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Entry tags:
Holmes 09 fic: Risk Assessment, Irene/Mary, G
disclaimer: not mine
rating: G, mostly. I think there might be some language? PG, then.
fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
characters: Irene Adler, Mary Morstan
pairing: Irene/Mary, references both Irene/Sherlock Holmes (obliquely) and Mary/John Watson
length: 1500
notes: I was fascinated by the idea that Mary and Irene knew each other in a sort of echo of Watson and Holmes. My knowledge of both characters is wholly gleaned from the movie. I'm not entirely sure that this counts as anything more than a bittersweet coda, though it's a scene early on in the movie that this fits after.
Risk Assessment
by ALC Punk!
"How did it go?"
Mary shut the door quietly behind herself, having slipped in without attracting the notice of the maid cleaning just down the hall. The room she was in echoed the lavishness of the hallway, and she had to give her conspirator high marks for being able to afford such a thing. Then again, that was exactly the sort of facade she would enjoy putting on.
"I dumped wine upon him," she replied as she moved into the room and took one of the chairs. She essayed a sigh and reached up to rub her forehead. "A pity, really, it was a decent vintage."
"You dumped wine on him?" Laughing, Irene Adler took the other chair, sitting on the edge and bending forward, her trouser-clad legs spread wide. "What did he say that was so provoking? No, wait, let me guess--governess searching for a rich husband?"
"That was about the gist of it," confirmed Mary. She shifted, wishing she wasn't swathed in so many skirts, but the play was the thing, and she rather doubted Dr. Watson would court a woman with a penchant for trousers and climbing roofs. Not that she did that much anymore. "You were right about the ink."
"I placed it fairly well." Acknowledged Irene, smug in her own competence. "Did you manage luncheon?"
Shaking her head, Mary stood up, moving towards the window. London, from a height, sparkled. It always had, in her experience. She picked out the streets she would take when she left, eyes watching the people as they scurried to and fro. "He read my character within moments of my arrival."
"He always was obnoxious like that."
"Is," Mary corrected, turning with a smile. "Now, was there more to your plan, or can I go back to my own life now?"
"My plan is your life," suggested Irene, pouting adorably before her lips stretched into a wide smirk. "Come now, darling. You have to admit that this is a much better way to go about things than batting your lashes and looking like an unkind word would knock you over."
Mary chuckled, moving away and absently picking up one of the perfume bottles on the vanity. "Doing it much too brown, my dear. What do you want, anyway?"
"Must I want anything whatsoever?" The world's best thief (in her own words) asked, her eyebrows raised in apparent innocence.
"Give over, Irene. The look doesn't suit you." Setting down the bottle with an air of decisiveness, Mary raised her own eyebrows. "I've no time for a prolonged interrogation." She should be back with her parents now, discussing her prospects, reassuring them that her near-betrothed wasn't running away from her.
Dr. Watson was really quite a nice man, and the best one she'd found to marry. Really, she could do far worse for herself, and she did rather think she loved him. Even here, with Irene being distracting in her trousers, with her shirt open at her throat, John was in the back of her mind. The mores of society dictated so many things, after all. John was acceptable. Her distraction when Irene stepped closer, tilting her head to one side, was not.
"Are you thinking of him?" Irene murmured, eyes gone smoky and distant.
"I could ask the same of you," riposted Mary, though she didn't back away from the challenge. Licking her lips, she let her eyes trace a line down Irene's cheek and neck. If she leaned closer, the scent of her perfume would grow stronger, the warmth of her skin would be irresistible.
They had met in Venice, years before. Both in trousers at the time, though Mary always contended she made the more believable boy (Irene would laugh, then trace her fingers up under Mary's shirt, tugging at the laces of her corset). It had seemed nothing more than a lark, two women masquerading as something they weren't. Each had their reasons: Irene enjoyed the thrill of it all, the pleasure gained from besting the brains of someone else, from taking a valuable piece that would be missed. Mary was rather more practical, prefering the money. She had quite a bit squirreled away, should things not go as she'd prefer here.
