"Hello, Ms. Wolfe...or should I say, Ms. Irene Adler." Sherlock Holmes grinned impishly at Irene, and she felt her stomach tie itself in knots. Afternoon sunlight poured down the sunroof, giving his damp skin a faint glow. "What's the matter? Never seen a naked man before?"

"Only the ones in the morgue," Irene blurted out before she could stop herself, and Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. She didn't see what was so funny with what she had said. "H-How...how did you know who I am?"

"I can never forget a face...especially one I've seen on the papers and on the telly." Sherlock drew closer to her, and she found herself pressing her back against the sofa when he stopped directly in front of her. "Though I must admit, your disguise—the makeup and expensive clothes—can fool any man. Then again, I'm no ordinary man."

"Obviously, you're not. Otherwise, I wouldn't even be here." Eyes. She must keep her eyes on his face. Just his face. On his intense eyes. On his dark, damp hair which framed his sharp cheekbones. Dark hair...thin sprinkling of chest hair going down to his navel and...Oh God! Why did he have to stand so close?

"Was that a compliment, Ms. Adler?" Sherlock seemed to sense her discomfort. But if anything, it was making him bolder. "If so, then let me respond in kind by saying you look stunning in that dress. Though I would much rather have seen you in your scarf and trench coat. It's more you...though this...your disguise is a reflection of who you are as well."

Irene glared at him. "You think I'm a wealthy socialite with a fetish for whips and chains?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head, taking one more step closer. "I think you're a worldly woman who gets high off of danger and coming face to face with dangerous adversaries. In this case, myself."

Irene visibly recoiled but kept her defiant gaze on his face. Not like she had any choice. Why couldn't she have just dragged Mary to the elevator with her? "Aren't you the proud one, thinking I've already considered you a worthy opponent?"

"Shall I prove myself to you then, Ms. Adler?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, his blue green eyes shadowed by something she couldn't quite identify.

Then his face was suddenly inches away from hers, his hands on the couch's backrest, his thumbs brushing against her shoulders.

Instinct. First step, artifice. Distraction.

Irene grabbed her fur shawl and threw it over Sherlock's head.

Sight compromised.

Second step, increase distance.

She pushed him away with an open palm strike to his abdomen. He staggered back, regaining balance a little ways off from the sitting area.

Third step, incapacitate.

She rushed towards him with closed fists and threw two successive blows to his jaw. She shifts to land another strike, aiming for his cheek.

She swung .

And found her fist wrapped in Sherlock's fingers.

"Bartitsu. Interesting." Sherlock took the fur coat away from his face and flung it to the floor, his eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, Ms. Adler, you're sending my blood pumping already."

Irene pulled her fist free and took a swipe at his face. He dodged. She tried two more blows to his torso but he easily deflected her hands, almost sweeping them away from his body.

Then, he was open, his gleaming chest ripe for punching. She threw one at his sternum but he caught it in his palm. Fingers curled around her fist, he pulled her body towards his, locking her in place with his free arm and dipping her as though they were dancing.

His breath was against her ear, his chest pressed against her breasts. Droplets of moisture—sweat or water, she wasn't sure—dripped down from his hair and on to the scorching skin of her neck. Too close, too damn close. Why wasn't she moving?

Then, his nose travelled the length of her clavicle to the side of her cheek. "Mmm. Casmir. Lovely scent."

The tip of his nose, trailing her skin. His heavy breathing. His arm around her.

His nude body against her fully clothed figure.

Her heart pounding wildly in a way it never had.

She was going to kill this man!

Adjust strategy.

She lifts her leg and stomped on his feet.

Contact. With the heel of her stiletto Louboutin.

"Fuck!" Sherlock yelped and backed off. Vulnerable.

Irene progressed forward to step on his other foot.

He jumped and dodged the blow.

Damn, she shouldn't have repeated that move.

Before she could change tactics, Sherlock dropped to the floor and swiped her offending foot with his leg. Off balance, it took only a light push from his palm to send her toppling to the floor, the breath bursting out of her lungs on impact.

"Aikido," Sherlock declared, then pinned her body to the marble floor, his hands around her wrists, his smiling face directly above hers. "So...is this how you would like your first time to be?"

She tried to stand but his grip was too strong. "First time for what?"

A metallic click. "Get off her. Now!"

Irene turned and saw to her relief Mary Morstan, advancing from the main door, a gun aimed at Sherlock's head.

"It's okay, Mary," Irene assured. Sherlock had let her hands go and was slowly getting up on his feet.

"Okay?" Mary asked in disbelief, her gun still aimed. "Since when was it okay to be pinned down by a naked man who could possibly be a murderer?"

"Oh for God's sake, Mary..."

"So, I was right. Mycroft did send you." A momentary flicker in Sherlock's eyes. Annoyance? Sadness? But almost as quickly, his demeanour changed back to flirtatious as he offered a hand to Irene.

She reached out to take his hand in hers.

Then quickly pulled him down, using her free arm to push hard against his sternum and sending him falling beside her, his back slamming hard against the floor.

She quickly straddled him, her breaths ragged, her voice still shaking with anger. "You're not the only one who knows Aikido."

To her surprise, Sherlock laughed again, his chest rumbling beneath her palms. "You fight very well Ms. Adler. I must admit I am thoroughly impressed." He looked at her for a moment longer, his plump lips forming into a smirk. "Now, will you be so kind as to get off me? I'm afraid I may have become...far too excited."

Irene's brows met in a moment of confusion before she realized what he had meant and hastily scrambled off him, her cheeks hot. She knew enough about human anatomy to know what was poking against her skirt.

He rose to his feet, still unabashed. Mary gasped and looked away.

Sherlock's face brightened once more, seeming to revel in the attention as he walked over to retrieve Irene's fur shawl from the floor. "Do you mind if I use this?"

Before Irene could say anything, he wrapped it around his waist like a towel, his eyes on hers as he tucked one end at the base of his abdomen. "Excuse me ladies, while I prepare us some tea. Please make yourselves at home."

He gave Irene a wink before moving with confident strides towards the open kitchen, leaving her and Mary to stare at him with the same dumbfounded expression.

It was Mary who finally broke the silence. "I've missed a lot of things, haven't I?"