RP: Ring Around the Heart - Part 1 (Myrrh, Irene & Sherlock)

Myrrh:

I take the ring carefully.

I was a little surprised that Irene took the ring off her finger. From the country I came from, superstitious grannies would be aghast at the thought of a would-be bride removing her ring so soon after it was given. But I'm not superstitious. There's just a bit of me that started at the act. But then it's Irene so I shouldn't make such a big deal about it.

And then I look at the ring nestled on my palm and my heartbeat hastens. No. It can't be.

But there it was. This IS part of that damned jewelry set. Professor Moriarty's personal set. The one he had made specially for the women whom he held in high regard.

The letters interlaced with vines, leaves and flowers within the ring's inner lining clearly identified it as such: M.I.A. - Mortem In Artificiosius.

The diamond was truly a good-sized one so it was quite easy to identify it. It had the same heart shape except the necklace which I got from the Professor (which is a part of the same set this ring came from) had a number of smaller versions of the one on Irene's ring. They too, lay on white-gold vine-like settings complete with flowers and small leaves engravings. And of course, the necklace's clasp had the same letters (M.I.A.) engraved on it.

Could this be the piece that M gave to the ever-famous Holmes matriarch? How on earth did Sherlock get ahold of the ring? And why would he use this as an engagement ring? Didn't he know what it implied to him? To his family? To his mother? When I had decided to leave the Professor, the necklace was the first to go. Selling it for a large sum, it made my escape to Asia a whole lot easier. Could it be that Madame Holmes did the same and sold this particular jewelry and her son bought it accidentally? That would be too much of a coincidence. It's most likely that his mother gave it to him. BUT WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT? 

Doesn't she know what the ring symbolizes? And to give it to SHERLOCK of ALL people... Why?

With all the strength I have in me, I stop my hands from shaking and look at Irene with my masked smile (actresses must always know how to do it properly), "It seems familiar Irene. Where did Sherlock buy it?"

Irene:

Familiar? To Myrrh? She is still smiling but her former exuberance is gone. I answer, voicing my confusion.

"I don't think it can be familiar, darling. You don't know Sherlock's mother, do you?"

Myrrh:

In my head I curse: "PUTANG INA!"

In my native tongue it means "whore mother" but it was not intentional. It just so happens that it's one of the typical swear words in my country. Considering what I was to the Professor for three years, I think I deserve that title more than Sherlock's mother. It's really nothing but a cuss phrase.

But it seems ironic that I say it as I realize the truth about the ring.

SO... she really did give it to Sherlock. BUT WHY?!

And didn't she think that her son wouldn't figure out who gave her that ring? Or did she really do that so that he would figure it out? Possibly to create a way to explain herself without having to go through the shame of self-admission? Let Sherlock set up the stage so she can confess her sins to the son who is the end all be all of the whole game that brought her family to ruin? Is she trying to punish him or herself?

Or could it be that she gave him the ring in hopes of getting rid of it without telling him the whole story? But in doing so, didn't she realize that she has handed the ultimate proof of her indiscretions to Sherlock? And the fact that Sherlock gave it to Irene - it shows how clueless he was about that particular piece of jewelry. And does his mother know about this act of his: giving the ring to the only woman he loves? If she does find out... OH. MY. GOD.

My eyes widen with the thought. I still remember the stories M would tell of "The Vixen", and from what I've heard she will not take this well. Specially if Sherlock himself told her... Wait, where is Sherlock?

Oh God, if Sherlock is with her now... have mercy on them both and save them from each other.

Returning the ring to her, I try to smile. And fail. "Well, you know me and my network Irene. It's so easy to get information about people. Of course I know Sherlock's mother but I doubt if she knows me. And I should have known that the ring is from her. After all, I was informed a long time ago by the very one who gave her that ring."

I pause long enough to give Irene a chance to see my chagrin and pain at the knowledge I was about to share. She reacts accordingly, her brows knitting together in puzzlement. Taking a deep breath, I hold her hands and plunge in.

