Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

The Dominatrix

Once Sherlock had indeed put actual clothes on, the three sat down, the boys flanking Clara as Mycroft and Harry regarded them from the chaise on the other side of the glass coffee table. A flowery tea set was placed between them and Mycroft picked up the teapot. He smiled at Harry. "I'll be Mother."

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock drawled pointedly. Mycroft glowered at him and set down the teapot. Clara tried to give Sherlock a look from the corner of her eye.

"My employer, as Clara already knows, has a problem," Harry started. Sherlock's eyes slid to her suspiciously. Clara's hands shifted in her lap.

"A matter had come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and this hour of need, dear brother, your name had arisen." Mycroft inclined his head meaningfully.

"Why?" Sherlock responded. "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

Harry studied the detective. "People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?"

"Not to date anyone with a Navy," he replied nonchalantly. Clara fought back a laugh. John snorted. He managed to turn it into a cough.

Mycroft sighed. Clara wondered if it was an actual condition. She pondered briefly the cause of severe exhale-ment. "This is the matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."

"You don't trust you won Secret Service," John interjected.

Mycroft's mouth stretched in a way that appeared to be a toothless smile. "Naturally not. They all spy on other people for money." John bit back a grin. He remembered Clara telling them her cat had attacked some of those men.

"I do think we have a timetable," Harry interrupted politely.

"Yes of course, um," Mycroft reached for his shining briefcase and opened it with a snap. He handed a glossy photograph to Sherlock. "What do you know of this woman?"

Clara nudged his shoulder, trying to see. It was of a dark haired woman. She had a handsome face and lavishly dressed. Sherlock's eyes flicked to his brother. "Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you shoulder be paying more attention." Mycroft spoke efficiently as he told them about the mysterious lady. "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year. She recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with most participants separately." He articulated the last word deliberately.

Sherlock straightened as the information whirled around his brain. "You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman."

John sat forward. "Professionally?"

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'."

"Dominatrix," Sherlock echoed thoughtfully.

"Don't be alarmed," Mycroft told him. "It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me," Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft smiled that snide toothless smile. "How would you know?" Sherlock raised his head as if wondering how best to devour the man across from him. Clara wanted to jab him in the thigh with a pencil. There was no time for games. She knew this at least. Mycroft exhaled again. "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding, for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." More glossy photographs were handed to Sherlock. "These are all from her website."

Sherlock's pale hands leafed through the large pictures. Clara flushed when she glanced at the elaborate but not very modest clothes the handsome woman had on. She snapped her eyes away and stared at the teapot. "I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs," Sherlock uttered blandly.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes," Harry complimented.

"Hardly a difficult deduction," Sherlock drawled. "Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer." Harry shifted in his seat. "We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Sherlock glared at the man angrily. John's eyebrows drew together. "You can't tell us anything?"

"I can tell you it is a young person," Mycroft offered. John sipped from his teacup. "A young female person." John's eyes widened and Sherlock smirked slightly. Clara wasn't surprised. She knew a lot more than they did at the moment.

"Do Miss Adler and the young female person appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock questioned with sharp grey eyes.

"Yes, they do," Mycroft answered.

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sherlock was still staring straight ahead. "John you might want to put that cup back in you saucer now." The teacup rattled back down and John closed his surprised mouth.

"Sherlock, can you help us?" Clara asked somewhat softly.

He spared her a look. "How?"

"Will you take the case?" Harry asked.

"What case?" He scoffed. "Pay her, now in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten'."

Sherlock rose and reached for his overcoat which was draped over the cream chaise. "She doesn't want anything," Clara said.

Sherlock turned round. "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention of using them to extort either money or favour," Mycroft added.

"Oh a power play," Sherlock gushed, extremely interested. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock..."John warned.

He ignored John and picked up his coat. "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently, she's staying in..." Sherlock didn't wait for Mycroft. He picked his coat and stood, already walking away. "Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

The three men and Clara got to their feet. "Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked.

Sherlock spun around to face him. "No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think," He said.

Sherlock looked him up and down. Clara didn't need to ask to know endless deductions were streaming into his brain. Finally, he turned to Mycroft. "I'll need some equipment, of course..."

"Anything you require. I'll have it sent to..."

Sherlock suddenly faced Harry again. "Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?" The lines in Harry's face drew tight with puzzlement.

"Or a cigarette lighter. Either will do." He held out a hand expectantly.

"I don't smoke," Harry said.

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does."

A confused pause followed till Harry reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a lighter and handed it to the detective. "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about that little fact, Mr Holmes."

"I'm not the Commonwealth," the detective rumbled back. He slid the lighter into his trouser pocket and walked away. "I need Clara too," he called back.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you," John nodded at the two men and followed Sherlock.

Clara heard her name shouted again. She glanced at Harry. His face softened. "Go on then." She pecked him on the cheek, shook Mycroft's hand and surprised them all by taking the opposite direction to what the boys had sauntered out from.

Harry inclined his head curiously. "Oh don't worry," Mycroft murmured. "They won't be deprived of her for too long."