Groaning and cursing, Sherlock forced himself off the couch knocking several cold case files off his lap and sending them scattering across the floor. Having stayed in one position so long, his joints popped as he crossed through the sea of discarded mugs and abandoned books that littered the floor. He didn't know what he had been thinking in inviting Irene over, but he blamed it on the the nauseating boredom that had settled in his brain.
As per usual, his bedroom door was left halfway open and he gave it a gentle kick with his bare foot. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what he planned to do, but he knew he had to do something. Still, he assumed he would figure it out as he went along.
"Out," he said, leaning against the doorframe.
Irene was lounged under the blankets of his bed, hair loose and spread behind her like a pool of brown locks. She was in her usual cream colored dress, legs crossed at the ankles and grey piercing eyes locking on his. Of course, he didn’t need to see that to know that she was wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing from photos Mycroft had given him.
"Mm, I don't think so... I'm rather comfortable here."
Sherlock kept his composure, staring down at her. She didn't look like she was in any sort of danger, as always she looked perfectly immaculate whereas he was wearing two day old lounge clothes and his housecoat. "That's my bed, as you're well aware. If you absolutely must lay somewhere I have a delightful couch or rug that you can use. Or, there's a sidewalk outside.”
"Oh I've missed your tongue..." She grinned wickedly, gleam in her eyes as she nestled deeper into the covers and winked. "Of course, you don't use this so I thought someone should."
"Don't use what? My bed? I assure you I use it almost three times a week." She was so confident, so flirtatious, and Sherlock didn't know how to take it. He crossed over the room, looking down at her. "Did you want something or just my bed?"
"What, unable to deduce me this time, Mr. Holmes?" Irene teased, sitting up and tossing the blankets off her, sitting Indian-style. For the thousandth time she was glad she chose not to wear knickers. She wanted him as uneasy as possible. It made the game so much more fun…
Sherlock kept his gaze focused on her, defiant as though challenging her. This was the first he'd spoke to he since had died, he wasn't entirely sure where to go with it. "You want to be a pain, currently craving attention."
They weren't actual deductions, his brain was still in a bit of a haze. Mostly, they were just to try to get under her. "As can be noted by the lack of proper undergarments. You're alone and wanting someone to pet you."
"Do you think me a dog, Mr. Holmes? A pet that needs to be stroked and coddled like a child?" Her eyes narrowed, anger and hurt flashing through her eyes. "I am no pet, nor am I in the mood for these 'games' you think I desire to play!"
"Pet as in crave attention," Sherlock clarified calmly. There was no use in upsetting Irene, she was even harder to deduce when she was angry. As though she wasn’t hard enough to read already. It didn’t help that the recent events had left him slightly frustrated, John moving out and his lack of cases.
"If you're not in the mood for games then why show up in my bed, pantiless, with my riding crop? Seems you're in the mood for games, but only if they follow your rules."
"Mmm... I like to surround myself with familiar things when I'm worried. Riding crop: check. Genius: check. Ridiculous comments that are rather offensive... Check." Irene's lips pursed as she scrutinized her detective, who only nodded slightly.
"So, you're worried." Well, that made sense. This was probably more than a mere social visit and he couldn't explain why that made his stomach turn. "And you're expecting me to help? Or, rather, exist to make you comfortable?"
“Mr. Holmes, I think we're good on the sarcastic quips from your end, hmm? So, why don't you just leave them to me..." Irene sighed, scowling at him.
"Forgive my manners," he said duly and sat himself down on the edge of the bed, folding his hands over his lap. "What is it that has you breaking into my house? Taking the most unconventional methods to get in," he paused, his lips twitching in a smirk, "pet?"
"I was bored, Mr. Holmes... I wanted to play... Don't tell me I've grown tiresome to you already? I'm just getting started... Master."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, attempting to suppress a surge of excitement that passed through him. He cleared his throat, his eyes flickering away for half a second. "And what do you plan to do?"
"Whatever you allow, Mister Holmes... And we can stop at any time if you want... If you say please."
"So, all I have to do is say please and you'll stop?" What was that? The most humiliating, could he call it a safe word? The most humiliating safe word she could think of? He hated asking for things and hated saying please. Still, his shoulders relaxed slightly like he was somehow giving a sort of permission.
"Yes. But I assure you, Mr. Holmes... You won't want to... No one ever does want to... Not with me playing..."
Sherlock smirked. "I wouldn't count on it." Of course, Sherlock's experience with playing was… limited. Though he didn't let his nerves show much on his face. "And your plan is what and why?"
She sat up on her knees, taking the tip of the crop and offering him the handle. "You tell me, Mr. Holmes... You're the detective... Detect."
Gently, Sherlock took the crop and shivered. He remembered the feel of it on his skin and it felt surprisingly heavy in his hands, like it didn't belong there. "Are you angry," he finally asked, remembering John's reaction to him being alive. "Havin to discover I was alive through the press?"
“On the contrary... I knew you lived. No one who beat me would kill themselves... No, you were alive and planning. Just like I was."
So, she was smart enough to catch onto that. Perhaps he had underestimated her, probably not a wise move. "So, you're not angry," he said, furrowing his brow and running the leather crop around his fingers.
"Are you mad... Did you want me angry? Did you want me mad? Did you want me... To yell, slap you, do everything I could to tease and hurt you?"
Sherlock paused, for once unsure. He wasn't sure what he wanted or had expected, and having it asked so bluntly gave him a bizarre sense of embarrassment and strange, possibly misplaced, shame. "You didn't answer," he finally said, still looking directly at her.
“You don't want me to... You like the mystery. The intrigue... After all,that's what I do... That's why I'm The Woman."
God, he hated her being right sometimes. So, he didn't allow it. "I like finding the answer to mysteries." Of course, that was part of why he liked Irene. She was forever a mystery.
Silently, he looked down to the crop for a moment before holding it out to her.
“Mmm, I think I prefer find to find out how you use it... After all, I'm just your pet, remember?" Irene's smile became more devious by the second, eyes glinting. "Or have roles changed?”
Something felt wrong about holding the crop, like it was some power he wasn't supposed to have. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of weakness, not wanting to yield the crop. He paused, trying to figure out her motive and move. "I wasn't aware we had roles."
“You're the one that assigned them, Mister Holmes... Or do you want to be oblivious to all things concerning me?"
"I don't recall having that conversation," he mumbled, setting the crop down in his lap and looking her over. "Do you want to be hit? Feel you've done something that warrants that?"
She cocked her head, smile still on her lips. "Come now, Mr. Holmes... You know me better than that, don't you? Or even with clothes on, can you not deduce me?"
She was infuriating and difficult. He was certain that most clues on her clothing would be placed to deliberately mislead him. Was this meant to make him feel awkward? Reaching out, he tangled his hand in her hair, tilting his head slightly. "You're usually such a blunt woman, cat got your tongue tonight?"
"Mmm, I want to see how well your detective skills are.. I hear so much about them but I don't get to see them. What better way than to have you deduce yourself?" Irene teased. Oh he wanted to get physical, did he? Well she could do that. Yes, she could do that quite nicely…
"Deduce myself," Sherlock repeated. The smirk he'd worn when Irene first got there was long gone. Sherlock rarely liked to look at himself too long, for fear of what he would find. "What am I looking for?"
"You... Tell... Me..." She retaliated, grabbing his wrist and pinning it behind his back, her other hand fisting in his curls and pulling his head back so he had no choice but to look up at her. "We should never try to dominate a dominatrix, should we?"
Oh, this was a change. Sherlock let out a small whimper of surprise, leaning his head back and following her physical direction. He struggled for a moment to speak, his scalp a bit sensitive. "You don't want any kind of punishment or any sort of revenge," he managed, staring up at the ceiling. "You're craving a sort of power, control. What is it? Business slow?"
"Oh just bad reactions to people who attempt to take control of situations." Irene teased, nails scraping his scalp. "It's a habit.. Dominating everyone I meet. I'm surprised you're letting this happen though..."
Bad reactions? Sherlock's brain started over working, thinking of all the possibilities. He tried to focus, but the feeling of Irene's nails on his skin was distracting him. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to block it out. "Alright, not the hair, just...not my hair." Maybe then he could rationally think.
Her grip went lax, eyebrow arched. "Tell me something, Mr. Holmes... Why so dull? Didn't you ever fancy someone? A girl, a man... Don't tell me it was John..."

Sherlock relaxed a bit and patted down his hair. He could still feel Irene's hands gripping and pulling, despite the fact that her hand had left. "I've never had the time for such frivolous things. And, no, not John. He's married. In any case, sentiment will rarely become an asset."
"Surely there's one lass or lad you got your eye on... After all, you are a man... Surely you have urges?"
Urges? Sure. He was still a man, it was just that he could usually distract himself from that instinctual itch until it went away. "No one can really hold my attention for that long." Besides that, he didn't do well letting go of himself. He couldn't slow his brain down long enough to be with anyone for too long. He couldn't be still or stop thinking.
"I'm hurt, Mr. Holmes... Don't tell me that you'll grow tired of me? I thought I was forever going to have your attention..." Her lips turned into a pout. "Well I'll just have to try harder to keep your attention then, won't I."
"Then you thought wrong and foolishly. I doubt anything could hold my attention forever. You know that as well as I do," he noted, rubbing at his hair again. Of course, everything Irene did would at least stay with him for a while.
“Please, you and I both know whatever I do will capture your attention. It's a gift I have... It's like I can hold your attention no matter what I do. I like it.." She released him completely and nestled down back under the blankets. "I enjoy it, actually."
Sherlock looked down at her. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning back and propping himself up on his hand. She did require attention, not focusing could lead to being drugged and waking up somewhere strange.
“Very much so." She mused, nudging his leg with her foot. "I can do it with almost anyone I meet... More so with you, though. I'd call it a....Specialty of mine."
“I'm your specialty," he asked, putting his hand over her ankle. The idea that she could do it with almost anyone made him feel oddly common, normal. Though he knew he was anything but. "Once you're figured out you'll cease to hold my attention," he bluntly told her, picking up the crop again and twirling it in his fingers.
"But we both know you're never going to figure me out..." Irene purred, eyes scanning over his movements. "I'm an enigma. A puzzle for the ages...Schrodinger's cat... I'm two things at once."
Sherlock tightened his grip on her ankle very slightly. Irene didn't have much of a history that he could find, so a fair bit of it was guesswork. "Give me time, Miss Adler."
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her legs but leaving the leg he was touching, gripping ever-so-gently increasingly tight, untouched, unmoved in the slightest. "I've given you several years, Mr. Holmes..."
And yet, she was still a frustrating individual, a puzzle with far too many missing pieces. "I know that you let your heart control your head," he said, moving up the bed slightly and increasing the pressure. "I know you have exceptions to your own sexuality. I know you have a need to control, which could stem from an unsatisfactory childhood, feeling out of control, a need to be the centre of someone's attention."
He paused, thinking it over. "Except, the problem with that is that the submissive is the centre of attention. You crave attention, but avoid it. Should I continue?" It was all guesswork based on psychology and her job, just a theory, but he sounded confident.
She scoffed, leaning forward. "Mr. Holmes...How much of that do you believe? How much of that is just a theory, a story pulled out of thin air and lies?"
"You tell me," he said, not moving and keeping his eyes on her. "Of course, your face should tell me a lot." It was a bluff, but he wanted to see if she would react and see how much was right from that.
"Well so far all I'm hearing is wrong, wrong and wrong..." She teased, silly grin on her lips as she kept her body relaxed and laid back.

