She knew he would find her.
Perhaps she was taking a bit of a risk, not fleeing as far and fast as she could without looking back. But she liked risk. Risk was the true spice of life, not variety. And she knew that he knew this, too. He knew she would wait for him.
Besides, she wanted to properly say goodbye. She did like that man, very, very much. It was such a shame that it would have to be quick. She wondered briefly, and not for the first time, if Sherlock Holmes would enjoy being on the receiving end of her former job. The thought brought a wicked little grin to her face. She was still convinced that she could make that man beg for mercy, no matter what he said…Pity they'd never had dinner.
The little alleyway was dank, dark, and filthy. She heard something dripping close by and far off sirens, as well as men in the distance shouting in Urdu as they still looked for her. Long ago, she had had the power over those men and many others, but things had changed. Of course, it was only a matter of time before she would be able to hold all the cards again – after all, there were new scandals every day and she could most certainly contribute in her way. Of course, she would have to be careful, and it was his fault that she had to be, but…she had been surprised to find that she really didn't resent him for that. That was the thing with games, as well as risk. There was always a chance of losing, and she knew it. That was what made it so exciting.
Also, he had just saved her life. He hadn't had to come, but come he had. He had saved her, the damsel in distress. Maybe even his damsel in distress. John Watson had competition. The thought made her laugh silently.
Irene thought back to the time when she had first beaten Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes had retaliated, and had beaten her in return. And he had not only beaten her, he had wiped her off the board entirely. She had won a battle, and he the war.
She then heard his footsteps entering the alleyway, just as she knew she would. She peered out from behind the dumpster cautiously, just in case she was wrong and it was someone else.
It was him. Irene stepped out from her hiding place and approached the tall, lean figure as he approached her. His face, now uncovered, was utterly unreadable, but Irene wasn't fooled. She smiled.
"I could say thank you," she said softly, "but I'm not going to."
The distance between the consulting detective and the former dominatrix now closed, Irene reached up, laced her fingers behind the man's neck, and pulled him down, pressing her lips against his, hard. After a couple moments Irene pulled away, releasing Sherlock's neck and letting her hands slide away, but not before she ran a finger down one of those deliciously sharp cheekbones. Sherlock stared at her, eyes slightly lidded, saying nothing. He hadn't protested to the kiss in any way, nor did he step back now that Irene had released him. Irene returned his stare. A silent communication passed between them, words that they would never say out loud to one another, words that they would never admit to. And that was okay.
"Goodbye, Ms. Adler," Sherlock said, once the moment had passed.
"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." Irene gave him one last devilish smile, then stepped back, turned, and walked away, the deepening shadows of the alley swallowing her.
Sherlock had won the war. But Irene had won another, a different one. Perhaps it would be going too far to say that she had gotten Sherlock Holmes to love her. But she had gotten past those supposedly impenetrable defenses in ways no one else had. That in itself was a victory.
In a way, she had come out on top after all.