It's been a good solid day since he left his flat - and her - as soon as the words escaped his lips. He was sure she called out to him, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted to get away from whatever she was about to say or to see the look on her face upon hearing his confession.

John may have qualified his involvement with The Woman to romantic entanglement many times to the point that his avoidance of her reaction seemed unnecessary, but in all the years of their rendezvous and their acquaintanceship, this was the first time those three words actually made their appearance.

He doesn't know why but it made him fearful.

His clothes were crisp from being air-dried, his skin cold underneath. He looked at his phone and saw no messages or calls - but of course, Irene isn't one to initiate a conversation of this weight virtually. Sherlock could only wish he could find a development in the case that would distract him - and her - for the time being.

The street lights were shining brightly over Hungerford Bridge as always, and it was only then that he took notice of where he is and how long it has been. As he was about to pull the cigarette out of his pocket and light it, somehow to no surprise did he see her standing just a couple of feet away from him, expression unreadable.

"How did you find me?" he asked flatly.

"Why did you leave?" she replied back, not answering his question.

He ignored her. "Ah, yes, Mycroft."

Irene nodded. "So… why?"

"I needed time to think." he simply said.

"About?" she drew in one step closer.

He looked away into the faraway lights, the railings of the bridge causing shadows to cast over his face. "There are quite a few things I must clear out."

"Go ahead. Ask." Irene replied, mirroring his movements and smiling to herself as she looked away from him.

He was quiet for a moment, calculating what he needs to say. It was certain that the need to address the looming situation will come, but Irene being Irene, he knows she will not press the matter unless she deems him ready.

So instead, he took a deep breath and tried to keep his expression at bay.

"I never thought you were the marrying type." he mused.

"I was running away. I needed him." Irene simply replied.

"There's more." Sherlock suggested.

In response, Irene nodded.

Finally, he turned to her, trying to see if he can read something on her face. As usual, nothing.

"Dare to tell?" he finally prodded.

Irene smirked. "He was a barrister. It was simple. I needed a way out of something and he was a willing and… well… not a bad candidate."

Sherlock scoffed. "So it was simply for convenience?"

"I don't just use people, Sherlock. I'm not heartless." Irene replied curtly.

Sherlock remained silent that Irene felt the urge to just continue. Her eyes were stormy, lips pursed.

"We were relatively young then. He needed to run away from his glorious life of gold and silver and wanted to live out his wildest dreams. But he was scared on his own. It was tit-for-tat." she explained further.

"You care for him." Sherlock added quietly.

Irene's lips tilted ever so slightly. "We did stay together for years. He wasn't that bad of a company."

"Why did it end?" Sherlock's voice was distant now, almost sounding like it wasn't his own. His eyes were unfocused on whatever it was he was looking at, his senses all on his hearing.

"He…" Irene started, and something about her voice sounded hesitant. Still, she continued, "... he expected more. Somehow, I was the only one who saw our relationship as it is: a massive scapegoat."

Sherlock felt his entire body go numb. Still, his mind was as sharp as ever. "He… he fell in love with you."

"He thought he did." Irene replied flatly. "But it was dependency. It was parasitic. He loved the idea of having to depend on our relationship as he continued to run away from his past. I moved on from running to surviving in a way he never did. It became exhausting."

Sherlock nodded, voice almost to a whisper. "Fair enough."

To that, Irene laughed. "Did you understand the moral of the story, Sherlock?"

The detective turned to her, looking at her fully now to see that she was looking back at him, eyes boring deep into his own. He knew he carried a questioning expression, and quite possibly, even fear.

She reached for his hand, smiling as her flesh made contact with his. "You look puzzled. How disappointing."

His eyes were trained on their hands touching, wondering what on earth is she possibly on about. Is she hinting that like her and Norton, theirs was also a story riding on mutual need that would eventually meet its end?

"You're overthinking… as always." she quipped, amused. "In summary, if I want things to end, I just severe the ties. I never wallow in things of the heart. I hate… sentiment, as you put it. At least, sentiment founded on nothing to be taken pride of."

Her hold on his hand tightened. "And yet here we are. I hope that's clear enough for you."

"About what I said…" Sherlock started but Irene shook her head.

"I don't mind. Not at all." she simply said, resting her head on his arm.

A/N: I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger as I always do but things are a bit rough for me and I felt like writing something lighthearted for once. We'll be back to our usual heartstopping chapter conclusions in the next parts. :)