"All wrong?" That couldn't be right, could it? He had thought at least part of it was right. Irene's calmness frustrated him slightly and he frowned. Wrong. The word replayed in his head, echoing. "So, you had a perfectly satisfactory childhood and you don't seek attention?" If he was wrong then the opposite of what he'd said should, logically, be true.
"Again...Wrong." She settled back into his bed, pulling her knees up as she watched him. It was fun, toying with him. Watching the wheels in his head turn and confuse him…
Oh god she was frustrating. Sherlock could practically hear the gears in his brain turning while he tried to figure her out. His hand left her ankle, not wanting to touch her any longer. "So, you're a liar," he finally determined. "Regardless of what I say, right or wrong, there's no way to determine the truth when everything out of your mouth is a lie. A controlled and calculated lie."
"Wrong once more..." She laughed. "My childhood was not happy, nor was it terrible. I don't like being in control and I don't like to give it up.."
Well, at least there was something. Something that didn't tell him anything about her life or herself at all. "Of course you like being in control. That's what you're doing now, isn't it? Remaining in control?"
"No, what I'm doing is keeping your interest.. Which is what I like to do." That was it. That was all she was doing. She was keeping his attention like he'd challenged her to do.
Moving off the bed, Sherlock decided he wouldn't indulge her like this. Not when it was so frustrating. "I don't question your origins when you're not here. What does that tell you," He asked, tossing the crop to the floor.
"They're telling me that you don't know enough about my present... So there's no reason to guess at my origins if you can't even figure out the view in front of you."
Pausing, Sherlock looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because they're telling me that you don't matter," he lied calmly. She mattered, more than he could actually understand. He understood that he liked her around, despite the frustrations, but he didn't know what that means. "I would know if I cared."
"No you wouldn't..." She giggled, shaking her locks as she stood up and walked to his closet, removing her dress and pulling on his purple shirt. "It's so droll... Wearing the same type of thing, day after day... How do you manage it?"
He looked away from him, a part of him wanting to snatch his shirt away from her, but at the same time not wanting to stop her. He briefly glanced down at his dirty clothes, the same ones he had been in for a couple of days. "Is there a reason you're going through my closet, pet?"
She looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the way it fit and buttoned it almost all the way up. "It seemed fun… There’s not much for the dead to do...As you know quite well."
Turning to her Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. She actually didn't look bad in his shirt and he hated that, he hated acknowledging that. More than anything he wanted to be able to lash out at her again, make her feel something other than a giggly sense of pride.
"Fun? Playing dress up?" Sighing, he all but surrendered. "I take it you're not leaving tonight. John's room is upstairs, there's a bed, or the couch. And here I'd so hoped you were in danger."
"Come now... I'm always in danger!" She prodded as she nudged him with her elbow as she passed by him, pulling her hair into a messy bun and keeping an eye on him through the corner or the piercing grey gaze. "That's why I'm so much fun to be around.”
"You're in danger of becoming a nuisance," he mumbled half heartedly. Watching her flutter around the room, Sherlock so wished there had been a case now. Something to get his mind away from the way the silky fabric of his shirt fit around her frame. No, he told himself, focus, Sherlock, focus.
She strode over to his dresser, picking up cufflinks and looking over them. "You've got a good collection... But I don't think I've seen you in diamonds before... Personally I think that's a good thing."
All too quickly, Sherlock looked away. "They were for a wedding," he admitted. A wedding. John's wedding. He was reminded of the loneliness that had settled into the flat since he had returned, what with John living with his wife and all. That wasn't exactly what he wanted to be reminded of. "Now, are you quite finished touching my things? There's an order to it." Not, of course, that he was really stopping her. Just watching, waiting for her to finish.
"I saw you there... Leaving early. It's not polite to leave a wedding early, Mr. Holmes..." Irene reprimanded, setting them down and replacing the object of her interest with a watch. "You did have a beautiful dance partner... What was her name again? Joanne.. Jenny.. Jean... Oh, Jeanine. Yes, that was it..."
Swallowing, Sherlock closed his eyes for a second. It really wasn't a moment he wanted to be reminded of. For the first time in a very long time he had felt weak. The wedding had been fun at first, and then miserable. It was as though the exact moment he'd realised he didn't have to be alone, he was.
"Please," he mumbled very quietly, as though it pained him to say it. He did remember what Irene had said earlier. 'Say please and I'll stop.' He held her to that.

"She stole my dance, you know..." The word made her smile a bit. She did tell him he'd beg for mercy. Twice. Of course, this wasn't begging per say, but close enough. "I was going to tease John, show him glimpses of me but... Then you left. And... It was really no fun without you."
Sherlock gritted his teeth, attempting to glare a hole in the wall. He could handle Irene frustrating him, teasing with her body and with information, but the last thing he wanted was to feel lonely again. It was a pathetic and stupid emotion. John was still his best friend, hell, he had actual friends, there was no reason for this gut wrenching feeling that seemed to engulf him if he paused long enough to think about it.
"I believe I said stop," he told her, forcing his voice to be strong. "I, frankly, don't give a damn what you think she stole from you. I owe you nothing. Do you think she stole a kiss that was rightfully yours as well?” He spat out without thinking about it.
"Come Mister Holmes, I'm surprised that you think so little of me... Thinking I would be so petty and jealous. I meant it merely in jest, though I forget jabs are lost on you... However, considering you think so poorly of me, I will do as you ask and leave. Au Revoir, Mr. Holmes... I daresay this'll be the last we see of each other."
Sherlock paused, suddenly all too aware of his position and situation, as well as Irene's. He considered for a moment letting her walk out the door, and possibly his life. But, the problem he could see was that he still knew nothing about her. "You're still wearing my shirt," he pointed out, much calmer than he'd previously been.
"I'll send it back. Dry-cleaned, of course. Wouldn't want to ruin yet another thing of yours." She shot, eyes narrowing. "Would I?"
Again, Sherlock paused and attempted to gauge Irene's emotions, not a particularly easy task on the best of days but damn near impossible when she had managed to get him all worked up over virtually nothing. Sighing, defeated, Sherlock lowered his arms. "Stay," he calmly said, shaking his head. At least until he figured something out, whether it was her feelings or his own, he wanted her to stay. "Stay, sit, we're not finished." Not yet and certainly not like this.

"And when will we be finished? After you insult every part of me? After you spit out words that are meant to do nothing but hurt me? Or will it be after you once again show the world how vulnerable Irene Adler is without her precious security back-up!"
Ah, of course. Sherlock finally felt like he understood something about The Woman, and he also felt a strange sense of guilt burning in his stomach. Sherlock wasn't one to ever consider someone's feelings, not until it was far too late. He looked down, struggling to find the correct words. For someone brilliant he was absolutely dreadful at times with words. Then he said something he despised saying, though there was no hint of that in his voice. He sounded oddly sincere. "I've hurt you."
It sounded as though he didn't actually think it was a possible outcome and was shocked at himself for having been able to do it. "I apologise for that." There was no mocking in his voice. Just a very clear apology. He hated apologising. It made him feel like a child who didn't quite yet understand the world.
“I don't need, nor want, an apology, Mr. Holmes. Apologies are pity and I am not the one in need of pity. You are... You're a sad, lonely man who destroys everything he touches! You know nothing of the world and you're an arrogant jerk who makes a living by showing off just how pompous he can be!"
Irene regretted the words the second she hear them. But she couldn't stop them. They were pouring and they just kept coming! "You get off on nothing other than diminishing people and making them feel inadequate all because you didn't get hugged enough as a child. So if anyone should apologize, it's me.
“For being stupid enough to bother with you when anyone can clearly see you're not worth it because all you do is nitpick at every little flaw a person has until they feel like nothing because all they see now is what's wrong with them because of you!"
Sherlock stood, facing Irene, and taking the abusive of her words. He attempted not to let it show on his face how much, in fact, they did sting. Maybe she was right, maybe he did ruin everything he touched. Of course, he'd always known he wasn't like other people, and it was that difference that caused him to keep them away. Don't get close and you won't get hurt. But, he had started letting people in, and yet he was once again alone. He twitched slightly, staring at the wall behind Irene.
He couldn't think of what to say that might, in any way, make anything at all even the slightest bit alright. "You're smarter than this," he finally said, narrowing his eyes. "You're smart enough to know that you're more than nothing. Smart enough to know precisely what you're worth, not in the currency your clients give you, but in another value." He spoke calmly, keeping his tone even.
"You know exactly who you are, Irene Adler. Exactly what you are," he added in a softer tone. Pausing for half a beat he abandoned his pride for just a second. "Stay...please."
"I can't, Mr. Holmes...My flight leaves tomorrow morning where a new life awaits me. I came to say good-bye and it seems I have..." She wanted to stay, God she wanted to stay. But sentiment.. Ah, sentiment was the defect he warned her of. The defect that brought down the lovely life she had built for herself. And she refused to give him the chance to steal her heart again.
"So, this is it. The last meeting of The Woman and the Consulting Detective... I imagined it different. But all the same... Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." Irene held her hand out, wanting to shake the hand of the man who made her stronger, yet somehow, weaker.
"Of course," he said, masking his disappointment. Irene would never be in one place too long, he knew that much. She couldn't bear the burden of a single city and that fact killed him. His mouth felt oddly dry as he reached out, taking her hand for a moment. Maybe it was John's influence or maybe it was something he couldn't quite explain to himself. Whatever the reason he only held her hand for a moment before pulling her in close to him, using his height to his advantage.
Gently, he put his arms around her waist and it only took him a second to identify and memorize her perfume. "Goodbye, Miss Adler," he said, taking a breath and not allowing himself to explore his emotions right then. There would be time for that later, years perhaps. For now, he just let go of himself for a moment.