"I just don't know if I should tell you more about the ring or maybe wait for Sherlock's mother to tell you. Or God help him, Sherlock himself."

There. The choice is hers to make. I will just abide by it.

Irene:

I watch the emotions across her face; first puzzlement, then recognition, anger, pain. I fight the urge to rip the ring from her hand and put it safely back on my finger for I fear for a moment that she will harm it. 

Then she asks if I want to know.

My first reaction is anger. Why does she try to spoil the joy of my engagement, and in such a way? Insinuating that there is something wrong with my ring, that Sherlock will regret giving it to me.

I pause, feeling the pressure of her hands clasping mine tightly and look into her undecided, anguished eyes. They are so /sincere/, full of concern for me. It angers me. A little of my anger evaporates.

"Tell me," I say in a flat voice.

Myrrh:

I hear her tone and my heart lurches.

What was I even thinking when I opened the topic? And why would I be chagrined when this is exactly how I wished she would react? Well, not exactly how I wished it to be. Honestly, only half of me wanted Irene to ask for the truth.

The other half wanted to just go back in time and hope I have never heard of the name Professor James Moriarty.

But here is reality: A ring that is part of a jewelry set that I've considered a curse finds its way into the hands of the couple I've always wanted to be together. For it to be THE sign of their engagement turns my stomach, but at the same time something in me warms considerably at the thought of the ring being used this way. Along with these realization, my confusion rises.

===========

I start to converse with my inner me:

Come on Myrrh, she already asked. You might as well be the one to tell her.

Yes, and how do I explain to her my connections with M without making her see me as an enemy? As it is, the allusion of any negative attachments to the ring has already caused much tension between us.

And if you don't say anything, wouldn't that make that create a larger gap between you and her in the future once she found out? And she is most likely to find out one way or another. Better she hear it from you now.

Dammit, you make it sound so easy when we both know it's not! It would be easier if it was Sherlock who told her everything but even I would not wish that on him right now.

Really now, you really believe you won't let him speak on your behalf if he was given the chance?

Shut up.

============

Taking a deep breath, I speak.

"Irene, I don't know how to begin. I'm sorry, but this is going to be difficult. You may not be able to forgive me once you know the truth about that ring."

I was too wrapped up in my speech that I did not notice the door opening. Or Irene's gasp of delight. A male voice loudly interrupts my thoughts.

"It /is/ going to be difficult Myrrh. But it is not Irene's forgiveness that you will be asking for if you choose to tell her of the ring. THAT truth is for me alone to tell her for I gave it to her."

It is my turn to gasp. But mine was of relief.

SHERLOCK! Thank God!

Sherlock:

I see both reactions to me with mild amusement. 

From the tension in the air, it was obvious the Myrrh has bitten more than she can chew. And Irene is definitely waiting for an answer, which I'm sure, she really didn't want to hear but felt she must. Curiosity can truly kill the cat in these kinds of situations. 

Somehow, I envy the cat right now. Being killed is quite merciful considering what Irene can do to me when she finds out about the ring. But if I don't tell her then it would be even worse for both of us. And I will not keep this a secret from her. It would be a very bad start for our planned union and it would put me in a very bad light.

I've already allowed her to suffer with my secrecy in the past. I'm not about to let that happen now.

Besides, much as Myrrh has all the facts and good intentions needed for such an admission, she is not the one who should tell a future wife these things.

It should be the future husband. Me.

"Myrrh, please would you excuse us? I would like to speak to Irene alone."

Irene:

I hold my hand out for the ring and watch Myrrh drop it in my hand. He face relaxes as the cool metal falls from her fingers and she leaves in silence, her relief evident. Then my stare becomes accusing as I glare at my fiance.

"What precisely do you need to tell me, Sherlock? It certainly upset Myrrh enough."

I don't return the ring to my finger but keep it in my loosely curled fist. My face settles into an angry mask, keeping the turmoil within me from leaking out. I am terrified by first Myrrh, then Sherlock's words. What is so hideous about this ring that was given to me so beautifully?

