Chapter 12

The cold, Icelandic wind was dancing in dark, brown curls on Sherlock's hair as he was walking along the covered in snow beach in Reykjavik. Everything around was silent, besides the screaming of seagulls and the sound of the wind causing the waves to hit the shore with a loud, almost terrifying noise. Everything around was dead quiet and empty, just as one would expect early in the morning, while the sun was just rising above the horizon and the whole world was just waking up from the long, winter sleep. But not Sherlock Holmes, the man dressed in a long, black coat, walking slowly through the snow on a footworn lane. From time to time he was raising the lighted cigarette to his mouth, taking the deep inhale of the nicotine, and then exhaling the grey cloud of smoke that slowly disappeared in the air around him. He had a lot to think through and not enough time to do so and he was more than aware of that. He would have lied if he'd said he hadn't thought about all of this before. Of course he had, he couldn't have avoid thinking about it every time he thought about her. And he had, even during this one year he'd sacrificed completely to finding and eliminating Moriarty's network, he had thought about her, because when she'd appeared in Budapest that night, she'd planted a seed in his brain that had been growing bigger and bigger with every single beat of his cold, frozen heart, hidden somewhere deep in his chest just under the layer of skin and bones. What he wanted and what he needed were now two different things and although, for many, there would be no dilemma in choosing one of them, Sherlock Holmes was once again faced with probably the most serious and dangerous mystery – the mystery of his own heart and his own nature.

He really missed the time when everything was plain and simple. Solving crimes in London, being the only one consulting detective in the whole world (although, he was sure, this part hadn't changed), not caring about other things than catching the murderer. He missed his flat at 221B and he even missed John, the simple way his brain worked, the feeling of always being the brilliant one in the room full of oblivious people. Everything had used to be simple, but then she'd come, Irene Adler, the woman, and somehow had managed to do everything far more complicated than it'd actually been. She'd also managed to make him do and, what's more, enjoy things he'd never thought he would do or enjoy. Oh, she was clever and Sherlock knew this. Maybe even more clever than he was, because there he was, walking around Reykjavik after spending another night with her, in her apartment, because he had decided that it was actually a good idea to visit her before coming back to London. But was it really?

Sherlock didn't know and that annoyed him the most, because he was torn between yes and no, between wanting to go back there before she would wake up and just disappearing without a word, taking every possible effort to not see her again, ever. Eventually, he would have to decide, but right now he had some more time. Some time to think, to smoke another cigarette knowing that back in London he would never do this again, to walk around a little bit longer and make up his mind. The mind of a brilliant detective, which now was lost in the face of a case he'd never taken any effort to solve. For some reason he believed that the wind would whisper to his ear the answer he was looking for. Unfortunately, it didn't

Irene Adler woke up in an empty bed and the events of last night seemed just like a dream. A good one, she must have admitted that, but still a dream. Although she was sure this wasn't what it seemed, she could tell the bed sheet smelled like he, she could smell his perfume and feel that the empty side of her bed was still warm, so he couldn't have left so long ago. She wasn't going to look after him, knowing Sherlock Holmes by the time she woke up he could've already been on a plane going back to London. Maybe she was disappointed, but not surprised, just because she thought that maybe this time everything would be different. But she wasn't going to do anything about that, besides going on with her life just like she'd always done. If he was planning to show up again after another year or so, she would probably greet him the same way she had last evening, without getting attached, without getting her hopes up and without actually trying to make him, in some way, stay in her life.

Irene Adler needed no one but herself, and most importantly, she didn't need Sherlock Holmes to be the part of her life permanently. And she was aware that he didn't need her as well. For him, she was like a case, temporary toy that, sooner or later, he would actually get bored of. The fact that, after all this time he still reacted the way he'd reacted when they had first met amazed her, but she knew that the time would eventually come, and he would abandon the thought about the woman. And she? She wouldn't cry and she definitely wouldn't miss him in any way, her life was just as good with him as it was without him.

So that morning she did the only thing that was left for her to do. She got up, took a shower, put on her robe, made some tea, sat on the couch with her legs rolled-up beneath her and watched the sky through the window, changing colours from orange, peach, pink to blue, feeling the way she really didn't want to feel. The hot tea burned her hands when she was holding a cup, but without it she felt cold and empty. It burned her tongue when she tried to drink it, but she couldn't find any other thing to occupy herself and break the emptiness of just sitting and looking and thinking.

