A/N: Scenes in italics = Flashbacks.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my faithful reviewers who have supported my story throughout this long, exciting journey. Thanks for sticking by me. And thank you for bringing me past the amount of 100 reviews! I'm humbled and very grateful!

If you wish it – leave one last review and we'll call it the end. For now.

Chapter 21. The Untold Story

The woman gazed out at the dark waters below, listening to the sound of the heavy waves crashing against the docks around her. The soothing, yet foreboding, noise helped her to calm down but also barely tempered the wild storm that raged within her heart. Somewhere above her head, the gulls cried and men all around her on the ground shouted back and forth as they worked together.

She let the sound of the waves drown out all other noise and closed her eyes to let the memories of the past few days take her back in time.

"…Why did you do it?"

Irene smiled sadly. "I didn't."

With those simple words, she turned on her heel and, too, exited the cellar as she withdrew her phone from her pocket and dialed a familiar number. She held the phone close to her ear and waited for the person on the other end to reply.

"It's me," she said at last when the person did. "We need to talk."

Irene walked into the cold, grey room on swift feet.

She had left the basement just a short while ago, and the falsified images still haunted her memory vividly. After the events, she had hurried to Baker Street and tried to explain her deductions to the genius, but Sherlock had simply shut the door on her and her explanations. He had with that simple move knocked her world irrevocably off-course.

She had expected Moriarty's next move to include her, but had not expected to be used as both the arrow and the target in his grand finale. It had been the first (and last) time she had misjudged the reaches of the man's cruelty.

The cold, dark shadow she had seen on Sherlock's face as he had watched the video had sent sharp pains through her heart. He had obviously jumped to the conclusion that the video was real and there was little now that would sway his mind.

That was part of the reason she had made that call. She had lost him, in fact she had lost everything because of the whimsical games of a mad man. Now, there was only one way for her to get out of it alive, and she needed the help of one she had rather hoped to avoid. Now that her world was slipping through her fingers, this was nonetheless necessary. Everything was falling apart, and she had to save the one thing she could. Even if it meant taking drastic measures.

As she stepped further into the enclosed space, she saw his figure under the pale lights up ahead. The tall man was clad in a suit as usual and stood with an air of arrogance. There was a knowing smile on his thin lips, as if he was already filled with the breath of victory, even before the fight. Irene was inclined to agree this arrogance was well-placed.

"I must admit, after our last discussion, I thought you'd never call…" Mycroft said as she stopped a few steps before him. "Yet here you are. Begs the question – Why? Why are you here, Ms Adler?"

Irene steeled herself for what she knew would be another uphill battle. "I'm here to help your brother."

The elder Holmes boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he glared across the empty space at the woman."You must be truly desperate, Ms Adler, if you come to me."

"I'm probably dead already," she agreed and met the man's gaze without fear or remorse. If she refused to play the game, perhaps Mycroft would take her seriously.

Something flashed in his pale eyes that told her he understood her silent plea. The smirk was wiped from his face and replaced by a small, unsure frown. "Why come here and risk everything for my brother?"

The brunette shrugged as innocently as only she could. "I don't intend to go without raising a little hell first… I'm here to make a deal."

Time passed painfully slow as Mycroft's disbelieving eyes searched hers for the answers she weren't giving. "He threw you out…"

"…Yes."

"I'm not helping you get him back, Ms Adler."

"I'm not asking you to," Irene commented through gritted teeth.

"Ms Alder, I-"

The woman sternly interrupted, "Will you listen to me? It's my turn to talk."

Mycroft inhaled slowly and inclined his head. Irene closed her eyes briefly and continued, "Things are set in motion, Mr Holmes. It will happen fast… You asked me to come to you when Moriarty returned for his final game… He's back. And he is deadly. I need your help to protect Sherlock."

The smug, victorious smirk returned to the man's lips. "Ah!… Role reversal. How, may I ask, do you plan for us to protect my baby brother? He doesn't much believe he needs protection."

Her voice was cold and dark as she replied , "He has to kill Moriarty. You'll help him do that."

Mycroft paused a beat and Irene saw the intrigue shine stronger and stronger in his eyes. He didn't fully understand what she was getting at, but was still interested enough to hear her out. "A risky project, don't you agree? We all know how slippery Moriarty can be."

"He won't be this time."

