Mr. Sherlock Holmes was dead. He had been for a while. Hilariously enough, his brother had supplied him with enough money to sustain him for almost two years. However, though Sherlock had tried to spend it responsibly, dying dark brown hair to blonde was expensive. As well as purchasing a fake ID and recreating an entire new life without any questions. And Scotch was getting more expensive by the day, something he wasn't very happy about. However, since Sherlock Holmes was dead, there was no way he could voice his opinion about it.

With this depletion in funds, he had no choice but to turn elsewhere. He knew everything about her- where she was, how she lived, her income- but she was unaware. He retrieved her number through an old contact of Mycroft and texted her. She agreed to meet him that night, and he prepared by pouring two glasses of scotch and waiting on his couch (his brother had so graciously supplied him with a paid apartment for the moment; all part of the master plan). Glancing at his watch, he knew she would be there any moment. Irene Adler was never late.

Sure enough, there was a knock on the door just a few minutes before expected. Sherlock wiped his hands on his pants, trying to get the sweat off them. Inside, his mind was reeling. He had missed her ever since he'd saved her over a year ago in Pakistan. He'd had to let her go, but it wasn't something he could easily do. Everyday he'd worried that something might've happened to her. But, somehow he knew this moment would come.

"Hello, Ms. Adler." There she was, stunning as always. Her hair was cascading around her shoulders, a huge black trench coat covering her "clothes" (which Sherlock knew to be lingerie since he'd tricked her into believing he was an interested client), and bright red stiletto heels that matched her lips. He watched her eyes widen and her mouth open, just enough that he could see the ends of her pearly white teeth. She was shocked, he could tell. Smiling to himself, he stepped aside. "Won't you come in?"

Irene didn't know what to do. There stood the man that she'd thought to be dead just a few moments ago. She'd tried ever-so-hard to forget about him, to move on, but obviously that wasn't the case. Her heart raced; she could feel her pulse picking up. She felt the same as she did when she was at his house over a year ago. He'd known you'd wanted him then... "Yes, I guess I shall." She straightened up, breezing right past him. She knew this was no longer a booty-call (even though she hated the term, it fit the moment), but that didn't mean she couldn't play her part. "Fancy meeting you here, all the way in America. Must've been while everyone back home was mourning your death."

"Oh, no, I've been quite busy. I was there the day of my..er, funeral." Sherlock itched at his neck awkwardly, and Irene stiffled a giggle. He was just so... adorable. At that moment, at least. "However, I just recently ventured my way into the states. I meant it every time I say it. Mycroft's name literally opens doors." He flashed a card to her from his pocket, quickly redepositing it. Irene smirked.

It was hard for Sherlock not to pounce on her right then. It'd been so long since he'd seen her...

"Well. Quite an interesting story I've been reading in the papers. Sherlock Holmes, a fake?" Irene grabbed one of the glasses of wine on the counter and took a sip. It wasn't too old, but it wasn't bad. She had a thing for oldies. And rich businessmen.

"You know it's not true. I had to convince John."

"How'd you do it, Mr. Holmes?" She fixed her posture on his couch so she was leaning towards him.

"Do what, Ms. Adler?" Ah, so they were playing cat-and-mouse.

"Kill yourself."

"Jumped off a building."

"Boring. Classy... But boring."

"No everyone can get away with being beheaded in Pakistan."

"Mmm. Pakistan." She licked her lips in remembrance. She'd just sent Sherlock a good-bye text when she'd heard the ringtone right next to her. He'd been there, and took out an entire terrorist cell with just a machete. Sadly, she hadn't been able to thank him properly. "I never thanked you for that, did I?"

Sherlock shook his head. Though he had an attraction to Irene, he knew it would never work. They were too alike, too quick. It would crumble beneath them, leaving them both devastated. "No thanks needed, Ms. Adler. Just doing my job."

"I don't think saving me was your responsibility at that moment in time. You saved me because you wanted to." She crawled closer to him, marveling at his now-blonde hair. "But, nevertheless, you didn't do right by making me run. I should've just hid with you." She leaned back again, crossing her legs, revealing at much skin as she could without exposing certain areas. If she was lucky, Sherlock would take advantage of her. Oh, how she wanted him to.

Sherlock felt the same. He was fighting every bone and manly instinct in his body not to go after her. She had become even more beautiful since when he'd last seen her. Sure, her hair was the same color, but she'd put on more weight- filled out. Not that she was a stick. But she'd become even more womanly than before. He could see the muscle marks in her calves and resisted the urge to run his fingers in them. Glancing his eyes back up at Irene's, he saw her smiling crookedly at him. He set his jaw and sat back as well. "I knew I'd never hear the end of it from Mycroft."

She didn't respond. Biting her lip, she stared at him some more. His eyes were dilated, and she was certain his pulse was raised. But however was she going to find out? She decided that she would let Sherlock come to her. She'd wait for the right mome-

"Is there a reason you keep staring at me, Ms. Adler?"

"Have you been smoking again?"

"Of course. Without John around, I'm free to do what I wish."

"Does that include drugs?"

I wouldn't need drugs if I had you. "Not yet. I haven't found a good enough dealer. They're all assholes in America. Lacing everything with everything."

She smiled again. It was that crooked smile that got every man falling at her feet. Irene watched as Sherlock's eyes melted. It was only for a brief moment; he recovered himself quickly. She glanced at her watch. "I'm hungry. Why don't we have dinner?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Why not?"

At the same time they responded, "Not hungry." They were smiling widely at each other, and then turned their mouths to straight lines. It was a moment of exposure to their true feelings, one that couldn't be taken away. Irene swallowed. It was now or never.

