A/N: Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/386442.

Tugon, in my language, can be loosely translated to Response. I thought it a fitting title for this chapter.


She isn't certain what happened, or where it came from. All she knows is that she went to his flat as part of their little game and found him alone. They banter, first with words, and then wordlessly. Their eyes meet.

All it took for her is one little push, one little shove and she comes undone, presses herself all over him, kisses on his jaw, his lips, his cheek, his throat - everywhere she can get her lips on.

He responds, and it was even more than she can ask for.

"All I want is for you to want me." She half groans, half whispers into his ears, need dripping from her voice. "Is that too much to ask?"

"I can't." He replies, his pliant movements earlier reverting back to something rigid, more rigid than he was before.

"Why not?"

"Because," he clears his throat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you're Irene Adler."

"That is a poor excuse." She murmurs, purrs, into his ear, and she felt him shiver slightly against her. One look into his eyes confirmed what his elevated pulse suggested, and she moans quietly at what she found.

"But you do."

"I can't." He repeats. To everyone else, it will have sounded the same, but she isn't everyone else. She hears what she wanted to hear, and she knows, she confirms, just like that.

"Let's have dinner."

"No."

No 'I'm not hungry', or any other flirtatious comment (but from him, it wasn't really flirtatious, was it); just a flat out no.

It confirms what she already suspected, what she wanted.

"All right." She says, disengaging from their tangled… everything. She collects herself together, and almost shakily, straightens herself in front of him. She smoothes over her dress, and runs her finger almost lovingly on his jaw, a gesture that she's more familiar with. More controlling, rather than her spilling and splitting at the seams.

She adjusts his collar and the lapels of his suit, and pats his shoulder almost affectionately. "You know how to reach me."

He doesn't reply.

"I will be seeing you, Mr. Holmes." She says, and she opens the door, winking at the doctor who appears in the doorway and blinks at her in shock. She is aware of how it might have looked, with her lipstick smeared all over her jaw. She slips out, and wipes the make-up away.

She knows he'll be seeing him again, on his own terms, when he's ready. And all she hopes is that he will be.