→ you're so naive.

[thedominatrix]

Who: Irene Adler, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes.
What: Irene plays Jeremy Kyle, or possibly just sits back to watch the carnage.
Where: The Lost Society.
When: Sukkardi night.
Notes: Irene's outfit.
Warnings: ...The Holmes cast. Also, TBA.

Why is she doing this?

Well, because she's bored, and unlike Sherlock, she makes her own fun. (That's something that rather irritates her about him; why roll around on the sofa and whine when you could go out and...well, invite two feuding brothers to the same place at the same time and not inform them beforehand, for instance?)

Perhaps there's a more practical motive- she does actually enjoy talking to both of them in some capacity, after all, and she could probably play it off towards Mycroft as a chance for him to check up on Sherlock ("Well, he wouldn't have come if you'd asked and he does so hate being kidnapped, I'm sure--")...but Sherlock's just going to kill her for it, unless she's very careful to take his side a little more than Mycroft's.

And there will be sides.

Maybe she'll point out that this is better than staring at the ceiling hoping for a murder.

Anyway, if all else fails, the Lost Society does fantastic cocktails, as she has already sampled; having arrived purposefully early she's on her second mint julep, and considering something called The Fruit of 43 Virgins (does she have the self control not to make a joke-- no) if her guests- her boys, as she's begun to rather dangerously call them- don't arrive soon.

She wonders, crossing her legs and surveying her own immaculate nail polish, who will turn up first--

And goes cold.

Oh God, don't let them meet each other on the way in.

Which provokes her to down the rest of her drink, get up and get instantly to work, excuse me, sir, I've got a slightly strange request, but I have utmost faith in you- my guests are each other's surprise, you see, so...

Eyelashes are fluttered, dark chuckles are given and her best femme-fatale smile gets some use. Having been assured that the doorman will attempt to delay any meetings and send them on separate routes to the (delightfully shocking) private corner of the library she's chosen, she sinks back into her chair and regains every ounce of her composure, adjusting a pin in her hair. And she's picked up a Fruit of 43 Virgins on her way.

(It's a little too fruity, but worth it for the name).

Comments

[diogenesis]

"Well. I see I have, at least."

Mycroft's tone is devoid of anything resembling friendliness. After being given some sort of run-around at the door, he'd begun to suspect something, but his brother's presence was one of the most remote possibilities he'd considered as he'd been led around the restaurant the long way. He can't say he's surprised Irene would pull something like this, but the timing is poor, and although Mycroft is aware that Irene can't possibly know why, he's having trouble not holding it against her.

The two Holmeses have not yet been face-to-face in Baedal. Seeing Sherlock for the first time since before his brother jumped off the roof of St. Bart's was something for which Mycroft had been carefully preparing himself. He needn't have bothered; the shock of running into Sherlock unexpectedly has rendered much of his preparation useless.

Emotions have always run deep in Mycroft, very deep and very strong, but their depth makes it easy to bury them and turn away, which he does. He can feel them clawing toward the surface now, from miles below. His mask is already fixed so tightly that it's become stiff and obvious. The only cover it gives him is blankness.

He meets Sherlock's eyes. "Brother."