disclaimer: I do not own any of the character or the show; BBC Sherlock as they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Steven Moffat.
Sherlock sighs deeply as he closes his eyes, relishing the pleasant blankness the darkness brings. He had planned to let her go so that her protection was still intact. But when she mentioned the name, he instantly flashes back to the incidents that occurred in the previous year. The numerous people Moriarty would've killed even before the cabbie incident as well as the terror in the voices of the five people that were used to hide the criminal mastermind's identity. The image of John strapped to a parka that was covered in a multitude of tiny bombs flashes past in his mind's eye. He remembers the terror and fear that sprouted from the twisted hate towards Moriarty as soon as he saw his best friend looking scared and helpless even after he carried John to their bedroom at Baker Street and wondered about the caller that saved their lives. But Sherlock was no idiot. He knew from the moment she walked into the room that she was interested in him and the probability that she was the caller increased. He had planned to let her go as well as to help her in anyway possible. Which is why he knew that Moriarty was the one that gave the information to her and that he'll disrupt Mycroft's plans, he still translated the meaning of the text to her, to not only see Mycroft run around with his tail between his legs to clean up the mess he made, but to also repay the debt. But even though she saved his and John's lives, it is no excuse to still work with Moriarty. He opens his eyes. He made his decision. He knows what he has to do.
"No." He spoke. His voice loud and deep.
"Excuse me?" Irene asked, her tone harsh but with an edge of softness.
"I said no." He practically jumped to his feet from the sofa as he approached the dark haired dominatrix, " Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much." He scrutinised her under his softened gaze.
"No such thing as too much." Irene smiled, and Sherlock noticed the dilation of her pupils.
"Oh enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment," and that was your mistake , Sherlock thought." Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."
"Sentiment? What are you talking about?" fear clouded her eyes for a moment, and as fast they appeared, they disappeared as fast. Clever, very clever. Sherlock thought, no wonder she's called 'The Woman.'
"You." He whispered
"Oh dear God, look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you?" She grinned but the fear flittered through her eyes once more and Sherlock looked down on the dark haired woman. "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes? The clever detective in the funny hat?" who ever said that sentiment was related to attraction?
"No." He frowned as his fingers slip onto her inner wrist. "Because I took your pulse." He breathed into her ear, "and I waited, your pupils dilated." He reaches behind her for the device and walk to the middle of the room.
He glances towards Mycroft. What the hell are you doing? His eyes said as Sherlock just travelled his gaze back to Irene.
"I imagine John thinks that love is a mystery to me. But the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive." He smiled sickeningly sweet at her as held the phone by the tips of his finger. "When we first met, you said that disguises were always a self portrait, how true it is, the code to your safe your measurements." He flipped the phone in the air once. "But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart and it should never rule your head." Hurt, fear flashed through the tortured eyes as the dark haired Woman no longer hid her true feelings behind the cold mask. A twinge of pain went through the consulting detective's heart, but he strengthened his resolve. Four beeps rang through the room as he pressed the numbers. "Could have chosen any number and walked away with everything you worked for. But you just couldn't resist it could you? I always considered love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof. " He looked down to the hand that grabbed his arm. It felt warm, but instead of the familiar comfort that John's warmth provided, it sent a shiver of raw betrayal and tortured coldness through his spine.
"Whatever I said, it wasn't real. I was just playing the game." She choked on the last sentence. An image of John's anxious face at the pool flashed through his mind.
"I know, and this is just losing." I twisted by wrist so that I can show her the screen. Her face instantly turned pale as she froze. Another high beep rang the room.
"There you are brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I might have caused you tonight." He kept his eyes locked on Irene, gauging her alarmed reaction as he passed the phone over to Mycroft. His face lit up with satisfaction as he stretched out an arm.
"I'm certain they will." He looked down on the screen, his fingers flittering through the buttons.
"If you feel any kind, lock her up." I turned around as I spoke out loud. "I doubt she'll last six months without her protection." It's the least I can do right now. He thought.
"Are you expecting me to beg?!" She yelled. Automatically, his body froze to the spot. She sounded...desperate...
"Yes." The crackle of the fire matches the irregular beating of his heart.
"Please." He whirled around to face the woman. Shadows accentuated the high cheekbones and through her slouched shoulders as well as the strain in her voice, she was scared. Like when John was at the pool. "You're right. I wouldn't even last six months."
"Sorry about dinner." He grabbed the doorknob and walked out of the room. Sherlock Holmes has come across various types of admirers from both genders but for the first time, his heart felt heavy with guilt as he walked out of the building and on the streets of busy London.
The End.