Somewhere in Russia.
A flock of crows flies up into the sky as Mary pulls the trigger. The bullet hits a birch tree on the other side of the river. Forty yards. Bull's eye.
"One," she counts, and aims again. "Two. Three."
A series of gunshots rips through the clear autumn air. Dust and wood splinters form a small cloud around the tree.
"Seventeen. Eighteen." She takes a deep breath, puts another bullet into the cylinder, corrects her posture, fires again.
"Nineteen," she whispers.
"Not bad," the voice of her companion remarks drily behind her. "Poor tree though. It won't make it through the winter now."
Mary snorts and takes a last sad look at her gun. It's an old weapon, a present from a Spanish officer. She won't be allowed to keep it. Carefully she puts it back into the holster while Irene approaches, footsteps whispering on the grass.
"Why nineteen?" Irene asks softly, her lips right next to Mary's ear now. Mary glances up at the Woman's face, that mask of arrogance that hides such a sensitive soul.
"Number of people I killed," she answers.
Irene grimaces scornfully.
"Amateur."
"I'm not an amateur," Mary protests. "Just usually good at avoiding it."
"Avoiding what?"
"Killing people." She blinks, struggling to hold Irene's gaze. "My specialty is to incapacitate, to injure without killing. I know where to aim to effectively immobilise people, to put them out of action for exactly as long as I need – no overly severe injuries, no irreversible damage. Of course the target mostly ends up in hospital, but …" She shrugs. "Can't make an omelette without breaking eggs."
Irene laughs at that.
"Sometimes it goes wrong though," Mary adds in a low voice and looks away.
"Is that why you're quitting?" There's a touch of surprise in the Woman's voice, as if she couldn't believe that Mary Morstan would make such a radical decision out of pure sentiment. "Because you feel sorry for the people you can't save?"
Mary doesn't answer. Even Irene Adler doesn't need to know everything.
"When does your flight leave?" the dominatrix asks after a pause. She shivers a little, pulls her coat tighter around herself against a sudden cool breeze.
"Eight thirty," Mary replies.
For a while none of them says a word. The river rushes, leaves rustle in the wind. The crows come back and claim the trees again, fighting noisily over food and the best places to sit.
As usual, Irene is the one who speaks first.
"I'll miss you, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"Why London?"
"No idea," Mary answers. "I didn't get to choose. They told me if I wanted to retire I should go there. A job in a surgery is waiting for me already, they got me a new passport and rented a flat for me. Everything's prepared."
"That's my Mary." Irene chuckles, shaking her head. "Obeys, does what she's told, lets herself be ordered around."
"You know that's what I like," Mary answers with a smirk.
"Only this time you're not going to follow the rules, are you?" Irene nods into the direction of the tree. "Not if you're still practising." A mischievous grin appears on her face. "Not if you're still keeping my number."
Mary flinches. Damn the dominatrix and her deduction skills. The small notebook and the memory stick, both full of secrets, suddenly feel as if they're burning a hole into Mary's pocket.
"No," she states firmly, and manages to make her voice sound much more confident than she really is. "I've made my decision. Definitely."
She glances at her watch. Time to leave. Daylight is fading already. Before the silence can paralyze them again, she takes a step towards the Woman. They stare at each other. Irene waits. Mary hesitates.
A kiss would be appropriate.
Instead, she puts an arm around Irene and pulls her into a hug.
"I-I loved our … Whatever it was we had," Irene whispers. Her breath is warm on Mary's neck. "Are you sure you have to go?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I have to." With a shaking hand she gently strokes Irene's cheek. "Please … please don't think it's because of you, okay?"
There's no point in trying to hold back the tears while a thousand memories of the past years flicker through Mary's mind. Bad ones, good ones. Things she's going to lose, people she's leaving behind.
"Goodbye," she says eventually, sobbing. Irene's face is expressionless again. Anyone else would think she's made of ice. Mary knows better. It's always a mask.
"I'll miss you, too."