The hug, while unexpected, was nice. Quite nice really. And strange. It was intimate somehow. The most common exchange for two people and yet so uniquely odd. Dammit, Irene! There she went again, letting her sentiment get the best of her. And she couldn't. She couldn't face that again. The betrayal and heartache that he had brought upon her. But still.. No, hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice and I'm a fool. And Irene Adler was no fool. "Goodbye..." She breathed one last time, trying to force herself to remember that this was, their last time together. Forever..
By the time Sherlock had his guard down, by the time he was actually acting like a human and by the time his brain wasn't working overtime, it was too late. Everything he did seemed to be too late. Once again he'd made the mistake of realising he didn't have to be alone when he already was. He pulled away, fetching the crop from the floor and holding it out to her. Now she had to come back to him. "Until next time, Miss Adler," he said, his lips brushing gently against her cheek. He spoke as though there would be a next time, allowing himself a small smile.
"I'm afraid that there'll never be a next time, Mr. Holmes..." Irene murmured, hands resting on his and gently pushing the riding crop to his chest. "Keep it. Where I'm going, what I'm doing, I've no need for it..." She managed the smallest of smiles, kissing his cheek for once. "Pity we're to part on such terms."
Sherlock closed his hands around the soft leather and narrowed his eyes slightly. "There's only one place you would go where you wouldn't need such a thing," he noted, squaring his shoulders. He wasn't certain what terms they were on at this point, whether it was friendly or not. All he knew was that he was comfortable with her.
"And where do you think that is, Mr. Holmes?" Irene mused. He couldn't guess where she was going. He couldn't know. That'd ruin everything. Put everyone in jeopardy and... He was worth it. No, he couldn't be. He wasn't! Heh. Maybe if she said it enough, she'd believe it.
"A place I stayed for a while," he told her, taking a step away. He could only think of a couple of options for Irene's travel plans. None of them thrilled him at all. "You'll tire of it before you've even arrived. Miss London before the air is even out of your lungs," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Believe me, you're not that hard to track, not that difficult."
"Is that so, Mr. Holmes?" She murmured, dropping her gaze from his to stare at the floor. He couldn't. No, he couldn't. "Well, I guess Karachi's out of the question now..."
Sherlock kept his eyes on her, studying her subtle changes. He was fairly certain that he was onto something with this now, as though he could finally look at her and see something. "Karachi was nice for a visit, but that's far from where you plan to go. Your plan is less exciting."
"Sentimental visit of course.. Not the final destination. Look, I really must go. I have plans. Places to visit, people to meet... I can't stay any longer." All lies of course, but still. She stayed there any longer and she'd never leave.
Nodding, Sherlock stepped back as though inviting her to leave. He wasn't going to stop her from leaving his flat, he couldn't really. "Of course. But, this time, I might not be there before you die," he told her, pursing his lips. "Bullet or rope, pills or blade, it might be all up to you to stop it."
"I'm quite aware of it, Mr. Holmes... And I don't expect you to save me once more. The days of caring for me are over. Quite over I assume..." She made to move forward but found herself rooted to the ground. "Be safe, Sherlock... If anything, make sure you're safe." Or this'll have been for nothing. "And... Don't do anything stupid...Again."
"I'm as safe as you are," He assured her. It wasn't a very reassuring thought, actually, considering how rarely either if them was actually safe. But, that was exactly his point. "I'm rarely stupid. However, I have to say, your travel plans are quite stupid." He tilted his head, eyes locked on her. "Plan on leaving a note? I did."
"I'm not safe, Mr. Holmes...I've less pressure points than you do and that makes it so much easier to press them. I mean it.. Don't do stupid things,all right? He'll provoke you.. He'll lie and cheat and do everything he can but you cannot let him get to you! Am I understood, Mr. Holmes?" Irene sighed, shaking her head.
Intrigued, Sherlock perked up again. So, he'd been right before, there was danger surrounding Irene Adler once again. And he was fairly certain he knew precisely who she was talking about. "It's difficult if I don't actually know who you're talking about. You're going to have to be more specific, Miss Adler." He relaxed. Having a case made his emotions easier to control.
“This is no case for you... This is not a game. James will destroy upon getting a chance. He's out for blood and nothing can stop him now. He's rebuilding and...I don't think even you can stop him now, Mr. Holmes. But this is what I mean. Going after him will end you.. And I've risked too much to let that happen."
Sherlock glared at her and had to resist the urge to scream. Not because Irene didn't want him to go after Moriarty, but because Moriarty had taken far too much. "Already destroyed me once, that's boring now. And, please, don't talk to me about risks like I don't know. This issue why you're running from me? To run from him? Aren't you tired yet?"
"You're a fool if you think I'm doing this voluntarily. He wants to kill you himself this time... No, he wants to destroy your world before he watches you die. And I'm a loose thread that he doesn't want anymore. That needs to be snipped away before it unravels everything entirely. He doesn't trust me anymore. Not since..." Irene ran a hand through her tresses, pulling it back from her face. She was spending too much time here. Putting him in too much danger just by staying here. "Mr. Holmes, Sherlock, I'm tired... So tired... Which is why I'm doing this. I won't be tired anymore. I'll just be..." Dead.
Sometimes it was dreadful being right. Sherlock would've liked to have heard, for once, that he was wrong. That Irene was going to Paris or Prague. But, no, it had been obvious and he had been right. "So, you'd rather end it now then take your chances? You would rather not try and wait to see where things go? Rather not trust me to do what I do best?" He sounded almost amused, darkly amused. Like if he didn't find the humour he would only see the horror of the situation. "Want to know a secret, Miss Adler? I know how you like them."
"I have no choice in the matter.. Kate's dead, my clientele dropping like flies and James... James is leaving messages, warnings. He's not happy with me. He's not happy about Karachi or you or anything that's happened between us. He thinks me a traitor. Claims I've replaced him with you. And it makes him angry. He's given me two choices. Let Moran kill me. Or he'll kill me in the worst way possible.."
"You are considered a traitor to him, that doesn't mean anything. Do you really think he will let you die quickly? You think you can slip quietly into the darkness? You think he's going to come anywhere close to letting that happen?" He couldn't see Moriarty just letting her go so easily, not with the place she had once had with him.
"I'm beyond tired, Irene. Beyond exhausted. And yet, I'm here. Stubbornly staring death in the face and--" He paused, looking momentarily disgusted. "He thinks I'm a replacement in your life? That's uncalled for."
"He's right... I used to be fascinated by James. He was clever, so clever. I thought he was the only mind worth listening to. And then he assigned me you and... You were so much smarter. So much cleverer than James that I started to put you above him. He wasn't worth it anymore. He wasn't as smart as I thought he was. But you.. Your mind, it was so intriguing. And you, yourself... There's just something about you that I can't put my finger on. You're as confusing to me as I am to you. You're such a complex person... And he doesn't like that. Doesn't stand that I could think higher of you than of him."
Despite the fact that he was being compared to Moriarty, Sherlock couldn't ignore the praise. It was rare, but he did feel slightly warm listening to her words. She had chosen him over Moriarty, an obvious choice if anyone were to ask him. Still, it meant something. His mind was all he really had, and to know how appreciated and how fascinating she found it gave him an odd sense of pride. "A brilliant point, Miss Adler. I am quite a bit more clever than he is. Which is precisely why you should listen to me." Now that he was certain of her plan he couldn't just let her act it out.
"No one's left to miss me, Mr. Holmes... And you said it yourself. You'll tire of me once I'm gone. Hell, you're probably tiring of me even before that... But, don't you understand? Moriarty has nothing to lose. You do! You have John and Mycroft and Molly and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson... Oh, they all care for you and you for them. He'll take them from you, make your world come crashing down. Like he did me.." Irene took a deep breath and sat down on a chair."I was sent to kill you when we first met." Might as well tell him everything... "I was to seduce you, learn your weaknesses and then, when you were relaxed and happy, I was to kill you. I made a different call and James told some enemies of mine where to find me..."
There was a lot at stake. "Sacrifice one for many," Sherlock said, running his hand across the crop. Truth was, as he knew perfectly well, Irene was far from tiresome. She was interesting, and she held him captive even when she was gone. He had a clear image of her in his mind, one that often interrupted his thoughts with seductive tendencies that he had to push away. "I know what you were meant to do. But we both made one calculated mistake. One mistake that has ruined everything."
He stood a step forward, uncrossing his arms. His hand once again found its way into Irene's hair. "The same mistake you keep calling to blame. We decided to care. And you're prepared to throw that away. Selfish. That's selfish."
She forced herself to look up at him, lip trembling. "What can I say, Mr. Holmes... I never was a fan of sharing." Least of all sharing you. "But what can you do? He wants me dead, one way or another... You protecting me won't matter! He'll find me, make me pay for replacing him. So, unless you've got some sort of invisible spell in that mind palace of yours... I'm good as dead."
Magic wasn't real and Sherlock wasn't even going to pretend that there was some spell that could protect her. But, he certainly had a few tricks up his sleeve. "You're so much smarter than you pretend to be." There was one option he could see, something he knew would work because he had once utilized it. It was not, however, anything he wanted to do and he looked physically pained at the idea. "I'll call Mycroft, he can...he can certainly help."
"No! Your brother... He watched you destroy me. I won't let him see me like this! I barely want you to see me like this..Seeing me week, broken, nothing but a shell of the person I once was." She sniffled, wiping her nose. "OK? We will not bring your brother in!"
Instantly, Sherlock trashed the idea. He hadn't wanted to call Mycroft in the first place. "You're not weak," he told her bluntly. "Just acting like a complete idiot. And there's no need to bring Mycroft into this. Not when there are so many other solutions here."
"Like what? Please, tell me what your ideas are because everything I've thought of, James will have already thought of and figured out how to beat me." Sherlock closed his eyes, scanning his brain for possible solutions to this problem. There was really one excellent way he could see out of this. "Obviously I have to beat him. It's not just you, but everyone else. I can beat him again."
"You're a brave man, Sherlock... A brave, idiotic man. Do you really think you can be him? Do you really think that you can fool the Fool?" She breathed, moving to stand in front of him. "Because if you do... So do I."

She believed in him, and John would believe in him, and so would Mary and Lestrade...but Irene Adler wasn't the type of woman to just believe in people. Sherlock reached out, running his hand along her jawline. "You're not going to die just yet, Miss Adler."
"I'm glad...Because there's several things that I've yet to do... And I really would like to do them."
“I'm certain there are," Sherlock said, relaxing his hand against her cheek. "And I'm not ready for you to die yet. I've still got to figure you out."
"Mr. Holmes...." She smiled, leaning into his hand. "You're never.... Never Going to figure me out."
Sherlock smiled down at her. "Give me time, Irene," he said softly. "I've already seen you, guard down, give me time."
"But don't you get it?" She laughed softly. "I'm only going to keep changing. I mean, a girl has to do something to keep your attention."
"You currently have my full and undivided attention," he told her, taking a small step forward to fill the gap between them. "Happy?"
"And what happens if something comes up? A case, John, James..." Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing's happening now," he pointed out. "If something comes up then it comes up."
She laughed, pressing her lips against his cheek. "You're very kind, Mr. Holmes...But I think, instead of discussing me, we should plan to stop Moriarty."
Laughing slightly, Sherlock stepped away from her, hand having left her hair awhile ago and catching her hand instead. "You can't honestly expect me to tell you my plan, can you? What if someone more interesting comes along?"
"Please, Mr. Holmes.." She smirked, spinning into his arms like this was just a dance between the two instead of what it really was.A dance with death.. "Like I would ever find anyone even remotely as interesting as you... If that ever happens, it'll be due to a dream."
Sherlock held his arms around her and leaned down, his mouth by her ear. "How many times did you tell Jim that?" He was still seemingly happy, glad she had stayed. By if they couldn't fight and argue, well, they wouldn't be themselves.
"Would you like me to be honest, or should I lie?" She purred, arching her back against him. Oh this was so much better, so much more fun to be playing their little game than to be be stuck doing whatever James made her do.
"I'll never know if you're telling the truth," he reminded her, putting one hand on her hip, his fingertips brushing against her exposed skin. His other hand was around her waist, holding her close to him.
"Three times, Mr. Holmes..." She practically moaned. "Three times I told him that. But I meant it not a single time. With you though... I mean it. Every syllable."
Sherlock leaned his head down, resting against Irene's hair and closing his eyes. She smelled like violets and leather, a very subtle but intoxicating scent. "I don't believe you."
She chuckled lowly, smirk on her lips as she rubbed against his front. "Believe me, Mr. Holmes... You are single-handedly the most intriguing, the most intoxicating man I have ever met."
Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek but a very small whine escaped his lips as Irene moved against him. 'Think of something else, Sherlock,' he told himself. "I can believe that," He said through his teeth.
She stepped out of him embrace, turning to face him once more. "Tell me, my dear Mr. Holmes... Would you like to play a game?"
"You're going to have to be little more specific than that," he told her. A game with Irene? That could lead to a lot of problems for him, and a lot of fun depending on how it was played.
"It goes like this..." Her hand wrapped around his wrist, pressing against his pulse point. "Your heart rate elevates when uncomfortable. For each time you make me uncomfortable, I answer anything you want. Lie-free. The same thing for you."
Sherlock did feel his heat rate increase but he quickly gained control over himself. He could play this game. "And every time you make me uncomfortable?" He asked, taking her wrist in his hand and finding her pulse.
"You answer whatever my question is." She purred, moving closer to him and letting her lips move nearer his ear.
Ah, there was the danger. Sherlock steeled himself, keeping his breathing even and his eyes on her. "Deal," he said, managing a smile. "Let's play."