Once more, Mycroft gazed at her through hesitant disbelief. "You sound sure. Too sure."

"Trust me, Mr Holmes," Irene smiled joylessly. "Moriarty won't leave anything to chance this time. He wouldn't have come back if he hadn't planned a final act against Sherlock. Moriarty will finish this whether he wins or not."

"You've spoken with him then?"

The woman shook her head. "Not yet. Soon. He knows I'll be in touch… He did-… It doesn't matter what he did, but he has it all figured out from here. The only thing I figure he hasn't counted on, is this…"

Mycroft nodded slowly. "You could be right. The man is clever. He must know we loathe each other more than we loathe him."

"Your brother knows it, too. Neither of them will expect me to come to you for help… and they never will. You must understand this is the only way if Sherlock is to remain alive."

"And if I help… what will I get in return?"

The woman paused. She knew she held his interest in the palm of her hand, and might be able to persuade him to help her. But, of course, everything came with a prize. To Irene, she could only give him the last remains of the life she had not already been robbed of. "I'll leave your brother and England. For good."

The man's eyes widened in surprise and he beheld her for a couple of long seconds. It seemed he was trying to figure out the sincerity of her offer. "…My brother would follow."

"Not if you kill me."

The shock on Mycroft's face tenfolded upon hearing her cryptic suggestion. "And how do you propose I do that?"

"First, you need to fool Sherlock Holmes," Irene explained.

The tall man huffed. "Don't be ridicculous. No one can fool my brother."

"I can," the intelligent woman said confidently and tried to convey the truth with her gaze.

Mycroft's eyes were wide and filled with shock. It seemed to this, he had no clever comeback or comment.

"You know I can. That was, after all, part of the reason you came asking for my help last time," Irene pushed on. "You were right. I can sneak into Sherlock's mind palace and out again without being detected. I am your only chance, and though you hate it, you have no choice but to listen to my deal."

The man sighed and there was defeat in his posture. "Very well. Go on."

"I believe I can read them both. I've learned much from watching Sherlock and Moriarty. I've learned how they work. I know Moriarty plans to kidnap me somewhere. To get to Sherlock. Now, if your brother doesn't follow, you'll have lost nothing. But if he does follow-"

"-you'll lose everything." Mycroft finished for her. "Tell me… He's thrown you out. What makes you think he'll follow? What makes you think he still cares?"

Irene pushed the last memory with Sherlock from her head and tried to hide the pain she felt. Perhaps Mycroft's insinuation was correct. Perhaps she had lost the detective's heart already. It certainly had felt like it when he had forced the suitcase into her hand and looked down at her with dead eyes.

"Call it instinct," the woman shrugged her eyebrows and smirked up at the elder Holmes boy. "Moriarty has the upper hand right now. He will lock Sherlock in the darkest recesses of his mind. Our clever man needs to be pulled out from that place so that he can focus and defeat Jim."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Leave that to me," Irene said mysteriously. "I need you to aid Sherlock with everything you've got. He'll need back up. Use your connections, give him help, tap into his phone. I can't give you specifics, but I can tell you that Moriarty is nostalgic. He'll bring the final game to one of two familiar venues. A swimming hall or a basement. I'll text the adresses for both to you. Keep ready. Make sure Lestrade can provide Sherlock with guns, ammunition and whatever protection he might ask for. But let your brother believe that's his idea."

"Then what?"

"When you learn which location Moriarty will choose, block his escape routes and quench his ideas. I'm sure I don't have to ask you to do it stealthily. If Sherlock learns you've contributed, all will be threatened. Of course, if all goes according to plan, Sherlock will beat Moriarty on his own... But we just can't take that risk."

Mycroft paused to contemplate something and turned his watchful gaze back to the woman."…I'm curious about one aspect of your plan. How do you intend to fake your death?"

"That's where I truly need your help," Irene whispered. "I think I can figure out what Moriarty means to do to me and use my abilities to survive… If I make it, Sherlock will be tricked into phoning for help, believing I'm dead."

"And you want my people to take the call?"

"Yes," the beauty nodded. "And I want you to send an ambulance, with your people dressed as paramedics. Wheel me out and… I'll be gone from his life. Forever."

The Holmes man exhaled deeply and asked, "…Why are you doing this?"

