Hello everyone, I really hope you'll like my story.
The three following chapters will lead you through two years of Irene's and Sherlock's unsual life.
The first chapter ist post 'Scandal in Belgravia' and the third will be post 'Reichenbach' as well.
Please enjoy!
Yours, Magonile

The Woman of Primrose Cottage

to Isabella - as usual

1. The Pledge

„You know this isn't just fun or another of your adventures. "

"I do."

"You know that you'll have to change your life. No escapades anymore, no 'I knew what he liked'-stuff anymore."

"I know."

She raised her head. They had lain down on the small bed in their small hotel room with air as thick as wool. Sherlock wasn't looking at her. He was following the tiny fractures above them in the ceiling. She knew he actually wasn't interested at all, but these were the first lines they had spoken since her rescue. She looked at him tiredly. It was silent.

She still had blood on her face. Thick blood that had turned dark red, almost black.

"You have blood on your forehead, Irene."

"I know, Sherlock."

"You need to wash your face." He sat up and left the room to enter the bath "And to colour your hair."

She sat up too and crossed her legs on the blanket.

"Why?"

"I called someone; we're getting you a passport by the morning before we take the ship to Egypt."

"Wait, you really planned this? For me?"
Her voice was high pitched.
She still had no idea what to say or what to think. What it meant that he had come here to save her. He must have had an eye on her during the last weeks. How else could he have found her in the middle of nowhere and saved her life? And finally: Why? He had declared her a fool for her love.

She watched him prepare the hair colour for her. He did not answer until she got up to join him. She gently touched his arm.

"Sherlock?"

He still didn't look at her. He had no answer himself. His glare fell on her face and skin. She looked so fragile without her expensive dresses and her perfect hair. More fragile than the day he had found her sleeping on his bed. The skin beneath her eyes was blue and her mascara was smudgy. It mixed with blood in some places.

She wasn't the same anymore. She was different somehow. Softer – possibly.

"Get yourself a shower." He placed the hair colour set on the tray under the mirror and left the room without looking at her again.

Irene swallowed and closed the door gently. She heard him leave the room and his steps on the floor. Four steps away from the room, four steps back to the door, silence. She then recognised how he turned around and walked away, taking the stairs.

The Bathtub was small and the water wouldn't get colder or hotter no matter how hard she tried. In a sudden burst of ire she smashed the shower head against the wall and a first tear ran down her face.
She hadn't cried in years and now the tears came silently – but only first and it didn't take long until she sobbed and cried out loudly, hoping that he wouldn't return to soon.
She had never felt that weak in her entire life. And she had never felt that real and human.

Sherlock had left the hotel in order to get some fresh air. The evening was much cooler than expected but he was thankful. Yemen was hot and dry.

He still had no idea what he was doing here at all. It had only been two days ago that his contact had called him in the middle of the night and told him where Irene Adler had last been seen. His brain had gone off as he had left Bakerstreet with nothing but a small bag and his passport. He hadn't even told John.
He was afraid of the answer to her questions.

Sherlock took three, four, five deep breaths before he noticed the cigarette seller across the street and inserted some coins to get himself his 'drug'.
He smoked three of them until his throat was sore and he tasted the tobacco in his mouth. A bench nearby looked extremely convenient. Behind it was a small park or garden.

He closed his eyes to listen to the city and the traffic. The hotel was situated next to a crossroad and on the opposite of a large shopping mall. Hundreds of people were entering and leaving the mall and the restaurant next to it. The fountain in the garden next to him gurgled hardly discernible in the traffic jam.

It took him twenty more minutes to arise and leave.
He found her sitting on the ground by the window. She was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was still wet and dripping. When she heard the door she turned around. As she got up she closed the robe to not reveal her breasts. She then recognised how stupid it actually was but she refrained from letting the cotton go.

"Your hair is red." He said, not moving an inch.

"It is. I'm astonished you told me. It's obvious." she grinned coldly "You are still having a hard time to deduce when it comes to me, right?" she crossed her arms in front of her body, taking a step towards him.

She was right. When it came to her, he behaved like a beginner. One deduction at a time, if he was lucky enough. Sherlock looked at her.
She was so beautiful: her skin, her hair, her face. In this very moment he first detected her beauty. Not in general, but for himself. Not as a pattern of right proportions and attraction that would arouse men as usual.

No, he was attracted to her, she was beautiful to him.

"You will catch a cold." He mumbled before he took a towel from the commode and placed it on her hair before he started drying it gently.

Irene looked at him while he was focusing on her hair. He never looked her directly in the eyes but she followed very movement of his.

"Thank you." She said, almost silently "You saved my life." She placed one of her hands over his heart and felt it beading "You came all the way down here just to keep me save. I know we're both not the romantic type of human but - this was the most precious thing that someone has ever done to me." She revealed a smile.

"You're welcome." Was his short and rather cold answer, but she could see that his brain was working - his movements had become slower as he softly knead her curls. He swallowed some air and his glare found her eyes.

Irene lifted her hand to his face before she placed a kiss of his cheek carefully.
"Thank you so much."
He let go of the towel and sank his hands to her arms while she leaned against his shoulder.
He thought about giving in. To kiss her and tell her that he had been an idiot when he judge her for her love. And that – that he was the same kind of idiot, his actions earlier today finally proving it, proving that love made people do strange things.
But he didn't.

