re-posted bc of some editing I just couldn't let slide.

He thinks about her everyday. Unfortunately.

Especially on the days when he's bored, (Which seems to be daily,) he's even counted the days which he has been bored on, so far, he seems to be the most bored on Saturdays and Tuesdays. John of course, has always been suspicious of his attachment to Miss Adler. But Sherlock waves it off, if John knew what he really thought, he'd never let him live it down.

He knows he shouldn't but he can't help himself. He often wonders what she's doing, who she's talking to, what she's wearing, what she dreams about. She's one of the very, very few people who had actually surprised him and left him speechless. Partly because he can't deduce her, even in clothing. Sherlock lies on his brown leather couch, staring at his phone that has her name lit up, highlighted in blue, ready for him to press the button. Should he? He wouldn't exactly call her a friend, she was more or so an ally he had just happened to have helped.

Irene Adler. The Woman.

Even thinking about her name sent a surge of anticipation and a bit of sadness through him. She was a fresh breath of air. She was dangerous and pathetic and ridiculous, yes, and utterly brilliant and amazing all at the same time, she was bold enough to trick him. Sherlock hated to admit it, but he actually missed The Woman. He hated being weak, especially for something as simple and wickedly sentimental as an emotion. He sighed deeply and pressed the name, the screen switched and had options for what he wanted to text her or call her.

Good morning, Mr Holmes. - IA.

For some reason, Sherlock was surprised that she had texted first, perhaps she was thinking about him too.

Good morning to you Miss Adler, what did you do all day? - SH.

Irene smiled, almost like a teenaged girl talking to her first crush and texted back.

Nothing much, just made a small project with a important man. What about you, Mr Holmes? I'm sure your days are far more interesting. - IA

Sherlock couldn't argue with that, a small impressed grin tugged on the corner of his lips and he replied back.

They are, Me and John have been searching for a case. Well, he has anyway. None of the one's he's suggested have captured my interest. - SH.

Irene almost wished she was right there with the consulting detective, almost. They hadn't talked in so long, and she didn't have a chance to thank him.

And what captures your interest, Mr Holmes? - IA

Sherlock thought about that question, obviously cases that were challenging and full of action that got him and John's blood pumping. But knowing Irene, she almost always had double-meaning to her words. He humored her, or atleast he thought he was merely humor.

You. - SH.

Irene's for once, bare lips parted at the simple, yet hugely effecting word. She definitely didn't expect that, usually Sherlock wouldn't respond to her coy nature. Irene cleared her throat for a moment, glancing out her wide window and out to the sunny, hot Californian air. She was beginning to like being in America, California had interesting foods and sights to see that was way different from the places she's already been, Irene estimated she would stay here for about a couple months, perhaps a year, but she would always get homesick. Turning her attention back to her phone, typing her answer.

Me? Now's not the time for silly jokes, Mr Holmes. - IA

Sherlock could almost laugh, for once, he was not playing any sort of game with Miss Adler.

No games. I'm sure you're aware of my feelings for you. - SH.

Irene felt confused, Sherlock had feelings?

The great Sherlock Holmes has feelings? I thought you assumed feelings were too sentimental, too weak. I hardly doubt I'm a prime reason. - IA

Sherlock stood up from the couch and took a deep breath at her words before answering.

I'm capable of love, I am a bloody human after all. I already know how you feel about me, so what are we going to do about it? - SH.

Irene's lips smirked as she stood, wrapping her blue silken robe around herself, typing away her truthful answer.

The game is on, Mr Holmes. - IA.

Sherlock saw her reply pop up right before his eyes, he couldn't but smirk himself, closing his phone. The game was never going to be over, Irene was just another player in the east wind that was coming.

That was the very last time he was ever going to speak to her, he's knows of course he shouldn't even have her on text alert. She's in temporary danger just texting him. Sherlock opened back up his phone and saw the alert:

1 new message.

He deleted the message and her number without hesitation. Of course he felt the guilt wash over him the second he did it, but he couldn't risk anything happening to her. Though, he hates the idea, Irene Adler has made her spot known on his list of pressure points. And most likely will be there forever, along with:

Morphine

Redbeard

John Watson

Mycroft

Mrs. Hudson

Mary Watson

Mrs. And Mr. Holmes

Molly Hooper

Sherlock had debated putting dear Molly Hooper on the list, but Molly was a 'special' case. If Magnussen had read the rest of his pressure points, there's no doubt he would target her first, Molly could say whatever she wanted but she was no match for someone or something as dangerous as either Moriarty or Magnussen. She was too delicate and far too mousy, despite the major change he's seen in her these past couple of days, and that was something Sherlock couldn't afford.

Sherlock slowly closed his eyes, and went to his Mindpalace.

He went up the dark wooden stairs, Redbeard waiting for him at the bottom of the steps with his tongue out and tail wagging happily. Sherlock arrived at a door, it opened as if expecting the arrival. And there stood Irene, manifested just as he remembered her, her navy blue eyes casted up at the consulting detective with a light in her and her lips turned up in a wide smile.

Sherlock gazed at the woman for a moment, feeling his heart swell with the amount of time he was wasting. He wrapped his arm around her lithe waist and leaned in to press his lips upon hers. It was a very close, but no kiss.

And all too soon, her soft lips were gone from his. Sherlock opened his icy blue and green eyes slowly, slightly dazed from her heavenly intoxicating scent and presence. Irene sauntered over to her open window, Sherlock noticed it was close to midnight, what could she possibly be doing? Irene sat on the edge of her window, glancing back for a split minute at the city of London, then back at the detective with her (now signature) smirk spread on her lips.

"Catch me if you can, Mr Holmes." She had said in a sultry but playful voice, then she fell backwards and out the window and into the night. Sherlock knew she wasn't hurt or had actually fallen. He went over to the window to look out where she could have possibly fallen, but seeing nothing.

"Clever girl." Sherlock muttered to himself with a smirk of his own just as the wind started to pick up, he looked out over his version of London.

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