She'd been lying low ever since the incident in Karachi, but she needed to get back to London now.
Sherlock Holmes had been shot and very nearly died; she had to make sure he was alright, for the sake of their strange connection both of them had felt right from the start.
It was nothing like the sentiment ordinary people called love, and yet it ran far deeper than anyone would suspect. She was attracted to his brains, just like he was attracted to hers; it had always been a challenge between the two of them, and that was exactly what made it all the more interesting.
On her way to the hospital she stopped at a florist's, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she picked a single red rose. As likely as not he would never agree to have dinner with her, and that was half the reason why she kept asking him.
"My offer still stands," she whispered in his ear, placing the rose on the bedside table.
Then she slipped out of the room and vanished into the night.