The Dominatrix and the Angel

Part 1: Chapter 1

Author's Note: Please note that this is my first fan fiction (that I've published) and I'm doing so to improve my creative writing. I'm aware that I'm disorganized with my writing, but am in the process of changing that. Updates are probably going to be erratic, but I get writer's block more often when trying to find a character's 'voice' that is already very developed, so bear with me a few extra days between posts. However, I'm always open to constructive criticism and would love some reviews to point me in the right direction. I also would like to acknowledge the shortness of this first chapter/prologue and assure any potentially off-put readers future chapters will be lengthier.

**SPOILER ALERT - There may be some later chapters where events coincide with season 3.**

*This is an AU Sherlock fiction set in post TRF London where instead of mousey Molly Hooper swooping in to help Sherlock fake his death, domineering Irene Adler returns with a (metaphorical?) whip in hand to help Sherlock disband Moriarty's network. If you are a Sherlolly fan, this story may upset you in some chapters, but those who prefer Irene Adler - such as myself - will have a happy ending… maybe. I don't own anything, and Sherlock and all its affiliates are property of BBC. So, no more rambling, hope you enjoy!

The sunny atmosphere of the cemetery seemed too calm while John Watson stood in front of a simple grave, hunched as he spoke to his best friend for the last time. "I was so alone... and I owe you so much." He paused, huffing, struggling to halt the tears from leaking out of his eyes, his words becoming rushed and choked with emotion. "Oh - just - please there's one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me… don't be dead. Just for me; stop it. Stop this." His head was bowed, but soon regained his composure and, like the soldier he always reminded others he was, walked stiffly away from the black marble gravestone. His eyes were once again as haunted as they were the day Sherlock Holmes had met him.

"Oh dear, that must have been difficult to watch, even for you - or perhaps especially for you?"Sherlockflicked his gaze to the pale, striking woman speaking at his side. He admittedly wasn't the best when dealing with matters of sentiment, but when staring at his own grave listening as his closest friend begged for his resurrection, social etiquette commonly granted privacy. Then again, the Woman wasn't a strict observer of polite conduct; she'd proven this numerous times in their relatively brief encounters - Mrs. Hudson had certainly disapproved of her setting his text alerts to rude noises, frequently commenting on his supposed audacity. "There's work to be done. Moriarty may be dead, but his network will survive unless someone deconstructs it." Sherlock announced rather abruptly, ignoring her previous question. Even in death Moriarty finds something to keep me occupied, he mused. "I assume you mean to do this yourself, but how exactly do you plan to take down an entire network of some of the world's greatest criminal minds acting alone? You may be exceptionally clever, but without John or your brother you'd have to be daft to try something like this." "Interesting. I thought you'd already made it clear you were offering your... services." Irene let out a low laugh, "Cocky for a corpse, aren't you, Mister Holmes? Well, go ahead, I'll bite," her mouth twisted into a smirk "deduce me." "If you insist." "Oh, I'm adamant." He paused a few seconds, staring at her before settling on a slightly befuddled look he reserved for The Woman. "When you arrived in London you had a rather two rather large cases with you - perhaps they were filled with clothes given you're female and tend to travel more heavily packed, or perhaps, apt to your profession, you found it necessary to bring some personal supplies with you. Both are indicative of a long term holiday, yet still explainable with circumstance; then there are more subtle pointers. On your luggage handle the airline places a barcode with your airport of departure and destination - no return flight is listed. Also, there are no reasons other than sentiment or self-interested purpose to follow me here to my grave, where you just asked what my plan was as I'm currently believed to be dead, and therefore alone." Irene's lazy smile was unwavering as he expounded this at fifty miles per hour his eyes now focused as he was presented with a case. "I believe I just deduced something myself; you're going to agree to accept my help. Not that you have much of a choice in the matter, what with your lack of resources, but I thought I'd give you a chance to beg for it. It would make this a bit more exciting for me." Sherlock snorted and turned up his coat collar against the wind. "No. You, Ms. Adler are here for yourself, and taking into account what I've learned about you in past encounters, only yourself. Sentiment meets its match with self preservation for you, a trait not common in today's insipid brand of people."

Quickly making sure John wasn't lingering anywhere he could see him, Sherlock began the walk to his flat, planning to gather a few things before his exile and ignoring whatever the Woman was about to respond with. "Meet me at Baker's Street in an hour, and don't be seen. Mrs. Hudson should be out - no one to see her take more of her 'herbal soothers' than prescribed. Microft will have figured out by then that he can spare Mummy the upset, so we'll be picked up around four." Irene followed him at a distance, getting in a cab when she reached the road, and pondered how in a mere 36 hours with this man, Sherlock was ordering her around. Well, that wouldn't do, now would it?

Well, there it is. Any thoughts or helpful criticism?