The Last Light

She has this problem where she can't resist intelligent men. It's a huge problem.

I'm in Georgia. Two countries to your left. Fly over, let's have lunch.

I heard about that last stunt in the Sandbox. Very clever. Lunch?

I quit smoking, now I don't know what to do. Have lunch with me?

I've got something you might like. I'm in Hungary. Come and I'll show you over lunch.

I'm not hungry, so let's have lunch.

And she's got this problem where she doesn't know when to stop.

It's my birthday. I'm bored. Come celebrate with me.

Over lunch.

She knows he won't reply. He never does.

I'm in town. Lunch?

The hero of the Reichenbach. Oh my. Will you grace me with lunch?

And then she knows that she's got to make him reply.

I know a doctor. Well, I know what he likes. We had lunch.

I know. Tell me more over lunch?

You need to eat. Lunch?

You're dying. Live a little. Lunch?

She's been texting him for so long she's starting to feel pathetic. One less ridiculously clever man. So what. The world keeps turning. She looks at her phone and knows this is the last time she'll type anything to his number, so she's got to make it worth while.

She texts him

Please.

And gets a reply:

Happy belated birthday, Irene. I won't make it to lunch. –JM

And she reads all about it in the papers the following day.

Yes, you read that right. This was The Woman/The Psycopath. I had her ask him to lunch because dinner was totally Sherlock's thing. I think Irene is a sucker for any kind of intelligent man, and Moriarty fits the bill. Not to mention he's yummy. Also, my personal head-canon about him being terminally ill and on a death-row even before the Fall plays in here. Angst, angst everywhere.