammer of emotion wielded by someone who does not understand it—but either way, it gets the job done, because in another fifteen minutes three men are dead and they’ve both unobtrusively left the building.
Sherlock nods briskly and turns to walk away, but she calls him back, immediately. She hasn’t even had a chance to catalogue his changes yet—his hair is dishwater blonde, and he looks both gaunt and uncomfortable, standing on the wrong sidewalk in the wrong city, face expressionless. All she can think to say is "Aren't you going to tell me they were all bad, those men in there?" her voice dry with amusement she only half feels.
“You’re not an idiot,” he snaps, and she takes that for the gratitude it is, and risks brushing her fingers against his wrist and murmurs "Be in touch,” before letting him walk away.
Pairing: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes
Fic Title: The Love Affairs of Ghosts
Author: Tyleet
Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/359953
Rating/Warning(s): mature, author cites background Sherlock/John overtones.
Genre: Post-ep Reichenbach
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: A dead man comes to find a dead woman in America. They are not in love. "I am collecting my debts," he tells her stiffly. There is not a version of Sherlock/Irene that I do not ship, but this one is my favorite. And this surely happened, because after Reichenbach, Sherlock simply must've sought out Irene. Who else would there be for a dead man to turn to, but a dead woman? The voices are delightful and genuine.
She catches the Guardian headline informing her of his death on Kate Winslet's iPhone, and she doesn't believe it for a second--who better than the boffin detective, after all, to fake his own death? who better than her to know?--but even so, she's curious enough to check Dr. Watson’s blog while Kate is whimpering and straining in her bonds, and what she reads there leaves her cold.
He was my best friend and I’ll always believe in him.
She taught him that--how to leave your lover with nothing but a single brutal sentence--a cruelty he would never have dreamed of if she hadn't carved it into him a year ago.
It isn't until a week later when she steps into a cab and meets the driver's pale eyes in the mirror that the horror leaves her. Which is selfish, of course, but she's never claimed to be anything else.
"I am collecting on my debts," he tells her stiffly, taking a ferocious left hand turn that would scream Londoner in almost any other city in the world, and she smiles automatically and says "Of course, Mr. Holmes," but her heart is still beating too fast which means he probably knows she means yes, for you, anything.
Ten minutes later they're pulling up to the Bank of New York, and she's striding through security with an ID from Sterling-Bosch while Sherlock slinks in through the service entrance in a blue uniform he's produced from nowhere. Her charm is delicate, like a syringe, and his is blunt, a hammer of emotion wielded by someone who does not understand it—but either way, it gets the job done, because in another fifteen minutes three men are dead and they’ve both unobtrusively left the building.
Sherlock nods briskly and turns to walk away, but she calls him back, immediately. She hasn’t even had a chance to catalogue his changes yet—his hair is dishwater blonde, and he looks both gaunt and uncomfortable, standing on the wrong sidewalk in the wrong city, face expressionless. All she can think to say is "Aren't you going to tell me they were all bad, those men in there?" her voice dry with amusement she only half feels.
“You’re not an idiot,” he snaps, and she takes that for the gratitude it is, and risks brushing her fingers against his wrist and murmurs "Be in touch,” before letting him walk away.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}