Dinning with Frogs

16. Love Is A Losing Game

Mycroft's men arrive promptly, removing the still breathing body of Moran in a body bag. Sherlock watches them work with narrowed eyes but doesn't comment. He has had John take photos of the unconscious man from several angles, removed his wedding ring, gun and bloodstained wallet.

"Last chance to change your mind," Irene says.

Sherlock's shoulders are tense. "Yes," he agrees. Then he picks up John's laptop and begins uploading the photos they have taken.

Irene slumps down on the sofa beside him, suddenly exhausted. Her eyes seem to be closing of their own accord.

"Don't go to sleep," Sherlock says curtly. "John. You need to examine her. She's had a head injury."

John comes in from the bedroom where he's been changing his shirt. "Of course. Come with me."

Irene follows John into his bedroom. He gestures to a chair and pulls out his medical kit. He examines the wound that is half hidden by her hairline, carefully cleaning it. Then he shines a light in her eyes, tilting her head carefully.

"Any nausea?"

"No."

"Ears ringing? Feel confused?"

"No."

"But you're tired?"

Irene smiles at him. "I've spent the last few days running around London, breaking into secret criminal lairs and having stand offs with psychopaths."

John doesn't smile back. "Well, I don't think there's any reason for you to worry. You're going to have rather a nasty bruise and we should probably keep an eye on you tonight, but otherwise..."

"Take two aspirin and call you again in the morning?" Irene teases.

"That's about it." John says coolly, standing straight again, and putting away his kit.

"All's well in the world, then." Irene says.

John shuts his medical box with a snap. "Why did you tell Sherlock to spare Moran?"

Ah. Irene thinks. She'd imagined John was still angry with her about the deception but it appears she was wrong.

"You think I might still be on his side."

"If I thought that you'd be in that body bag with him." John says.

Irene raises her eyebrows. "Is that a threat?"

John shrugs. "If you like."

"You're very protective of a man you're apparently so furious with."

John folds his arms. "I have my reasons for wanting to look out for him. Right now I'm interested in yours."

Irene raises her eyebrows. "We made a deal, of course. He's going to help me get my life back."

John looks back out of the door to the living room, where Sherlock is presumably still sitting, tapping away on that laptop of his.

"And that's the only reason you're here? The only reason you're helping him?"

"Well, that and the sex is pretty good." she says, with a brittle smile.

John turns his head back to look at her so quickly she thinks he might get whiplash. He looks at her for a long moment, eyes darting over her face as if trying to take in every detail.

"Why did you tell him to spare Moran?" he repeats.

Irene takes in a long deep breath and looks away. It is a good question, Irene thinks. It certainly isn't the canniest decision she's made in her life. She stands up, and walks away a few paces, examining the wallpaper.