Irene pulled her burka right back on her head and ran straight to the most crowded place within range, and weaved her way between the masses of people who are going on with their daily lives and buying supplies for their home in the ramshackle farmers market that Irene headed towards. She quickly spotted a cart carrying a load of oddly colored cloth slip-ons. She internally thanked her lucky stars and discreetly walked past the cart, slipping a pair into the waist-band of the lower part of her burka and hurrying away quickly. She hid behind a mother who was quarreling with her numerous children and slipped them on. By covering her bare feet, Sherlock will definitely loose her tracks. That's if he caught up with her in the first place.
She looked up to see everyone staring off into the direction she just came from. Sherlock is apparently a very fast runner, and is something to be gawked at. Men who look like him don't often pop in around places like this. Although such a slip-up in disguise was uncommon of Sherlock Holmes, Irene knew people weren't usually their normal selves after being chocked till their blue. She turned around to continue running, but she found herself slamming face first into a dark-suit covered chest that she knew all too well.
"Are you going to force me to physically impale you, Mr Holmes?" Irene muttered. She felt more like her provocative, dangerous self after she ran off all the fear that the adrenaline poisoned her courage with. The feeling of adrenaline that was pumping in her veins now was one that gave her a familiar sense of power and danger. A familiarity that she has long missed and has not realized she was deathly thirsty for.
She turned around to get a glance of what led her to miscalculate Sherlock's whereabouts to see, and smell, a cloud of orange rising over a cart that was previously overflowing with piles and piles of powdered curry. She couldn't help but feel impressed with his quick thinking, but she abruptly halted her awe by reminding herself that this awe is what put her in Karachi in the first place.
He gave a short, dry chuckle and took her forearm, gingerly at first, which shocked her into not reacting. However, before she had the chance to respon as her shock at his sudden odd tenderness faded, he swiftly flipped her it over and stabbed her with a needle that she immediately recognized. One of her own. She felt the ground under her newly shielded feet start to wobble, and she muttered, "Oh how fitti-"
Everything went dark.
The first thing she could sense was a feeling enveloping her that she hadn't felt in almost a year: comfort. The next thing she could sense was the wafting smell that reminded her of home: freshly brewed tea. She slowly opened her eyes and they were immediately accosted by a fading orange light. She heard a rustling movement to her right and immediately wrenched her eyes shut.
"Care for a cup of tea?" Said a familiar deep velvety voice. Of course he knew she was awake.
She sighed internally and opened her eyes, appraising her surroundings. It appears as though Sherlock has taken her to what appears to be a very lavish hotel room, by the feel of the bed she was lying on. The irony in her life does not appear to be waning after she was saved from impending doom by Sherlock Holmes. Maybe this is the price she will eternally have to pay for evading death until she finally meets it once again.
She sat up to get a better look at the luxury she suddenly found herself in. The furniture was all covered in velvet. There was a floor to ceiling window that looks out into a very old-looking city set between the confines of huge mountain walls that were also visible through the window. The bed she was laying on was indeed soft. Very soft and pillowy. The walls were also pillowy, as they were covered with a cushioning as well. They reminded her of the very powerful clients she used to service, who always seemed to like that type of walling. She had a special room in her house with the walls covered in cushions. They were even similar in color to the ones on these walls.
A pang went through her heart as she remembered her old London home, but she suppressed it. No time for sentiment, even if it came from lamenting the loss of a perfect home. She cant have her sentiment mess her up like the last time she let her sentimental ways meddle with her success. Look where it got her now. In a hotel room with the great Sherlock Holmes. "On second thought, sentiment might not be so bad after all." She said to herself, smirking on the inside.
She was then startled out of her thoughts by Sherlock handing her a dainty china cup on a saucer, and she looked up at him, not saying a single word. She raised it up to her bare, chapped lips and took a sip. The tea was bitter, sugarless. Just how she liked it. Is she so easy to read that he automatically knew how she liked her tea? Irene Adler is not the kind of woman who likes feeling predictable, so she straightened up and gulped down all of her tea, not paying attention to how scalding hot it felt traveling down her throat, or to how she cannot feel her tongue. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay in a place where she has no control over anything, especially after the way she spent the last 2 months. She couldn't stay in the same room with him, because the way he makes her feel never brings her anything but grief.
She then set the tea cup and saucer down on the little neat dark-maple nightstand to her rights and threw the fluffy duck-feather comforter off from around her. She grimaced to see that she is still in the skirt of her burka. With a graceful pull, she tore it off herself and headed to the open wardrobe, pulling out one of Sherlock's purple button up shirts, and a pair of his trousers. She studied the contents of the closet as she pulled them on. By the state of the neatly folded piles of wrinkly, obviously used looking clothes at the bottom right corner of the little closet, she could tell that Sherlock has been in this room for at least two days.
She shut the closet, turned to the door, and turned around to give Sherlock one final smile. He was seated in one of the big, fluffy-looking armchairs, with his cup of tea still in hand. He appeared to be oddly expressionless.
"Well, it was nice seeing you and all, Mr Holmes, but I've got a few things to attend to" said Irene, as she tried to pull the room's door open. It opened up a bit, but then wouldn't budge, which is odd for a hotel room door. She looked to the top of the door, where a door chain is typically located, and tried pulling it unsuccessfully open to see that something jamming the it shut. She shook the door again. Nothing. Oh, how clever of him.
She should've foresaw this, as spontaneity is something to be expected of her, especially by Sherlock Holmes. She let out a sigh weighed down by her bottled exasperation at the continued irony of her entire present situation. She can't take this much longer.
"Having trouble, Ms Adler?" Sherlock said smugly, taking another sip of tea.
"Like hell I am!" She exclaimed, losing her cool. Since she cant escape, the next best thing is for her to gather as much information as she can. The last time she tricked Sherlock into giving her all the information she desired worked up until the part where it stopped working for her. "I figure its worth a shot anyway" she thought as she walked up to him in his clothes. She was stepping on the bottoms of his trousers as they were way too long for her short frame, but she didn't mind as she knew that it would irk him. An irked man is easier to hassle into giving up information.
"Why the hell did you save me if you got me into all that trouble in the first place?"
"You're forgetting that you got me into trouble first, Miss Adler. I was just evening the score."
"By what, sentencing me to a sure death?"
"Well, I did save you. This is just me evening out our score once more. However, Miss Adler, you seem to be forgetting that you only lost because you let sentiment muddle your judgement pertaining to the one thing that could have given you everything you've ever worked for."
Silence.
"I'm all safe and sound now. You did an excellent job, and our score is quite evenly settled, Mr Holmes. Thank you for your kind bravery and all that, now let me leave so we can keep our bloody score even. I have things to do." She took another step closer to him, holding her little hand out.
Sherlock only scoffed and took another sip of his tea. So Irene snatched the dainty tea cup from his ivory hands.
"The key." She said pointedly. Sherlock only looked up at her and squinted his slightly. She looked him in the eye right back, with his tea still in her hands. They remained in this state for about 15 minutes till Sherlock broke the silence.
"I'm very sorry to say this, Miss Adler, but I simply cannot let you leave."