"Would you.... Like to go first?" She breathed, letting her body go closer to his.
"I would," he said, keeping his back to the wall. Now he had to figure out what to use on her. Nothing sexual would work. No, you had to go deeper than that. "You should know, what I said before about how you don't matter..." He locked eyes with her. "That was a lie. You, Irene Adler, matter."
She blinked quickly, heart racing just a little bit faster. "Are you a virgin, Mr. Holmes?" Oh, there was hope he didn't notice it, didn't notice the slight dilation of her pupils and increased beat.
"We both know I am," he told her calmly. That wasn't a secret, not to her anyway. He'd never had much of an interest in most sexual situations. Granted, there were some things.... "Your heart rate increased," he told her to make himself stop thinking before he got too far.
"So, are you going to ask me your lie-free question?" She murmured, moving even closer to him. "Or... Are you just going to try and make me even more uncomfortable?"
Sherlock took a breath as she moved closer, having to work a little harder to keep himself calm. He figured he'd start quietly with something simple. "Actually gay?"
"Not in the slightest.." She admitted, keeping herself calm and focused. "Have you ever ---, thinking about someone or...Something?"
At Irene's question, Sherlock's heart did jump a little. He hadn't expected, well, that. Clearing his throat, Sherlock looked up at the ceiling and took a breath. "Yes," he admitted.
"Hah. You've got to answer this one... No lying. Who was it about, Mr. Holmes? Hmm?" Irene smiled at him, devious look in her eyes.
Sherlock sighed and swallowed again, looking up at the ceiling. "Generally, it's a methodical sort of relief to relieve tension and an instinctual itch." Pausing, Sherlock felt his ears get slightly warm. He could explain a medical and psychological need, but not the emotional need. "And once, perhaps twice, on you."
"This... Does not count." She murmured, feeling her own pulse racing and pounding in her ears. "However... I-I believe it's your turn."
So, she was just as confused by it as he was? That relaxed him slightly. "Ever been in love?" he asked, tilting his head. "Actual love, that makes you do something stupid?"
Her heart beat so fast she thought it might burst. "Y-Yes.... I have, actually. It was wonderful and horrible."
"Who," Sherlock asked, pressing slightly against her wrist. "No lies, remember?" A name. A single name and he might be able to find a whole world.
"A real idiot. He hated me, thought I was horrible and that only made me love him more. Made me so thrilled for there was someone who finally wasn’t boring and a pushover for me just because they like the way I looked.” Irene answered easily, trying to avoid the real question he wanted to know.
“The name… Miss Adler.”

“Sei stato tu." She barely breathed, keeping her eyes on his as she whispered to him in Italian, praying to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t be able to understand her.
Sherlock felt the breath catch in his throat and he froze. He stared down at her, confusion in his eyes and he knew he was forgetting something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. "Are you still in love with me?" Breathing. That was what he'd forgotten. Breathing was boring, this was interesting.
"Not your turn, Mr. Holmes..." She smirked, regaining her composure. "Not. Your. Turn."
She was right and Sherlock straightened himself again, focusing in regulating his breathing. "You're right. Can't ruin the game."
"Does it bother you, that I fell in love with you or do you not care?"
"Define bother," he said, his heart jumping very slightly, considering he was still reeling from the confession. "Consider me curious about it."
"Do you want me to still be in love with you?"
Sherlock paused and mulled the question over. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Does it bother you to know I once --- to you?"
"It flatters me, actually... The Great Sherlock Holmes can -- to little ol' Irene Adler. However... I would like to hear how exactly I helped you." She had to do something to make this moment less serious, less intimate or she’d never leave.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock leaned back against the wall. "It's a very natural bodily reaction to overstimulation, in your particular case, a mild reaction to the physical pain you inflicted."
“Explain..."
Sighing, Sherlock inclined his head towards the abandoned crop. "Physical pain from an intelligent woman creates a reaction in the body."
"Interesting.... Your turn."
Tilting his head slightly he stared her down. "Want to kiss me?"
"More than you'd want to kiss me."
"Is that so, Miss Adler?"
"Do you want me to kiss you?"

Sherlock moved his hand, dropping Irene's wrist. "Not at all," he said, obviously lying to her. He did want to kiss her, press her against the wall and make those visits in his mind palace a reality.
Her hand slid up his arm, tangling in his curls as she let her lips press against his.
Following her lead, Sherlock leaned against her, tangling his arm around her waist, allowing himself to forget the game. He closed his eyes, paying attention to the feel of her mouth against his and her hands on his still tender scalp.
Her hand freed itself from the mess he called hair and rested on his shoulder as she kept her body pressed against his and lips tangling with his.
Sherlock managed to pull away, just a bit, breathing heavy with his lips so close they were almost still touching hers. "Move to the bed?"
She nodded, trying to catch her own breath as her head swam. “Okay, right."
Sherlock managed to move away from the wall, using the time to catch his breath a bit. He laid down, pulling Irene with him onto the rumpled bed so she was in his lap, straddling his hips and pressing The Woman’s body as close to his as possible. Each of the touches gave shocks to the bare skin where brushed, excitement surging through the air as the two tried to remember to breath during the moment they were so close to being one.
Her lips continued their assault on his once more, hands resting on his chest as a quiet moan escaped.
Again, he followed her lead. The kisses weren't empty as they had been with Jeanine, they were full of a sort of longing and passion he hadn't known before. His hands travelled up, holding her by the waist as he moved with her body.
These touches were so much fuller, more meaning was behind them than any she'd given a boyfriend before. Maybe it was due to the face that she loved Sherlock. That this felt so much more intense than anything she'd ever done before to give her that flutter-filled stomach.
Sherlock had no idea what he felt for Irene. But, if kisses were any indication, he loved her. Nothing he'd ever had before had made him feel anywhere close to this. He once again had this ridiculous and stupid physical reaction to the stimulus, as he would describe it. The desire for friction and closeness growing.
While her detective was fighting his own battle with his mind, the dominatrix was losing hers. Reason hissing at her, the tiny voice screaming so loud in her head. You shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t let yourself fall for him again. Oh to Hell with it, she already fell for him years ago. What use would it be to deny the feelings? He was kissing her back, he was letting her touch him and this needed to last longer. She needed to keep her lips with his, her body pressed tight against him. Her tongue, reacting with her body instead of her mind, prodded at his lips in an effort to taste him. See exactly how far he would go with her. How far she’d want him to go.
This was completely wrong and somehow it seemed totally right. Sherlock had memorised every inch of her body when he first saw her. He knew her curves and the way her skin stretched when she moved. Was familiar with the cluster of freckles that formed a shape similar to a clover on the back of her knee. And she knew him just as well.
A small moan escaped his lips, surprising him so much he pulled away and looked up at Irene. "This is very wrong," he said but didn't move his hands from her hips.

The moan she heard torn from his lips surprised her. True, she’d heard moans from several men. But it was something else coming from him. Something completely and utterly different and purely glorious.The fact that she could have him make that noise only made her eyes grow darker with lust. “If it’s so wrong...How come this feels so right?” Irene breathed, not moving except to look at him. “Say you want to stop and I will. Say you don’t want this and we’ll forget the whole thing.”
Sherlock leaned into her touch. He needed this. He needed someone there to reassure him, to remind him he wasn't alone, to allow him to be human. And that's what Irene did for him. It was just a lucky coincidence that he liked her as well, or at least he tried to tell himself. Perhaps it was the fact that this was the only woman who didn’t act like he was a freak. Or how Molly seemed to think he was an angel. Irene understood him, understood how much he wasn’t like the others and she encouraged it. Loved that odd side of him even. "I won't have sex with you," he told her bluntly. "But...stay."

“Mr. Holmes… Do you even know me at all?” She queried, amusement thick in her voice. “Sex with you would be a horrible mistake. It’d leave me quite vulnerable and I’m quite certain you would find it…” She laughed softly, shaking her locks. “Not entirely beneficial towards you. You might not like the things you say if we did.”

It would be a horrible mistake for either of them to make a move. They were better as occasional friends. No, friend wasn't the right word. They were two people who needed someone there, two rather lonely people. Besides that, Sherlock was afraid that the amount of touching an emotion involved for sex would actually break him at this point. "I'm glad you agree..."

“Besides, you’d never be able to handle me otherwise… I’m far too much for you to ever deal with. I pride myself on that fact, of course. It’s my other talent I have, besides being able to always captivate your attention. But sex with me would never work with you… You’d never make it past the first round. Far too difficult for you to handle. And that’s why James is my kind of man.”
"Are you challenging me?" Sherlock asked, a part of him just wanting to prove her wrong. Sure, he had never had sex, but he had read about it and even asexuals tended to do a sort of body patience when they got the urge. He had enough information stored in his mind about sex that he thought he knew how it worked pretty well. "If I could handle you with the crop I think I could handle you in the bed."
"You can't even handle me with the crop, Mr. Holmes... You wanted to give it back to me, didn't you? You're just scared... Scared that you won't be able to excel in all fields like you normally do."
Mentally he knew what he was doing, physically not so much. Sherlock shifted a bit and hit the inside of his cheek. "Yes, I tried to give it back to you and you refused it. Why was that?"
"I wanted to see how'd you react.. How'd you use. If you wanted to use it on me. Apparently, you didn't. You wouldn't use it on me... Which somewhat proves you'd never be able to handle me."
"Because I didn't hit you I can't handle you?" Sherlock would never admit to being fairly submissive, especially when it came to anything even remotely sexual. On the crime scene or in the lab he could take control because he was in his element and in his head, outside, well, that was a little different. "I have no intentions of physically hurting you, Miss Adler."
"Yes, it was... You see, sex is painful. Very, painful... It shows you how vulnerable you can be. And how you have to accept that you can be vulnerable in front others. But you have to embrace it!"
Sherlock sat up, resting his back against the pillows. "I don't see how that relates to me hitting you. Besides that, sex is your job and it's probably less enjoyable for you at this point in your life."
"You really don't know what my job entails, do you?" Irene laughed, crawling up the bed towards him. "It's not all sex and toys, Mr. Holmes..."
"Your /job/ is to provide a sort of recreational discipline to those who think they deserve it," he said, remembering what Mycroft had told him about Irene. "And sex on occasion if the mood strikes you."
"Not in the slightest... My job...Is to find out what people like. And use it to help me. Sex is... Only used if it benefits me."
Smirking slightly, Sherlock couldn't help himself. "And what have you decided I like," he asked, tilting his head.
"Me." She shrugged, smirking wickedly.
"Don't be so egotistical, dear," he said and rolled his eyes.
"I'm not wrong though, am I?"
Leaning forward, Sherlock brushed Irene's hair behind her ear. "I said stop being egotistical."
She pressed her lips against his ear, speaking each syllable slowly and seductively. "You... Like.... It..."
Sherlock smiled while he knew Irene couldn't see it. "Never said that."
She made her voice drop lower, body against his. "You didn't have to.. I know you better than you know yourself, Mr. Holmes..."
"You think so," he asked, smirking very slightly. "No one knows me that well and you've barely spent anytime with me." It had taken him years to figure himself out and he still didn't know who he was. It seemed insane to him that anyone could see what or who he was. "Tell me, Miss Adler, who am I?"

