Hi! I would just like to thank Barus for pointing me in the right direction for this chapter :) Enjoy!
Irene woke up discovering an empty bed. At first she felt alarmed but then she remembered why she came here in the first place; he had nowhere to run away. Since she left her clothes lying on the floor of the hallway, she decided to borrow his dark blue dressing gown. Securing the belt around her thin waste, she decided to go out and look for him. She smiled to the strange feeling of wearing something that belongs to Sherlock. It was the smallest of steps in conquering his territory, but it was good enough for now; the day was just starting.
Sherlock woke almost an hour before Irene did. Actually, he hardly slept and he decided that it was pointless to lie down, so he got out of bed an hour before she woke. Her presence was killing him. So he decided to speed the process up by smoking his third cigarette that morning. Since his isolation in the life beyond the grave started, nicotine patches weren't doing the trick for him anymore. And since yesterday, cigarettes weren't either. He remembered the days before he met John, which gave his life certain stability. Before that, his best friend was a seven percent cocaine dilution which he missed so badly now.
She was like a drug to him, unpredictable, she felt good in the moment when he had her and the crisis of longing for her was awful. And no matter how much he hated her, he still wanted more. And for luck, good or bad, more he got.
"Good morning." She said, joining him on the terrace. She frowned upon seeing the cigarette in his hand. "I thought you quit."
"I thought I had privacy here, but we both thought wrong, obviously."
They just stood next to each other for a few minutes, without exchanging a single word.
"Do you hate me?" she asked, lighting herself a cigarette.
"Hate is a sentiment. I'm cautiously indifferent towards you."
"You're a bad liar, you know."
"We can't all be on your level I suppose." He said with mild contempt.
"I'm glad you hate me." She said.
"Because there is a thin line between love and hate?" he interrupted her. "That kind of cheap cliché doesn't suit you well."
She smiled. "No. It's because hate is passionate, hate consumes in a haunting manner and doesn't let the object of you hate slip out of your mind."
"I still don't hate you."
"I know. It would be nice if you did though, don't you think?" she said in amusement.
They took a walk during the day on Irene's initiative. Sherlock accepted after a lot of persuasion; her ironic argument 'If you run fast enough you might even escape me, or I could fall of a cliff if you're really lucky' beat his 'I'm just going to sit here and ignore you until you become tired of convincing me and go out and walk alone'. He had to admit, it was rather nice talking to someone, in the absence of John or his beloved skull. He wasn't used to small talk with people; mostly because people were too stupid even with big, important talks, so he didn't see a point in giving them a chance with the small ones.
The bad thing in all of it was that he was getting used to her presence and the stitches of his old wounds began to crack, one by one. He understood her first betrayal up to a point; they knew each other briefly, she had a lot to gain, she would even have the satisfaction of bringing a nation to its knees, an item few dominatrixses had in their CV's, he was sure. But there was nothing to justify what she did to him afterwards. She dragged him to the Netherlands, played with him for a few days, and as Moriarty would say if he were her 'The flirting is over, Sherlock. The Woman had enough now.'
He had a strong urge to yell at her, to accuse her, to condemn her. He hated the fact that he wanted to believe her. That was the dangerous thing about sentiment; it had a will of his own. He knew that relieving himself of what was bothering him so much would only make her feel more victorious, more in power. He felt like a prisoner of his own mind. His shields were breaking down with every smile she gave him, every sexual insinuation she dropped into an unrelated conversation, every time she touched his arm nonchalantly while they walked.
By the time they got back, it was clear to Irene that Sherlock was deeply tormented by his thoughts although most people probably wouldn't notice the signs; his hands were restless, he was hyperactive but silent and he seemed like he really, really needed a smoke, but even when he had one, it didn't help. She decided to let him be and started making dinner, leaving him with the personal space he so longed for. She decided to stop the game and tell him the truth, although she feared that he might not believe her after all that happened between them. She sighed; the beginning of something between them and his inner piece were a small price to pay in order to keep him alive.
She went to look for him and she found him lying on his back in the darkened bedroom, staring in the ceiling. Of course he heard her come in, but he didn't even bother to hide his expression; hurt and loathing towards the darkness where he undoubtedly saw her face.
"Um, Sherlock, dinner is ready." She said with deep concern.
"Leave."
"Alright, but you haven't eaten all day, you really should..."
"Not the room. This house. Me. My life."
She took a deep breath and started approaching him to sit next to him but he straightened up and looked at her with a look she hoped never to see again; the layers of emotions that she saw broke her into pieces.
"I...I wanted to talk to you over dinner. There are some things I needed to..." she said, her voice shivering.
He stood up swiftly, crossing the room in a few steps to stand in front of her.
"What didn't you understand in the word leave?" he said, emphasizing every word he said.
She took a step back, feeling startled from his attitude. She took a deep breath to gather her strength; she was going to make him hear her out, whatever it takes.
"What happened in Amsterdam, when you came to Moriarty's house, it wasn't real."
"Oh you were just playing the game, right? What a déjà vu!" he stated rolling his eyes. "You should really make up new lines for conversations like this, they seem to become quite often."
"He gave me a choice, a choice with only one partially acceptable option; he offered me to hurt you, to mess with you and keep us both alive and unhappy or to have us both killed."
