Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews!

I just want to say something to one reviewer in particular, Josie. She said that what Sherlock and Irene shared wasn't love, but equality and kinship. I do agree with that, mostly, and I think that that's what the episode was supposed to convey. However, I do kind of want them to take the next step so to speak, so I am very sorry if I disappoint you here. :)

Enjoy x

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He talked to the captain for about 15 minutes, nicely asking him to leave the harbour slightly earlier than scheduled. He gave no reason for his request, but the captain did owe him one (he had infiltrated a smuggling ring in the Middle East a few months ago and saved his wife and children from a painful death) and so he asked no questions. Whatever Sherlock was doing, it was something that he viewed as right, even if he was possibly breaking the law.

When Sherlock returned to the little cabin, he saw that Irene was already sound asleep on the bed. He took a moment to inspect her. She wore loose clothes, a dark blue long sleeved T-shirt and simple pants. The clothing revealed little of her skin, but he could still see numerous cuts and bruises. They made him angry, mostly at the people who had done this to her, but also angry at himself. If he hadn't given her phone to Mycroft, then she would still be safe.

Although he was angry because of his actions, he decided that they had been for the best.

He sighed, and stripped off his trousers, wanting no traces of the clothing he had worn as a jail warden on his body. Instead he put on his usual suit pants and sat in a chair with his laptop, thinking about how to clear this up. He was fairly certain that the jail would say they had caught Miss Adler, at least if anyone asked, something he highly doubted. Mycroft would make enquiries of course, and thorough ones too, after what had happened last time. But had plenty of time to clear all of that up and cover his tracks, he was in no hurry.

Irene would also be safe, at least if she engaged in more 'normal' activities this time. With fake papers, a fake passport and a new driving licence and an apartment, she would be fine. She wouldn't have all the power, money and glamour she had had in her previous life, but she was safe and alive. Currently, that was all that mattered.

He wondered if he would be able to visit her. He wasn't sure how long he would stay with her before she settled into her new life in New Zealand, but he hoped that he would at least have a couple of days. He had to make sure that she was alright.

New Zealand would be safe for her, hopefully no one would think of that as a place to search. New Zealand was nice, and she would be able to speak English. Unfortunately, New Zealand was far away from London, and he wouldn't be able to see her as often as he wanted to. Money wasn't the problem; he had plenty, having inherited a vast amount from his rich parents. But it would take him more than a day to travel there, and how could he explain his absence to John and Mrs Hudson? Even if they didn't ask exactly where he was going, Mycroft would surely notice something was up and possibly suspect something.

He sighed and shook his head. He would manage. Even over distances, texting was still possible.

He walked over to his bag and pulled out his phone. He had texted John occasionally over the last few days, but he had also promised to call.

He dialled John's number, hoping he wasn't on a date somewhere. Or that he didn't have one of his girlfriends over.

John picked it up on the first ring.

"Sherlock! Finally."

Sherlock smiled. "Hello John."

"Hi. I know this is the fifth time I'm asking, but could please you tell me where you are?"

"No, John, sorry. But I'm fine, if that reassures you."

He heard a doubtful silence on John's end. He knew that John was worried about him, and wasn't surprised about this particular fact. In the last few months he had been tired and irritated, and had simply refused to talk. He would play his violin for days on end, composing sad, soulful or loud, angry music, depending on his mood.

"If you say so" John said after a while. He cleared his throat and opted for a brighter tone. "Lestrade was asking for you today. Apparently, he needed your help with something."

"Oh. Did he care to mention what?"

"Not specifically. It's nothing big as far as I can tell, just a number of break-ins here and there. There seems to be a pattern, but the police can't figure out who's behind it".

"Ah. Did you tell him where I was?"

Sherlock could picture John smiling slightly through the phone. "How could I? I don't even know where you are! No, I just told him that you went on a short holiday".

"I suppose Mycroft knows too?" Sherlock asked, knowing he was on dangerous ground. He needed to know whether Mycroft knew of his 'holiday' but he didn't want to arouse suspicion.

"No, I haven't heard from Mycroft yet. But I suppose I will soon, he checks in every few days."

Sherlock nodded. He didn't see why Mycroft needed to have him under constant surveillance. He understood (or tried to understand anyway) Mycroft's concern. Mycroft was almost a father figure to Sherlock, because mostly he had been charged with the care of his little brother. Mycroft was also ten years older than Sherlock. Sherlock simply wished that Mycroft would let him live his own life, without the constant enquiries.

"Mycroft will want to know where you went." John said. "I suppose he'll rig up a new surveillance system to monitor you".

Sherlock smiled grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he does. I'll just have to rip it out again."

"He cares about you, you know" John said. "More than you think".

"Of course I know." Sherlock scoffed. "I just don't see why he has to install surveillance cameras all over our apartment. That's not caring, that paranoia."

