A word.
A whisper.
That was really all she needed.
But to hide in plain sight. Now that, that was a gift. And it was one that he was quite talented at. And so, in time, she would be, too. He would teach her.
He made a lot of promises over those few, albeit short visits. From the moment he saved her, until the moment he found her a new place to live. John never knew. Mycroft never knew. No one suspected a thing. That's what made it so utterly brilliant.
To hide in plain sight is both a gift and a fright.
The worries of being caught. The exhilaration of knowing you could be. The ease of slipping into crowds, of slipping into a new life. The ache of missing the adventure, and not to mention the money and class. Irene missed it all.
And most of all, she missed the status. Being on top. Both literally and figuratively. She lived for it. Ached for it every day. But it was never coming back. She could never go back.
So there was just this. And perhaps one day he would admit that he loved her. It's what kept her going. What kept her on her toes. What kept her from running and running and never looking back. London was her home. Why should she have to leave? After all, Moriarty would never, ever look for her there. She would run, he told himself.