"It doesn't matter," Irene grinned coldly, in hope that it would throw Mycroft from his high horse. "I told you, I'm already dead."

"I'm going to need more than that, Ms Adler…"

The woman stiffened as she recognized the grin on Mycroft's face. Last time, she had pushed him for more answers, and he was merely returning the unkind gesture now. She had expected to meet tough resistance, yet had hoped she wouldn't have to wear her heart on her sleeve infront of him. "He doesn't believe he's capable of love. I don't think he can describe what he feels now, so he hides behind what he knows. Behind his intelligence. But one way or the other… he cares. That's why I think he'll follow, and try to save me."

"…But?"

"But… you were right," Irene admitted with a grimace. For some reason, it hurt to admit. It didn't only wound her pride to say it to the man before her, but it made her heart feel beaten, as well. "Sherlock might be capable of love, but his mind isn't. He can't have such an attachment to anyone. He can't put the key to the greatness of his mind in someone else's hands. Least of all me. That's why it can't work. That's why I should disappear once more. This time, without him knowing the truth."

"And you're hoping he'll care enough to mourn you, and not see the signs that you're alive?"

"It's not hope, I know he won't," the woman shook her head. "I know I can fool him. But I'll need help to do it…Moriarty has to die. I know you see it the same way I do. If Sherlock doesn't kill him, Moriarty will haunt him forever. That's why we have to make your brother see it like we do. If I die… it might be enough to push him over the edge."

"I see…" Mycroft nodded. "This deal of yours... it's really about your heart, isn't it? Everything you've told me here tonight… Your sacrifice… You're willing to do all this because you love him."

Irene neither confirmed nor denied his deduction but cleared her throat in discomfort. She had let her mask slip enough for this meeting and now glared up at him from behind her protective walls. "If it runs as I believe it will; Sherlock will kill Moriarty, and I'll be gone, too. Is that a deal you're willing to make, or not?"

The slim beauty stepped closer and stretched out her hand towards the man. If he agreed, half the race would be won.

There was barely a beat, before Mycroft reached forward and shook her hand, sealing their deal.

It had been almost an hour since the events in the basement, when Irene found her feet returning there. She had made a second call after leaving Mycroft in the parking house. Though she had found the meeting with the elder Holmes difficult, she had a feeling this would be harder still for her heart.

As she opened the door once more, she heard the scraping sound of a pair of shoes against the ground and gazed over as John stood up to meet her. The anger and betrayal in his eyes was subdued, but it was evident the trust was gone. His wide, pale eyes watched her now as she moved further in the room.

"Why did you want to meet, Irene?" he asked hurriedly. It was obviously a question he had asked himself over and over in his head. It seemed he was searching for the reason he had chosen to wait for her at all. In his hand rested the disc with the repulsive recording on it.

"I need your help, John," Irene explained silently and there was a hint of desperation in her dark voice. "More than you know."

The short man huffed sarcastically, "Why would I help you? After everything you've done…"

The woman nodded down at the disc in the blond man's hand. "You know that's fake."

"Do I?... Do I?"

Irene felt his disbelief in the air and the feeling of hurt in her heart was mirrored in his clear eyes. "I would never do that to Sherlock. I would never…"

John shook his head and turned away from her. He could barely face her after everything that had happened. "You betrayed him, Irene… I always knew that you could never give up your life of misbehavior… but betrayal? I thought you cared for him."

"John, I told you – I didn't do it!" Irene practically begged.

"I'm not sure about anything right now! This…," the man waved the disc in his hand and looked down at it with a sigh, "I just don't know. It's possible…"

"What?" the woman asked and couldn't hide the hope in her voice.

John sighed and turned back to face her. "Two years ago, Moriarty had an ace up his sleeve. He fabricated evidence to make it seem as if he was the innocent one, and that Sherlock had hired him to play a part. All to make the world believe Sherlock was a mad killer… This video… It just feels the same way it did then, it's almost too insane to be true… But I don't know."

"Ask me again."

The man held the woman's gaze as his mind registered her request. Her command was simple, but John knew the truth wouldn't be. He understood what she wished from him now, and conceded slowly. "… Do you love him?"

Irene's truthful eyes gazed at her friend for a long second to make sure she had his undivided attention, before she replied, "… Yes."

