Denial, Mr Holmes

Featuring: Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler.

Sherlock ushered Alder over the threshold and into the grim, bare hotel room, smoothly closing and locking the door behind him, though he was quite certain that they hadn't been followed after their great escape from the terrorist cell intent upon removing Alder's head from her slim shoulders. He pushed the traditional red and white checked keffiyeh from off his head and automatically reached up to ruffle his curls, freed from the thin, cotton fabric, tossing it onto the one very basic, wooden chair that sat in the corner of the room by the door, before moving on to discard the head to toe covering throbe that covered his typical, much more preferred button-up white shirt and dark, dress trousers. It was fortunate that it was a cool, desert evening and not the peak of summer.

"Is it safe here?" Adler questioned, turning around in the middle of the room, lit only by the small beside lamp by the double bed in the middle of the room. She had also reached up to slip her black chador from off her head, revealing her customary dark hair twisted up in an elegant bun, though her face was bare of makeup and her eyes looked very tired, almost haunted. She wasn't quite the same Irene Adler who had once threatened to have him begging for mercy. Twice.

"Safe enough," he replied lightly, regarding her with an emotionless eyes, remaining by the door. She looked up to him at that and lifted a slim eyebrow at him, a flicker of her old self back in her tired eyes. He shrugged, perhaps a little casually, "They won't find us here, if that's what you're concerned about".

Alder nodded slowly, her gaze roaming the room curiously, though with a hint of distaste flickering in the light blue of them as she found how simple and basic it was, consisting of just a wooden framed double bed with old fashioned, plain white sheets, a matching chest of drawers beneath the small window covered by brown curtains and the single chair by the door, facing the room. There was a very small, basic bathroom, too, with a door opening up from just a foot into the room. Basic, yes, simple, yes, lacking in most modern touches, like a TV or air conditioner…certainly, but it was safe and hidden in the heart of the city. Anyone attempting to track them would struggle, which was specifically why Sherlock had picked this place. Plus, the owner had been the uncle of a contact he had in London, who owed him a favour.

"I suppose a five star hotel was out of the question?" she turned her gaze back to him.

Sherlock scoffed, "Hence why you were so easily caught and almost beheaded," he told her, his tone dry.

She smirked, as though it was simply an everyday occurrence, which is very likely was, with the number of enemies that she had made herself by 'Misbehaving,' "I'm a woman of certain tastes," she replied, and the implication of her words positively dripped from each word and her eyes glittered flirtatiously at him.

He rolled his eyes, refusing to bite, "You only have to endure for another three hours," he said in the most bored tone that he could possibly muster, all but checking his fingernails. Honestly, there was once a time when he had thought that Amelia was the most high maintenance, insufferable woman he had ever encountered…and true, she still was on a daily bases, but at least she had the redeeming quality of being actually a very good detective and clever, in her own right, capable of even matching him and keeping up him, which made her bearable company to keep. Irene Adler, on the other hand, tended to simply flirt and make less then subtle implications towards him, which was terribly dull. He turned his cool, guarded gaze back onto her, "The boat comes into port at five am and then you're free from there. Whoever you choose to go is your concern, as long as it isn't Britain".

"Won't you miss me, Mr Holmes?"

"Hardly".

Adler's lips lifted and if she had been wearing her blood red lipstick, it likely would have looked quite striking and positively seductive, but she wasn't and Sherlock Holmes felt nothing but a stirring of annoyance. He meant it when he said that he wouldn't miss her, it hadn't just been another little almost playful comeback that he would have given to Amelia if she had asked him before heading off to Paris for the weekend, he honestly had little desire to ever see her again, and why would he? She had practically humiliated him in front of everyone, which was enough to make most men shy away from even the seductive charms of a pretty face, but Sherlock Holmes was not just any man. Adler had always just been another case, one that had been challenging and intriguing at first, one he had engaged with and, eventually, solved...well, Amelia had solved it, but he considered it a win, regardless. Now, her case was over and that made her utterly irrelevant to him from here on out, as long as she kept her distance from him. She was a pest, an annoyance that he had no desire to have mixed up in his life, he only had room and the patience to deal with one high maintenance, infuriating, possibly attractive brunet and Amelia had won that position already. Not that he would ever share that with anyone, least of all Amelia.

