Hello! I decided to split this part in half, so here's the first one, I hope you'll like it! ;)

The rational part of Sherlock's brain was getting offended by Irene's authoritative tone, but the irrational, emotional one was trying to minimize the feeling of panic that was flooding him completely. He felt cornered; he was in her apartment, with her food and with that dress which was not a battle dress, but it seemed threatening enough to him at the moment.

"Are you just going to stand there? I promise I don't bite. Not yet, at least."

The game was certainly on, Sherlock thought. And he was not giving up easily. He calculated his odds in a matter of seconds; she had sentiment for him, a sentiment he could use against her again with an almost certainty to succeed in dominating the situation. Why his mind chose this exact word, he wondered. On the other hand, she had more experience, he was sure she would use heavy artillery to get what she wanted and... John's voice was there again: "And, you know you like her Sherlock. You are a human being. Human beings have feelings."

"Shut up, John." He murmured.

"Sorry?" The Woman laughed.

"Nothing. Well, what's on the menu tonight?"

She looked at him suspiciously. It was expected that he puts up quite a fight, but he stood there looking at her in a relaxed, self certain manner with a barely visible smirk. Those made her feel uneasy. Perhaps that was his point, she thought; there can't be two alphas in a situation, so he might be trying to get on top. Wouldn't that be nice, it went through her head. This man was complicated, but then again, that was rather the point.

"I made chicken in orange and ginger sauce, with some salads. Or would you like to skip that and proceed to the desert immediately?"

"You know what? I'm starving. Let's eat all the courses. Slowly." He teased her.

Irene Adler was always sure in one thing, and that was – Sherlock Holmes was not easy. She was sure in another thing as well – she never gave up.

They sat at the table and started eating the dinner Irene made. It was delicious and Sherlock even complimented her cooking. She was starting to get very paranoid because of this relaxed attitude he had. Somewhere in the middle of the chicken and her retelling him the story of how she once caused the end of a marriage of a very well known aristocrat (it was a very juicystory), his face got a serious expression.

"Let's talk business. What have you got?"

He knew how to destroy a girl's dream, she thought while momentarily putting her own heartless mask on. He had a lot of practice on that poor girl from the morgue during the years, so she heard.

"I went to see a man today. He is one of the most important clients of the business I have going on here. His line of work is not very legal, but his methods are quite efficient. He heard Jim dear was in town, these sort of people tend to be informed of the ones similar to them. As it turns out, Jim doesn't have an intention on hiding from us. He rented a house in..."

"Rokin street, I know." He smiled. "Continue."

"He is willing to provide us with all the fire power we need, in case your sociopathic skills don't impress our beloved psychopath enough. But, he requests a personal favor for his trouble."

This made Sherlock uneasy. What did this man want from Irene? He was silent for a moment too long, so she laughed:

"Oh, don't be jealous! He doesn't want anything from me; he wants you to sort out some family curse drama when all of this is done."

Sherlock tried to hide the feeling of relief he felt and despised so much.

"And the rest?" he asked as uninterested as one could possibly be.

"The man that serves Moriarty as an assistant here is currently tied up by one of my most capable girls. He will talk, I assure you. It's your turn now, Mr. Holmes."

"I have as well secured us getting alive out of the place, and a man willing to put Moriarty behind bars. It doesn't solve our problems one bit, but if we need time bought, we will have it. In the end, I count on our bargaining abilities to get us out of this stupid mess."

"Your self-confidence just went up the stairs, climbed up the roof and is currently heading towards the center of the galaxy. You know, where the sun and the other planets are. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite a fan of danger and improvisation, but do you really think we can rely on that to keep us alive?"

Sherlock took a deep breathe. He knew all along Jim wasn't interested in having either one of them dead. Since that night on the pool, his intentions were quite clear. He wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock, not kill him; killing him was too easy, he wanted to prove to Sherlock that he was a human being, a mortal with feelings. He wanted Sherlock to act like a knight in a shining armor for Irene, to sacrifice himself for her and in that way, to show that he was an unworthy opponent for Moriarty. What could he tell her now, how to explain to her that she was the key to the puzzle without expressing the feelings John's voice was talking about again. He needed to see someone about this voice, he sometimes thought. Once more, he decided he could handle it.

"I can handle it" he said, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't sure he even convinced himself with that, let alone her.

