ficrec: A Very Palpable Hit
Jan. 9th, 2012 11:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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221b_recsTitle: A Very Palpable Hit
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
irony_rocks
Pairing: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes
Length: 6K
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Post-"A Scandel in Belgravia." “So, amaze me,” Irene said, inching closer to him as he drove down the empty road through stark blackness. There was nothing around for miles. “How did you manage to find me?”
Reccer's comments: This is just such an absolutely perfect follow-up to the ep, with both Sherlock and Irene perfectly in character, deducing, bantering and one-upping each other. If you enjoyed their dynamic in "A Scandel in Belgravia," then you should read this fic.
LJ or AO3.
The weeks leading up to her (stayed) execution had been fairly mundane, believe it or not.
Despite the price on her head from various players in the world – organized crime lords, business tycoons, rich patrons, royalty and politicians alike – she had managed to carve out a small place to hide for a few solid months. Irene had always enjoyed the company of the powerful, but there was something to be said about the benefits of the working class and she hid amongst them for a while in a quiet villa in the eastern corner of Sicily. When the climate changed towards the end of the summer, the general heat pushed most tourists to the coast. She used her various talents to ensure everyone kept her presence a secret, mainly by trading in the fact that she knew what they liked – and everybody had a kink, even if they had yet to discover it until they met one Irene Adler. It was one of the constants in the universe, one of the few that she had left.
It was mid-August morning when Irene told her servants that she was driving into the city for business. She could only afford to spend one or two nights there, and she had her servants all well trained to keep their questions to themselves.
In the city, she attended a convention for rich businessmen, with no real business to be done. She said “attended,” but mostly she sat in the lobby and watched the company gather for their meetings – men in their overpriced suits, with briefcases that their wives had given them for Christmas; women with their pencil skirts and high heels – they all smiled and nodded at her as she sat at the bar. During lunch, a few men approached her, swirled brandy in their glasses, stared at her breasts, lied to her face about the importance of their job and probably thought about how they would love to bend her over and fuck her right there at the bar. And Irene just sat, smiling when they did, nodding when they did, mentally stripping each mark of their defenses, able to pick them apart and come up with the exact phrase, look, or combination thereof that would have them spilling their darkest secrets and opening their checkbooks to her within the nightfall.
The entire time, she was bored silly.
She could’ve picked them clean of corporate secrets and business plans and petty personal lies. Irene never underestimated the value of intelligence gathering, but starting from scratch left a foul taste in her mouth, and every man or woman she saw left her comparing them to Sherlock, weighed and measured and found wanting. She could have left this recruitment of new clientele to another time, but the truth was she had been bored to distraction, and that was where she must have slipped up. Careful as she had been the past few months, a girl like her was bound to seek entertainment in some form – and really, if there was ever to be a downfall to her reign, she rather it be of her own making than someone else’s. In any case, someone must’ve seen her and recognized her – and then, whoops. The cat was out of the bag, then.
All good secrets come to an end.
Author:
irony_rocksPairing: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes
Length: 6K
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Post-"A Scandel in Belgravia." “So, amaze me,” Irene said, inching closer to him as he drove down the empty road through stark blackness. There was nothing around for miles. “How did you manage to find me?”
Reccer's comments: This is just such an absolutely perfect follow-up to the ep, with both Sherlock and Irene perfectly in character, deducing, bantering and one-upping each other. If you enjoyed their dynamic in "A Scandel in Belgravia," then you should read this fic.
LJ or AO3.
The weeks leading up to her (stayed) execution had been fairly mundane, believe it or not.
Despite the price on her head from various players in the world – organized crime lords, business tycoons, rich patrons, royalty and politicians alike – she had managed to carve out a small place to hide for a few solid months. Irene had always enjoyed the company of the powerful, but there was something to be said about the benefits of the working class and she hid amongst them for a while in a quiet villa in the eastern corner of Sicily. When the climate changed towards the end of the summer, the general heat pushed most tourists to the coast. She used her various talents to ensure everyone kept her presence a secret, mainly by trading in the fact that she knew what they liked – and everybody had a kink, even if they had yet to discover it until they met one Irene Adler. It was one of the constants in the universe, one of the few that she had left.
It was mid-August morning when Irene told her servants that she was driving into the city for business. She could only afford to spend one or two nights there, and she had her servants all well trained to keep their questions to themselves.
In the city, she attended a convention for rich businessmen, with no real business to be done. She said “attended,” but mostly she sat in the lobby and watched the company gather for their meetings – men in their overpriced suits, with briefcases that their wives had given them for Christmas; women with their pencil skirts and high heels – they all smiled and nodded at her as she sat at the bar. During lunch, a few men approached her, swirled brandy in their glasses, stared at her breasts, lied to her face about the importance of their job and probably thought about how they would love to bend her over and fuck her right there at the bar. And Irene just sat, smiling when they did, nodding when they did, mentally stripping each mark of their defenses, able to pick them apart and come up with the exact phrase, look, or combination thereof that would have them spilling their darkest secrets and opening their checkbooks to her within the nightfall.
The entire time, she was bored silly.
She could’ve picked them clean of corporate secrets and business plans and petty personal lies. Irene never underestimated the value of intelligence gathering, but starting from scratch left a foul taste in her mouth, and every man or woman she saw left her comparing them to Sherlock, weighed and measured and found wanting. She could have left this recruitment of new clientele to another time, but the truth was she had been bored to distraction, and that was where she must have slipped up. Careful as she had been the past few months, a girl like her was bound to seek entertainment in some form – and really, if there was ever to be a downfall to her reign, she rather it be of her own making than someone else’s. In any case, someone must’ve seen her and recognized her – and then, whoops. The cat was out of the bag, then.
All good secrets come to an end.
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