John inhaled deeply and tried to process everything that had happened and was sure to come. It was all too much for his simple mind. He knew he had an important decision to make. Either to trust the woman that stood before him now, or turn his back on her and believe she was only the deceiving woman he had first met.

"Sod it…" he muttered to himself. He had to give her another chance. If she was simply the deceitful dominatrix, she would never have admitted her love for Sherlock. "Alright! Alright… Say I believe you… why do you need my help?"

"Convince Sherlock it's a lie," Irene nodded in encouragement. "You're the only one who can make him see past his hurt."

"I'll try…" John promised with a tight grin. "But I can't guarantee anything. I could take this to Lestrade and his people, see if they can prove it false. I was going to anyway. But…"

"I know, John," she smiled back. "I know you'll do your best. But there's one more thing... Moriarty will expect me to go see him after what he did… I have to go. He'll make me do something… unforgettable, I'm afraid. And then he'll try to kill me. I need you to help me live, but also to make Sherlock believe I'm dead."

The blond man blinked at her." W-…What? What are you on about?"

"I have to disappear. But I don't want Sherlock to hate me. I don't think I coul-…" Irene paused and eventually let out a worn sigh. "It's just better he thinks I'm dead."

"What?" John opened and closed his mouth in disbelief. "You don't have to… If this disc is fake, and Sherlock believes that… You don't have to disappear."

"Moriarty's game is coming," the brunette smiled sadly. "It's not something we can run from. He'll try and kill us. You know that. It's important Sherlock doesn't die-"

"You're just afraid…" the former army doctor shook his head firmly. "It's just fear talking, Irene. Sherlock will kill Moriarty, and we can go back to normal."

The fair woman shook her head in reply but felt the hesitation tickle her mind. Though John's blind faith in his beset friend was one of a kind, she couldn't be swept away by it. "No… Nothing can go back to normal, John. I wish you could see it from my perspective… This has gone on for too long. If I do survive, it's better I disappear. For his sake."

"I… really don't understand what you're telling me."

Irene wet her lips and moved on to her plan instead of getting stuck on the mysteries the man wanted to learn of her heart, "Moriarty will take me somewhere and lure Sherlock there to save me. Moriarty once hinted that only ice could kill me. I think I know what he has in store for me, and I could survive it. But afterwards, I need to play dead… And if worse comes to worse, I need you to revive me and help me play dead. I need your help to fool Sherlock."

"I… I can't do that to him. I-…No," the man disagreed fervently.

"John… what is Sherlock's thoughts on love? Hmm? He believes love is the most dangerous of disadvantages… It's better to end this now, before someone is truly hurt."

"But someone will be hurt!" John argued back with a frown. "You've already passed that point of no return, Irene!"

"Sherlock Holmes can't let himself love," she disagreed. "He's not the type of man who falls in love or who is fit for a relationship. The same goes for me. Us… it was just a dream, a fantasy… A lie. If I do this, if I succeed with my plan, he can have a fresh start. So could I."

"...I think you're wrong."

"Am I though? Sherlock is a brilliant man, but you saw his reaction to Moriarty's latest ploy."

"He was angry…"

"Precisely! That was his heart, we saw, and not his head. If I stay, I fear he'll lose some of that brilliance that makes him shine so bright. Sherlock doesn't only care for his head, but he is his mind palace… If I were to take that away from him, he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes anymore. He'd never forgive me for that."

"I don't…-"

"You are a great friend, John. To Sherlock. …To me. Please, help me do this. Help me cut loose from him, and we can all start anew when this is over," the woman's voice broke several times as she spoke and the sentiment to her voice was genuine. It broke John's heart as well. "Things can go back to the way they're supposed to be."

"If we win…" the man inhaled deeply in an attempt to clear his mind. "Let's… pretend I agree to help. What exactly can I do?"

"Keep Sherlock away from me during Moriarty's final game. Make sure he doesn't feel my pulse… until after you give me this."

Irene held out her hand towards John and he gazed down at the small syringe in her hand.

"It's a far stronger drug than the one I've used to sedate Sherlock in the past. Inject this into my arm when he's not watching. It will slow my pulse down to almost unrecognizable… It's urgent that he feels my pulse minutes after you give me this, when the effects are strongest. Then you make him call for an ambulance before the drug wears off. It will be over quickly, so you have to plan it carefully. I have to be wheeled out of there before my pulse returns. Mycroft has agreed to help with that."