Yes, there was a lot of thinking involved, even though Irene Adler had just promised herself not to think, especially not about him. But how could she not do this, when he seemed to be everywhere. Even the fresh bed sheet she had put on the day before now smelled like Sherlock Holmes and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to change it or not. She really wasn't sure about anything and that made her feel incredibly stupid, weak and vulnerable, and she managed to make sure about that, when she heard the silent noise of the front door. Her heart beat a little bit faster, knowing exactly who it was because of the sound of the footsteps on her kitchen floor. She knew it by heart, but it was a shame to admit it out loud how many of those little things she knew and associated only with him. After a second of anticipation she stood up and turned to face Sherlock, who now was taking his coat off. She came closer, leaving the mug on the coffee table. The man smelled like fresh, crisp air, snow, water and cigarettes and at that moment she couldn't think of any better smell.

'Oh, I thought you'd already be on your way back to London' she said, trying to sound as calm as possible, at the same time crossing her hands on her chest.

'You thought I'd left?' the detective sounded a bit surprised, when he raised his eyebrows and untied his scarf.

'Well, yes. You certainly weren't here when I woke up'

'I'm sorry, I needed to smoke'

'You don't have to apologize, I don't really care what you're doing. Not my business, is it?' somehow she wanted him to say that, in fact, from now on it was her business, but she knew this was never going to happen. Whatever this would mean, they both had their own life and usually they didn't really interfere with each other.

'No, not really' Sherlock answered, still standing by the door, not knowing exactly what to do. What did people usually do in situations like that? Should they talk about that? Sherlock definitely didn't want to talk, but he couldn't be so sure about Irene. So he opened his mouth, still thinking about the right words, but this time she was faster.

'Would you like something to drink? Or eat?' she asked, turning from him and walking to the living room area.

'No, thank you. I, um…' he followed her but, again, before he managed to get anything more out of his mouth she interrupted him.

'Well, I suppose you have to be leaving soon' the woman was looking through the window so Sherlock couldn't see the impression written on her face and she was really glad about that.

'Yes, I probably should. Do you want me to leave?' the man asked, not knowing exactly why and what kind of answer he expected to hear. Finally, Irene turned to look at him, and her face was like the reflection of cold and emotionless expression she'd seen in Sherlock before. It took her some time to work on making it look perfect and, what's more, reliable.

'I don't think it matters what I want, Mr Holmes, does it? You always do whatever you find appropriate' Sherlock looked surprised with her reaction and didn't say anything, as he simply couldn't find any words 'Anyway, thank you for stopping by'

'So you do want me to leave, then?'

'Oh, I thought your brother made it pretty clear last night, didn't he?'

'You know well I don't really listen to what my brother says' when the woman didn't say anything, Sherlock made a step closer, yet still keeping the distance between them. 'Irene…'

'Since when do you use my name?'

'What?'

'I've never heard you using my name before. I mean, well, not like this. Doesn't really suit you, does it?' she grinned, because obviously he had used her name before, maybe not fully consciously and in a completely different context, but she could clearly remember it escaping his mouth, as well as how it'd felt when she'd heard it. Sherlock got clearly confused by her words and for a few lingering minutes they were just both looking at each other, surrounded by complete silence, which somehow wasn't really uneasy.