Venice had led to Rome, Paris, even far into the north where it was hard to tell the gender of a person, as everyone was swathed in ridiculous amounts of cloth in order not to freeze.
"I should go," Mary murmured, when the silence had stretched far too long for comfort. The past was the past, and if she were wishing to play-act again, she would have to ignore the urge. Being a woman was more respectable than being a thief, not to mention, John had rather captured her fancy. He wasn't easy to lie to, and she occasionally considered telling him the complete truth rather than the carefully-constructed lies.
"Should you?" A flicker of uncertainty disappeared in an instant, and Irene's lips twitched. "Some day, you'll have to tell me how he compares."
Mary wondered when that would be. If she were married, there would be no haring off to Paris, or indulging herself in a months-long trip to the orient. But it would be secure, and she wouldn't spend her life lonely. People in the park with their children and their laughter, had long caught her eye. Besides which, her parents were beginning to get a certain look about them, as if they would put it all together.
"Perhaps I will. As for that other matter," she began, recalled to her original purpose in wandering to the window. Her gaze turned back to the glass, watching the people again. "I've had very little luck."
"That doesn't sound like you," Irene teased. "I thought you'd have things figured out by now."
Mary made a rather un-ladylike noise, "You know it's very difficult with this sort of enquiry, especially when one has to be so terribly circumspect as to never get to the point of the thing."
"Admitting defeat?"
"Heavens, no. Just taking longer than I would like." With a sigh, Mary turned away from the window, satisfied that no one was keeping an eye on them. At least, not at the moment.
"What have you learned, then?"
"Very little." Brisk, now, Mary moved to the vanity, re-arranging the bottles, sure of herself now. "Your employer is very hard to discover anything about. I can find his particulars, and some of his past, but you already know most of that."
"Fill me in on what I don't know, darling," suggested Irene, voice dry.
Mary did, detailing the few facts she'd gleaned, ending with her suggestions for how to continue their joint search. Finding out about Irene's professor would at least keep Mary busy while John got swept up in this new case of Holmes's. If Mary read things right, there would be one soon. That Lord Blackwood wasn't a man to rest quietly, even in death.
When finished, Irene made some suggestions of her own, quite business-like, now they were separated. Mary missed that moment by the window, but knew this was for the best.
"So that's it, then. You'll just need to check the corridor for me, and I should go." The repetition was firm, this time.
Irene's lips twitched, "Must you?" she echoed. "And when will we meet again?"
"When I've something new, or you need rescuing."
"Last time," pointed out Irene, "It was my turn to rescue you. So you owe me."
"Do I?" Turning away, Mary headed for the door, "Do come and check, unless you want any of them to suspect. And make certain to rearrange your cosmetics, he might notice if they're too precise."
Laughing, Irene moved to open the door. She peered into the hallway, then glanced back. "It's safe."
"Thank you." With a studied casualness, Mary joined Irene at the door. She leaned close, one hand on Irene's shoulder. "I won't be inviting you to the wedding."
"Afraid of what I might do?"
"Afraid my gifts might go missing," Mary replied, her eyes laughing a little. She didn't have to move far to kiss Irene. It was a fleeting thing, almost a goodbye, though Mary knew this wouldn't be the last time they met.
"They might, even if I'm not there."
Mary's smile was bright, "I suppose I'll have to take that chance."
They left it there, Irene closing the door as quietly as she'd opened it while Mary slipped down the hallway and took the backstairs down to a side door that led into an alley. Once there, she made her way back to the streets and an appointment with her parents.
If she felt any wistfulness for the woman behind her, she didn't show it. They had never been more than lovers and adventurers, and both knew it could come to nothing more.
But it had been fun while it lasted, and perhaps it would be again, if Mary conceived an aversion of herself in John Watson. That would be pointless, however. She just hoped that when she told him the truth (as she intended...eventually), that he wouldn't walk away from her.