"You're William Scott Sherlock Holmes, a mad, broken genius who's quite possibly the wisest and most heart-breaking man I ever met."
How she knew his full name was beyond him. The only people who knew that were his parents, Mycroft, and John. "Broken genius? Heart-breaking? And how do you figure that?”
"Because it hurts me seeing you upset, seeing you broken. And don't you dare say you're not because we both know damn well you are."
He was upset, but he couldn't figure out how to properly say that. Emotions were difficult. If he could scientifically map them out then perhaps there would be a chance that he would understand them a little better. "I can handle that," he said, absently rubbing at the crook of his left arm.
Sherlock refused to allow himself to be lost in this moment and actually feel. If he were to acknowledge his feelings he was certain that he would shatter and fall, and he wasn't sure he could get back up once he did. "I've been handling it."
"No, you've been pretending. All you really do is act like nothing bothers you, like nothing upsets you when deep down, you just want it to stop. And actually feel..."
"I don't want to feel," he finally snapped. Caring didn't help, caring didn't solve crimes, caring was a disadvantage. He had cared about Irene, did care about Irene, and now she was curled up in his bed. "And if I think I'm going to feel there's a medicine that takes care of that. Take it, boom, you don't care about anything anymore. It's. That. Simple."
"No, you're scared. There is a difference, Mr. Holmes. You're worried that caring will bring you nothing but sadness and loss because that's all it's brought you. But, Sherlock..." Her hand stopped it movement, curling and cupping at the nape of his neck. "I'm going to tell you something, hmm? I am completely and utterly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you."
Sherlock felt his chest tighten and his breathing slow. How was he supposed to handle this? Having his loneliness pointed out to him was almost more than he could handle. And having someone point out that they were in love with him...he took a shuddering breath and looked away. "Stop."

"I wish I could, Mr. Holmes... God knows I wish I could stop loving you. Because than I wouldn't have to feel this ache in my heart everytime that I see you being an idiot because you ignore how you feel. Because you don't even want to feel! Never mind the fact that I've just admitted I love you and you tell me to stop because you don't want me too."
"Because I don't want to love you," he said through his teeth. He cared, but what did that mean? What did caring mean? What was love? How did it work? What did it even really feel like? Sherlock brushed back his hair, feeling like he was on the edge of something, something like crying perhaps. "I'm not high enough for this," he mumbled to himself.
Her hand whipped out, slapping him. "Don't you dare, Mr. Holmes! Don't... You... Dare! You will not get high, am I understood, Mr. Holmes because you are far too special, far too precious for you to ever poison yourself like that... Please, for me..."
Sherlock barely even reacted. His cheek was burning but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. If anything, the physical pain was a welcome distraction from him. It gave him enough of a shock that he could ignore most of what he was feeling. "I've been high for the past month and a half. Hasn't seemed to ruin anything. You want to see ruining? You should have seen me when I was twenty. Now that was self destruction at its finest," he said, gauging her reaction. At least they weren't talking about his feelings anymore.
She blinked back tears, stroking his cheek once more after slapping it and she kissed his forehead. "Oh, my broken, darling, beautiful, Sherlock... What have they done to to you? How have they broken you so badly, so horribly that you can't be fixed?"
There were a lot of things that had happened. Between attempting to fit in at school and trying to talk to people he had been subjected to more than his fair share of rejection and public humiliation. So he had stopped trying, and stopped giving people any sort of attention. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock winced slightly and pulled away, despite how desperate he was for some sort of contact and someone to tell him it was alright. "I'm hardly broken," he mumbled.
"Oh, my Sherlock... My beautiful, beautiful, Sherlock... I am so sorry." She nestled into him, holding him tight and stroking his hair. "Shh, it's OK, you're okay, my darling detective. You're all right and you're safe. I'm here, I'm not going to leave you, never again and I promise, that no matter what, I will make sure that no one ever has the chance to break you."
He was okay. He was okay. Sherlock kept repeating that to himself. Allowing himself a moment he leaned against Irene, unsure how they got to this point. He had broken her and she had broken him and now they seemed to be picking up the pieces. Sherlock shook slightly but he didn't cry. Not yet anyway. He just shook against her, trying to calm himself down.
"Shhh..." Irene whispered, letting tears drop slowly down her face and disappear into his hair as she kept holding him, stroking those curls and trying her best to make sure he know exactly how much she cared, how much she wanted to just kill anyone who was in his way and make him see just how special he was to her.
Taking a deep breath Sherlock calmed himself enough to speak. "I really don't like myself," he admitted in a quiet and shaky voice. The problem was that other people could get away from him, give themselves a break from his sarcasm and overthinking. But he was stuck with himself and sometimes it was hell.
"Lucky for you, I love you, Sherlock... Every part of you. Even the parts you can't stand. Because you're so special, Sherlock... You're the only consulting detective, right? You're the only who beat me. Bet James.. Beat Magnussen... You're so strong, Mr. Holmes... So strong But you just have to trust that for once... Someone likes you, loves you, just for being who you are... Flaws and all, Mr. Holmes."
Someone cared. Sometimes that was hard to believe. Everyone left eventually. Or at least it seemed like that, anyway. "John left," he mumbled into Irene's neck. He had been the first person to stay, the first to really believe in him and the first person to take his side. And John had left him, broken and alone and Sherlock didn't know how to handle it.
"I'm not John..." She whispered, closing her eyes and keeping herself pressed with him. "I'm not John, nor will I ever be John... I care about you, Sherlock. Hell, I stuck with you after you practically let me be killed... What does that say about how much I care... Because I do, I always have... Remember my password? I've cared since before we even met. I will not leave you, I swear to God, I will not leave you."

"I loved you once," Sherlock said, taking in her scent. "And you played me." He could remember. He had cared about her and she had been two steps ahead of him. Everything he did had been almost exactly what she had wanted, exactly what she had planned. He had loved her and cared more than he could have understood, and then she had hurt him. "But now you're here and I can't tell if it's a plan and I'm not sure if I care."
"I never played you... I just was ashamed. Ashamed to have lost to you. Especially in front of your brother... Me, Irene Adler, caught being in love with Sherlock Holmes and losing because of it. I... I wanted you to see me as someone that was equal to you, someone that was as strong and unbreakable as you...But when you stopped that image I created, when you shattered the veil I put up... I had to say something to make you think I was worthy." Inside she was glowing, being told he loved her?
This was far too much for her to handle right now, far too odd for her to believe that he could love her. He couldn't, he just couldn't because while he was perfect to her, perfect in her eyes, but she was not able to be loved, never. And he said he loved her. What if this was his ploy, break her and kill her when she was down.
But... The thought, the idea he could love her, was far too more favorable of her. Far too precious that she could just toss that notion aside. And she loved him. Even if this was a play, a game to him, she loved him. And she never stopped, never would.
If this was an act then Sherlock would be very good at it. Holding onto Irene he let himself go a bit, allowing the tears that had been forming behind his eyes to slip down his cheeks. Honestly, crying was stupid and pointless and didn't do anything except give him a headache afterward. But, he couldn't help himself now. He leaned against Irene and let himself cry, releasing the emotions he had done so well to conceal over the past few months.
Irene was important to him, god only knows why, but she was. She meant something. She had challenged him and they had fought against each other, but they had saved each other as well. He had saved her from getting killed and she, well, she was saving him from himself. From doing something he would ultimately regret. She was taking care of him like no one else had.
Not even his own brother had taken care of him and John was wrapped up in his own life, learning to be a husband and everything. Everyone had something else to do, except Sherlock and Irene. They seemed to be the ones left behind, the ones that people thought could take care of themselves and didn't need any comfort. They were the ones who were so alone that they had to be together, lest they fall victim to themselves. Or, that was how it seemed to Sherlock.
The fact that he was crying, the fact that there were actual tears leaking from his eyes made her heart swell. Not from the knowledge that this would annoy him later, dealing with a trifling and unnecessary act of human nature but more so the fact that he cared about her enough to cry, to be able to feel something towards her that wasn't anger or disgust but something good.
"I suppose we were doomed to be together in the end... The two loners that never got to happy while everyone around them did. Only to remember that they could have a chance.. If one wasn't an arsehole and the other wasn't afraid of showing how they felt... Sherlock, my beautiful, Sherlock... I'm sorry it had to happen like this... I'd have preferred you to be happier, to be... Not so broken. Because you're impossible to not love no matter what the circumstances are. And I swear it, no matter what or where or who's present, I will never let them break you."
She was right. He was never going to be the one people would actually want to end up with. Molly might have a crush on him, but she liked the idea of him. Being with him would kill her, she wouldn't be able to handle him at his best or his worst. He vaguely wondered what would happen if she saw him break down like this? He was supposed to be the one who wasn't bothered by things, the one who didn't care. Instead he was openly crying and annoyed with himself for that, but not able to quit.
"Perhaps we don't deserve to be happy." After all, happiness in intelligent people was one of the rarest things. Hadn't someone he actually liked said that? Yes, Hemingway. Hemingway had taught him that much. Sherlock swallowed and tried to laugh but it came out a bit choked and hoarse. "A bit late to save me, don't you think?"
"A wise person once told me that the only time you're only too late to be saved, is when you've given up on yourself and being saved." Irene shot back, not letting him give up on himself. "You are a man, Sherlock, a human. And all humans feel this way. All feel helpless and broken at times but the only way you can stop that feeling is when you find someone that you let help put you back together. I want to help you, Sherlock... You're the only one I'd trust to help me.. Only one I'd want to help me. I'm going to keep telling you this, Sherlock.. I love you. And as long as you're safe, I will always be happy..."