"Oh, come now, Mr Holmes," she practically purred, moving to comfortably sit on the edge of the rather plain bed, peering up at him from under her eyelashes. She leant back very slightly; one hand bracing herself against the mattress, and his eyes narrowed very slightly, "You have to admit...you have enjoyed our little dance together".

"The case is over and so is our dealings, Miss Adler".

She continued to peer up at him, her other hand moving to rest on her knee, bunching up some of the fabric. It was almost laughable, annoying, most assuredly, that she was actually attempting to seduce him right now. He stared back at her with a hard glare, his expression utterly unchanged. If John was here right now, he would have thrown himself at her; most men likely would, or become stupidly overcome with giggles and blushes. Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, was just...bored. Oh, he wasn't completely detached, though he claimed he was. He was a man...he had eyes, eyes that could see that Adler was attractive and he didn't need to be an expert at deductive reasoning to see that she was quite taken by him, though lots of women seemed to be physically attracted to him, until he opened his mouth. Not that he cared, honestly. But he also considered Amelia to be attractive on a physical and mental level...that didn't mean he had any interest in romance or sentimental attachments, or a physical based encounter, for that matter, with her...well, he supposed that Amelia would be far more bearable then most other women, if he was interested in anything in that realm of things, she had proven herself to be someone who he could actually respect. Few could claim that, Adler, most assuredly, couldn't. Perhaps that was one of the most significant difference between her and Amelia.

"They don't have to be over," Adler said suggestively, her gaze fixed steadily on his eyes, her tone lower, "We have three hours left, Mr Holmes..." she licked her lips, "…what will we do while we wait?"

Sherlock turned away from her, moving to cross the room to carefully peer out of the window, down into the street below...it was empty. They hadn't been tracked, as he suspected.

"I would suggest that you sleep," he told her, without sparing her a glance over his shoulder, his gaze still on the darkened street below, "I sincerely doubt that you will have much sleep during your journey".

The springs of the mattress squeaked as she changed positions and he did glance back to her, finding that she had moved to positively drape herself across the bed, her chin delicately resting on the palm of her hand as she braced her elbow against the top of the bed, looking seductively up at him, while her other hand moved to sit on her hip. Sherlock barely held back his eye roll.

"Come sleep with me, then," she smiled wickedly at him.

"Sorry," he said in a very un-sorry tone, giving her a flat look, "I'm not tired".

"Good," her eyes brightened, her voice dropping into a whisper, "Neither am I," she gave him a long look, "One night. One night together, Mr Holmes...no one else, just us. Tomorrow I'll be gone and we'll never see each other again...why not experience it just once?"

Sherlock stared at her, his expression just as flat and emotionless, his interest not the slightest bit peeked, "No, thank you," he said in a pleasant, if detached tone, "Not interested," he turned away from her again, back to the window, fully intending for the entire matter to be dropped for the rest of the next three hours he had to bare her presence...

"If I was Amelia, would you turn me down?"

He blinked and whirled back around to frown at her, truly thrown by that question, because of all the things she might have thrown at him...that had been the last thing even he could have imagined. For a moment, he simply stood there, his lips parted and actually speechless, before he managed to open his mouth.

"Excuse me?" he demanded, his tone sharp and full of far more shock then he would have liked to reveal.

Adler sat up from her seductive pose, swinging her legs over the end of the bed and standing, peering intently at him, "If it was Amelia standing before you right now," she said slowly, carefully speaking each word, her gaze not leaving his for a second, "If she asked you to take her to her bed, if it was the last time you would see her again...would you turn her down?"

"This is ridiculous..."

"She'll never have you, Sherlock," she cut across him, shaking her head slowly, full of sympathy as she walked closer to him, stopping just as their chests touched. He simply gazed down at her, his expression screwed up in a deep, startled frown...he didn't even try to shy away from her hand as she reached up to cup his cheek, her eyes roaming his features gently, "People like Amelia want the perfect man, clean and polished and un-damaged. Oh, she might enjoy you, for a while, women like her enjoy feeling as if their helping fix their partner, but they always get bored in the end. She'll realise that she wants someone who is easy, someone she can grow old with and have babies with, and that'll never be people like us, Sherlock," her voice dropped to a whisper by the end, her lips brushing against his ear.

