Seven years of struggles later. Seven years which included the life-altering decision that was her chance to get out of the KGB. Seven years was a long time, and much had happened for her between the good, the bad, and the ugly. Natasha Romanoff was still a legend, but now she was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. She was fighting to right her wrongs, and more importantly find atonement.

To maybe wipe some of the red off of her ledger. It was an arduous and daunting task.

London, February 2011. Natasha Romanoff was working a freelance mission to hunt down a crime boss with a deadly toxin. Many lives hung in the balance. As always, it seemed.

She accomplished the mission with relative ease, since she'd jumped on it as soon as she got the information. One nasty drug lord down. So she was camped out in her hotel room, waiting out the night before she'd hop on a plane back to New York. She was halfway through room service's fish and chips when she heard the name. Distant and on the news she wasn't really paying attention to.

"…Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, testifies for…"

Her head whipped around so fast her long red hair fanned out and her eyes fixed on the television. Sherlock Holmes. With that name brought a memory of a cold forbidden kiss after she'd threatened to kill a junkie on the street. The name was too familiar not to remember once she heard it again.

The news reel didn't show a picture of him, but she remembered those eyes. She was on her computer not a moment later. A quick search pulled up his website 'The Science of Deduction' and she couldn't help the smile that turned her lips as she read through the comments and posts. "Well, well, kotyonok, you've made a name for yourself."

The name and address and phone number were on the website. An impulsive curious decision later, she slipped away to change into something a bit more formal. Within ten minutes, she was hailing a cab clad in a black dress, long coat, and shiny heels.

221B Baker Street. The building was empty at the moment, except for the landlady, who'd likely gone to bed already. So she let herself in as quietly as possible. No one would hear her, obviously. She didn't leave any trace of her presence, and just made her way up the stairs. Her quick green eyes scanned the room in the dim light of the single lamp.

It was cluttered with things; and after toeing her heels off, she took her time investigating. From the skull, to the notes on the wall, to the cigarettes she found stashed in a slipper, the flat was without a doubt intriguing. Eventually she sat down in what only could be his chair and crossed her legs. She had her phone out and decided to read through his blogger's posts until someone interrupted her.

Twenty-four minutes later, she heard the door open downstairs. A small smile ghosted her face. It disappeared soon after, as did the phone, and she fixed her eyes on the open door. Waiting.

Surprise, confusion, suspicion, intrigue, and something unidentifiable flashed over Sherlock Holmes' features as he stepped into the room. He was similar to how she remembered him, those clear eyes, the curly hair, sharp features. He was fuller though, less bean pole and more muscle. He paused halfway out of his black coat, staring at the woman occupying his chair. Eventually he spoke. His voice was deep as she remembered and his tone was casual. "A woman in my living room. It's good my blogger isn't here."

"Why?" She asked, coming off just as casual. She kept her usual American accent now.

"Because he has the unfortunate habit of staring with his mouth open in shocked silence when it's a beautiful woman. Which isn't a bad thing when I think about it, but I'm not sure if you're here to kill me or not. I'd rather him have at least a fighting chance." Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf, and came back towards the two chairs.

"Who says I'm here to kill you?"

Sherlock sat down in John's chair and looked her over. "Because you're hard to deduce. You're a trained killer and you broke into my flat in the middle of the night."

"You've gotten better since the last time we met, I think you can at least get something else. Am I here to kill you?"

"You're armed. Not a surprise, I doubt you are ever far away from a weapon of some kind, or something that can be used as a weapon. You've been through my flat already. Probably know about the website, and my flatmate, otherwise you wouldn't be here. You're indisputably good at avoiding cameras, otherwise my brother's minions would be here already and you'd be gone. If you were here to kill me, you wouldn't just stay and chat first. You wouldn't chance being seen by anyone. As much of a predator as you are, you don't normally play with your food first."

"And you're still good." This time she smiled, slowly and almost dangerously. "The website was adorable, by the way. And quite helpful, if you have more information to add to the tobacco ash, I'd love to peruse it."

He made a hum of approval and agreement, but asked a question. "Do I get a name today?"

She answered without hesitation. The truth. "Natalia Alianovna Romonova. I go by Natasha Romanoff now."

"You're in America for the most part these days, defected there, it seems, from…the KGB?" Sherlock said, his hands steepled in front of his chest and his eyes fixed on her. "Unless of course, it's a part of your ruse. Unlikely, but I'm not ruling it out, we've only known each other less than ten minutes."

