Keeping myself occupied. iPod shuffle oneshots it is!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
Song: Toxic- Britney Spears (DON'T JUDGE ME)
Irene Adler left the stage once more to roaring applause, smiling. Her eyes were bright, energetic, excited. Her brown hair cascaded down her back as she pulled the pins out, her mind racing as she made her way back to her dressing room. Another tour ending, coincidentally in her brilliant London.
London. That's where he lived- the one man of many she actually cared for, the one she outsmarted every time they crossed paths. She loved it; the thrill of the games they set up to outsmart each other was near intoxicating. It was an irresistible pull towards him, towards showing him up, towards being the one to triumph over the other.
"Miss Adler?" One of the stagehands knocked on her door. "Miss Adler, you have a visitor. Shall I let him in?"
She sighed exasperatedly. Most of the male visitors she received after a performance were far too forward for her liking. "Who is it?"
"He says his name is Holmes, ma'am."
Irene's head snapped towards the door. "Yes, yes, let him in." She stood, brushing off her robe, facing the door.
The door swung open towards her, admitting the stagehand and him- Sherlock Holmes. The stagehand nodded to Irene before closing the door, leaving the two clever minds alone. She noticed with a hint of surprise that he was carrying a rose, which he then held out to her.
"Hello, Irene." Sherlock looked decent for once, no burns, dirt, ashes… It was strange. "I was impressed. You've outdone yourself again."
She accepted the rose, inhaling its sweet scent before placing it on the vanity. "Thank you." Her eyes searched his face for any sign of a trick approaching.
The tension in the room increased, the air seeming to be sucked out of the room quickly. The smell of the rose, Sherlock's cologne, Irene's perfume… it all combined in an overwhelming, powerful, intoxicating scent.
"I should let you get dressed." Sherlock shifted his weight onto his other leg, nodding to Irene as he turned to leave.
"Eight o'clock at the Grand?"
"Of course."
-o-o-o-
Of course the two wouldn't make it there, Irene mused later that night as they laid together in her hotel room, wrapped in each other's arms.
It wasn't healthy, the way they were around each other.
It was a toxic love.
I'm just waiting for Buenos Aires to come up. I have a good idea for that one.