the disappearance of irene adler

Hi everyone.

First of all, we’re sorry for disappearing like we did. After the Irene Adler case, we decided that we were owed a little break (read: Sherlock woke me up the morning after the case was concluded by throwing my suitcase on the bed and pulling our clothes from the closet, announcing that we were leaving 221B for a while). By the time I realised it wasn’t for a new case, we were already halfway to Sussex. Apparently, the Holmes family has a cottage here, but, unfortunately, the wifi is nonexistent.

So, here we are now, on our own, with the sea air surrounding us and the sound of seagulls as our alarm clock.

Anyway, Irene Adler. She’s… well, I can’t disclose too much information due to its sensitivity, but I can safely say that Sherlock has saved the day, yet again. When Irene showed up at our flat, she was in danger. She had faked her death and hid her phone with Sherlock, to get away from those who were out to get her and coming back endangered not only her, but her girlfriend Kate as well. That phone was the only thing she had to use to keep them safe. Page after page of sensitive information, all locked away with a code only she knew. Not even Sherlock could figure it out.

And she used it. She used Sherlock to crack a code (I can’t divulge in this further, so don’t ask) and Irene sent it on. To Moriarty. She had been working for him, all this time! And we fell for it.

It was a close call, but Sherlock figured it out. God, he was brilliant. The moment he realised what the code was, I couldn’t believe that he even real. I know we’ve both said on multiple occasions that not everything is about me… but this was. She must have changed her password when she met us, so it spelled JOHN. Unbelievable!

Sherlock was down, beaten, ridiculed and he managed to come out on top anyway. It’s over now. Irene Adler has disappeared from our view - although Sherlock does not appear too worried about her wellbeing. I’ll be happy if she stays away, to be honest.

But enough about her. That’s over and done with. On the one hand, I’m grateful to her. Without her, I never would have - well, I’m not sure how long it would have taken for Sherlock and I to tell each other how we felt without her interference. I’m currently basking in the sun, laptop on my lap, and I’m typing one-handed because next to me is an amazingly brilliant and gorgeous man, scrolling through his phone whilst holding my hand with his free one.

So… ta for that, Irene Adler. And good luck to you, wherever you are.

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Adlock Fanvid

“You can’t hide your secrets and lies.”

Here is a 1080p Adlock video to apologise for my disappearance.

Before he knows it (An Adlock Ficlet)

Prompt #1 from my mars @adler-holmes, which talks about Sherlock’s first phone call with Irene after the whole “before you know it scene with John”. Hope you enjoy dizzzzz!


The message she sent him still blazed bright from the screen of his phone at half past two in the morning of the next day. He had been staring at it, the words of his best mate echoing in his ear, his secret finally out as she greeted him a happy birthday. 

John gave him a look as he dropped him off after their ‘celebration’, mumbling an amused trail of words that sounded like “…knew it…” “…just phone her…” “…bloody idiot…”, all of which were drowned by the buzzing in his head. He’s still not quite well, from the drugging and the near-death experience (yet again), so he couldn’t quite make John’s point clear, but it was like on reflex that he had opened Irene Adler’s message when the doctor left and has stared at it since. 

She’s out there…

Of course, he knew that. It was obvious, isn’t it? He may not know exactly where but he will find out soon enough… It was always the case with them.

Them? Since when did he address himself in a collective with her? 

She likes you…

Well, she certainly did have an affinity for him, considering her passcode from years ago, their moments of rendezvous, their acquaintanceship during his two year disappearance, and… and… and there’s always Karachi. But Irene Adler is never the type to simply like someone. It was never that easy with her. But this is John… his vocabulary may have limited it at that, Sherlock thought.

She’s alive…

The word stung through his chest, remembering that she was the first to make him feel this… this vulnerable. Mary’s death was… or rather is… still inexplicably painful even if weeks have passed. It was a hollowing feeling of knowing that he can never talk to her again or share anything with her again… at least in a way that is not just a part of his imagination. And it is the very same reason and ideology as to why he flew miles and miles years ago to make sure The Woman won’t breathe her final breath just yet. The thought of her not being in the same world as him is just… 

Trust me, Sherlock, it’s gone before you know it. Before. You. Know. It. 

If there’s anyone in the world that he trusts most, that would be John Watson. And the agony of it – of losing Mary – may only be a fraction to him in contrast to what the doctor is feeling. But if there’s an idea of relativity in this, it’s the idea that both Irene and Mary saw, if not brought out, personas between both him and his friend that were beyond anything they could imagine.

