I am so sorry for the long delay with this story. I got really side tracked with my other stories (apparently writing 2 main stories at the same time is not a good idea…) and I focused a lot more on 'And then there were 3' and 'The private lives of us' instead. I apologise, especially to those who prefer this story over the other two.

Anyways, just to keep you informed: This is the second last chapter to this story. I am really sorry about how short it is, but I thought that this was a good place to stop.

Anyways, enjoy xxx

.

.

.

Sherlock and Irene had done their best to keep their composure during the interrogation, but after a while, even they couldn't keep it up for much longer. Both of them were extremely relieved when Lestrade decided that it was time for a break.

Their faces stayed calm and neutral while Lestrade and Sally left the office and they still stayed as calm and as composed as possible. There was a tangible tension in the air. Irene was not happy about what she had had to recount, and although she hadn't been too explicit, thanks to Lestrade's tactfulness, it had still been fairly horrifying, both for her and Sherlock.

Sherlock was currently trying to control his guilt and anger. Although Irene had already privately told him what had happened to her, hearing it all again in front of other people made him feel positively sick. He should have been able to protect her better.

Irene stayed silent, deciding that she should wait for Sherlock to speak first.

"I will catch him" he said finally after a brief silence. Irene could hear the fury he was trying to supress in his voice and the determination. Though she hadn't expected him to react any differently, it still scared her.

Irene shook her head once. "No." she told Sherlock. She knew that although he generally valued her opinion, he wouldn't really listen to her in this situation. But she could still try to somehow sway him.

"That's exactly what he wants you to do" she reminded him. "He could have just killed me if he felt betrayed by my actions and wanted revenge, but this is more about you than about me. You're doing precisely the thing he wants, and playing into his hands like a child."

Sherlock sighed. Irene had a good point, but it was a point that Sherlock had already thoroughly considered. He knew Moriarty, understood the way he functioned, at least to a certain extent. He would never call the consultant criminal predictable of course, because he was much like Irene in that sense. But his motives were more obvious, clearer, at least around Sherlock. Moriarty was dangerous, but what made him terrifying was that he acted like a spoilt child – he would do anything to amuse himself, and if it meant blowing up a few people on daily basis then he didn't care. When he didn't get what he wanted he threw tantrums, and provoked people to such an extent that they did exactly what he wanted.

Like puppets on a string.

Currently, Sherlock was acting the part of the puppet.

But he had considered this, and knew that he would only make the situation worse if he ended up not going after Moriarty. The criminal would only try to provoke Sherlock further, and if he didn't continue to somehow hurt Irene again, he could do the same to other people that Sherlock cared about: Lestrade, John, Mrs Hudson or Molly.

These were all people Moriarty could and would target, if Sherlock didn't do what he wanted.

No, Moriarty needed to die; it was the only way to ensure his friends' safety.

Sherlock sighed, and explained this to Irene. Not that he needed to, she knew very well what was at stake, but she also knew the dangers better than any other person.

She was unhappy with his decision, but she understood it, and decided that trying to sway Sherlock now was utterly useless.

The couple lapsed back into silence, staring at the wall. Sherlock was deep in thought, silently formulating possible plans to catch Moriarty, and then deleting each one in turn. Currently, he and the police force had no lead on Moriarty what so ever, and Sherlock had no idea what he should do. The criminal could hide himself well, if he wanted to, and not even Mycroft was able to determine a possible location.

Irene was quiet, understanding that Sherlock needed this time to think, and not willing to disturb him, although she craved his contact most at this moment.

She desperately didn't want him to go after Moriarty.

She understood that Moriarty was extremely dangerous and need to be eliminated, but why did Sherlock have to do that? She knew that Sherlock needed thrill and danger and adrenaline in his life; those were all distractions. It was how he functioned, and Moriarty was proving to be an excellent distraction. Of course Sherlock hated the man for what he had done to the people around him, especially Irene, but she knew that a tiny part of him needed all this. Trying to trace Moriarty, trying to figure out a plan to catch him, fool him and eventually stop him was exactly the sort of work that Sherlock thrived on. He knew the dangers well, but he was determined.