He jerked away from her and grabbed gently her by her shoulders, pushing her a good arms length from him, glaring furiously at her. She simply smirked up at him, which only made him more annoyed, her words swirling through his mind...if Amelia was here, asking him to...to take her to bed, would she turn her down? Of course, he would, without a doubt or hesitation...but the idea was simply too absurd to consider...so why did the mental image seem to stick in his mind? He dragged in a deep breath and dropped his hands from Adler, stepping swiftly around her.

"I'll be back by four sharp," he told her in a short, clipped tone, moving to grab his discarded disguise.

"You didn't answer me," Adler called after him, and he stopped short, just having reached the small chair, "If it was Amelia here instead of me, seducing you...would you turn her down?"

"Of course," he replied instantly, turning back to face her, his expression blank.

She eyed him closely, before shaking her head lightly, "Denial, Mr Holmes," she practically tutted, and he frowned at her warily. She stepped slightly closer, though she kept her distance still, "She has you hooked around her little finger already, doesn't she?"

"This is absurd. Amelia and I can barely tolerate each other..."

"But that only makes the passion more intense. I wonder..." she sighed, then, suddenly wistful, "If we have met before you met her, if you would view me differently?"

Sherlock simply looked at her flatly, "Doubtful," he turned to head back to the door, his hand just on the door handle.

"Prove it," Adler's words stopped him, once again, full of challenge and a smirk lacing her words, teasing and seductive. He frowned, his head turned away from her, before slowly he turned back around to face her, his hand slipping from the doorhandle. She was eyeing him with a dark glimmer in her eyes; almost goading him...it was annoying. She stepped slowly closer, every step deliberate, every sway of her hips pronounced to be seductive, her tongue lightly running along her bottom lip as she peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, "Prove you have no feelings for Amelia Wilson".

He laughed aloud, then, "Having sex with you is supposed to prove something, is it?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard, it was close to giving him a headache, "That is a ridiculous proposition, based on nothing but your own obvious, selfish desire for me and reeks of utter desperation, Miss Adler," his tone was clipped and cutting, spoken in a rush, much like his usual dealings with clients that had proven themselves to be boring and pointless to him would be treated. He didn't care if it was rude or offensive; he was offended that she thought he would fall for that rubbish.

Alder immediately scowled, "I am not desperate..."

"No?" he cut across her, his eyebrows rising mockingly, "And what would you call a woman throwing themselves at someone who clearly has no interest in them?" he paused, briefly, and gave her a cool glare, "That sounds like desperation to me".

"You think I couldn't have any man I wanted? No one turns me down, Mr Holmes, men, women...no one".

"Except me".

"Yes," Adler said quietly, her expression almost sour as she looked at him, her lips curling very slightly in irritation, "Except you".

He rolled his eyes and grasped his hands behind his back, "Which you have, of course, naturally assumed is because I must be in love with Amelia".

"I never said anything about love," she corrected him, her expression growing a touch more like her seductive, sly self, her eyes keenly on his face, "I talked about passion, Mr Holmes..." he frowned very slightly at her and her lips lifted wider, "Oh, yes, there is a difference. Passion is the heat between you, the desire, the urge to bicker and find new ways of annoying each other, until one of you snaps...Love, on the other hand, is the combination of all of that and the wish to still want to be around that person, even when that heat isn't present".

Sherlock truly could care less about the difference between passion and love, they were emotions that he had little time for, emotions he found to be utterly wasteful, distracting, and purely ordinary and for the simple minded. He was not simple minded, not like John, even Amelia, for all of her intelligence, was simple minded in that regard. She held onto her belief that love and sentiment was somehow important to living one's life, to being a good detective. He'd tried to convince her otherwise, but she simply gave him one of her annoyingly knowing, slightly amused smiles.

