When I say run, run!
Irene smiled to herself at the memory, it had been at least 3 years since her and Sherlocks first and last encounter.
She had enjoyed her time in America at first, of course. She had even took her trusting assistant Kate along, they both settled in a fairly nice mansion on the sunny side of Florida. It had taken some time for Irene to adjust to the change in scenery, even though she had traveled all around the world, London was in her roots.
The usual routine began for a couple of months, Kate leaving for work and only returning on certain nights. Kate asked her why doesn't she continue her dominatirx business, she would be safe enough now that they've gotten in the witness protection scheme.
So she does.
Though she enjoyed her job in being a dominatrix, the men and women had began to bore her to know end.
In fact, life in America had began to bore her. She needed excitement, adventure, something that would get her attention for a prolonged amount of time..
Night had fallen and the last client of the night left the house, this night it was a cute, blonde woman rubbing her bruised neck but feeling euphoria nonetheless at the sated sexual appetite. Irene herself was sated as well, hopping into the shower and washing herself of sweat along with some small marks of blood and traces of her orgasm along with the blondes.
Afterwards she wrapped herself in her blue robe, she had got it inspired by Sherlock's that time when she had snuck into his flat. Drying her long, wavy brown tresses of hair and grabbing her iPod, settling herself down in her queen-sized bed, it had felt empty without Kate in it, or in general. She missed her own bed in Belgravia.
Irene had began to feel more alone that she's ever been. She felt much better while being in London, after she had met John and Sherlock, she felt as if a dark room had lit up and illuminated.
She missed Sherlock, she would have to admit it to herself sooner or later.
She had missed their game.
Even if it had a not-so-happy ending.
Her mind briefly wandered to her conversation with Dr John Watson. The moment when she had faked her death, in other words, pulled a Mr Holmes. She heard in the papers that he had supposedly committed suicide by jumping off the St Bart's Hospital building.
"Tell him you're alive."
Irene shook her head slightly. "He'd come after me."
"He'll come after you if you don't."
"Oh, I believe you.."
Sherlock wouldn't come after her this time, no, it would be dangerous.
The soft sounds of rock music in her ears had made her lids droop slightly, temporarily on its way to curing her insomnia.
Just as she was about to force herself to sleep, a door bell rang. She mentally groaned to herself as the laziness made itself known instantly. She rolled off the bed and onto her bare feet gracefully, taking her expensive blue headphones off her ears and setting them on her bed, deciding to let the music play on its own since she barely cared about the next, and next, and next song that would play on shuffle.
She made herself down the staircase that was much shorter than the one in her Belgravia home. She opened the door, and her naked lips parted.
Sherlock Holmes, panting and staring at her dumfounded as rain poured outside, drenching the detective.
"I assume it's not too late for another client?" He joked, Irene slowly smiled and took his cold hand in her warm one, pulling him inside the house.
That night, Irene already felt as if she was home.