Irene's eyes widened before she regained her composure. She leisurely leaned against the door. "Mr Holmes, what a pleasant surprise. I see you figured out my alias." She smirked.
He got up off the bed calmly and slowly crossed towards her, "It wasn't hard. You really should try to be less...sentimental...Miss Adler. Mrs Holmes and Room 221. If I didn't know better I'd say you were smitten with me."
"I went for exactly would others wouldn't expect. Who would expect the heartless dominatrix to be so sentimental? Perfect disguise. I even got a wedding ring." She held up her left hand with a smirk.
He arched a brow, a glint in his eye, "No matter how hard you try a disguise is always a self portrait." He quoted, "Something you'd like to tell me?"
"Yes. Will you marry me, Mr Holmes?" She asked in a serious manner before bursting out laughing. "Yeah. Right."
Sherlock scoffed, "My thoughts exactly."
She rolled her eyes slightly and walked into the room properly, walking to a plush armchair and sitting down. "You know, most people just text to accept dinner. Not many people fly to a different continent. I admire your enthusiasm." She winked.
He looked down, caught. "I was bored." He replied, desperate for an answer.
"So there's nothing of interest in London? Or even England?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I could ask the same thing of Cairo." He countered. "Texting me to jump on a plane? Someone's desperate, it seems."
She rolled her eyes slightly. "I was stuck at dinner, I was mostly restricted when it came to... distractions. I noticed the ring on my finger, thought I'd text you. Wondered if I'd finally get a reply." She told him.
He took a step forward eyeing her, "A somewhat unimpressive reply, but I'll let you have it." He began, "And don't expect me to reply. It won't happen."
"Oh, but it seems I get something so much better." She countered. "Can I expect a personal appearance everytime I text you?" She asked with a smirk.
"It depends on how bored I am. You got lucky this time." He answered.
"Nice to know that I interest you." She winked at him.
"A trivial distraction to be sure." He retorted.
She clutched at her chest in a dramatic fashion. "Ouch. I'm wounded." She joked with a small pout.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Honestly." He paused a moment, "So what are you doing here?" He asked quickly.
"I had a client. Plus there's some... business I had to attend to here." She said vaguely. "What are you doing here?" She asked with a smirk.
He narrowed his eyes, "Stop it."
"Stop what?" She asked, feigning innocence.
"Don't play coy, it doesn't work." He said darkly, taking another step towards her.
"Oh, honey. I don't do coy." She said, standing up almost challengingly.
He smirked, "You know it's funny, I couldn't read you at all when we first met, but you are awfully transparent at the moment."
She took a step forward so they were almost chest to chest. "Go ahead. Read me. But bare in mind that this could all be a front. How do you know that what you think is how I feel? You know nothing about me. You've met me once and like you said, you couldn't read me. So go ahead, I'd be interested to see what deductions you make." She said coldly.
He stared at her, his eyes locked with hers. "I'd rather keep them to myself, thank you." He answered finally.
"Let me guess...nothing again?" She smirked before taking a step away from him and walking to the liquor cabinet.
He remained silent, wondering what she was up to. "Nightcap?" He asked after a pause.
She took his silence as an affirmation. She smirked as she pulled out a whiskey bottle. "Yes, I've had a rather...rigorous day of work." She smirked, pulling out two glasses.
He crossed to the nearby sofa and sat down. "I see. And please, don't bother. I'm not a big drinker."
"You might change your mind." She said, walking to sit back down in the armchair. She poured out to glasses and left his on the table.
He eyed it a moment before hesitantly picking it up and taking a sip. He grimaced, slightly. "Isn't brown liquor a man's beverage?" He asked her.
"Sexism, Mr Holmes, is a terrible thing." She said darkly, downing the glass. "Since when have I not done anything because it's seen as not what a woman would do?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
Sherlock took another sip. "Fine. I'll give you that one."
"Sherlock Holmes, conceding. I never thought I'd see the day." She smirked, pouring out another glass.
"You know for only having met me once you're awfully familiar." He started, sipping his drink, before turning towards her to question, "So what 'business' do you have here?"
"I can read you easier than you can read me." She smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "And it's personal business."
"You do love to be ambiguous. However, it's getting rather boring. Tell me." He snapped.
"If you're bored then go back to England." She suggested.