"Mycroft?" John frowned as a whole new version of the truth revealed itself before him. "You made a deal with Mycroft? That's the actual reason why you're leaving, isn't it?"

"I already told you why I'm leaving. It has to end here. Please. I'm not doing this to hurt him. It's just… It would never work for us. This way… "

The blond man sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat as he reached out his hand for the syringe. "Alright… Fine. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this…"

That day of reckoning had come and gone, and John had done what had been asked of him. Still, the sight of his broken best friend had him question his own decision and promise to the woman.

It had been two days since the endgame, two days since he had sneakily given Irene the injection as Sherlock had risen from 'the dead' and shot Moriarty. He hated to lie to his best friend, but Irene had become a friend, too. The sacrifice she had made, had undoubtedly been harder on her than the secret was for John to keep. The woman had survived, and now would have to live with her decision. It wasn't his burden to bear, though he wished she would rethink it all and give Sherlock's heart more credit. He knew she had been right when she had said the clever detective would rather live through his head than his heart… but it didn't mean his heart couldn't break like all others.

John now stood in the middle of the living room, gazing over at the man by the window. The detective was dressed in his robe and pj's, like always these days, and he was quietly gazing down at the streets below. The only thing different from last time was that he didn't write sad music now. It seemed the energy for composing had vanished from Sherlock's limber muscles. As he gazed outside, he swirled something small and gilded in his calloused hands.

After the man had let himself cry and feel the worst of the heartbreak, he hadn't showed a single emotion since. He had upheld an impassive wall and closed himself off from everyone's attempts of reaching out to him.

"Sherlock…?" John asked with a gentle voice. As usual, he got no response. "Molly and Greg are here. If you're up for it? I have to… I have to go home to Mary. I'll be back later."

The doctor hesitated and gazed over at the man, knowing that he was about to go behind his back one final time. Sherlock didn't even react to his words. At length, John turned around and looked over at at the couple who waited by the stairs.

Tears were streaming down Molly's face already as Greg rubbed her back in comfort. The news had struck the young woman harder than John had expected. The friendship between the two women had obviously grown stronger than the others had known.

Even the police seemed affected by the recent events. As he noticed John's gaze on him, the man shrugged. "It's really a shame, you know. Irene was a good, sweet woman… and quite the good detective, too."

John nodded and glanced back at his best friend by the window. "Mm, I hear she caught on to clues much quicker than I do."

With a final nod at their guests, the blond man passed them and walked out of Baker Street. Molly wasted little time as she timidly crossed the living room and stopped right behind the silent detective.

"I just…" the woman smiled through her tears. "…just wanted to see how you were holding up. H-how are you holding up?"

"Fine," Sherlock replied in a dull voice, but acknowledged their presence in no other way. "Been better."

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this but… I'm going to miss her," Molly sniffled. "She was a good friend… So strong. But I think she carried some insecurities, too. Did you know she once told me she wanted your friends to be her friends, too, so that we wouldn't turn against her? I think she grew to care about us, too."

"Hmm…" was the only reply Sherlock offered her as he looked down and Molly sniffled in silent despair.

An hour later as the sun was just about to set on the horizon and the chill of a late February evening was creeping closer, John gazed at the woman opposite him on the docks. She looked just as defeated as the man he had left behind at Baker Street, though infinitely less aware of it. Irene's old walls were crumbling and new ones were already forming in her eyes.

She looked almost as pale as he had seen her on the floor in the basement but at least her pulse was beating strong. Though, as far as Sherlock knew, of course, that wasn't the case.

"How is he?" she asked casually.

"Worse than last time," John admitted and decided he wouldn't hold back. "I wish you'd change you're mind, Irene. It hurts to see Sherlock like this… he's just sinking deeper and deeper into himself. I told you this would happen."

The brunette's smile was aloof but didn't reach her eyes. "He'll be himself in no time."

"… It's like you don't even care for him. I know you do, though. You don't have to hide behind your walls anymore… Just… don't be too afraid either," John squinted his eyes as he tried to read her. The defeat in her eyes was still visible despite her attempts to hide it behind her strong walls.