She did. She gave in.

When she had blow-dried her hair and put on a night gown, she came to their bed and placed her head on his chest. He had already closed his eyes but his lamp was still shining. She wanted to reach for the switch but when he felt her moving her arm he did it himself, not opening one eye. Instead he placed his right hand on her waist and enjoyed her scent.

"Good night."

The morning came much too early.
Sherlock was the first to wake up. Irene laid by his side, her face turned away from him but still touching him with her back. The sun was shining through the yellow curtains. It was 6.30.
He sat up immediately, trying not to wake her up. He had sleep in his eyes and blinked a few time until his sight became clearer. He spotted his bag on the opposite corner of the room.

Irene personal things, passport, wallet, makeup and clothes had been taken from her. The only things that were left was the burqa she was wearing when he had found her, her mobile phone, black trousers and a white blouse. He had seen her washing them before going to bed last night.

"What time is it?"

"6.30"

"Do we have to leave?"

"Not yet."

He didn't turn around to her - not even when he felt her hand brushing his back for a second. He closed his eyes again, enjoying it, praying to feel it again on his spine. As if she had heard his thoughts she carefully returned her hand and touched him gently.
He'd never admit it though.

The ship left in the late afternoon.
They travelled as Sherlock Holmes and Sarah Hughs. It had been her idea to copy his initials. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and sighed but not objected.
She looked better now: Her hair red and open, sunglasses on her nose and wearing a white dress as they accessed the ship. They had even bought a Louise Vuitton bag for her and a matching suitcase. A woman without luggage would have been too odd. She smiled brightly and almost Irene-like when she entered the cabin, a middle-sized room with only one bed, a table and a cupboard.

"Enjoyed last night a little too much, didn't we?"
She grinned as they stored their few bags in the cupboard and Irene sat seductively down on one of the chairs next to the table licking her lips grinning.

"I booked the cabin when I booked my flight back in London."
Was his dry answer and Irene rolled her eyes before she got up to examine their 'balcony'.
It was possible to leave the cabin through a second door, leading to an open 'path' between the cabins and the ships' rail. The floor was made from wood and the rail was painted in white.

Sun was setting on the horizon and only the ocean was separating her from the bright yellow light in the distance.

"How comes that the ship doesn't look like our hotel room?"
When she turned around she noticed that he had come to stand in the door frame only inches apart.

"It's a cruise liner. Not the Queen Mary 2 but a trip through the Red Sea seems to be a rather nice way to spend a holiday over here. And it still is the cheapest way to come to Egypt. Enjoy this cruise. It will get worse."

"How?"

"Controls on ships are less tight than those on airplanes, especially when you enter the European Union. Irene Adler died in Yemen; Sarah Hughs went to Egypt 32 years ago with her parents and will now return to England."

"Why couldn't we fly to England from Yemen?"

"Because I don't want Sarah Hugh's Identity, which hasn't got any records of anything since yesterday, appear in Yemen the same day Irene Adler died."

She still wasn't satisfied. But she remained silent, watching the sun. She heard him going back into the room, probably emptying their few bags and exploring their room.
Irene stayed outside until sun had set. Only now and then someone else appeared on deck, wandering from one cabin to the other or making their way to the ship's prow. Arabian women mostly or children.

They did not leave for dinner or supper. And they didn't order food.
None of them was hungry. Not for food at least.
So when the lights of the city eventually disappeared behind the horizon and the moon was the only source of light in the sky, Irene took a scarf, wrapped it around her shoulders and followed the path to the prow of the ship sitting down on one of the sun loungers.

Her mind was empty, for once. No annoying thoughts or guesses, or questions that had been bothering her for the last hours without pause. She hadn't seen much of Sherlock since they had left the harbour. He had turned the TV on and off, changed and been to the bathroom. She had never turned around only listened to his motions. She had no Idea how long she had been standing at the railing but it must have been quite a while.

"It's a bit late for a sunbath isn't it?"

There he was, all of a sudden. He stood only a few feet away from her.
He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt. He had opened the upper buttons and she liked it.

"I was trying to... not-think."

"That's not possible."

"Well prove me wrong, Mr Holmes."

"Humans are always thinking. Even when they sleep they think."

"What about meditation?"

"It has been proven that even the brains of Buddhist monks show some partial use when they are meditating."

She stayed silent for a second.

"What is this about?" she asked with a clear voice.

"I have a request."

"What can a humble woman like me do for the great Sherlock Holmes?" She asked playfully, not looking at him but at the endless sea to her left.

She really had no idea what he was going to ask.

"You said something about dinner the last time we met."

"Yes." She answered confused. "I'm sure they gonna make you some if we call the kitchen." She stood up walking towards him.

"Not that kind of dinner." He said with a dry voice, finally staring directly into her eyes.

They slept with each other that night. For the first time.
Undressing one another slowly. Not talking a word. Staring. Touching. Kissing.
She didn't have to do much. He knew exactly how and where to touch her, or kiss her. They fit perfect and for the first time in years, she wasn't violent or commanding.

Just her. And him in a bed. Together and not letting go of each other.
The sun was already rising behind the horizon when they finally fell asleep. He had both his arms wrapped around her waist, his nose in her open and wild hair, eyes closed.
The first ray of sunlight was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed and she slipped into a wonderful dreamless sleep.