Dinning with Frogs

14. The Empty Heart

There is a long silence as Sherlock looks at Fiona. "Remove that gun from my colleague's head," he says.

"Hmmm." Fiona is smiling. "I don't think you're in much of a position to be giving orders, do you?"

Sherlock stares at her, brows contracted. Every line in his body suddenly seems to radiate coldness. "I'm currently holding the blueprint for your entire organisation." He says. "If you put the gun down, I'll give it back to you."

Fiona's smile broadens. "I do admire your nerve, Mr Holmes. But I'm afraid your threats won't work this time. Jerry!"

A man materialises at her side, as quickly as if he'd been a genie released from a bottle.

"That man has something of mine, I want it back. And search him for weapons while you're at it." She raises her eyebrows as Sherlock takes a small defensive step back. "I wouldn't try to fight if I were you. Miss Adler won't thank you for it." Fiona presses the gun a little closer to Irene's cheek, and Irene finds herself wincing at the hard press of cold metal.

Sherlock glances at Irene briefly, face very pale, before allowing himself to be pushed back against the wall. The man, Jerry, runs heavy spade-like hands over Sherlock, before grunting with triumph as he pulls a gun out of Sherlock's pocket and passing it to Fiona along with the file.

"Thank you. Now tie Miss Adler to that chair," Fiona gestures to the chair, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock. "No need to be gentle."

The man grabs Irene roughly by the wrists, hauling her over to the chair. Fiona opens a desk draw, pulling out a coil of rope, which the man uses to bind Irene's hands. As he kneels to bind her ankles, he shoots her a rather nasty grin, scarred hands sliding briefly up her calf in a parody of a caress, before he pulls the ropes unnecessarily tight. Irene doesn't allow herself to flinch.

"I imagine that you aren't used to being on this side of things, Miss Adler." Fiona says. "As I understand it, you made a good living out of tying other people up. Impressive that you persuaded them to pay, Jerry here would be perfectly willing to do it for free, wouldn't you?"

"I would if they were all as pretty as this one." Jerry leers, resting his hand the back of Irene's knee, and leaning close, his breath hot against her cheek.

"Stop it." Sherlock snaps, and Irene can hear a hint of panic in his voice now.

That won't do, she thinks. If they are going to get out of this situation Sherlock will need to keep his wits about him.

"Your man is very intimidating, Fiona." Irene drawls, in as bored a tone as she can manage. "I'm quite terrified. Or I would be if it weren't perfectly obvious that this isn't what he likes." She looks up at the man in front of her. He's younger than you would think at first glance, in his mid twenties. The tattoos are a recent development, as are the scars on his knuckles.

"Poor boy," she says softly. "I'm sure you think playing the tough heterosexual is a necessary career move - your mates would give you some trouble if they knew what you were really into, wouldn't they? But it must be so exhausting, pretending all the time. It's no wonder you need to head out to Hampstead Heath once a while. There's someone you meet there fairly regularly, isn't there? He does a nice line in erotic asphyxiation – that bruise certainly isn't from a fight. " Irene leans forward a little to whisper in the man's ear. "You should hold on to that one - there's plenty who have to pay for service like that."

Fiona gives a forced little laugh. "Well, she's got your number, Jerry."

The man has pulled away from Irene now, cheeks pink. "She's a lying bitch," he says, but can't meet Irene's eyes anymore. Irene looks up at Sherlock, with a smile of satisfaction. It doesn't matter if I'm tied up - I can still own anyone I please. Sherlock gives her a brief nod, pale lips pressing together, and Irene knows her message has been understood.