"For God's sake, Miss Adler, just tell me." He half yelled.
"God, you have a short temper." She sighed, setting her drink down. "I'm here to get something that belongs to me."
"What?" He pressed.
"A...personal belonging. It has sentimental value." She told him.
"You and sentiment." He scoffed.
She glared at him. "And you wonder why I didn't tell you." She spat.
"What sort of belonging?" He questioned, returning to the subject at hand.
"A pearl necklace." She said before adding somewhat quietly. "It belonged to my mother."
"And what's it doing in Cairo?" He asked, taking another sip.
"A past client of mine has it." She said, taking a deep drink.
"I see. And how do you plan to get it." He asked.
"Bit of thievery, mild assault, and possible fraud." She smirked.
"Well, at least you have a plan." He remarked, finishing his drink.
"As long as I don't get caught and executed. Should work out." She said nonchalantly.
He raised his eyebrows, "I really don't want to have to come and be your 'knight in shining armor,' so please, try and avoid that." He replied.
"Nice to know you'd be there if I needed you. How...Sentimental." She winked.
He rolled his eyes, "Hardly."
"Just leave me to die then." She shrugged, comfortable enough in her skills.
"Would you please stop talking about your death. It's ridiculous and irrelevant." He snapped, suddenly, anger rising in him suddenly.
"I won't die. Don't worry." She told him, wondering what his problem was.
He narrowed his eyes, "Glad to hear." He cleared his throat and stood up, crossing to the window. "So, how are we supposed to get this object back?" He asked calmly.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "We?"
"I'm not going to let you go alone." He hissed.
"And why not?" She asked intently.
"Because it's dangerous and you're overconfident." He replied simply.
"Overconfident." She scoffed. "I have reason to be. And trust me, Mr Holmes, I'm used to danger."
He rolled his eyes, "Still, I came all the way out here, I'm not about to let you have all the fun and adventure."
"Fine. You can come. Just, don't get yourself killed. Or do. Whatever." She muttered, crossing her legs.
He sighed, "I'm rather good in these sorts of situations, I don't need your fussing."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway." She said, swiftly changing the subject. "There's a ball."
He quirked his eyebrow, "And?"
"And apparently, we're going to it." She said with a smirk.
"So, I'm your date, then?" He asked a small glint in his eye.
"Well actually, if you're coming then it's probably better that I'm your date." She corrected.
"And who would have escorted you otherwise?" He inquired.
"A willing client." She said offhandedly, pouring herself another whiskey.
He glared at her before looking away, "Well, lucky you."
She downed her drink before standing up and walking over to him. "Looks like I'll have you to take me instead." She said with a grin.
He swallowed, glancing down at her. She was far too close for his liking. "So it would seem." He replied slowly.
"We should probably come up with our aliases." She pointed out, leaning against the window a few inches from him.
He eyed her before replying, "And what did you have in mind?"
"Well your names on the ticket. "A Mr Charles Davies. Nice man. He's unable to attend." She said vaguely. "And I will be your plus one, A Miss Clara McCarthy. A ballet dancer and your date for the evening." She grinned.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he forced it down. "I see. And what are we to each other? I need a bit of character background, if you don't mind." The repressed actor in him coming out.
"Your choice. Anything from first date to married couple." She said with a shrug. "You can choose."
He rolled his eyes, "First date is too...indifferent. As for being married, well, that's a laugh. Let's go with being in a committed relationship." He shuddered slightly at the thought, whether from disgust or keen interest, he knew not.
"Oh God, me and you in a committed relationship. That's hilarious." She chuckled, leaning her head back on the cold glass. "Could work though, if you can pretend to love me." She said challengingly.
He took a step forward, "Are you asking for an audition, Miss Adler?" He questioned her darkly.
She looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Perhaps. I'm putting my life in your hands here, I need to know that you'll be convincing." She challenged.
He gazed at her, several ideas running through his head. He took another slow step to her, before bringing his hand to her hip. "And how should I do that?" He asked her lowly.
"I don't know." She said, eyeing his hand and standing up properly. "It's your audition. Impress me. I can't spend the entire evening watching my own back and telling you how to act."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes before suddenly pulling her towards him fiercely. He brought his head down to whisper darkly in her ear, "Well, shall we begin?"