“You never listen do you?” Hissed Sherlock as he strode to Irene, furious, “I told you to stay put, and of course you chose to run after him! You could’ve –”
“I could’ve what!” She interjected, looking up at him in defiance, arms crossed and impatient.
“You could –”
“What, Sherlock! What is it that you’re insisting I could’ve done, because I honestly don’t think there was a single alternative that would’ve stopped him from getting away! ”
“You could’ve got yourself killed!” He yelled. Realising that he was now gripping her shoulders, their proximity alarming, he dropped his hands and turned around abruptly, striding out of the alley.
Another day, another trope in the FBI partners (formerly thief vs. agent) AU. Several days after the the undercover first kiss. Warning: rating at the end will be between Teen+ and Mature.
A few hours later, they were back at the headquarters, separately being angry at each other. Sherlock was in his office on the 19th floor whereas Irene ended up in a lift with John, who was carrying a box of files and clearly heading to the lower levels (i.e. opportunity for Irene to see the FBI archives and assess the security).
John cleared his throat and went, “So I heard about what happened today.” Irene gave him a quirked-eyebrow look. John chuckled, “I take it you two are always at each other’s throats?” “It’s not uncommon, no.” Then silence for a few minutes.
“He seems to like you, you know. Sherlock. That outburst today wasn’t because you didn’t follow orders. It was because he was scared. Of losing you.”
That evening Sherlock arrived at his flat and found Irene leaning against his door, waiting.
“I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t just break in. If you could please move, I’d like to get inside.” Irene stepped aside and watched him turn his key, his brow was constricted and his jaw was set. He pushed the door open and stepped through. Irene swiftly slipped in behind him.
“Is there a reason you’re following me?” He asked, slight hint of bitterness in his tone.
“I thought we could talk about what happened today, as you obviously think I did something wrong.” Irene crossed her arms.
“You did. You completely ignored my order. Your job is to provide insight into the criminal mind, it is mine to chase them down and arrest them.”
“What difference does it make whether it is you or I who catches them, if it leads to the same result?”
“The difference, is that I am armed and trained to take them down, whereas you, run after them without thinking.” He clenched his teeth. (Sherlock was not being very reasonable here. Irene’s far from careless in her actions. The incident earlier that day just was a dangerous situation and he was worried.)
Their argument continued and was becoming increasingly heated when she snapped, “Well I don’t need a badge and a weapon to be able to do what I know is right. And I can take care of myself as I make my way in the world, Sherlock. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She headed towards the door, her hand inches away from the handle.
“How would you know anything about what is right or wrong? You are a criminal. Your parents would’ve been proud if they were alive. Knowing that the daughter they raised is a professional thief and is taking foolish risks so that she can get herself killed just like they probably were.” (I should mention that no one knew Irene’s backstory or her real purpose for cooperating with the FBI. Not even Sherlock, despite having his suspicions.)
Everything in her halted, body and mind. She felt as if she had been slapped. She turned back to him, flames in her eyes.
“Wait, I.. I am sorry. Irene. I didn’t mean that.” He suddenly looked uncertain, all traces of anger leaving his eyes.
Irene: (Screw calm.)
“Irene.. I’m sorry. Please, could we –”
She swiftly closed the distance between them, her fist already swinging towards him. It made contact with his cheekbone and she ignored the pain spreading through her hand. She allowed the anger and hate and pain that she was feeling to drive her as she continued to throw punches at him.
Sherlock grabbed one of her wrists trying to stop her. Irene drove the elbow of her other arm into his stomach. Air was driven from his lungs as he groaned. She freed her wrist and continued her assault.
He blocked her right fist. But when her left followed up, not only did he misguide it past his torso, his own hand also made an instinctual offensive move, swinging towards her.
He realised what he was doing and opened his fist, the instant before contact, a last-second attempt at lessening the blow. But she stumbled back a step, pain spreading over her cheek.
“It was an accident!” He held up his palms, his expression genuinely apologetic.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Irene.” He warned.
She went at him again in fury. He was focused on stopping her throws, not noticing her leg sweeping under him. He did, however, manage to grip one of her wrists, pulling her down with him.
They hit the floor, and before Irene could react, Sherlock rolled and pinned her beneath him with his body weight, gripping her wrists above her head.
Both were breathing heavily as he looked straight at her while she struggled, his face inches from hers. “I am sorry.” He said firmly. She could see the sincerity in his eyes.. Along with something else.
After a few moments she could feel the hatred flowing away, with each passing second. Her brow relaxed and she stopped struggling to free her hands. She saw his eyes briefly glance down at her lips before returning to hers. She watched as his face slowly became closer, his eyes never leaving hers.
And then he was kissing her. Her hands slid out of his grip and trailed down until they were wrapped around his neck, holding him to her.
Sherlock pulled away first, heart rate accelerated, a growing panic in his eyes as they searched hers. He started to shift his weight off of her. Irene’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. Immediately she took hold of his shirt and brought him back, connecting their lips once again.
Emotions he could not identify were rushing to the surface of his mind, controlling his actions. Everything that he had previously ignored and pushed aside because he did not know how to deal with, was being unleashed. All he wanted to feel and could feel was her. Something inside him, something that had perhaps been there all along, was taking over.
She gripped tightly to him and rolled them so that she was straddling his waist.
Whatever was happening, it was electric and magnetic. Compulsive. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to stop it. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He couldn’t recollect how, but at some point they managed to migrate from the floor, when soon what they were doing wasn’t enough. Far from enough. An ensuing frenzy led to buttons skittering across the floor, along with irritating pieces of clothing that formed the only remaining obstacles between them.
Her back hit a wall as he continued his assault on her neck, his hand gripping her waist, driven by an indescribable force.
It was as if an imaginary steel cord within him, one that had resisted and resisted against gradated tension, had finally snapped, and there was no hope of returning.
She pushed him back and they stumbled into the next room, twisting and turning, without breaking contact. She felt the back of her knees hit something and fell backwards onto soft duvet. He fell with her, the vertigo sweeping them up once more.
Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and/or offered support for (via comments/tags) this universe :D Special thanks to @elinorx and her message box for welcoming the atom-by-atom construction and adding to the fun!
Seems my weak spot for crime/action (gunfire involved) Adlock is shared amongst fellow crew to a much greater extent than I’d thought. Cool.