Sherlock analyzed her expression, as if he was trying to get to the very essence of what she was saying. She seemed strangely honest; but then again why would he believe her?
"Why would I believe anything you say ever again? Give me just one reason, just one tiny reason to trust you again and end up as a fool for the god knows which time."
"Because it's the truth."
Sherlock started laughing. He laughed at her with an equal mixture of amusement and despise.
"You are amazing Irene Adler. You really are. If the next thing that comes out of your mouth starts with an L, then I've heard it all."
Her sadness started to transform into anger. She opened her soul to him and he was laughing at her. She knew she had it coming but still; it made her want to fight back.
"Look who's talking. The great Sherlock Holmes, driven out of his mind by sentiment. Look at yourself, you are making a scene over emotions, is that clear to you? You became sentimental, what's next, you'll become socially acceptable? Should I take your pulse this time? It must be through the roof!"
"Maybe you were right before. I think I really hate you." Said Sherlock, his face only inches away from hers.
"I'm very pleased to hear that." She said, getting even closer to him.
His inner priorities were fighting at the moment; he wanted to make her disappear because of how angry he was at her but he also wanted to kiss her in order to explain to her how angry he was. Did that even make sense? He moved away, covering his face with his hands.
"You know what, if you won't leave, I will." He said, turning around to leave the room.
She moved quickly to her side, intercepting him on his way out. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"No you are not. Not until you hear me out. I'll leave afterwards." She negotiated, offering his brain a compromise to calm him down. Naturally, she lied.
He said nothing but he also didn't move. She saw that as a sign to start talking:
"I planned on leaving you safe in my apartment, at least for a while. I had previously arranged everything with Martin, for him to back me up and to help you when and if you manage to free yourself. I went to meet Moriarty to try and convince him to change his mind somehow; I knew his final goal was to mess with us both. He awaited me with a different intention. He said there was no use in killing us if he can use me to torture you, to as he says 'burn the heart out of you'. I had no choice but to accept that, as difficult as it was, and it worked; we are both still alive. And if you find the strength of forgiving me, now that Moriarty is dead, we could maybe..."
Sherlock smiled. He didn't seem angry anymore, just amused. That made Irene angry:
"Fine. Laugh your heart out."
"Either you are selling me another master lie, which wouldn't surprise me the least, or you are telling the truth which is highly unlikely. Either way, I know for sure that you got one detail wrong."
"Which one?"
"Moriarty isn't dead."
He observed her for a moment; there was no mistake in deducing the honest terror on her face.
"Well, there is a new one. A certainly honest emotion coming from you." He said, amused.
"But...I came here to find you because I thought he was dead, because I thought we were both safe now."
"We were, and if you were really careful with your arrival, we possibly still are. I am quite sure he doesn't know I'm alive, so I hope you will be able to keep that as a secret when you leave as you promised; I did listen to your little story."
Irene regained control of herself again, and it was her turn to make a scene.
"You didn't believe me for a second? Is it so hard to believe that I could risk my life to save you, like you did for me?"
"It is."
"Why? You think I'm some kind of calculated monster? Why did you behave the way you did towards me in Amsterdam? Why let your guard down?"
"As an experiment. I was curious."
She almost ran towards him under the influence of rage. She pushed him: "I'm glad I hurt you in Amsterdam! You had an experimental experience in being human in that way, without it you would just be an unemotional jerk as you've always been!"
"That must be the reason why you like me."
She gave up and moved away to let him leave, she couldn't deal with his insufferableness any more. He pulled her back, holding her close to him. She stared in him doubtfully, he felt even more doubtful, but he went for it anyway; he took initiative and kissed her, holding her firmly so she couldn't escape his embrace.
Her resistance didn't last long; her arms were tracing various patterns all over him. He stopped for a moment, leaning his forehead on hers, looking at her significantly.
"I don't trust you."
"I don't care." She said, completely uninterested of this subject at the moment.
And neither did Sherlock. He didn't even care about the proving his sentiment to her once again, for exposing his weakness; the only thing he cared about was his pleasurable position, being tightly pressed between Irene and the wall. There was no place he would rather be on at the moment; the acknowledgement that he in fact needed her was terrifying him, but her presence was comforting enough and much more than that.
She started undoing his belt and that's when a wave of cold panic went through him, so he instinctively caught her wrists.
She smiled, but not in a mocking manner, more in pure amusement. "Oh, I forgot. Nothing happens until the third date with you."
He gave her an 'I hate you look' and she laughed out of the bottom of her heart. She calmed down after deducing the change in the color of his cheeks; they were turning slightly pink.
"I'm just joking. This, us, it's specific in every way comparing to everything I've experienced in my life, so we don't have to rush it in anyway. The first difference being that I don't have to use the riding crop on you, you seem cooperative enough." She smirked. "Besides, you have nowhere to run away as we already concluded several times."
He smiled, still feeling a mixture of shame and now relieve. He didn't really want to say anything since it felt unpleasant enough so he just kissed her again. His never resting mind made a mental note that this was a good way to get out of embarrassing situations.
Eventually they fell asleep. To be exact, she did while he absently played with her hair, thinking about the strange new circumstances in his life.
Thank you for sticking with me and please review!