"It was a good ten minutes though." Natasha commented in an almost flirt. Which he didn't notice.

His fingers tapped together and his head tilted just slightly as he asked a question. "Why are you here now?"

"Answer that question yourself." She challenged.

Sherlock Holmes was quiet a moment as he stared at her, the gears turning in his head as he attempted to deduce why she was there. It must have been a minute at least before he spoke. "You're…curious. You were in London, on a mission or hit, you've recently travelled. You must have heard my name on the news, I just solved a big case and they attempted an interview again, it's only expected. Having remembered my name, you looked me up, found my website which led you here."

"Spot on." Natasha replied with an approving nod. "I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D. now, not the KGB."

"S.H.I.E.L.D." Sherlock repeated thoughtfully. "Curious."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Curious." Natasha uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Are you curious about me?"

This time he almost smirked. "Extremely. You're a puzzle and I'm enjoying trying to deduce you, Natalia."

"Good." She smiled just a bit at the use of her Russian name, and met his eyes purposefully. "And what do you deduce about me now?"

Sherlock stared at her again, his brow furrowed and his fingers tapping together. But it was as she so lithely stood up that the pieces seemed to click together for him. "Ah. Yes. It's…it's been a long time."

"For me too. Since I got away from the KGB for the more…intimate activities." Natasha said as she stood in front of him. "Do you trust me?"

"Almost." He stated impassively, eyes always fixed on her face rather than anywhere else. "I've come to the decision you're probably not going to kill me. At least not tonight. An ambitious venture, but I'm sure if anyone could, it'd be you."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Possibly."

Natasha smiled as she looked down at him in the chair. "Can I kiss you?"

Sherlock raised a brow but remained otherwise still. "Going to ask this time? That is an improvement."

"That's not an answer."

He tilted his head slightly and looked her over, his sharp gaze penetrating so deep she nearly felt naked. She didn't mind. He asked one question. "Why?"

"Call it curiosity, call it stress-relief, call it admiration, or maybe even an apology for attempting to kill you seven years ago." She replied. "…it's okay if you say no. But I can't be the only one who's curious."

"Yes." He paused and then corrected himself. "Yes, I'm curious. I believe I said that already." He paused again, studying her in the same way. She stared back. Blue and green and nothing but silence.

He took the initiative, his long hand reaching almost hesitantly for her arm. He pulled her towards him and she moved willingly. She slowly straddled his lap, her hands just resting on her thighs even though she wanted to touch him.

"You're dangerous." He said, tilting his head a bit as he studied her again. "Dangerously intelligent and quite perceptive."

"You like it." She countered, a smirk barely ghosting her lips.

"Accurate." He admitted.

"You just solved a case, Sherlock Holmes." Natasha said, almost hesitantly bringing one of her hands up to his cheek. "Are you bored?"

"Not particuarly, not at the moment at least." He admitted again, still not visibly effected by her closeness. "Surprisingly not. I like deducing you. You're a challenge."

She smiled one more time, close lipped and predatory. Wolf and her prey. Except this prey was playing back. And that's exactly how she wanted it to be. As before, her next move was selfish and hinged entirely on curiosity. She leaned the rest of the way in and brought their lips together.

It wasn't fervent or even deep. Yet. And it took a moment for him to respond, just like the first one. Since their second kiss took seven years to happen, slow and steady seemed appropriate.

Very soon, his hands were lightly trailing her back and her hands were buried in his curly hair, still soft and silky. She was buzzing with the feeling, with his touch and the physical connection. She was taking a chance, and could already feel herself getting attached.

"Are you busy the rest of the night?" She asked breathlessly after she'd pulled away.

"No, I just solved a case." Sherlock replied, his voice just a bit deeper and his eyes dilated. "Why?"

"Good. I've got plans if you're interested in deducing me, sharing stories...or just not thinking, if you're so inclined." Natasha smiled, predatory as would be a usual. He hummed his approval and she caught him in another deep unrelenting kiss. He responded instantly and she let herself go.

There are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up. Wolves and girls...both have sharp teeth. If Natalia Alianovna Romonova had sharp teeth, William Sherlock Scott Holmes saw and respected them. They played a dangerous game in general, life and work and saving the world. It was only fitting they played it together too.

Fin.

A/N: Italicized expert taken from 'The Name of the Rose' a Black Widow comic. Thanks for reading, please review! :)