Irene sighed and glanced at the ship by the docks. It was an ordinary cruise ship, already packed with happy people excited for an adventure. The ship help no such joy to her. It was merely her ticket out of London. Mycroft had made all the arrangments and kept it all in the dark. The ship would take her as far as France. She refused to tell John what awaited her afterwards, and she also withheld the new identity Mycroft had given her. The doctor knew secrecy was rather the point, but still felt sad it had to come to this. Everything had changed now, and nothing could ever be the same. Not for Irene who was forced to find a new life and not for John and Sherlock who were forced to remain behind.

"Why are you really doing this?" the blond man questioned as he saw her dull eyes gaze lower to the ground.

Irene smiled sadly and turned back to her friend. "I just have to give up on him."

"No, you don't," John argued. It was his firm belief she was making the wrong choice, but only she could change it back. For some reason, he had the idea that her decision had more to do with a deal made with Mycroft than her own heart.

"Yes. I do."

"…Why? You make him happy. …He makes you happy. If it's fear… Share it with him. He'll understand. You can work on it. Together. I thought you understood. I thought you would stay… You are the person he needs, who cares for him. I don't want to see him become nothing if you leave. Is there no way I can make you change your mind?"

Irene shook her head. John had always been the romantic. A feat neither she nor Sherlock had ever shared with him. There were no words that could make him see things as she did. "I can't explain it, John. Sometimes… things just are. It has to be this way. You tried, John. But it was over even before it began. I knew that… For awhile, I was simply fooled into believing otherwise."

"Stop this, Irene…" the man half-begged and took a step closer to her. "Please. For Sherlock. Come back with me."

"I mean it when I say I can't," the woman whispered. Even though Mycroft weren't there on the docks beside her, she knew he was watching them from somewhere near by. "I'm sorry, John. It's better this way. Sherlock can never know."

"He'll figure this out, you know," said the short man. "Like he always does. He won't rest. Not when it concerns you, Irene."

"Maybe. But I'm good at covering my tracks. Hopefully, the trail dies here. I trust you. I trust you'll never tell Sherlock any of this."

John shook his head. "… I won't. Not that I like lying to him. Again."

The woman smiled and reached out for the man's hand. She squeezed it in her own and tried to convey the gratitude she felt towards his kindness. Though she knew she would miss Sherlock the most, there was a part of her that had grown rather fond of the doctor's presence, too. "Take care of him, John. And of yourself."

"Maybe we'll see each other one day?" he asked hopefully.

Irene smiled and shook her head. "We won't. But I appreciate the sentiment. Goodbye, Mr Watson."

"Bye, Irene. Take care. Don't misbehave too much."

The woman smirked and even managed a wink in his direction. "I make no such promises."

Irene shrugged her dark coat closer to her slim shape and quickly stepped aboard the large ship. She gazed down at John, who waved solemnly up at her, as the crewmen around her prepared to set off.

In her purse rested all the papers she needed to make a new life for herself. Still… she couldn't help it as her eyes searched the harbor for the tall, familiar frame of Sherlock Holmes. Though she saw many men out at this late hour in the harbor, none were the man she was looking for. Irene released out a low sigh and didn't know if she felt relief or regret. If he wasn't there, it meant her plan had worked, after all. She had pulled off her scheme and beaten the brilliant detective again.

The boat slowly left port and the woman strolled over to the bow of the ship, where she found some solace from crewmen and passengers alike. She needed to be alone for a little while, at least. The smell of salt water hit her nose like a punch and the wind blew through her loose hair as they set course for the continent. Irene closed her eyes.

"Where are we going?"

A tear rolled from the corner of her eyes even as she exhaled. She slowly turned in the direction of the unexpected voice, afraid to learn the truth of the man's identity.

For a second she simply gazed up at the tall man who exited the captain's cabin and strolled over to her. His long, dark cloak fluttered around his tall legs as he came closer and eventually stopped right beside her.

Irene opened her mouth but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again, "I don't know…"

Sherlock shrugged. "I hear Pakistan is lovely this time of year."

The woman shook her head. "I've been there. It's not to die for."

Their eyes met across the abyss that had divided them until then and all words seemed to vanish into their silent communication. The distance between them felt both like miles and millimeters at the same time.

Sherlock took in her appearance and let out a relieved breath. A weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders as he took in her appearance before him. He raised one of his calloused hands and gently placed it on her shoulder, just so that he could feel her warmth and know this was real. That she was actually alive.