She sighed slightly and pulled up her knees, hugging them to her chest, wondering what she could do to prevent Sherlock from going. Drug him possibly, but she didn't really have a drug on hand, and she was sure that he had already considered it to be something that Irene would do to keep him in London. Given their history, he would never put it past her.

Her sigh seemed to attract Sherlock's attention, and he looked at her, concern prominent in his eyes. He realised that now, when they had privacy, he should have been focusing his attention on her, instead of retreating to his mind palace.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently, and Irene nearly smiled at his behaviour. It was so very typical of him, to only notice other people after some time passed.

She nodded once, but her answer clearly didn't satisfy Sherlock.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you better" he admitted quietly, looking at her almost as if he expected her to be angry at him. She just shook her head. This wasn't Sherlock's fault; he had taken every precaution possible with her safety.

Sherlock was getting increasingly worried with her lack of speech, because Irene, like him, always wanted to have the last word. If she wasn't speaking, then she was clearly not okay, and he was determined to somehow crack her composure. She shouldn't be keeping things bottled up inside her.

"You don't have to act brave for me" he told her softly, looking into her eyes with his own piercing blue ones.

He saw the barrier break slightly, saw the ice melt and crack and disappear completely. Irene finally dropped the mask she had been so desperately hanging on to and leaned back into his arms, which were already waiting for her. Sherlock pulled her to him, his face in her hair, and her arms around his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, until Sherlock finally looked down at her, his own generally cold eyes suddenly gentle and full of emotion.

She barely saw him lean in, nor did she realise that she was edging even closer to him, but she must have been, because suddenly his lips were only a couple of inches away. She gulped slightly, but did not draw back. Sherlock's gaze stayed on her, making sure that she was okay with this. He wouldn't be surprised if she pulled away; he expected her to.

But she didn't, she closed her eyes and leant in closer, closing the distance between their lips.

They had kissed before of course, loads of times; it was nothing new for them. Their relationship had no physical boundaries.

But now it was different, because Irene felt uncertain. Not about her relationship with Sherlock, but after having been abused in that cellar, she had experienced the horrible and painful side to physical relationships.

For this reason, their kiss was slow and tentative. His lips brushed her, carefully, uncertainly, giving her space, and letting her choose just how far she wanted to go.

Irene wasn't sure just how long they were there, kissing, but after a while she finally drew back. She leant back into her original position in Sherlock's arms, staying silent. He didn't say anything either, but they knew that the most important things, their feelings and emotions, had been expressed through the kiss. They didn't need words.

They drew apart slightly when they heard footsteps, clearly Sally's and Lestrade. Sherlock smiled slightly when he noticed how loud and deliberate they were, and yet still very slow. Lestrade and Sally had most likely seen them kissing, and hadn't wanted to disturb them, and now they were discreetly creating as much noise as they could to signal their presence. Irene smiled too, also realising, and raised her eyebrows at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes in return.

Lestrade and Sally were quite close to the door now, but (in their opinion) not close enough to be seen or overheard.

"I think they're finished" Sherlock suddenly heard Lestrade say in a relived tone. He glanced at Irene, who had clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her laughter.

"Thank goodness" Sally replied, and Sherlock closed his eyes, wondering at her stupidity. Unless she was being that loud deliberately, did she really think that he and Irene wouldn't overhear her?

Irene's shoulders were shaking slightly now as she tried to hold in her laughter. She had loosened up a lot, her face no longer detached, but genuine emotion present in her eyes.

She swallowed her laughter, wanting to hear how the conversation would continue without making it known that she was listening in. It worked.

"You know before, how Sherlock was laughing when he gave Irene his coat?" Sally said, and Lestrade nodded, interested.

"I wonder what the incident with the coat was?"

Even Sherlock smirked now, looking at Irene, who shook her head, an identical smirk on her face. Right now, Sherlock was very sure that they were both thinking the same thing.

If you only knew….

.

.

.

Thank you for reading. As I said, the next chapter will be the last, and will definitely be updated this week or next week.

Remember, reviewing motivates me a lot!

Laura xxx