Chapter 17

Sherlock barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes but couldn't stop his mind from thinking "Here we go again". Irene purpose was clear although he had more than clearly expressed his desire not to repeat their past trysts. She simply couldn't help it. Seducing and manipulating on the other hand were inherent in her nature.

She stepped even closer to him with a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes. And once again that evening Sherlock decided to play dumb. It was the only kind way he could think of to discourage her from continuing her lure. So in addition to a blank stare he whispered an equally blank "Sorry?".

"I take that as a no" Irene said, not at all disheartened. On the contrary her fingers went to work to untie the knot on the belt of her negligee, "Does that mean I was special to you?". Her smile was playful when she corrected herself, "To Chase, I meant".

"We were very good together" her voice was raspy and her gaze intent, "I hope you haven't forgotten". Sherlock would have been lying if he had answered that yes, unfortunately he had. There were many things he had deleted from his mind over the years, but not the time spent with her of which he carried fond memories.

She was very beautiful, attractive and erotically enticing, but she wasn't right in his arms, not like before. He was not interested in her. Not in the way he had been in the past, nor in any other way for that matter. Proof was that his body was not reacting in the slightest to any of the provocations she was carrying on.

And she realized it too. In fact, when she brushed against him like a cat would have done, she meowed "Interesting. Are you restraining yourself or do I really not tantalize you anymore?", one of her hand moved up and her fingers curled in the hair at the back of his head while the other one reached between them and laid her palm against his length.

"Irene" there was a warning in his voice which she deliberately didn't pay attention to and with an amused challenging smile, she stroked him. Sherlock's hand covered hers firmly, "Irene, stop". His voice came out harsher than he intended, but it was best to make clear right away that he wasn't going to sleep with her. Not that evening nor on any future evening. He brushed her hand out of the away and for no particular reason, he felt compelled to say, "I'm sorry".

She stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to speak near his ear, "Molly" she said, her voice soft and intimate, "It's her you want". Sherlock opened his mouth in an attempt to deny it and put an end to her little games, but found himself with one of her fingertips on his lips, "Shush! No one understands you better than me…".

His brow furrowed in confusion. A little rueful smile tugged at her lips, "I want her myself". Uncertain if he had correctly grasped the meaning of Irene's words, Sherlock simply replied "You what?". His curiosity had now been piqued.

She sighed disconsolately taking a few steps back, "Isn't it ironic?". Her eyes reflected a vulnerability he hadn't seen in them since the night he had left her bed, appalled by her declaration of affection.

"Here I am" she said pointing to herself, "The dominatrix, the one capable of bringing an entire nation to its knees, melting into a puddle of need for a Miss Nobody. Who'd have thought it?". Then she lowered her head a bit and added, "She inflames me beyond reason. I have thoughts about her that make me blush. Imagine that".

No, better not to imagine what thoughts Irene had about Molly. He was more than certain they were sinful and deep down he feared they were the same ones he had and which he tried to relegate to one of the most secluded rooms of his Mind Palace.

Irene took a step toward him and gently took hold of his upper arms, "It's the same for you, isn't it?" her hands moved languidly in a slow repetitive stroke up and down. Her head tilted slightly to one side and her eyes searched for his as a mother would do to make her child confess the mischief he had just committed.

Sherlock shook his head, "You're wrong" he replied fixing his gaze on the logs burning and crackling softly in the fireplace. "No, I'm not" she reiterated endearingly taking his chin between her fingers and forcing him to look at her again, "You are thinking about her right now".

Sherlock shook his head in denial again, but the reality was that a naughty image of him using satin cords to tie Molly's hands to his bed had just flitted across his mind. He felt himself blushing.

"I knew", Irene gloated, unable to hide the self-satisfied grin that crept across her face. "I'm leaving" he said brusquely walking around her to the sofa on which his coat was placed.

"Coward" she scoffed at him, "In this, my dear Mr Holmes, you are in every way equal to your Chase Morgan". Sherlock looked at her in question and Irene prodded on, "As long as words feeling, passion, love are uttered, you" she broke off and snapped her fingers, "Poof…vanish into thin air!".

"Why?" Irene asked closing the distance between the two of them with slow steps. "It's nothing personal" he replied, ready to tuck his arms into his coat's sleeves. "I'm not scared of sex, as you well know. Chemistry is incredibly simple" Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "Love is another matter entirely. It is a dangerous disadvantage and it stands opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things".

"Oh, that's what it's all about! Pure, cold reason!", she placed her hands on his chest, smoothing non-existent creases from his lapels, "And sentiment can overshadow it?". He nodded vigorously, "Of course it can. It's a fact".

"Never allow your heart to rule your head" he suggested. The inflection in his voice was so serious and heartfelt that she couldn't help but humour him, "I'll remember that". Sherlock nodded, satisfied with her answer and took a step back, determined to button up his coat. It was time to leave.

But Irene clearly had a different idea. She completely closed the distance between them and looked him straight in the eyes from under her long eyelashes, "I was wondering…what would you said if, in the name of the chemistry you were talking about, the two of us moved into my bedroom and had dinner?".

What she implied by the term having dinner was well known to Sherlock and his lips tightened in what was a suppressed grin, "You are truly irredeemable, Miss Adler!". There was a spark of humour in the woman's eyes but it quickly died out when Sherlock replied "It wouldn't make any sense, Irene. I'm not hungry". He gave her a meaningful look and reached into his coat pockets for his leather gloves.

Irene threw her hands up in defeat "Okay, fine. No further attempts to seduce you, Mr Holmes. I promise" she stated putting on a prim expression and tracing with a finger a cross on her heart to seal her oath. "But", she paused tilting her head slightly in an attempt to force him to meet her gaze, "I think you owe me".

"What are you talking about?" he jerked to meet her eyes, "One last kiss" she replied as if what she was asking of him was the most natural thing in the world. Forcing a smile, he asked if she was still teasing him.

"A kiss goodbye. I think you owe me at least that", her gaze moved back and forth between his eyes and his mouth, "I'd very much like to kiss you one last time". A small smile touched Sherlock's lips, "I don't think it's appropriate".

"Appropriate?" a short, throaty chuckle escaped her, "Have you suddenly become prudish?". This time Sherlock rolled his eyes and grinned, "You know I'm not, but…".

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she whispered and took hold of his head, her fingers tightening in his hair as she pulled him toward her.

When she covered his lips with hers, Sherlock instinctively drew back. However Irene strengthened her grip on the back of his neck and the tip of her tongue traced the outline of his lower lip, inviting him to part his lips to deepen the kiss.

Sherlock didn't mean to be rude but this really had to stop. He gently placed his hands on her waist and pushed her gently. It was just then that he heard a sound from the door that made him spin around.

Martin Hooper stood there with his medical bag in hand, "Missed something, did I?".