That last chapter was bad, really bad. And I know you all know it. However, the show must go on. I know I haven't posted in ages and I really am sorry. I promise I'm not proportioning the wait with the wait for series 4. Promise. Lol. Anyway, here's the latest chapter, only a few more left. Thanks for the patience.

The steam curled around her fingers as she lifted her hand out of the hot bath water and draped her hand over the edge of the porcelain, claw-foot tub. Despite the size of the rest of the flat, the bathroom was quite a decent side, and to Irene, the tub was just brilliant for a relaxing bath. The tub was quite large as well, and she shifted her body to bring her other arm and lay it across the first. She rested her head on her now crossed arms and gave out a stress-relieving sigh. It had been only a few hours since their desperate escape from Mycroft's man, but it had seemed like longer afterwards, waiting for Sherlock to find something useful on his laptop. "Finding you a safe place to live", he'd said. No place was 'safe', and she knew it. He had kissed her in that alley way, though, and she chose to let her mind wander on that. He'd told her he loved her, and she couldn't help but be a bit disappointed in him for giving it up so easily. The game wasn't lost however, she knew he would make hard to get once again, and if he didn't she most definitely would. Her neck started to feel cold, so she sank back into the bath, leaning her head against the edge and tilting it back slightly.

A few minutes past and she heard a knock on the door, with no voice. Sherlock. "Come in." she said without thinking. He opened the door and walked in, closing it behind him once again. "You let anyone just come in when your bathing, then?" he said forwardly. "Never just "anyone"", she replied smirking a bit. They were silent again, as he leaned against the edge of the sink and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. It was warm and damp in the room from all the steam, and he was surprised it hadn't affected the rest of the flat. He watched her close her eyes and tilt her head back. Despite all the steam and water, he could see her form quite clearly, and it made him feel slightly warmer. If possible.

"Three options." He said. She replied with a short hum noise, but didn't move. "A small bungalow off the coast of Denmark, a quaint cottage in Southern Tasmania, or a cabin in the mid-west United States; your pick." She opened one eye at him, "Mid-west?"

"Oklahoma or Kansas, or something silly like that."

She smiled at this, "Do I have to decide right now?"

"The sooner, the safer."

She opened both her eyes at him now, his face somber. "You can really re-locate me just like that?"

"Of course, I've got a starting supply of money, a job if you want it is no problem, although I'm sure you don't need my help as far as all that—"

"Sherlock."

He stopped talking and looked at her, she moved to lean over the side of the tub again, to look at him better. "Aren't you going to miss me at all?" she asked him playfully. He looked away from her, while undoing his cufflinks. "I can tell you right now, I'm not moving to the United States, far too rude and homely." He smirked at this and then sat down atop the closed toilet. She smirked at his smirk and leaned back into the warm, growing a little luke-warm, water. Steam still rose as she watched him now watch her. He could feel the warm moving to his stomach, as if the air had somehow penetrated his flesh and had manifested deep inside him. He knew important things had to be discussed, but with Irene in the bath anyway, not a whole lot was going to get accomplished. She leaned back in the tub, but kept her eyes locked on his. "Southern Tasmania tends to get rather cold." She said, "And Denmark is very nice in the spring and winter." Somehow her words, though light in their context, came out of her mouth dripping with heat. And even though the bath was becoming colder, the room became even warmer.

Eyes locked on his, she hadn't notice him take off his shoes and finish unbuttoning his shirt, until he stood up and draped the shirt over the sink. She must have appeared taken slightly aback, for he smirked once again at her. His chest was smooth and his abdomen toned with muscle and his skin appeared just as soft as she had remembered. He loomed over the tub, the steam making his hair curl even more. She drew in a sharp, silent breath as he removed the rest of his clothing. And just like his skin, his entry into the tub made hardly any movement to the water. She saw the goosebumps form on his arms, from his colder body hitting the warmer water. He was over top her, but not fully touching her. He raised her wet arms and wrapped them around the back of his neck, inviting him in all the way. And when her warm, wet lips met his cold, stiff ones, it was all over.

John was in the living room with a cup of tea and the evening paper, when Sherlock walked in hair still slightly damp, and robe wrapped around him. "Where've you been?" John asked smirking over his cup a bit. Sherlock made no reply, but grabbed his violin and began to pluck the strings as if it were a ukulele. He stood in front of the window staring into the street, and then Irene walked in, hair down and also herself wrapped in a robe. John nodded at her and she smiled lightly at him as she sat in the seat across. All who were present were silent, Irene stared into the snapping fire, John rustled the paper every now and again, and Sherlock kept aimlessly plucking. A silent night in Baker St., the first one in ages, as well as the last.

So there, just a tid bit to tide you over, the real stuff will be coming in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed, tell me what you think, and thanks again for the patience.