Sherlock:

I inhale deeply then, with resolute steps, I approach you.

We are now so close our bodies almost touch. Up close, I can now see not /just/ your anger but your fear and trepidation at the thought of the ring being... My heart constricts in empathy.

My hand reaches out to touch your cheek. "You truly do not deserve this my love. I know this is supposed to be one of the happiest days of your... /our/ lives and the suddenness of our reactions - mine and Myrrh's - have utterly marred it. And the blame is mine to take."

I take your fist, the one holding the "cursed" ring I have given you earlier and kiss it. With my other hand, I open your fingers gently and look upon the heart-shaped diamond glittering on your palm. 

"Let me start by saying that this ring has done much damage to my family and it is only now that I've found out. Ironically, this knowledge has brought me and my mother back together through mutual forgiveness and heartfelt empathy. Unfortunately, she has also revealed the origin of the ring and its symbol to my family."

I look into your eyes and I read so many emotions there. Please, please Irene. I hope you will be able to take this well, even though I hardly managed it. I'm so, so, sorry my love.

"I'm afraid we can't use this ring for our engagement beloved. It is a ring that represents my mother's infidelity to my father, since it was given to her by her lover... She... Her lover..."

Pausing, I swallow and take a deep breath. No amount of preparation could ever make this easy. Not for her. Not for me. I might as well use all that is in me to say the truth now or forever hold my peace.

"Beloved, my mother's lover is my family's archenemy: Professor James Moriarty."

Irene:

At /his/ name, I flinch backwards, away from your heat. The ring spirals from my open palm to the floor and you instinctively bend to catch it. My eyes flicker between the ring in your hand, and your face as you straighten, and my eyebrows pull together. The hard mask that has long been absent from my face has slammed firmly back into place, shutting you out while inside my stomach churns. The adrenaline coursing through me from your revelation has cut me off from my logical thought and all I understand is the last part.

"My engagement ring was given by Moriarty?" His name hisses through my teeth.

I replay the scenes of your proposal and I almost flinch again, my imagination adding the watchful figure of the maleficent Professor to stare from behind your open eyes as they plead with me to accept you.

Sherlock:

My eyes spark at my beloved's words.

"I AM the one who gave you the ring Irene. It just so happens that Moriarty gave that same ring to my mother. Which is something I am only aware of just now!" My voice was as steely as a blade, cutting through the icy tone that Irene had used on me.

The full force of all these various emotions pouring upon me one wave after another within the last few hours are starting to take its toll. I may be very proficient with self-control but, given the right amount pressure, I can also break.

Besides, if there is anyone who can truly break that reserve, it would be the same woman who is now enraged at me for a deed that I intended for her... /our/ happiness.

"Irene, if there is anything I am at fault for, it is for ignorance. My mum NEVER imagined that I would be giving the ring away for anything remotely similar to an engagement. Not even as a simple Christmas gift to a woman - or ANY woman for that matter. PLEASE! Listen to me!"

She remains silent, her eyes as feral as... God no, not again! This was the same blank look of anger that I've seen when she first attacked me way back.. oh God such a long time ago... thinking I was her first lover. 

I seethed at the thought that she was not seeing me anymore... BUT PROFESSOR MORIARTY!

My anger rises and I find myself clenching my jaw in an effort not to raise my voice. Not to say anything else that could destroy any good intention I originally had to salvage the situation. My fist inadvertently clamps tightly around the item it is holding: The Moriarty ring. It imbeds itself into my palm and cuts into my flesh like a knife goes through butter. However, I was beyond any kind of pain to care.

How could you Irene? The ring may have come from Moriarty but I do not deserve to be equated to him. If that is what you view me as, then you should have let me join him as his Successor. That way, how you see me now is justified and I will not blame you for misjudging my actions.