Mary strongly believed in John as this courageous, kind, and righteous man despite the truths that he was flawed and broken, much like how Irene found her way into his awakening, his emotions, and even his guarded mind despite his own settled truths of coldness and detachment. Mary was also who John leaned to when Sherlock was gone, much like how he sought refuge in Irene Adler within those two years of disappearance. Both women accepted, and were even amused and fascinated by, every facet of both these men – along with the good, the bad, and everything hazy in between.

So based on the parallelisms of both scenarios, will he and Irene Adler meet the same fate as the Watsons? 

Losing Mary almost – and is still somehow – destroying John. Slowly, excruciatingly – day by day. 

And because of John’s scolding, Sherlock realised that he can’t lose his Mary.

It was as if the intoxication of cocaine hit his nerves once more that his fingers pressed the ‘call’ button on his screen. For the first time, he didn’t give much thought about the time difference between them, nor the circumstances of what she might be in. Because before, he always knows. That’s just who he is – he needs to know everything. Overthink every single moment, especially with her. But John’s warning overtook him… as well as the feeling of fear over the lingering sensation of Culverton’s fingers over his throat. 

Before you know it.

“I almost died the other day. Or was it a week ago? I think I’m still high on morphine to even take note of the date, to be honest,” the words spilled immediately from his lips as soon as the ringing stopped from the other line. 

He continued, “This can be fairly surprising, considering I should’ve probably let you answer first or even say anything. But knowing that you have my number in all of the phones you use even as you travel, plus the circumstances of you using the same number still within the 28 hour period of your last text, I’d say I’m lucky to have caught you at the first try.”

On the other end, he could hear Irene’s amused smile. “Didn’t know you were a believer of luck, Sherlock Holmes.”

He caught himself smiling at the sound of her voice. “Considering the recent events, I’d say why not? But it is worth noting that my brain would restore its cerebral capacities once after I’m well enough, so don’t be too worried. I’m not that much of a human just yet.

“You’re assuming I worry about you…” Irene replied. 

“Aren’t you?” he asked, tone slightly falling deep into hopefulness. 

“Is this sentiment, Mr. Holmes?” she purred. 

Sherlock sighed. “It has been long established that you and I, Miss Adler, has gone way beyond sentiment.”

There was a long pause before she started speaking again, all playfulness gone from her voice. “I heard you deliberately put yourself in death’s way again… After what happened with John’s wife… I thought you,” a sigh, “I thought you of all people would not want to hurt the dear doctor that way. Not too many people can handle grieving one person and then another at such a short time.”

“And you?” he asked, voice quiet. “Would you have grieved?”

“This is not about me.” Irene replied rather quickly. 

“I am not accusing you. I’m merely asking.” Sherlock said.

“You’re not making any sense.” she retorted. 

Oh, how stubborn she can be, much like him. But Sherlock has never felt this compelled to do something about someone before, considering that the idea of grief, of sorrow, of losing someone – for a second time around in the case of Irene Adler – is overwhelming him. 

“You mourned for me. When you heard I supposedly jumped from Barts’ roof, I knew you did, considering the signs of both anger and relief you expressed when I showed at your doorsteps in New York weeks later after the news broke.” he stated almost smugly. 

He could hear Irene was about to reply in protest when he continued, “But I did for you, too. Grieve, I mean. Even before I knew what grieving was or how it felt like. Of course, this time with Mary, it was much more elevated and conscious. But back then, that Christmas night when I thought you… you were dead on a slab… it was more raw and confusing. It was… It was hard to imagine a world without The Woman. It was the first time I highly contemplated death in such scrutiny or regard. Definitely exhausting and bad for brain work.”

“You lived in a world without me, before we met. And so have I with you,” she replied, unconvincing about its implications. 

“And I imagine what a tragedy that might have been if that continued to be so.” he confessed. “In almost all of the times, and do note there were many,” he gave a forced laugh, “chances that I was at the brink of death, the thought of not seeing you again makes me feel most regretful in getting myself in those situations. I just thought you ought to know.”

“Did you have a drink?” Irene quipped, and he could tell by her voice that she was bewildered and unprepared of what he said.

“A little…” Sherlock replied hoarsely. “…and some cake. Sugar. Probably high as a kite, still….”

He could feel his eyes submitting to drowsiness, the room growing more and more blurry by the second. But he knew what had to be said, before his consciousness escapes his body. It was as if he was back in the morgue with Mycroft that memorable Christmas night, similar words echoing in his mind.

“All lives end, all hearts are broken…. but I do care. Now, more than ever.” 


Sherlock shuffled through his sheets, light from the windows blinding him. He squinted as he started feeling the bed for his phone to look at the time, mind still hazy from whatever has transpired the night before. 