"Fascinating," he said dryly, making a point of giving Adler a sarcastic, tight lipped smile, "I'll keep that in mind, I'm sure..." he went to turn back to the door again, but again, the insufferable woman spoke up.

"You may not want to believe it, Mr Holmes," she said with a light, almost airy tone, "But there's a heat between you and Amelia, a tension. You're drawn to her, attracted by her intelligence, more so then her beauty, though..." her lips lifted knowingly, "I sincerely doubt you would consider her physical charms to be underwhelming".

Sherlock sighed loudly in exasperation, deciding that he could care less about attempting to deny the accusation, this one, anyway, it only seemed to fuel Adler and he wanted the subject dropped. He levelled her with a cool look, full of apathy.

"I thought you were attempting to seduce me," he said in a bored tone, "Not convince me that I have feelings..." he couldn't help rolling his eyes as he said the last word, "...for Amelia. You almost make it sound as if I ought to be seducing her".

"I'm a dominatrix," she reminded him, her voice dropping to an almost seductive purr, "It's my job to see through the fake façade and see the true desire beneath," she walked closer to him again, slowly, peering up at him from beneath her eyelashes, "I can create that fantasy for you, if you'd like, Mr Holmes".

Sherlock gave her an exasperated glare, "I should have let that terrorist cell kill you," he lamented, looking at her coolly, "Or perhaps asked them to take me, instead. Anything to spare me this entire conversation".

"Curious that you would save me," Adler nodded slowly, her gaze growing calculating almost instantly...eyeing him shrewdly. His slight against her seemed to go utterly ignored by her, "You went to quite a bit of trouble to do so, too, all save someone that very nearly destroyed and humiliated you..." she paused, her eyes narrowing on him, "One can't help wondering why?"

"Perhaps I was bored".

"Or..." she paused, pointedly, "Perhaps you were doing it to spare Amelia any part in my death," her eyes were fixed on his face, heavy, intent, enough to make any ordinary person perhaps crack under the pressure, but Sherlock maintained a complete air of mere annoyance. Her lips briefly pressed together, "Admit it, Mr Holmes".

Sherlock had never felt a greater desire in his entire life to suddenly throw himself out of a window, not even the brief period when Mycroft had decided to try his hand at learning to play the violin had brought him more physical and psychological pain then he was experiencing currently, and Mycroft was far, far from talented at anything musical related. He was literally contemplating that the likelihood of breaking both of his legs and possibly an arm upon landing, just simply to escape this conversation, would be preferable right now, it was that or locking Adler in the bathroom until it was time to get rid of her, but that sounded terribly noisy and the walls were rather thin.

"I will be back by four," he said after taking a deep breath through his nose, glaring at her icily, his tone utterly devoid of emotion. He reached behind him and grasped the doorhandle, "I suggest you sleep, Miss Adler. I doubt the journey ahead of you will be pleasant".

This time he did manage to open the door and take one step over the threshold, before she spoke.

"When she grows tired of you, Sherlock, and she will," Adler said lightly, her smirk lacing her words, though he kept his head turned from her, "Come find me. We'll have so much fun together...I promise".

Sherlock refused to knowledge her words; instead he kept walking, stepping out into the darkened hallway and shutting the door behind him. At the end of the day, much like Amelia, Adler's main goal seemed to be to try to get under his skin, to annoy him and push him. Her words meant nothing, her actions were nothing but self-indulgent, and her insistence of his so called feelings for Amelia mere jealousy of a woman who had been outwitted and then denied, perhaps for the very first time in her life. It was all just white noise...utterly meaningless. Denial, after all, can be a very powerful emotion, especially to someone determined to rationalise and refuse to accept that, maybe, just maybe, they might be more ordinary then they would like to think they truly are.

This is set, obviously, in that little period between the end of A Scandal in Belgravia. I feel like this is around about the time that Sherlock firsts begins to develop feelings for Amelia, or at the very least an attraction for her, which he has evidently come to acknowledge, even just to himself, which is a rather big step, for him. I'm not sure yet what the next one-shot will be, I have an idea already, mind, but we'll see. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought or if you have any ideas you'd like to see. Please review :)