As if his touch washed away the last of her resolve, Irene exhaled, too, and stepped closer. She stepped into his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck as his strong arms slowly and hesitantly enveloped her slim waist.

"I didn't think you could still surprise me. You're just always one step ahead, aren't you?" her voice was muffled against the fabric of his coat.

"I'm offended by your shock," the man's dark voice rumbled.

The beautiful woman stepped back and looked up at him. "It would have been easier if you weren't ahead… Do you understand why I did it?"

Sherlock nodded once. "I do."

"… And?"

"And… I won't let you beat me," the man smirked victoriously and walked over to the railing as if he needed the extra space to move. "I beat Moriarty. I won. You're not taking that victory away from me."

"How did you…?"

"How did you?" he asked right back with a pointed look before he threw himself into an explanation, "You're brighter than most, Irene. You catch on to clues fast. You read people well, and you've already proven you know how Moriarty worked. Of course you would figure his game out. But you really shouldn't have asked my brother to help."

The woman grimaced. "I know."

"I mean it, Irene. You and my brother shouldn't have gone behind my back and decided what was best for my heart. Mycroft doesn't know how my heart works," Sherlock said and simply gazed down at her with understanding, sad eyes.

"Do you know how it works?"

"No," Sherlock admitted. He walked back to her and briefly squeezed her hand tightly in his larger ones. As he released her and step back, Irene glanced down to notice he had given her something. She opened her pale hand and looked down at the gold chain with the looking glass on it, shining as good as new where it rested in the hands it belonged.

"I believe that's yours," the man explained shortly and turned as he hurriedly returned to explaining everything. "I admit, I didn't realize you'd deceived me until I arrived at Baker Street that night. But then it occurred to me that my brother's sudden presence was uncharacteristic. There was no reason for him to be there. The paramedics, I realized, had arrived too swiftly, of course. And everyone kept me from your body after you were wheeled out of the basement. When I put the clues together, it wasn't hard to deduce the truth. As for John's involvement, though... Oh, that was far more clever of you! I didn't think he would ever help with with something like this, and it did throw me... But he cares, Irene. For both of us."

"Did he tell you anything?"

The tall man shook his head. "He would never turn on you, despite being my friend first. Regardless, he didn't have to. Andromedotoxin. A nice touch, I must say. If injected, the toxin mimics the resemblance of death in a person. The heart slows down and the pulse is nearly impossible to detect. You needed someone to help you inject it into your system, though, and that's where our good doctor came in. I realized - when we had returned to Baker Street - that the three times I had reached forward to feel for your pulse, your skin had turned a degree or two warmer each time. The symptoms of the toxin had started to wear off. I thought about it and ultimately faked a teary collapse to observe John. His swift, ready response, as well as the faint scent of the toxin that still lingered on his finger tips after handling the syringe, gave him away."

Irene sighed and failed to meet the man's eyes after his lengthy monologue. "…Now what?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted with a shrug and it was the first time she had heard the genius utter those words in such a heartfelt way. "All I know is that I want to keep solving crimes. And your contribution to my speedy deductions and well-being is… highly appreciated. Of course, it helps that your mind is faster than John's, too."

"I do make one sexy flatmate, too, don't I?" Irene cooed.

"It's a tie with John there, I'm afraid," the man joked. "…You were right."

"About what?"

"You're not Moriarty's strength," Sherlock admitted and his intense gaze broke through her defenses.

There was still much to figure out in their complicated relationship. But maybe giving it a chance was better than letting it all go to waste. Whatever the future held in store for them, whatever storm lay ahead, they could try and weather it together.

"John said it could be worth it," the curly-haired man commented cryptically and shrugged. It was obvious he wasn't entirely certain what it meant, but the words had made an impact on him.

"Maybe…" Irene began. "… there is a great mystery to solve in Hungary?"

"Or a deceitful king in Sweden?"

"A murder mystery in Turkey."

"A serial in India," Sherlock offered and shrugged his eyebrows. "… What do you say?"

The woman simply nodded. If the one-of-a-kind man wasn't prepared to throw in the towel just yet, neither was she.

"If you so desperately need my help to solve crimes… then I'm your woman," she smirked up at him as the cruise ship broke the waves and England became smaller and smaller in the distance.

The end.

P.S. There could be room for a sequel. Any takers?