The glass screen of his phone was cold to the touch, almost making him wince as he reached for it. He was greeted with the time of four minutes past nine in the morning, along with a text notification from The Woman herself. 

Swiping over it, he saw a passage that made his blood race in excitement. 

I looked into his crystal-clear blue eyes that reminded me of a winter sky. Those eyes made me see life his way in an instant.

Under seven and a quarter of a second, he jumped out of bed, already making calculations as to what time he would arrive in Montenegro. 


A/N: As always, you know I love adding snippets of Irene and Sherlock’s puzzles in some of my fics as to how they rendezvous. Added an extra bonus of fun into finding out why Sherlock immediately knew Montenegro was the place to be. Let me know if you figured it out. 

Sherlock Valentine’s Day Challenge Day #14

I kinda put a lot on this… so, with all my heart for all Adlock fans.
Thanks to @fireloom for her help in this ^_^

Prompt day #14: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock Holmes.


“Wake up!” Nero says in a playful tone. “Get up.” The boy tries to open his father’s eyes. Sherlock rolls on the bed to avoid the intrusion of his son. This action only causes to Nero burst into laughter. “Get up! I want breakfast! Can we make pancakes? We make pancakes when mom is here,” Nero asks with excitement. Sherlock slowly rolls back to face the boy.

“We made pancakes only once, when your mother left. But, I think we can manage and make for breakfast today anyway,” Answers Sherlock with a sleepy voice, barely opening his eyes.

“When in mommy coming back?” The boy asks, eagerness in his small voice.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock states bluntly.

“Will we have pancakes then?” Sherlock laughs at the question.

“Yes, Nero. We can also have pancakes tomorrow.” The boy cheers and jumps on the bed. Sherlock gets up lazily. “Come on, breakfast first and then…”

“To tend to the bees!” Yells Nero happily.


“Sherlock! Help me! There’s a bee trapped in my jumper!” Nero cries, running to his father. With gently hands, Sherlock untangles the bee from Nero’s jumper and lets it fly away. Nero thanks his father and runs away to keep playing with his dog Titus.

His son is still too young to have any real interest in caring for the bees. Sherlock understands. At the age of six Nero only wants to puzzle and play with Titus, a gift from his aunt Eurus.

A faint noise of a car parking in the front of the house startles Sherlock. Leaving his current activities, he goes to the front yard, followed closely by Nero. A black car just parked. Mycroft step out of the passenger side door and walks towards Sherlock. He inspects his brother’s attitude and knows something is out of place. Sherlock invites him in.

“Go play outside with Titus, Nero.” The boy complains, but does as he is told at Sherlock’s insistence.

“Brother-”

“I’ll go straight to the point,” Mycroft interrupts. “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news, but I prefer you hear it from me than from anybody else.” He avoids eye contact on purpose. Sherlock’s heart begins to race with the thought of the imminent bad news coming, yet, he maintains a calm stance. Sherlock hints Mycroft to continue.

“It’s about Adler. The Woman.”

“To the point, Mycroft.” Sherlock is getting eager.

“She is missing.” Mycroft pauses to study his brother’s features, unreadable. “The mission didn’t go as well as planned. There was a shooting. When my agents made it to the location, everyone had already disappeared. No signs of spies, shooters or Irene Adler.”

Sherlock shut his eyes and turns around, not wanting to face his brother. The Woman is smart, her tells himself, she’ll be fine. Despite his thoughts, he can’t help his accelerating heart rate.  Mycroft speech, on the other hand, has a failure that Sherlock can see through.

“When did this happened?” Sherlock asks with an incredulous tone. Mycroft hesitates.

“Eighteen hours ago. My agents haven’t been able to locate her.” This time, Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat. He is disconcert and can’t help to show it. “But rest assure, brother dear, my agents will-”

“The same agents that didn’t make it to the shooting on time?” Interrupts Sherlock, visibly upset now. Mycroft goes silent and Sherlock begins to pace in the room.

“Don’t you, by any means, brother, think of going after her,” Mycroft warns.

“Of course not, Mycroft!” Shouts Sherlock. “I can’t leave Nero alone. It is the incompetence of your so called spies that troubles me.” Sherlock sighs and wanders pointlessly around the room until he find Mycroft’s eyes. “You better find her, Mycroft.”

Mycroft nods and with solemn attitude, hands him a packet of cigarettes. “Stay focused, Sherlock. For your son.” With a final nod, Mycroft leaves.

Once the door shuts, Sherlock drops on the couch and hides his face in his hands. He is trembling, panting and sweating. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. The cigarettes held tightly in his hand.After so many years of playing their game, they finally had a family, a place to call home. Sherlock does not want to lose that. Home lose its meaning without her. The room spins around him, he can’t remember the last time he felt so much despair. Nero’s voice takes him out of his thoughts.