"I'm distracting you." she said, after a pause. "You will never admit it, I will always try to make you do it, but it is a fact you must be aware of. You will get us both killed if your mind is not focused on winning this chess game. And in order to win, you must be willing to sacrifice the queen. What if he puts a gun in your hand tomorrow, in a year or someday and sais to you, that the only way to survive is to put a bullet in my head. Or would you die refusing?"

"What would you do in such a situation Mrs. Adler? The game was offered to both of us and you could easily turn out to be the one in the deciding position."

"Does it matter? She leaned forward."We both know the bullets would be fake since there would be a chance that one of us would have a heroic impulse and shoot him, unable to make such a decision."

"Nice avoiding of the answer."

"Thank you. Wine?"

"I don't drink when I think. And no, it wasn't intended as a rhyme."

"I'm glad the distraction doesn't affect your sense of humor." She said as she finished her second glass of wine.

"You shouldn't drink so much while the game is on, it could cloud your judgment."

"Oh, but I'm not playing anymore."

"Is that a threat?"

"More of a promise."

She got on her feet and walked towards him around the table. He felt his back gluing to the chair.

"Get up." She said, lifting one eyebrow.

"Why?"

"I want to show you something. Don't look at me so terrified, I won't hurt you."

He rolled his eyes and got up, so he now stood dangerously close to her. It became a real staring contest which she lost by looking down, after which she reestablished eye contact with a small smile.

"Come." And she took him by the hand, guiding him towards the living room. Her hand was so small against his that he felt like he could hurt her if he squeezed her hard. Of course, he would never do such a thing to this warm, gentle hand whose touch made him feel so awkwardly pleasant. This was not bad, he thought. He had no idea what she has planned out for him later on, she thought. She squeezed his hand a bit harder before letting go, and instructed him:

"Sit here and wait for me just for a second, I'll be right back. And please, help yourself with the wine, it is the end of the world, you know."

Sherlock decided to take that advice since he expected her to come back from her bedroom carrying a whip or something suitable. Focus, he told himself. So what if she is nice, and pleasant and well, perhaps even pretty in a physical way. But all of that was a lame excuse for him to feel so restless. Fortunately for him, she came back carrying the photo of her teenager self he saw in her bedroom the evening before.

"You seem relieved. I didn't want to scare you off with my toys right away."

"I'm not scared that easily." he said, in his usual, uninterested manner.

"Of criminals, monsters and guns you're not. Of me, I'm not so convinced."

She sat on the couch next to him and handed him the photo.

"I know you've seen it yesterday and that you were simply dying to know something about it, so I decided to feed your curiosity since we're just chatting anyway. As you've already deduced it is my mother and I. This was taken when I was seventeen. "

"The change is evident. How did this girl become a dominatrix?"

"One thing at a time." She looked playfully at him.

"You don't want to tell me the story at all right now. You just wanted to expose something about yourself that wasn't exposing anything new at all, so that I would feel more comfortable, as if it was about you, not me."

"Nice deduction. You'll hear the story another time; I'm not in a talking mood right now."

"What mood are you in, then?"

"I'd like to dance."

"Feel free to, but don't expect me to join you."

"You don't dance, you don't drink...what do you do for fun?"

"I solve crimes."

"Would you like me to play dead in that case?"

"Only if you're convincing, I'm a detective you see."

"Really? Have I ever told you that I love detective stories...and detectives?"

"I would have never guessed."

She smiled, pressing a button on the CD player on the shelf next to her, pulling him up on his feet so they stood against each other once again. She wrapped her hands around his neck, looking in his eyes intensely, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"Just follow the rhythm." She whispered into his ear. The song was Fever by Peggy Lee.

This moment was a moment of a great inner struggle for Sherlock. Could he just give in and enjoy it? Should he? It was the end of the world as she said. No it wasn't; of course it wasn't, nothing will end tomorrow, except perhaps their lives. He never thought about dying much. He was close to it, once or twice when he overdosed in the period when he was an active user, but he wasn't one of those people that feared death. But now that he thought of it, it would be a shame if he never saw her again. Perhaps even more than a shame, it would really bother him. So he shyly put his hands around her waist, barely touching her. She smiled, without breaking eye contact.

"So, what now?" she asked, gently smiling.

"Now we survive any way we can."

She felt his hands holding her more tightly now, so she took a deep breath. The moon over Amsterdam was full; it was a very beautiful evening. Peggy Lee sang: "You give me fever..." and Irene Adler finally gently pressed her lips on the lips of Sherlock Holmes, the up to that moment apparently uninterested consulting detective.

So, what did you think? :) Please review, I feel so happy when I see a new review, it's very motivating! :)