I take a deep breath and walk to the dining table in grim silence. Once there, I look at you straight in the eye and drop the heart-shaped diamond ring on the table with force to dislodge it from my palm. Blood flows as the ring clutters on the table's surface, sprinkling a good amount of crimson on the cream tablecloth. This would be the only time that I would realize that I am bleeding as my fingers feel blood dripping from them.

Both our eyes go straight to the bloody ring and then return to stare at each other. This time, my gaze held no hostility. Only defeat.

"I'll make this as simple and logical as I can dearest. If you feel you cannot deal with situations such as this then do let me know and I will release you from our engagement; for I can assure you there will be more of these kinds of "revelations" when and if we are married. Though I cannot assure you a heavenly union, I can promise you that I will always be there. And you can always trust me, whatever kind of hell will assail us. Beyond that, if you feel you cannot manage with such a measly promise then you are free to tell me so and - though it will be the most painful thing I will probably do - I will let you go. That is how much I love you."

With that I walk to the door, "Please text me your decision beloved. And whatever it is, it won't change how much I love you." I step outside the flat and hurriedly find myself a cab.

Did I just hear someone cry out my name as the cab pulled away? No, I must not turn back. I'm sorry Irene, I'd rather read a text than deal with assumptions right now. 

I sigh raggedly and wonder how can something so logical can be so painful? 

Irene:

I stand rigid as Sherlock delivers his speech, the anger not leaving my eyes, though I see it flee his. I hold my position as he leaves the room, not believing that he really will leave me like this. Then, I hear the front door click shut and the dam breaks. He truly is leaving. 

"Sherlock!!" I scream, my voice breaking in panic. I lurch towards the door. But he doesn't return, and I hear a cab drive away.

My knees give way and I sink to the floor. 

"Sherlock.." I whisper, and his name constricts my chest in agony. My heart stutters erratically in my ribcage and for a second, I feel it stop beating entirely.

/What/ have I done??

My anger dissipates with /his/ departure and in his absence I feel empty, incomplete. I can't draw in enough breath.

What have I done?

He did nothing to me - not intentionally. He knew nothing of the ring's past - otherwise he would not have offered it to me, particularly not in such a way. I trust that. I trust /him/. 

Or do I? Could I have reacted in this way, if I truly did? I want, so badly, to trust him. I want him to have /everything/ of me. 

But even as I think that, I see Moriarty again in my mind's eye. Moriarty.. and the broken body of my first love, as was shown to me in that hotel room so long ago.

My upper body folds over my knees, forehead touching the floor and I squeeze my eyes shut. My arms wrap around my chest of their own accord.

I told him I was broken. When we first.. begun, I warned him. But I - we - had almost forgotten. We had become so wrapped up in each other that it hadn't mattered. 

But now, it does. Now, my broken, cruel, /idiotic/ reactions are destroying the thing I now live by. I don't know if I can survive - now. He broke the Dominatrix, erased /her/ - but at the same time, he kept the Woman whole. Without him, the Woman cannot live. But is it even possible for me to rebuild the Dominatrix? 

I don't know how long it has been before I draw in a ragged breath, and slowly drag myself from the floor. The movement hurts my limbs, stiff from being curled on the floor, but it can't compare to the pain of the ragged rip in my heart. 

I reach my phone. 

I want to tell - /him/ that I forgive him, that it was not his fault, that I want nothing more than for our engagement to continue. I try to ask him to come back to me - to make me whole - to beg /his/ forgiveness for my mistaken reaction - but every sentence I type, I delete. The images of Moriarty, Harrold - every single man who has abused or hurt me - haunt every sentence. 

We both know that he did nothing wrong. And we both know this is no longer about the ring. This is about our trust.

This is about our lives.

"I love you. IA"

Send.

That is the truest thing I can say to him right now.

Sherlock:

#InsideMyMindPalace

It will take awhile before I reach my destination, specially since I asked the cabbie to use the roundabout way. He isn't complaining. There IS a large tip promised him if he did as he was instructed. So far, he has been following the route I gave him to the letter, leaving me enough time to sink within myself.

