"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."
-S. Holmes (Sherlock, 2012)
For a woman such as me, love was an overused word. It was a trivial, unimportant thing. Although I use it all the time, to fool my clients, I know that I am no longer capable of such weakness. Such idiocy and dependence to the heart, it was way above me. I am Irene Adler. I am known as The Woman. The great dominatrix who could make the toughest knees collapse. I am a dangerous mixture of cunning wit and sensuality. I know that. I know that I am a strong opponent in any game I choose to play. But apparently, someone was a million light years better than me. And when I thought love was no longer a thing for me, I found its true meaning, in the worst way possible. I have played around people's hearts and minds far too much and enjoyed it. It must be karma, falling in love with Sherlock Holmes. It must have been my punishment.
Those cold, calculating eyes that could see every detail and deduce its meaning, it didn't even miss the one thing I had the strongest intent of hiding. He was right. He is a High-Functioning Sociopath. A sociopath, still. Maybe he really is incapable of love and intimacy and here I thought i got through him. Maybe. Maybe not.
"I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated."
That's what he said that night. That's how he knew that I had feelings for him. Physical reactions that I could never control no matter what. But I saw it too. His pupils also dilated. His heartbeat and breathing, quickened. Sudden breakout of sweat in the forehead. I saw those too. Those were his physical reactions to our contact. So what does that imply? Was it just lust? Or was it love?
Ah, there it is again, Love. He said he always assumed that love was a dangerous disadvantage. I was his final proof. A strong opponent defeated because of sentiment, of love. But he had fun too. I know I gave him a good game maybe even more so. Maybe I taught him the one thing he thought he could never learn. Again, maybe.
And so here I am, in a terrorist camp. To be beheaded for all the things that I did. To be honest, this is fair punishment. All the things that made me quite memorable to him are stored inside my head and here they are planning to cut it off my body. Now I realise how far I've fallen. For him. Even when I am about to be executed, my brain could only think of him. When they asked me for a final request before I die, I immediately asked for my phone.
"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."
There, at least he'll know what happened to me. Knowing that man, maybe he already predicted or rather deduced this. Know I'll be here. Know I'll die today. Know I'll still send him a message. Know I'll lose hope. Know I've accepted dying. Know that even now, I still long to have dinner with him. But that was impossible now. He already rejected my invitations. How funny. I really do love him. And he won't be here to see me go. How painful.
"Uhhhhh."
"When I say run, run."
Ahhh of course, I was wrong. Since he knew, he would be here. He had that endless flair for the dramatic. He came.
And I ran. Because he said so. I'm not stupid. I love him. But I know that even if he saved me here, I can never go with him. And be with him. So I ran. From Sherlock Holmes.