Sherlock watched her eyes sweep over him. Watched as she subconsciously licked her lips. As she smiled crookedly. She smiled with a glint in her eyes. Eyes that were so dark all he could do was shiver. He wanted, needed, to be touched by her. But he held strong, knowing that it would never happen. "Ms. Adler, I think you should stop staring at me."

"Why? Got you all hot and bothered?" She recrossed her legs. "Have you ever been had, Mr. Holmes?"

There is was, that question again. Sherlock swallowed deeply. There was that one time, in college. That one time after a rave with some random junkie in a back alley. It was all too much for him to remember. However, he knew it was risky to lie to her. But it was also risky to tell the truth.

"So Moriarty was right. Maybe the psychopathic douche was right about something or another." Irene stared into Sherlock's eyes, watching as they filled with anger.

"He was never right about me. I was never a fake. And never a..."

"Virgin? Maybe you are; you can't seem to even say it," Irene chuckled, shaking her head. She saw Sherlock tighten his fists, but a deep breath and he'd returned back to normal: Awkward and conceited.

"Yes, Ms. Adler. I've been 'had' more than a few times before." Sherlock swallowed, watching her mouth pop open for a moment.

"Well, then, Mr. Holmes..." She started to crawl forward, but was rudely interrupted by his abrupt standing.

"But I've never been had by the likes of you- and never want to." He pulled his jacket taught.

Irene was stunned. The "likes" of her? "You're suddenly, quite rude, Mr. Holmes."

"Rudeness is my virtue. Now it was nice seeing you, but I think I might have to ask you to leave." Before I devour you.

Irene stood as well. "You invited me here, Mr. Holmes. Don't you remember? Or must I pull up the text messages?"

"Oh, I remember distinctly. And now I'm asking you to leave."

Irene shook her head, walking stiffly to the door. Sherlock watched her walk, and noticed how she seemed... sad. It was a devastating sight to see, and he'd realized how much he'd hurt her. Before he could utter an apology, she was turning to face him at the door. "Why do you always to this to me?"

"Do what?" Except he knew. They messed around with each others' hearts for a living. It only seemed practical. He would've assumed it'd be harder for him since he didn't have meaningless sex with rich men and criminals to get by. However, it appeared that wasn't the case. He could clearly see the tears in Irene's eyes, and it was breaking him. But they couldn't do this. Not now.

Why now?

"Oh, stop playing bloody dumb, Mr. Holmes! You're the smartest man on this earth, and you act like a complete idiot sometimes!" Irene was breaking down, but she didn't care. Forget the composure she'd been taught to have around men. Forget her mother's teachings about how to seduce men. Forget everything she'd learned in her career. She just wanted to hear him admit he cared for her.

"I know." It was soft. So soft Irene barely heard it. But when she did, she stopped breathing heavily. It was time she took that step.

"Why?"

"Because it's what we do. Play with each other."

"I can't play anymore."

"We haven't seen each other in over a year!"

"I thought you were dead!"

"I thought you never wanted to see me again! I may've told you to run, but you never asked me to go with you! You left me in Pakistan. Not the other way around."

Irene shook her head. "I did what you asked. I didn't want you to die..."

"Well, it's a bit late for that."

"So what's it matter if we're both dead?"

"Because I won't be with someone who degrades themselves for means of income." He'd said it. And immediately regretted it.

Irene couldn't take it anymore. She looked at Sherlock, who's eyes had turned to dark knives when he'd spoken, and knew how he really felt about her. He despised her. He looked at her and saw someone who sold themselves, not caring about what they looked like to others. She didn't have a soul to him, not that he'd even care. "I guess I should be going now." She turned to open the door.

"Irene..." Sherlock had placed a hand on her elbow, gently pulling her back. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did. Otherwise you wouldn't have said it. It's alright, Mr. Holmes. I understand perfectly. I'm sure the wives of the men I work for feel the same way."

"But I'm not them."

"You think like them."

"Because I... Because I care." Sherlock dropped his head, staring at the floor. His black dress shoes stood out against the plush white carpet. It was brand new carpet; recently steam-cleaned. Americans and their carpet.

The tears were falling freely from Irene's eyes now, but not like sobs. Just tears. Her heart tore in two when she realized that her life would no longer be the same. Sherlock Holmes had admitted something to her he'd never admitted to anyone. And she felt the same way. Inside, she knew what he was talking about. They really would destroy each other, but that was the beauty of it. Knowing that it would happen made her want him even more. Him, the awkwardly conceited but intelligent ex-drug abuser. Her, the seductive dominatrix with a whole past he didn't know, and probably never would. But she knew that she wanted to try. And staring into Sherlock's eyes, she knew he felt the same way. "You what?"

"I care. About you. A lot." His voice was breaking; he felt it. It was so embarrassing to him, but he was telling her anyways.

"I know." She smiled at him, but not her usual crooked smile. This was something more... genuine.

He huffed, glaring at her. "Of course you did."

"But only because I care about you, too." She reached up and ran her fingers down the side of his cheek. He blinked, not knowing what to do next. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew where it'd lead. And he didn't want to start off like that. So he improvised.

Her forehead was soft against his lips, and he felt her shudder. Irene looked up at him, her eyes begging him to kiss her. He tucked some hair behind her ears and stepped away, grabbing her hands. "Dinner does sound nice. At least for the moment."

"Life is always about living in the moment, Mr. Holmes." Then, within the blink of an eye, they were back to their usual selves. Sherlock shook his head. But inside, he knew he'd found her.

And he loved her with all of his heart.

Sorry this is so long. I wanted to get a lot in one chapter, just because I don't know when I'll be posting again. I hope you enjoyed it and, please, remember to review!