I did see her message before I decided to fade away from the world. If anything, I knew she was going to text me this, but I do not know how I'm going to read it since it's not what I requested of her. She's not thinking with a clear head obviously or she would have just sent me a "Yes, I will stay" or "No, I will go" and then what I would do next would be clear and my actions would be swift.

But what do I do with this statement? Although it is something I do want to say to her too, the question remains: what CAN I do with this? She loves me but can she live a life with me? Or is she saying this as a preamble to a goodbye?

One thing that has always discouraged me from having any sort of relationship with a woman is because of these vague, complex and unreadable equations brought about by this eternally frustrating involvements.

And yet, Irene Adler is not just any woman for me but THE woman. That's why I dared show her how much I care for her. How much I love her. And now, I find myself wondering if I did the right thing and not just entangled her into a web that she should never have been part of. Do I blame myself for her reciprocating the feelings I have and making things worse for her. Because, besides the love making and the companionship, I do not see her gaining much in this emotional exchange. If anything, it would make things more difficult for her and even tie her down. 

===============

But she wants this life too.

Well, that's not what I see.

Damn it all, she said she loves you.

And would that not also mean "I love you goodbye"?

Oh you're reading too much into this!

And you're not reading it enough!

Why don't you just answer her text for God's sake! You are now very near to your destination!

Why don't YOU do it? You seem to be eager to.

We're one and the same Sherlock. It's just that you love conversing with yourself while you're here. Just get out of your mind and text her.

===============

I quickly type in the words. "I love you too Irene. In fact, I don't think I can love any other woman the same way I love you. But do consider the complexities of having me as a partner in life before you make any final decisions. I already have, and I've proposed to you. I'll propose again if that is necessary for us to make a stronger commitment. And I promise you, it is not with the same ring. SH"

Send.

Irene:

I stare at his text, the tears flowing freely.

/WHY/ can I not simply respond?

I want to. Oh, god I want to. But I can't. Not yet.

Slowly, I uncurl my fingers from the phone and set it down on the table. I look for a distraction, fighting the urge to simply huddle on the floor and weep. My eyes pass over the ring twice, unwilling as I am to look at it, but the crimson splatters on the tablecloth form a path that draws my sight back to the ring. Reluctantly, I give in, focusing on the stained ring.

Immediately, the pain in my chest intensifies and my fist tightens convulsively.

Cursed indeed. That bloody ring brings only pain and anguish. Perhaps I should get rid of it. A determined smile is half formed on my lips when a different thought occurs to me.

It isn't the ring that is cursed. I stare at in in realisation, noticing how the scarlet of the blood it is bathed in somehow adds to its ominous beauty.

No. It is not the ring. The ring has an ugly past but is no more at fault than Sherlock for this present predicament. Those at fault are its past bearers: First, Moriarty and then.. Sherlock's mother.

With this, I find my distraction.

I take the ring and kiss its unfortunate face. On it, I taste Sherlock's blood. On it, I taste Sherlock's own suffering at the discoveries it symbolises.

I do not return it to my finger, though, instead dropping it in a pocket. I snatch up my phone and whirl out of the door, dialling as I walk.

"Richard darling, it's me, Irene. There's a favour I need.." I lock the apartment door. "Yes, I remember your 'order' very well, love.. Cheeky boy.. Now, find me where the Holmes boys' mother lives. Text me, if you would.. Yes darling, I'll see you soon. Goodbye now."

I hang up and hail, knowing the address will arrive within a minute. He doesn't disappoint, and I settle in for the long ride, rereading Sherlock's text. I close my eyes, the pain throbbing.

Sherlock, I want that life. I want any life with /you/.

But I can't send it. I turn the phone off. Rereading it won't help me to reply.

Eventually, we arrive at the Holmes family mansion and I pay the cabbie handsomely. I squeeze the ring in my pocket before heading to the door. Confidently, I ring the bell.

[Continued in Ring around the Heart (Part 2. Irene & Mummy)]