Irene opened the door. Sherlock grabbed her neck forcing her into the hotel room, slamming the hotel door behind him. He pushed her against the wall, his eyes dark and dangerous and unlike anything Irene had seen before. He stared at her for a second. She grinned, her fingers nestling under his shirt. She breathed deeply.
"I've missed this skin," She whispered.
Sherlock slammed her head against the wall; she let out a loud wail and held her skull. She stared up at him still.
"Sherlock..." She moaned. "The monsters are coming."
"Then you deserve to be picked apart and tortured." Sherlock hissed. "You can attack me, you can come after me, but how dare you, how dare you touch Marie."
Irene laughed. "Save me Sherlock!" She wailed. "The monsters are coming!"
Sherlock squinted and sighed. She was high. Angrily he slammed her head again. She began to cry, holding his shirt. "Sherlock!"
"What?" he hissed.
"The monsters, the monsters..." Irene said. "Please Sherlock." Her fingers stretched around his neck holding him closer. "You were always there for me. What happened?"
"I grew up." Sherlock hissed. "You wanna talk to me? Fine, fucking talk Irene. I'm listening."
Her fingers touched his lips and the silence was filled with heavy breathing. She reached up and pulled him towards her kissing his lips. He found himself kissing back, lost in the memories of cherry chap-stick, Tennessee Williams whiskey and her old musty caravan. Irene pulled him closer, crossing her legs around his waist. His hands found the contours of her back looking for her bra and unhooking it. Her hands reached down for his jeans and unbuttoned them. Sherlock kissed her, holding her neck. He lifted her as she fumbled with her underwear. He carried her to the bathroom. She let out a loud groan grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it off the rail. It fell across them but they carried on.
Irene bit at his lips as he pushed himself so deep inside her. The sound of her begging for more filled the room. Sherlock's hand reached around her neck, wanting to choke her. She groaned out for him, her nails scratching his back, pulling him closer in her embrace. Almost begging him to love her the way she loved him.
...
The wake of morning broke through the frosted glass window of the bathroom window. Irene lay next to Sherlock, her make-up smeared and they lay in a wake of destruction.
Sherlock kissed Irene's shoulder staring up at her. "We can't keep doing this." He whispered.
Irene smiled, her fingers playing with his lips. "Why? Do you not like me?" She asked.
Sherlock got up from the floor. He picked up his jeans and pulled them on. Irene sat up, covering herself with the shower curtain. "Did that not mean anything to you?" She asked.
Sherlock didn't look at her.
"Sherlock?" She asked.
He still didn't turn to look at her. He began to button his shirt tucking his phone into his pocket. Irene got up and leaned against the door frame.
"Sherlock?" She asked again, her fingers tugged at his shirt. "Answer me."
"I grew up Irene." Sherlock said. "I grew up and stopped taking that shit."
"Then why were you here?"
Sherlock didn't say anything as he pulled on his shoes and left, slamming the door behind him, leaving Irene on her own.