'Well then, I believe it's time for me to get going' Sherlock finally broke the silence, turning from her and walking back to the door. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen this morning. He didn't know how to behave and wasn't sure if, in any way, he'd managed to hurt her feelings, considering she had any. For him, not in general, as obviously he'd seen her scared before, even more than once. Part of him wanted her to stop him, but the other part, the more reasonable one, the same one that previously had whispered to him to stay away from her, wanted him to leave as soon as possible and never look back. In some way Sherlock believed that in London everything would be different. That this city, which he loved more than anything, full of criminals just waiting to be caught, would made him forget completely about the existence of Irene Adler. At the same time he knew this wasn't true. After Karachi he'd never forgotten her, not even for a day, as he had still sometimes played the tune he'd written for her, or about her (usually when John or Mrs Hudson hadn't been around) and sat in his chair just looking at her phone or going through her texts. Irene Adler had always been, and probably would always be, on his mind and inside his heart, no matter if he wanted this or not. He might have been pretending, in front of her, himself and everyone else, that she'd never mattered to him, but yet, as she'd pointed out the night before, he was still there, in her flat, walking slowly to the door, trying to hold himself from turning around and doing… He didn't really know what he wanted to do, but doing anything would have been great. Sometimes it really annoyed him that he wasn't like other people, that this ordinary behaviour, saying goodbye and expressing some kind of weird, unexplained affection, made him feel really uncomfortable. Sometimes he wished he'd been able to just stop being himself for a moment and let himself be someone else. Someone who knew how to say all the things he probably didn't even know existed until it was probably too late to search for the right words. It also amazed him how many things he didn't know when it was about Irene Adler, but at the same time he hated that she made him feel so unsure. John would have probably called it love, Sherlock preferred the term human error and as, for most of his life, he'd thought of himself as of someone deprived of human nature, he wanted to believe that things like love and errors didn't concern him at all.

When he stopped by the door, he put his coat on and tied the scarf around his neck, before finally turning to look at Irene Adler standing behind him. The woman had her arms crossed on her chest and the expression on her face that, even for Sherlock, was difficult to read. She didn't want him to leave and, contrary to the man standing in front of her, she was sure about that. But she also didn't intent to tell him that. This would have been embarrassing, exposing all of her weaknesses in one simple sentence. If he wasn't able to figure all of this out by himself, it was his problem and the woman wasn't going to make it any easier for him. If only she knew how much he would appreciate it, giving him a simple clue, making him think about his own feelings and offering the possibility to finally get them off his chest.

For a few moments none of them knew what to say. They both weren't used to saying 'goodbye', especially not with the whole tension that was present between them. So again, they just stared at each other, both trying to figure out what the other was thinking and how they could make all of this work. Finally, not being able to stand another minute of silence, Irene swallowed and slowly opened her mouth.

'Thank you, Mr Holmes, for paying me a visit' she said, bothering to sound confident as he would have been just a client, not a ghost from her past that appeared suddenly, when she least expected it.

'Pleasure's all mine, Ms Adler' Sherlock answered, looking at her for the last time. Then he put his hand on the door handle, trying to keep his eyes on her as long as possible, before he pushed the door and stepped outside 'Goodbye'

'Wait, Sherlock' her voice stopped him from moving any further. The man turned his face into her direction, but didn't come into the apartment. He raised his eyebrows, waiting to hear what she had to say 'Thank you, for everything. Really. I've never properly thanked you for what you did for me, so…'

'You don't have to thank me. And you did just enough' without saying anything more he turned to the door, when her voice stopped him again.

'Will you keep in touch?' this time the man didn't look at her, just smiled at himself knowing she wasn't able to see it.

'Goodbye, Ms Adler' he said and left, closing the door behind him. Irene stood in her place for a few minutes, looking at the door and thinking about everything that had just happened. The only thing that was left for her to do was to move on with her life, just the way she'd done a year ago.

Couple hours later Irene was sitting on the couch in her leaving room watching the television, but not really focusing on what was on it, when she heard the text alert coming from her phone. It was already dark outside and she thought that, by now, Sherlock was probably already settled back in London with his dear friend by his side, maybe involving himself in another crime. Bored and completely oblivious, she picked up the phone and looked at the message on the screen. It took her a second to read the short sentence, and another for her heart to stop and then start beating a little bit faster than usual.

Have a nice evening, Ms Adler – SH

She read it once again and smiled to herself, almost immediately typing the response.

It just got much better. You too, Mr Holmes - IA


Sooo, here it is! The very end of my very first fanfiction! Thank you everyone for reading, leaving comments, following the story, you have no idea how much it all means to me! Also, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting for another update, it's been very busy and I haven't been in the best place to be honest!

Anyway, thank you one more time! As I said before, I have two ideas for Sherlock/Irene fanfiction and I've already started writing one of them, but as the end of the academic year is so close now, I don't really have time to write. I don't want to promise anything, but there may be something new around may, so stay tuned!