Sherlock pulled back and stared at her for a moment, as though just seeing her, as if he had forgotten she was really there for a second. He blinked and reached up, rubbing at his eyes. God, this was embarrassing. To fall apart so completely like this was weak and ridiculous.
"Normally if I blink enough times or focus you go away," he muttered. Normally, though, Irene was just in his head and wasn't in the real world. She was also normally a lot more naked. That was really the only reason he'd known immediately that he wasn't dreaming when she showed up in his bed. "I'm not like most people. Emotions like this..." Mycroft would lecture some sense into him had he been there.
"I know you're not... But you /are/ human." She took his hand in her, guiding it to rest on her heart. "You have a heart, Mr. Holmes... You just like to cage it away. Do you feel mine, beating inside me?" Irene's other hand, the one not pressing his against her chest rested on his heart, feeling it beat.
"It's the same rhythm as yours. Same speed, same muscles moving... It's perfectly in time. You're a human just like I am and that means you feel at times. I don't judge you, Sherlock, because it's natural. It shows that you're not a machine or a freak or whatever else you've been called. You're human. You bleed, you crash, you break down... But you always get back up. You've always done that... That's what makes you so special. Because you never give up. So don't give up now, Mr. Holmes... Not on me."
Closing his eyes he listened to her heartbeat for a moment and let it echo in time with his own heart, pounding in his ears. It wasn't just being human, they were alive. Both of them were alive and there was no logical reason for that, not really. They should have died. She should have been executed and he should have stayed dead after he jumped. Sherlock swallowed. "I never give up on anything," he said, sounding a little more like his old self. "Did you really come tonight thinking you were going to say goodbye? Were you really planning on giving up?"
“Yes, I was…” She admitted, eyes looking down as she bit her lip. “But now that it’s quite apparent that you’re going to be quite upset with me if I do, I won’t. Mainly because you deserve to be happy, you deserve to have someone that understands you. That gets what you’re going through… That-And /I/ need you, Mr. Holmes. I need you quite possibly more than I can ever comprehend.” Her voice was shaking, head nuzzling into his chest and she gulped in quivering breaths. “I just don’t want anyone to hurt us, Sherlock…”
Was his happiness really that important? Sherlock tried to think of a time when he was happy, really and truly happy. He remembered running around London with John, trying to figure Irene out, being completely unable to read her, and finding her sleeping in his bed. She was forever a mystery and he wouldn't change her, but was that what made him happy? He wasn't sure. God, he hated not knowing and he hated trying to sort out his emotions like this. Not quite sure what to say he said the only honest thing he could think of. "I look a mess, I need a shower."
“You look perfect, Sherlock… Not a mess.” She shrugged, stroking his hair and wiping away a smudge of tears that collected near his jawline. “Of course, the fact I love you might blur my vision of your appearance. It does sometimes for some people… Though, you do smell somewhat foul so that idea does sound like a good idea. I’ll stay here while you do that?”
He was almost certain that his curls were matted and that his face was red and patchy. Of course, he was also aware of the fact that he did smell a bit. "That is the lovely smell of being on the streets. Junkies don't understand how showers work." He managed a small smile and put his feet on the floor. "You'll be here when I'm done?"

“The only other option would before me to join you, Mr. Holmes… And as I said before, you wouldn’t handle that. And you don’t want me to join either. But yes, I will always be here when you’re done. I will always be here whenever you need me, even if you don’t think you need me, I will always be here for you.” Irene’s lips pressed against his forehead. “OK?”
How did she know what he wanted? Sherlock almost started to argue, but he seemed to realise she was right. He wouldn't be able to handle her in the shower with him. Besides, he needed a bit of time to sort himself out before returning to her. With a small nod, Sherlock stood up. "Right then. Don't...don't touch anything while I'm in there. I'll notice." That wasn't exactly what he had meant to say, but that was all that came out.
“Come now, not anything? Surely I’m allowed to touch myself… The bed, the blankets and pillows and the shirt of yours that I’m still wearing? Or would you prefer me naked once more? It would seem fitting, though, to be a bit uneasy in unfamiliar clothes.” It was purely a jest, merely a bit of fun for the Dominatrix but she somewhat meant it. The fact that she was in unfamiliar surroundings was cracking her open more than she thought.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he muttered as he pulled clothes out of his closet. "Just...stay where you are..." Irene wasn't something he would ever be able to understand or control, and he was okay with that. Sometimes it was alright not to have control and to, instead, hand that power over to someone else. Stepping into his bathroom he turned the water on, steaming up the room, and quickly undressed. The water was hot as he stepped in, letting it rain down over his body and wash away the filth and poor decisions. He could practically feel himself relaxing.
Sometimes, there was nothing as therapeutic as a nice hot shower. Groaning a bit, he washed off his body, rubbing at his sore muscles. Sleeping in chairs on the floor had done little for his back. This wasn't a healthy person. His curls were covered in dust and sweat and he washed until he could evenly get his fingers through them. If not for Irene waiting in his bedroom he might have stayed in the shower for the rest of the night. It made his body feel normal again, less shaky and less like something was crawling over him. He also knew that it would be about ten hour before he started feeling sick, when the drugs had worked their way out of his system and his body had to adjust to not having them.
But that was at least ten hours away, he would be able to handle that. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. Finally, feeling like a new man, he turned off the water. His skin was light pink from the heat and tingled slightly when he dried off. Slipping into fresh clothes Sherlock was a bit surprised at how much this one simple task had managed to change him. He'd gone from a crying, pathetic, junkie into someone who might actually pass as civilized. Stepping back into the room, his hair dripping onto the hardwood floor, Sherlock even managed a normal smirk. "Better?"
Irene laughed at his words, smiling as she rolled over to where he had been moments before and inhaled the scent he left behind on the bed. It was intoxicating as he was, a scent all his own that she just couldn’t name yet wanted to bottle up all the same.
This was amazing, completely something from a dream. And she couldn’t help but feel that this would end up horrible for her. Something, or someone, would end up tearing them apart and hurting one or both of them. And she’d blame herself for anything.
Far too short was his shower, bringing that perfect man that had captured every piece of her in front of her; smirking and making her breath catch, heart flutter and mind go fuzzy. His smirk was beautiful, his skin bright and utterly perfect as she stood up, moving to stand in front of him and moving a curl out of the way so that it didn’t hang in his face.
“Much better, Mr. Holmes..” Irene breathed, eyes raking over him and going glassy from pure delight. All thought of danger fleeing her mind as she resisted the urge that every single fiber of her being that wanted to pull him to her, kiss him and just never let him go.
"Well, I certainly feel less like a street kid," he said and ran a hand through his wet hair. Normally he kept himself almost obsessively clean, but drugs tended to have an effect on one's hygiene habits. He arched his back, popping it several times before heading over to his bed.
Had Irene not showed up then he would have been still drowning himself in depression and self pity. That's not to say he didn't still feel an aching longing for what his life had been and he didn't still feel like he was at the bottom of his life, but she had filled a small part of that hole. She had made him move from the sofa and had made him actually speak to someone.

It was surprisingly comforting and oddly helpful. She was, without a doubt, his heroin. She could make him feel high and just boarded on dangerous so that it was enough to keep him going back. His eyes flickered up, watching Irene through his lashes for a moment. "It wouldn't be the same," he explained to an unasked question. He did want to kiss her, and he was certain she wanted to kiss him, but he knew it wouldn't feel right. "It only works when we're fighting. It's anger that fuels all the kisses you know from me. We love the misery. Right now, enjoying each other, I doubt very seriously that it would be the same."
She just looked him over, not saying anything but just taking him all in. There was nothing appearance-wise about him that she didn't know. That she couldn't pick out of a million photos. And yet there was always something, something about him that she could never figure out. And she loved it, loved the intrigue. Loved teasing him and having her detective think that she knew everything about him, knew more than even he did. And it was so much fun. "Well knowing our history, Mr. Holmes, it's quite possible that sooner rather than later that we will once again start fighting. Though, I do believe it'll be you who starts the fight. And just a little hint... Anger-fueled touches are nothing compared to ones out of pure love. Not, of course, that I know much bout love."
Sherlock was completely useless when it came to love. He could spot it in other people and he could see when people did things out of pure love, but if it was staring him in the face he would never, ever see it. Scoffing slightly, Sherlock raised his head to look at her properly now. "I don't start fights," he said with a small smile. If they weren't arguing about something then it was certain that something was wrong. "I only finish them. You should know that by now. As for love...that's a chemical reaction caused by endorphins being released as a reaction to pheromones and touches on certain nerves. It's all scientific." Oh, he could explain the science behind 'love' but, well, he couldn't explain his love.
"That's pure bullshit." She crossed her arms."Merely an explanation for something that cannot be explained. Love is not a science, nor is it something one can ever hope to understand. It is a feeling, a feeling that you only get when you can never imagine a life without the other person. When they make you better and make you whole.When a world without them is impossible because they are your world. They are the reason that you are keeping your head balanced and keep you sane. While at the same time, making your head spin and driving you wild. That's why those touches, those moments are the best."
"That's science and it rationally explains all of those feelings," he told her, copying her stance. Although, her reasoning did make some sense. But science was what he had to explain everything to him and make the world make sense in his own mind. He just wasn't wired to think any other way.
"Yes, that's very poetic and all, but it's still just chemicals. They affect your brain and make you want to please the other person and do stupid things. You care more about their happiness than you do your own. It's completely stupid and pointless to care like that." But hadn't that been exactly what he'd done for John? He'd let John go to be happy with Mary, despite what it did to his own life.
"So you don't care for anyone?" She murmured, moving closer to him and stroking his cheek. "You care, Mr. Holmes... You just don't want to. You don't want to care because it'll make you feel as though it'll make you weak. When it really makes you so much stronger." She bit her lip and kissed him softly, stroking his cheek as she kept her lips pressed with his
Sherlock closed his eyes slightly. "Caring is not an advantage," he reminded her. Caring did make him weak. When he cared he realised he was alone and when he went down that road it ended poorly. Enjoying the moment of silence he leaned into the kiss, keeping his eyes closed and letting his hand wander down to Irene's bare knee. It was a distraction. She was a brilliant distraction.