“What happened?” Asks the boy shyly.

“Hey buddy, come here,” Sherlock calls gently, inviting Nero to sit next to him.

“Is it about mommy?” The boy continues as he sits beside his father.

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock keeps a peaceful tone. “Something arose and… she is not coming home tomorrow.”

“When then?”

“Soon,” Reassures Sherlock. “Not tomorrow, but soon.” Nero nods.

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wait... what

So…. I wrote (am still writing) a fic, an adlock fic called The W Hypothesis…..currently 75,104 words, 11 chapters. Premise: Jack the Ripper might be back. Sherlock solves crimes. Context: 1896: Sherlock is married to Molly. Has child named James from his affair/dalliance/romance with Irene Adler who disappeared without reason for 7 years. Mr. and Mrs has a amicable but passionless marriage. Irene returns, bringing with her intrigues about the Ripper and a government secret.

And then there’s THIS fic that just posted itself: 

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I am simultaneously amused and perplexed… I mean I don’t even care that the premise is the same, I’m just annoyed that they took something so obviously adlock and turned it into sherl0lly. 

Originally posted by darling-with-no-probs

randombiochemist  asked:

Sorry this is the most predictable ask ever but - BBC Irene?

*cackle* Excellent…

Headcanon A (realistic) -
During university, Irene Adler was pre-law, having been encouraged to use her skills to manipulate people in the courtroom. However, three years in, she realized that it was more fun (and more interesting) to manipulate people through their sexual desires and appetites and the blackmail that could come from it. She still put her law skills into discerning just how many loopholes she could exploit. It’s part of the reason why Mycroft is so frustrated by her scandals. Because all the ones he knew of, before A Scandal in Belgravia, all utilized some obscure law or loophole that would have made it difficult to try her if she had ever been prosecuted (not impossible, but just difficult enough that it wasn’t worth it).

Headcanon B (ridiculous) -
Sherlock and Irene play deductions while watching trash telly. They try to one-up each other while binge watching reality TV shows by seeing which of them can figure out the contestants’ Deep Dark Secrets first. This usually ends up with them betting articles of clothing as pride would allow nothing less, and on more than one occasion John has walked in on them naked, arguing, and having sex (all at once) while a season of Survivor is still playing in the background.

Headcanon C (heartbreaking) -
After the events of The Woman Who Was, Irene Adler disappears from Sherlock Holmes’ radar for two years, despite his best efforts to find her. She returns one day, having re-secured her criminal empire and her life, in a cloud of mystery and Casmir. She refuses to speak of the months she spent in his home, recovering her memory, and instead their liaisons resume in all of their unpredictable, intellectually satisfying glory. Sherlock never asks, but he is relieved that she has regained her memory, and that they have returned to their old ways.

She never tells him she has not.

Headcanon D (fuck canon, doing it anyway) -
Irene Adler spent her university days in the States, where she met a fascinating art student named Jamie Moriarty. She and Jamie became friends of a kind, an inexplicable, undefined relationship that was equal parts friends, enemies, intellectual partners, opponents, and lovers. Irene learned the finer points of observation from watching (and trying to best) Jamie, while Jamie refined techniques for manipulation by doing the same to Irene. Finding university unsatisfying, both Jamie and Irene independently left college junior year, never to see each other again. However, when Jamie Moriarty became fascinated with a detective who threatened her criminal empire, she spun herself a disguise, a persona that would ensnare his interest, and named her Irene Adler.

(for this meme)

A sound escapes her lips, a cross between a sigh and a sob and a chortle, and she traces with her eyes its imagined path to the ceiling.  In her mind, it looks like a butterfly.  In her mind, it looks like freedom.  All of her enemies think she is dead, and that makes her free to do whatever, wherever she pleases.


     Outside, the light is dying, but in here, she is not.  Because she has her head, and her heart, and her eyes and ears and legs and lungs, she looks up at the ceiling and smiles and thinks to herself, I’ve won.

Ugh, now I’m thinking about the nature of people and how we react to them. I think we tend to react to people in such blackandwhite ways–which, most of the time, isn’t really fair. We can’t know their reason for doing things, or why they think a certain way, unless they explain it directly.

To steal a phrase from John Green, we have such trouble imagining people complexly, and our more visceral reactions take over–hate, love, terror, etc. Intense instincts about people should never be ignored, but we need to learn to imagine people the way we see ourselves. I know that I am a complex person with a million reasons for thinking and acting the way I do, and I need to remember that other people are exactly the same way.