"I thought you had abandoned me to my death," Irene said breathlessly, as they stole away into the night.
"I had considered it," Sherlock replied, eyes scanning the desert. The shouts of the Arabs had died away hours ago, but there was still a threat, and Sherlock was not interested in being caught off guard. "There!" he said, pointing. Hidden in the darkness was a small jet plane.
"Yours?" Irene glanced at him.
"A client who owed me a favor. Come on."
A large, red-faced man known as McMurdo stood by the passenger entrance. "Any trouble, Mr. Holmes?"
"Quite a bit. How silent can your plane be?"
"Very. Get in."
The door shut as soon as they were through. "Is this safe?" Irene asked worriedly. "Won't they see us in the air?"
"Doubtful. The night is pitch black, and they'll likely be looking on the ground. Sit."
"All this for me?" she asked coyly, looking around the lavish interior of the plane. A bottle of champagne sat cooling next to leather seats. Sherlock snorted.
"Hardly. Mr. McMurdo is a private air pilot for very well-connected diplomats. He agreed to take the night off for me."
"How generous of him." She sat, legs crossed, regal as a queen, for all that she had nearly been executed.
"Yes." Sherlock leaned against the wall, studying her.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Ireland. Your assistant is waiting there with all your money and portable belongings, along with several disguises. Then McMurdo will take you to America."
"I've already tried running," she said. "What makes you think that this time it'll be different?"
"This time you'll be dead. And since I'm the one setting it up, this time it'll hold." They stared each other down for a few minutes, until at last she looked away.
"America's a very big place," she remarked.
"I recommend Seattle. I hear they have a very large BDSM scene. Or perhaps Austin. They have a very intimate one. Considering what you do, I would say that large is better over intimate."
"You're probably right." She leveled a gaze at him. "Why did you save me?"
"There are too many stupid people in the world." He offered no other explanation.
She stood up and walked towards him. "Well, if I am never going to see you again…." She ran her hand down the length of his chest. "We may as well make the most of it."
Sherlock watched her eyes dilate once more and her breath rate increase. He caught her hand before it could go lower. "No."
"Oh come now, Sherlock. There's nothing at stake anymore. I would gain nothing by fooling you."
"That isn't the point," he replied, dropping her hand and walking past her.
She turned and silently assessed him for a moment. "Then what is?"
"I never wanted that from you in the first place." He sat down and mimicked her pose from earlier. "I got what I wanted. I mastered your mind. Mastering your body would serve me no purpose."
"Some would say there is a great purpose in such things. I believe there is." She cocked a curious eyebrow at him. "Why are you immune?"
"I am not immune!" he snapped, emotions getting the better of him for a moment. He took a deep breath. "I simply do not need the distraction. I have more important things to do.
"Your work?" she scoffed. "You don't have mysteries to solve all the time. You must have something to do in between. Like me."
He rolled his eyes and looked away. "You think you were the only one playing a game? Like I said, I never wanted that from you."
"Oh." She smiled. "I see. So why don't you just take it from him?"
"Him?" Sherlock looked up sharply. "Him who?"
"You know. Your better half. John Watson."
Sherlock swallowed. "What makes you think I want that from him?"
She laughed. "I looked up your history, Sherlock. Never, in the thirty-five years of your life, have you had a friend. Clearly it means something."
"He's just a colleague. I bounce ideas off him, and he lowers my rent."
"Please." She smirked. "It's obvious there's more than that. Why don't you just tell him?"
Sherlock muttered something under his breath.
"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that?"
He stood abruptly and started pacing. "As John has stated numerous times, to you and others, we are not a couple."
"But you've never stated it," she observed.
"I—" Sherlock stopped. He stared into space.
"Sherlock?"
He looked around at her, as if from a dream. "You should probably get some sleep," he said, distractedly. "There's a bed in that side room there. You'll have a lot of planning to do in the next forty-eight hours."
She opened her mouth, as if to protest further, but closed it, seeming to think better of it. "Very well, Sherlock."
She walked slowly into the adjacent room, pausing to look back at Sherlock. He had sat down again, chin on fist, gazing out the window. She shut the door.