John sighed. "I agree with you there." He paused. "Wait – all over the flat? Does that mean that there are some in my bedroom too?" His voice now sounded incredulous and alarmed. He was probably thinking of all the times he had had Sarah (or god knows who else) in there.

Sherlock smirked slightly, and was about to answer when he saw Irene roll over in bed and open her eyes. "John, listen I've got to go" he said hurriedly. "I'll text you."

"No Sherlock wait! All over the flat or – "

Sherlock smirked in amusement and hung up.

"Miss Adler".

She smiled, stretching slightly.

"Mr Holmes."

They looked at each other for a moment, both considering their next move. Irene broke the silence.

"So" she asked, sitting up. "What happens now?"

Sherlock scooted his chair slightly closer to the bed and pressed his hands together.

"Well, obviously, you're supposed to be dead. Which means that you can't go around being Irene Adler anymore." He didn't bother to make sure that she understood the implications of this statement. She was clever enough. She knew.

"I've had fake papers made for you. A passport, a driver's licence, an ID card and such. You've become Kate Baker and you have a bank account in that name."

She looked surprised by the name, wondering who had chosen it for her. Had Sherlock? Or the man who had made the papers? Kate Baker. She liked the name, though it was a bit common. But common was good right now. She smiled. Baker. Baker Street.

Sherlock seemed unnerved by her silence and continued on. "You have an apartment a few miles outside Queenstown in New Zealand. Hopefully, no one will think of looking for you there. Obviously, I would advise you not to go back to your old lifestyle – that will make it a lot easier to find you. I recommend you get a somewhat more … normal job. You will need to be a lot more careful now than before, because I have no doubt that people like Mycroft" ('especially Mycroft, he thought to himself'), "Will be searching very thoroughly this time."

He finished and looked up at her, gauging her reaction. He expected her to be saucy and flirty, already prepared with some sort of witty or even snide remark, but she was silent. She let the expression on her face speak for her. During the last part of the conversation, her eyes had grown wide and surprised, and even she couldn't hide the emotion in them.

Irene was touched by Sherlock's kindness. She had no doubt that only he had done this for her; no one else was allowed to know she was alive. She had a whole new life set up for her.

"When did you have time to arrange all this?" she whispered. In her slightly more dominant and spoilt nature she would have said that this was fair, seeing that it was him that had left her without her protection, but she knew that she didn't really deserve any of this. At least not from him.

"As soon as I learned you were about to be beheaded in a little prison cell in Pakistan", he said, making the statement sound obvious.

"And how did you know that?" She asked, holding her breath. She could see that though he appeared as he usually did – calm and unaffected – that he was holding back. He fought very hard to keep relaxed posture, but he would twitch sometimes, and there was something other than cold assurance in his eyes. Her only conclusion was that he cared for her-genuinely cared for her, perhaps more than he was letting on.

"Well, obviously I was keeping tabs on you." At her raised eyebrows he snorted slightly. "Did you really think that I'd just let you go like that, without your protection? It would have been such a waste to let a mind like your rot in some tiny, dirty prison cell."

Irene leaned in closer. If he wanted to play the game, then so would she. "Ah, so this is about my intelligence?" she said, letting a hint of sarcasm colour her tone.

Sherlock frowned, but didn't retreat. Their faces weren't very far apart now. "Of course it's about your intelligence!" he rebuked, trying to look surprised at the fact that she was thinking it was something else, something more.

She pursed her lips playfully. "So it definitely wouldn't have anything to do with your…attraction to me, would it?"

He raised his eyebrows, as if she were speaking utter nonsense.

"Attraction?"

"Yes, your attraction" she replied.

"What attraction?"

She laughed; a tinkling musical sound. "As if you don't know!" She smiled at him, and leaned in a tiny bit closer. Their faces were still a reasonable distance apart, too far apart if they wanted to kiss each other, but closer than usual. Certainly close enough to make her heart speed up, just a little bit.

"Before this whole mess, whenever I texted you, you never agreed to dinner, but you always replied. When you thought I was dead you sulked around your apartment, composing sad music – John told me. Even after I hurt you and denied ever having feelings for you, you still kept tabs on me, making sure I was all right." She leaned forward and took his hand. It was the barest of touches, but he didn't pull back. Instead, his eyes remained firmly fixed on her face.

"You jumped in to save me from being beheaded at last minute." She smiled gently. "And all this time I've been holding your hand. All I have to do is lean in closer, like this-" She leaned in, eyes dark-" And your pulse speeds up." She smiled in satisfaction and looked him in the eyes. "Your pupils are dilated" she murmured.

"And lastly" she whispered, "during this whole conversation, you never once denied your attraction."

"You never denied yours" he whispered back. Their faces were inches apart now.

"I wasn't going to" Irene said.

"No" he whispered gently, and one hand reached up gently to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. He kept his eyes locked with hers the entire time.

"I wasn't going to deny mine either" he said, and kissed her.

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Thank you for reading, and please review!