-f-
rating: G, mostly. I think there might be some language? PG, then.
fandom: Sherlock Holmes 2009
characters: Irene Adler, Mary Morstan
pairing: Irene/Mary, references both Irene/Sherlock Holmes (obliquely) and Mary/John Watson
length: 1500
notes: I was fascinated by the idea that Mary and Irene knew each other in a sort of echo of Watson and Holmes. My knowledge of both characters is wholly gleaned from the movie. I'm not entirely sure that this counts as anything more than a bittersweet coda, though it's a scene early on in the movie that this fits after.
Risk Assessment
by ALC Punk!
"How did it go?"
Mary shut the door quietly behind herself, having slipped in without attracting the notice of the maid cleaning just down the hall. The room she was in echoed the lavishness of the hallway, and she had to give her conspirator high marks for being able to afford such a thing. Then again, that was exactly the sort of facade she would enjoy putting on.
"I dumped wine upon him," she replied as she moved into the room and took one of the chairs. She essayed a sigh and reached up to rub her forehead. "A pity, really, it was a decent vintage."
"You dumped wine on him?" Laughing, Irene Adler took the other chair, sitting on the edge and bending forward, her trouser-clad legs spread wide. "What did he say that was so provoking? No, wait, let me guess--governess searching for a rich husband?"
"That was about the gist of it," confirmed Mary. She shifted, wishing she wasn't swathed in so many skirts, but the play was the thing, and she rather doubted Dr. Watson would court a woman with a penchant for trousers and climbing roofs. Not that she did that much anymore. "You were right about the ink."
"I placed it fairly well." Acknowledged Irene, smug in her own competence. "Did you manage luncheon?"
Shaking her head, Mary stood up, moving towards the window. London, from a height, sparkled. It always had, in her experience. She picked out the streets she would take when she left, eyes watching the people as they scurried to and fro. "He read my character within moments of my arrival."
"He always was obnoxious like that."
"Is," Mary corrected, turning with a smile. "Now, was there more to your plan, or can I go back to my own life now?"
"My plan is your life," suggested Irene, pouting adorably before her lips stretched into a wide smirk. "Come now, darling. You have to admit that this is a much better way to go about things than batting your lashes and looking like an unkind word would knock you over."
Mary chuckled, moving away and absently picking up one of the perfume bottles on the vanity. "Doing it much too brown, my dear. What do you want, anyway?"
"Must I want anything whatsoever?" The world's best thief (in her own words) asked, her eyebrows raised in apparent innocence.
"Give over, Irene. The look doesn't suit you." Setting down the bottle with an air of decisiveness, Mary raised her own eyebrows. "I've no time for a prolonged interrogation." She should be back with her parents now, discussing her prospects, reassuring them that her near-betrothed wasn't running away from her.
Dr. Watson was really quite a nice man, and the best one she'd found to marry. Really, she could do far worse for herself, and she did rather think she loved him. Even here, with Irene being distracting in her trousers, with her shirt open at her throat, John was in the back of her mind. The mores of society dictated so many things, after all. John was acceptable. Her distraction when Irene stepped closer, tilting her head to one side, was not.
"Are you thinking of him?" Irene murmured, eyes gone smoky and distant.
"I could ask the same of you," riposted Mary, though she didn't back away from the challenge. Licking her lips, she let her eyes trace a line down Irene's cheek and neck. If she leaned closer, the scent of her perfume would grow stronger, the warmth of her skin would be irresistible.
They had met in Venice, years before. Both in trousers at the time, though Mary always contended she made the more believable boy (Irene would laugh, then trace her fingers up under Mary's shirt, tugging at the laces of her corset). It had seemed nothing more than a lark, two women masquerading as something they weren't. Each had their reasons: Irene enjoyed the thrill of it all, the pleasure gained from besting the brains of someone else, from taking a valuable piece that would be missed. Mary was rather more practical, prefering the money. She had quite a bit squirreled away, should things not go as she'd prefer here.
Venice had led to Rome, Paris, even far into the north where it was hard to tell the gender of a person, as everyone was swathed in ridiculous amounts of cloth in order not to freeze.
