Word Count: 242
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Note: An experiment to see if I could write her properly before I started other Irene/Sherlock fics.

She doesn't text him because she's emotional or feeling particularly sentimental. Of course not. She texts him because she's about to be beheaded and she wants him to know. He deserves to know. To see exactly what he's done to her. This is all his fault, you see.

Alright, so she humiliated him and she beat him, but this? This is something else entirely. He exposed her, forced her to beg, and then walked out. He left her alone, without her protection, without any sort of help, knowing that she wouldn't survive without it. And now she's going to die and it's all because of him.

So when they force her to her knees, when she knows that she only has moments left to live, she asks for only one thing: let her send one message. A single text. It won't take more than a moment. It's the least they can do for the woman they're about to murder, after all.

They hand her her mobile and she types in three words. And she knows exactly what it looks like: she's only a silly, sentimental girl, sending some boy her final farewell. A loving gesture that her last words are for him. That's all they'll see; that's all the world will see. But not him. Not the great Sherlock Holmes, the detective with the funny hat. He'll know exactly what she's telling him.

Goodbye Mr Holmes.

He'll know that he killed her.