he bit his lip as her fingers threaded into his hair. She needed to forget, forget everything that happened to the two of them and just focus on this, on him and the way he kissed her and the fact that he was kissing her! He was touching her, actually touching her! And it was beautiful... And she was kissing him still, stroking his cheek and keeping her body against his.
A very quiet whine escaped him as Irene's fingers found his hair. God, he would never, ever admit it, but having someone pet his hair was one of the most calming things he could imagine. Very slowly, as though not wanting to at all, he pulled away and stared up at her. "Have you ever seen someone go through withdrawal," he asked, hoping she really would stay but wanting her to know what she was getting into. "I won't be this pretty in eight hours."
She nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes... I have." Irene stroked his hair. "I've also had to deal with my own withdrawals. I was bulimic for several years." Irene laughed softly, guiding his head into the crook of her neck. "You'll always be beautiful to me... Even with withdrawal. Now come... Show me where your stash is, hmm? I'm going to help you get clean..."
Sherlock hesitated. He needed that stash, just in case. What if something went wrong? What if he started to feel something? Then again, he could always get more. The question was, though, did he even want to get clean? Did he want to swim in the misery. "You believed in the social construct of beauty, very interesting," he mumbled, leaning against her.
"No... Mr. Holmes, you are beautiful because you're mine..." She murmured, stepping out of his embrace. "Now, Sherlock... Where is your stash?" Her arms crossed, eyes narrowing at him. "Or will I have to force it out off you?"
Blinking, Sherlock stared at her, shocked at the sudden lack of touch and comfort. Now she was being completely serious and he wasn't sure how to handle that. So, he just did what he normally did. "Oh, and how do you plan to do that?"
She smirked, moving behind him and letting her arm rove over his shoulder, dipping down his chest. "Mr. Holmes...You know better than to test me... I'm quite a force to be reckoned with."
"You're threatening to take my drugs away, forgive me if I'm a little hesitant to let go of something like that," he told her, looking up. "Being clean is...difficult."
"Yes but before you didn't have me to help you.. This time, you do. Now..." Her lips pressed against his neck. "Why don't you tell me where your stash is so we can get started on helping you? And than... We can move on to other things."
Sherlock leaned against her and sighed. She would help him and he knew that, but it still seemed hard and he knew how painful it would get. "I...forgot," he muttered, wincing at how pathetic that sounded even to him.
"Now, now... Don't lie to me, Mr. Holmes. We both know that you rarely forget anything. Now do I have to tear this place apart or will you stop trying to pull one over on me?" Irene purred, pulling his head to hers and letting their foreheads press against each other. "I'm here for you, Sherlock... I'm going to be here for you no matter what."
God only knew what she would find if she actually searched his house. Pouting like a child, Sherlock moved off his bed and went to his dresser. For a moment he stood there before sliding the mirror aside and revealing a small hiding spot. He pulled out three small bags, each containing about the same amount of white powder and threw them on the bed. "Syringes are in the kitchen cupboard. Would you like my spoons and lighters as well?"
"Yes, yes I would." She smirked, gaze softening as she collected the bags off the bed. "I'll be giving you five minutes, Mr. Holmes, to grab all of your drugs and put them on the bed while I go flush these. Understood?" She pecked his cheek, quickly moving to the bathroom, dumping the powder down before flushing it and going back to him. "So, I will be going to change out of your shirt... And when I come back, you will have all of it, right?"

Was he that obvious. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. "Whatever," he said, unable to think of anything truly witty to say. Annoyed, Sherlock headed into the kitchen. It wasn't that he was annoyed with himself or Irene, but rather at the situation he'd gotten himself into.
Moving aside ceiling tiles, ripping apart a sewn up part of the couch, and digging through the fridge he gathered up all of his drugs and took the box of syringes out of the kitchen, dumping his lighters in it before returning to the bedroom. He threw the things on the bed and crossed his arms, "This is ridiculous. I paid a lot of money for these. Except one. Think I was broke then. And no power on this earth will get that story into the open."
"I'll reimburse you." She scowled, looking at him from his chair, leggings peaking out from under his purple shirt. "Mr. Holmes... Money has nothing compared to your health, nothing to your brains.. Now, why don't you do something good for yourself and eat." She stood slowly, striding over to the box, grabbing it and pulling her shoulders back. "I will be back in ten minutes, you will be sitting down, eating and not using anything you're not supposed to, understood?"
"Yes, mum," he mumbled, matching her scowl. This was exactly what he needed and he knew that, he knew that he needed to get clean to do his job, but that didn't mean it was what he wanted. What he wanted was to just feel good, all the time, and not worry about thinking. The kitchen was mostly empty, Sherlock didn't think about food so much, but he managed to find some biscuits that Mrs. Hudson had put on the counter that morning. Sitting on the table he looked it over before taking a very small bite. Wincing slightly as he realised that every bit of his medicine was gone.
She came back eight minutes later, leggings missing from under the shirt as she cocked her head, looking at him. "Now, Mr. Holmes... Why don't you come join me in your bedroom while we go get rid of anything else that might distract you... Besides me, of course." She laughed, stroking his cheek before moving to his bedroom and laying down on the bed, her left leg bent at the knee and crossing over her right knee.
Sherlock abandoned his pathetic attempt at eating. After all, there was something more interesting in the other room/ Following behind her, Sherlock managed a small smile as he looked her over. She looked, well, she looked nice. But then, that was part of her job. "Have something in mind," he asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"Yes, yes I do..." She purred, shirt riding up as she turned, looking at him, looking at her Sherlock. "Now... Why don't you come closer to me, so I can see just how nice you look right now.. Before I decide to get to work on getting you clean..."
"Get to work? I worry about what that entails," he said, moving a little closer to her. He didn't miss the way the shirt shifted with her body, showing him parts of Irene he knew incredibly well, parts that were forever in his mind.
"Yes, as well as you should be..." She teased, foot rubbing over his thigh. "I'm a very worrying person, Mr. Holmes... As you probably should know by now, hmm?" Her lips spread into a wide smirk, eyes glimmering with a mischief level that never had been in her eyes before. "Or have you not been paying attention to me again?"
Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling his skin go warm under her touch. 'Focus, Sherlock,' he told himself, mentally hitting himself. "I'm well aware of how worrying you can be. Which is why I worry about how you plan to get to work." He smiled slightly and moved completely on the bed, resting beside her. "Believe me, I pay attention."
She smiled softly, fingers tracing over his features as she laughed. "Now, now, Mr. Holmes... For the first step, you need to find something to replace that high of yours. It's got to be something new. Or it won't work."
"I like bees," Sherlock said without thinking. "Could always start a bee farm. Study bees..." Somehow, that just didn't seem right at all. Shifting slightly, Sherlock tried to figure out a way to make that sounds...better. "Bees are interesting."
She laughed, kissing him. "You want to study bees? That is by far the most adorable thing I've heard you say yet.. And I love it. But no... That's not right, is it?"
A small blush crossed over Sherlock's cheeks and he found himself staring blankly at a spot on the wall to avoid looking at Irene. "No, maybe not. I don't know. I don't want to /do/ anything."
"Are you going to avoid looking at me now? That's rather rude, Mr. Holmes...After all, I'm just trying to help." Irene purred, sex practically oozing from her words. "Or don't you want my help? Say the word and I'll go...."
Sherlock took a breath and looked down at his hands, unsure how to answer her. There were no drugs left and nothing to turn to, she was all he had left at this point. "I'm...very unsure of myself, currently, if you must know."
"You've no reason to be, Mr. Holmes.. You've done soo good without the drugs, you don't need them... OK"
"Right," he mumbled, honestly feeling like a good shot would make everything alright at this point.
She cocked an eyebrow, looking at him with a frown. "Mr.Holmes, are you telling me that you'd prefer a high to my company right now?" Irene's lip stuck out, a perfect pout taking place. "Because if you are... I'd be more than happy to leave you with a blasted snort if you'd rather destroy yourself."
Sherlock paused and looked up at her. "There's absolutely no comparing a high to you. It's comparing apples and oranges. Both have their own..." He sighed and brushed back his hair.
"We each have our own what?" She mused, hard eyes becoming softer as she relaxed. "You know, you really should stop messing up the hair I just fixed... It's almost as though you /want/ me keep touching you." Irene laughed softly, fixing the curls. "Not that I mind of course..."

“Have your own pros and cons," he mumbled and moved into her touch, all but putting his head directly in her hand. "I can't say I mind either. It's far better than when you were pulling at it."
"Tell me, Sherlock..." She kept stroking his hair, letting a lazy smile play on her lips. "What do you think my pros are?" It was nice, just staying here and not having to run every minute to keep herself alive. "I mean, obviously I have to have at least four to keep your attention for so long.."
Four pros. Sherlock closed his eyes and thought for a moment, trying to come up with four decent things. "One," he said and moved his head against her hand again, indicating he liked that. "Two, you're wickedly clever. Three, you're not completely and utterly repulsed by me, four..." He paused for a beat, "you stayed."
"And my cons?" She couldn't help but let the flush that crept on her cheeks at his words, pride at his thinking she was clever. But it nearly broke her, the way he seemed to think that he was repulsive. Her hand kept smoothing his curls, keeping him close for her. "And I will always stay for you, Mr. Holmes... Always."
Sherlock closed his eyes, resting against Irene's shoulder and giving her the easiest access he could to his hair. "You're stubborn, headstrong, obviously there's something wrong with you if you want to be here, and for some reason you like me."
“Isn’t there something wrong with everyone?” She murmured, kissing the top of his head. It was nice, this after care of comfort. Warm, familiar… Every part of her, from the crown to the toe enjoyed it. “And I love you, Mr. Holmes, there’s a very large distance between like and love. James likes you, John loves you. Donovan likes you, Mrs. Hudson loves you.. Understand?”
It took a few seconds for these words to sink in. Love. It wasn't something Sherlock understood and he certainly never expected anyone to love him. How could they? He was arrogant, rude, and wasn't exactly a good person. "No, Donovan hates me," he finally said. "And John has moved on."
"You can never stop loving someone, Mr. Holmes... All you can do is pause it for a little while." Irene quirked a little smile at him. "And Donovan likes you.. So does Lestrade and Molly. You're very important to them, just like they're important to you."
"Donovan is not important to me," he told her, frowning. She was partly responsible for planting doubt in Lestrade's mind. Not that it was really her fault, she was fairly stupid. "And what's the point of reminding me that we all care for each other?"
"I just want you to know I'm not the only one here that loves you.." She breathed. "That you matter to more than you think. And that you will always have someone that loves you, someone that will do anything for you... Even if it's not me."
Sherlock nodded slightly and closed his eyes, listening to Irene's even breaths. "They really shouldn't. I'm completely untrustworthy and people shouldn't even like being around me. God knows I hate being with me."
"Well than obviously we need to help you enjoy yourself." She tapped his chest. "Understood?"
"Uh huh, and what's your suggestions because, really, the drugs seem to take care of that all on there own," he told her.
"Hmm... Me?" She purred, stroking his cheek. "Think you'll consider me to be a replacement for your high?"

Sherlock looked up at her and raised his brow, smiling slightly. "You know that sexual intercourse has little to no meaning to me, correct? To replace something like that with..." He shook his head. "Just be here right now."
"Who said anything about sexual intercourse, Mr. Holmes?" She laughed deeply. "You're the only person here who keeps bringing that up... It's like you want it but you don't want it.... So you just talk about it."
Looking away, Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He had just assumed...but he shouldn't have assumed, not with Irene. Irene was a mystery and to assume with her was a good way to find yourself falling on your face. "Then what are you suggesting, Miss Adler?"
"Oh... I'm sure I know several way to replace a high for you. Ways that do /not/ destroy the genius you were born with." Irene purred. "I can distract you enough in order to get you clean before you even realize you're no longer high."
Letting his fingers relax and uncurl from her shirt Sherlock leaned back and looked her over. Damn. It might help if he could read her just a little better...or at all, really. "You've sparked my curiosity," he finally said, his eyes momentarily lingering on the abandoned crop before returning to Irene.
She laughed into his neck, lips pressing along his jaw. "Do you want me to try showing you how my job works? How I can make so many people scream for me?"
Sherlock lifted his chin, giving her easier access to his neck. He wasn't fighting against her advances, he was letting her take control of the situation. "I...yes..." he finally said, closing his eyes.
She sat up, leaving his side and leaving his touch as she quickly undid the shirt she wore, /his/ shirt as she strode over the crop, picking it up and letting her fingers stroke the handle wrap. "You know what my favorite part of my job is, Sherlock? It's hearing people cry out for me, cry out for mercy and finally get what they want.."