"I should go," Mary murmured, when the silence had stretched far too long for comfort. The past was the past, and if she were wishing to play-act again, she would have to ignore the urge. Being a woman was more respectable than being a thief, not to mention, John had rather captured her fancy. He wasn't easy to lie to, and she occasionally considered telling him the complete truth rather than the carefully-constructed lies.
"Should you?" A flicker of uncertainty disappeared in an instant, and Irene's lips twitched. "Some day, you'll have to tell me how he compares."
Mary wondered when that would be. If she were married, there would be no haring off to Paris, or indulging herself in a months-long trip to the orient. But it would be secure, and she wouldn't spend her life lonely. People in the park with their children and their laughter, had long caught her eye. Besides which, her parents were beginning to get a certain look about them, as if they would put it all together.
"Perhaps I will. As for that other matter," she began, recalled to her original purpose in wandering to the window. Her gaze turned back to the glass, watching the people again. "I've had very little luck."
"That doesn't sound like you," Irene teased. "I thought you'd have things figured out by now."
Mary made a rather un-ladylike noise, "You know it's very difficult with this sort of enquiry, especially when one has to be so terribly circumspect as to never get to the point of the thing."
"Admitting defeat?"
"Heavens, no. Just taking longer than I would like." With a sigh, Mary turned away from the window, satisfied that no one was keeping an eye on them. At least, not at the moment.
"What have you learned, then?"
"Very little." Brisk, now, Mary moved to the vanity, re-arranging the bottles, sure of herself now. "Your employer is very hard to discover anything about. I can find his particulars, and some of his past, but you already know most of that."
"Fill me in on what I don't know, darling," suggested Irene, voice dry.
Mary did, detailing the few facts she'd gleaned, ending with her suggestions for how to continue their joint search. Finding out about Irene's professor would at least keep Mary busy while John got swept up in this new case of Holmes's. If Mary read things right, there would be one soon. That Lord Blackwood wasn't a man to rest quietly, even in death.
When finished, Irene made some suggestions of her own, quite business-like, now they were separated. Mary missed that moment by the window, but knew this was for the best.
"So that's it, then. You'll just need to check the corridor for me, and I should go." The repetition was firm, this time.
Irene's lips twitched, "Must you?" she echoed. "And when will we meet again?"
"When I've something new, or you need rescuing."
"Last time," pointed out Irene, "It was my turn to rescue you. So you owe me."
"Do I?" Turning away, Mary headed for the door, "Do come and check, unless you want any of them to suspect. And make certain to rearrange your cosmetics, he might notice if they're too precise."
Laughing, Irene moved to open the door. She peered into the hallway, then glanced back. "It's safe."
"Thank you." With a studied casualness, Mary joined Irene at the door. She leaned close, one hand on Irene's shoulder. "I won't be inviting you to the wedding."
"Afraid of what I might do?"
"Afraid my gifts might go missing," Mary replied, her eyes laughing a little. She didn't have to move far to kiss Irene. It was a fleeting thing, almost a goodbye, though Mary knew this wouldn't be the last time they met.
"They might, even if I'm not there."
Mary's smile was bright, "I suppose I'll have to take that chance."
They left it there, Irene closing the door as quietly as she'd opened it while Mary slipped down the hallway and took the backstairs down to a side door that led into an alley. Once there, she made her way back to the streets and an appointment with her parents.
If she felt any wistfulness for the woman behind her, she didn't show it. They had never been more than lovers and adventurers, and both knew it could come to nothing more.
But it had been fun while it lasted, and perhaps it would be again, if Mary conceived an aversion of herself in John Watson. That would be pointless, however. She just hoped that when she told him the truth (as she intended...eventually), that he wouldn't walk away from her.
-f-
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bravo!
excellent look into what happens behind the curtain. (Irene's no Great And Powerful Oz, but close enough) :D
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Such a telling line--I really enjoyed this; Mary interested me quite a lot in the movie, and I like how you've given her some of those depths I saw on the screen.
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And while I thought Irene was fairly magnificent, she wasn't on-screen nearly enough to give people that impression. I'm used to filling in the blanks, after all. Mary was pretty awesome, too.
But, again, neither of them are the leads, so there's not a lot of them there.
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