He's fought with Dr. Watson again. Irene Adler thought as she observed the faint traces of barely controlled anger behind his eyes. His dark green eyes; they only change to that color when he's angry.
He comes to get over it. He works through all the anger and frustration. And Irene was only too happy to help. She knew he was imagining she was Watson every time they were together.
He never stays the night. Staying would mean he was human.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Holmes?" She asked, feigning naïveness.
She knew why he was here. He just wanted to penetrate her and filled her and then leave her. But acting naïve delayed it and allowed her to savor it, to pretend that he was there because he wanted her. Not because he was avoiding a fight with Watson, the one he loved.
But Sherlock was having none of it. "You know."
So she let him have his way with her. She watched how his eyes closed in order to envision Watson better. She let herself fall into the moment and be whisked away by the fact that Sherlock Holmes was in her.
Then he was gone. She remained motionless on the bed as she heard the rustle of him putting on his clothes. She remained motionless as she heard him open the door and leave.
It killed her. Not the fact that he used her, but the fact that he was leaving her to be with Watson. No matter how much they fought -which was a good amount considering how much he came- Sherlock always went back to him. Irene knew that they loved each other because, despite how angry they got with each other, they never physically fought each other. They were afraid of hurting the one they loved.
It killed Irene Adler that not only did Sherlock love, but he was loved back.
And she wasn't.