Shifting as she left his bed, Sherlock watched her walk, hips swinging and a wicked grin on her face. It was nerve wracking. His heart seemed to skip a beat when she picked up the crop and it took him a moment to realise he was excited. Physical stimulation would block out the emotional pain. His mouth felt too dry for speaking. "What...should I do," he managed to ask.
Irene Adler "You're not allowed to do anything unless I say so. What you like, what you need, is contact. Physical contact with another whom you feel for. Who you never want to leave you." her smile grew darker, more predatory but her eyes betrayed her, showing a hint of a softness. She didn't wanted to break him /too/ much. "Understood?"
So, he couldn't do anything? Sherlock wondered vaguely if that included speaking, but decided against asking based on not wanting to look like an idiot here. He looked up to her, her eyes gentle despite her coy smile and dominant stance. Slowly, he nodded very slightly. "Makes sense, I suppose."
The whip sliced through the air, landing on the inside of his left thigh. "I didn't say to speak, Mr. Holmes... Did I?" She purred, moving around him. "No, I didn't. So I suggest you don't speak unless I say so."

Sherlock hissed, shocked by how quick she was, and drew up his leg out of reflex. His skin felt electrified for a moment before the pain settled into a dull throbbing that he was fairly certain he could deal with. Looking back to Irene he tried to non verbally communicate that he understood, wanting desperately to ask what happened next.
"Now... Tell me how that felt, hmm?"
Taking a moment to collect himself, Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on the burning in his leg for a moment. "It stung," he explained hesitantly, embarrassed for reasons he couldn't explain. "But it doesn't hurt so much now...it feels alright..."
She whipped the other thigh, tsk'ing at him. "Now, now, Mr. Holmes... I don't believe that I told you to close your eyes. You are to do no more than what I tell you too."
Hissing again, Sherlock stared up at her, his teeth gritted and biting back several nasty phrases. What could he do? Just lie there? He wondered if he could hold the bedding or the headboard, but couldn't quite figure out how to ask. In the end he just stared up at Irene, looking lost.
"Oh don't look at me like that..." She purred. "You look so attractive with that and I would rather prefer to strike you without that look.."
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock adjusted himself slightly to stare at the ceiling. God, he wasn't used to staying quiet. He was used to being loud and arrogant. Well, the arrogance was gone. "That's just how I look," he said, unable to control himself.
"We don't have to do this, Mr. Holmes... You can chose whether to hold the crop or to be at it's mercy. The best thing for you right now... Is to be comfortable if we're going to get you clean. And are you comfortable at this end?"

Heat flooded his face and Sherlock looked away again. "I don't... like holding it as much," he admitted. It was too much responsibility for his liking.
"Are you comfortable being at my mercy?" She prompted. "Do you like my ability to whip you whenever I see fit?"
"...I..." He wasn't sure how to answer that question. He was...he just didn't want to say it out loud. "Do what you want."
"No, no... You're not getting away with it that easily...You were going to say something. What was it?" Irene knelt between his legs, watching him with a curious gaze.
Sherlock took a breath and looked over at her, tilting his head slightly. "Thought I wasn't supposed to really even be speaking."
"That's not what you were gonna say, Mr. Holmes..." She let her hand rest on his thigh, stroking it. "Now if you want to get clean, you have to be honest with me..."
She really wasn't going to let this go, was she? Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes slightly. "The physical pain from you blocks out some of the other pain...from not having drugs."
"Oh?" She smiled, continuing the stroking. "My, my, Mister Holmes.. I'm touched how you consider me painful... And rather a bit amused. Am I painful or pleasuring?"
"A little of both," he told her, squirming slightly. "Is it really important?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Fine...anything else you need to know?"
"Yes. Yes there is." She was enjoying this, smile curling on her lips. "What else?"
"What do you mean what else? What else is there to say?"
"Why did you want to lie to me, Mr. Holmes? I thought we got past all that."
Again, Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "It seemed easier."
"You didn't think that maybe I wouldn't figure it out?" She purred. "I know you, Sherlock, better than you know yourself."
"I was hoping..." he mumbled half into the pillow. "I know you do...won't happen again...maybe.."
She laughed, leaning over him and kissing the mess of curls. "I'll call you out on the bullshit you try to pull on me than..."
Sherlock leaned into her, taking the kindness while it was there. "Oh, I know you will. That's why I keep you around."
She pulled him into a hug, keeping herself in his embrace. "Is that the only reason that you're keeping me around, hmm?"
"It's one of them," he said, resting his head against her shoulder again and lingering for far too long. "You're being kind and that's odd."
She kept her body against his, smiling and pressing into him. "Well, I mean, I can go back to not being kind for you..."
She felt ridiculously cool to him, but maybe that was just because his own body felt warm. "Whatever you want," he mumbled again, running a hand along her spine.
She shivered softly, pressing into him again. "Mr. Holmes..What are you planning?"
"To eventually succumb to the throws of withdrawal and for now pretend like it doesn't exist at all and wait to see what you're planning."
"Oh you're never going to figure that out without me telling you..." She teased, smile on her lips before tapping his nose. "And you're going to have to work for that."
Sherlock smiled for a moment before pulling away from her, resting back on the bed. "Not planning a thing, just distracting myself from moment to moment...that was easier with drugs."
"Well... You want to play a game?" She teased, fingers roving over his jawline. "It's a bit different from the other game... But, it will be quite a lot of fun."
Oh, Irene and her games. Sherlock licked his lips and thought for a few seconds. This would either end poorly or amazingly. "Alright, what kind of game?"

"Well it shall not be Cluedo because you have no regard for the rules on that game... And while our last game did take a rather nice unexpected turn, well, I doubt you'd like to repeat that, hmm?" Irene's lips curled into a predatory smile. "This game... Is called Mirror."
"Mirror," Sherlock repeated, pulling himself under into a so slightly more dignified sitting position, keeping an eye on her crop hand. "And what are the rules to this one?"
She remained on her back, smiling up at him. "How do you think it works?"
Sherlock shook his head. It wasn't like he knew how any of Irene's games actually worked. "Why don't you explain it to me?"
"Mirror is a very simple game, Mr. Holmes... It requires two people to stare at each other for a length of of time and find their flaws in the other."
That sounded like it might hurt. "And this is supposed to somehow distract me from everything?"
"Yes. Because this time... We shan't be focusing on each other.You're going to use that wonderful brain of yours and find the flaws in James."
Sherlock raised his brow, looking down at her. "That could be interesting."
"Of course it will be. I thought of it."
“And what will you be doing?"
“I'll be watching and having my fun."
"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that."
"I have to, do I?"
Sherlock hesitated for a moment. "I suppose not.""Good boy." She teased, smiling curling wickedly on her lips.
"Suppose I'll find out one way or another."
“Shall we begin?" Irene purred, sitting on her heels and letting her eyes form a mischievous gleam as her lips curled into a cheshire cat smile.
This would fun, oh yes.. But for who?
That was a worrying smile, but it was far too late to back out not. Sherlock sat up a little straighter and nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Shall we begin?" She purred, blinking slowly and looking at him through her lashes.“Let's go."
"Now... Close your eyes, Mr. Holmes..." After a moment of hesitation, Sherlock closed his eyes. "Alright..."
”James. Focus on him. Can you picture him?"Sherlock had Moriarty memorised, down to the last detail. "Clearly..."
"OK... Now focus on him. Completely... Zoom in on every section of him. And try to find a flaw."This was what Sherlock was good at, remembering and thinking. He mentally walked around Moriarty. "He's short.”
"How would that help you?"
"You just asked for flaws."
"It's only a flaw if you can use it to take them down. Otherwise, it's just an observation."
"It's an intimidation thing..."
"Ah but would James be intimidated by a man who's taller?"
Sherlock took a breath, looking over his mental Moriarty again. "He doesn't care for anyone."
"How would you abuse that part?"
"It means he's alone. Get him alone and no one can save him."
"And how would you get him alone?"
"I don't quite know yet...He's obsessive."
"Obsessive with what?"
"With me."
"Why is he obsessed with you?"
"Why are you?"
"I'm not... I'm merely intrigued."
"Why are you intrigued?"
"Because you interest me."
"I must also interest him."
“We're rather different people, Mr. Holmes..."
“You and him? Quite different. You're intrigued by me as a person, he's intrigued by me as a mind."
"Good." She smiled, stroking his cheek. "Now... Why don't you try and figure out how you can beat him?"
Sighing slightly, Sherlock struggled to search his mind for something, anything that might beat Moriarty. But...it wasn't easy. "It's a little more complicated than that..."
"Why's that?"
"He's not an easy person to just take down...He doesn't seem to die."
"Does he have to die?"
"It's the only real solution. He would run a prison system. ...Why are we doing this?"
”"Because in three hours you're going to start your withdrawl."
"And?”
“It will distract you."
"True...also makes me feel a bit stupid."
"I think your ego can handle it."
Sherlock practically whined and put his head on Irene's shoulder.
She stroked his hair, knowing he liked it. "Unless you know another way?"
"Mmmm," Sherlock mumbled, leaning closer into her touch. "Whatever."
She laughed softly, pressing her lips against his temple. "Tell me, Mr. Holmes..."
His body was starting to reject the world, but he wasn't quite to the point of sickness yet. He just felt, well, out of place in his body. "Just...whatever."
"Come now... It's me, Mr. Holmes. No one else…”
"But...I don't know," he mumbled into her shoulder.
"Shh...." She whispered, stroking his curls. "I don't judge you... You know that."
She didn't judge him. she really didn't, and he knew that and somehow that made him feel all the worse for just not knowing. Not knowing how to beat Moriarty, not knowing what he wanted, not knowing what he needed, just not knowing anything right then. "I feel like an idiot."
"You're only an idiot, Mr. Holmes, if you try and do this by yourself. But you're /not/ You're doing this with me... Me. And I will be here with you for every step of the way. Every. Single. Step." She breathed, nuzzling his neck. "Okay?”
That was oddly relaxing, knowing that she would be there for him through the whole process. Of course, he didn't think he would hold it against her if she left when it got to be too much. "I can...say some pretty nasty things when I'm at a certain point of withdrawal."
"Yes but I can say such things back to you." She purred. "Because I know you love me... And I love you and anything you say will not hurt me because I know how your mind works."
"If you're certain," he mumbled and yawned slightly. "I'm not going to be able sleep...want to lie down?"
"Only if you lie down too, hmm?"
"I think I would like that."
"Deal." She kissed him softly. "Now calm down..."
Nodding, Sherlock laid down, curling his legs up to his chest in a position he found oddly comfortable.
She curled up behind him, her arm resting on top of his.
"...You'll really stay?"
"Of course..." She whispered, nuzzling his neck. "I'll always stay with you."
Sherlock uncurled himself slightly and curled instead into Irene. "Thank you..."
"Of course..." She smiled softly, stroking his cheek. "I told you, Mr. Holmes.... I'd help you no matter what."
"Good...." He closed his eyes, putting his ear against her chest as she held him close to her.