Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever.

"Leave," she demanded of those who served her. She shouted the same command until she found herself sitting alone for hours, reading the same words over and over until they warped into some sort of sensation that started at the base of her throat. Irene dragged a hand down her face, tears and sadness drenching her hand as she tried to feel some sort of sensation other than sorrow.

For months, Irene followed the story of Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind, on trial against the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Since the beginning, since the break-in of the century, Irene knew the ending would be deadly. She knew Moriarty would settle for nothing less.

When the news of Sherlock's death hit international news, Irene knew that, deep down inside, she wasn't surprised. Moriarty was a deadly force to be reckoned with. She wished Sherlock knew better than to stir the pot known as Moriarty's criminal network. But - alas - he didn't. Apparent by both their suicides, neither knew when to step back. Knowing the facts did not help Irene as it used to. The tears began and didn't end, not even all the willpower she could muster would spare her. Irene read the paper, "suicide by jumping, six story fall."

The thought of it all, knowing the suicide and knowing the text she received a few hours prior to the official time of death did nothing to stop the pain radiating from her chest. See you soon - SH. Of course he wouldn't write anything sentimental. Of course he would not prepare her for a heartache unfamiliar to the woman. Of course.

He was gone.

Irene cried. The woman cried. She noticed the irony for only a few moments before the feeling resembling despair returned and shaked her reality. Irene played with the idea of taking a bath, soaking herself in scalding hot water until she felt a different sensation, until she felt like painting her face and continuing with her life. The thought of continuing her life without the possibility of Sherlock being alive deterred her from any plans she could make. Shaking this feeling - this feeling of sadness - was harder than Irene could have expected.

Irene heard a knock at the door, no doubt her assistant wondering what the plan was for the day. Clients were waiting - plans waiting for Irene to present her finely detailed persona. Irene decided those plans would have to wait as she shouted, almost choked, at the door, "go away!"

The noise at the other side ceased and Irene continued to drown herself in the uncontrollable sensation that washed itself upon her. Her conscious shouted at her how weak she was, how a dominatrix should be stronger than the sobbing woman spilled across her bed. The only remaining thought was about the fact that Sherlock was gone.

He was gone.

Her bedroom door opened and Irene purposely ignored it. Having anyone in her entourage see her like this would prove to be a problem. Over the years, Irene learned that showing any vulnerability to those around her could pose to be an issue.

So why did she let Sherlock in? She could have continued to live her life without him, without the man who challenged her idea of sex and sexuality all at once. Irene once based her ideas of sexuality upon the notion of pleasure - her ability to climax during sex. After meeting Sherlock and falling for his ability to read her personality while she presented her bare body, Irene was unable to separate her notions of pleasure from the natural intelligence Sherlock presented.

Of Course, Moriarty originally made her feel the same way. He held conversations with the woman familiar with sex that made her feel like a flower. The way he talked to her during their initial encounters made her feel like a teenager. He put his hands around her neck shortly after an it challenged her concept of sexuality again. He screamed in her face methods of murdering her when frustrated. He had her former assistant killed when she got in the way.

When she met Sherlock, she felt that similar feeling, those same jitters. However, there were no hands around her neck, no threats, no violence. She felt safe, for once. Irene felt she could possibly live a life without collecting compromising pictures or videos. She felt as if she could possibly deserve it.

And he was gone.

There was no knock at the door this time and her visitor entered. Irene purposely turned away and cleaned her face with the back of her hand. Deep down, Irene knew she needed to get it together. She needed to move on. Life needed to continue.

Her visitor sat on the bed behind her, the weight shifting the mattress significantly. More than her assistant would or anyone on her female entourage. Irene quickly turned around, the muscles in her back not prepared for the sudden movements of Irene standing up and backing away.

For "I told you I was changeable," please select Chapter 2.

For "I told you I would see you soon," please select Chapter 3.