STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY


~•*•~

Sherlock Holmes sat in a chair, his mind buzzing as normal. In the background he could hear his brother and Her talking. Words from minutes ago rang in his head.

"Not you junior, you're done now."

He hated to even think it, but those words had cut deeply. In the recesses of his mind, he knew he fancied her, though acknowledgement was a step he was not yet willing to take. He thought of the time she'd tried to seduce him, and how he'd felt that beating area of her wrist. Then it hit him.

.

After a lengthy discussion of how sentimentality was a losing trait that ended with him guessing the pass code to her phone, he was just about to walk away when Her voice called him.

"Ah, but why did you take my pulse? Really, Mr. Holmes, why?"

He stopped mid stride. He hadn't been expecting this. He turned to face Her, Irene Adler, The Woman.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and hurried from the room, clenching his fists in frustration.

.

The government had been kind enough to set her up in a hotel for one night. After that, she was on her own. Truth be told, she was terrified. So many people wanted her dead, how long would it take for one of them to succeed?

Irene looked around her large suite. It was furnished in her two favorite colors, black and red, how convenient. There was a bedroom, a kitchen, a dining area, and a living room.

She sighed and went to the telephone, ordering some expensive fish from the hotel's restaurant, then strode into the bedroom. Retrieving the suitcase she'd been allowed, she pulled out her pajamas and began to undress in the dark.

"I'm sorry." Came a familiar voice.

She jumped, her gun pointed and ready. When she processed the voice, however, she lowered the weapon.

"What? Come to taunt me about how I'll be dead in six months? Because you and I both know that's where I'll be." She spat. Turning away from him, she pulled on the risqué bedclothes.

He chuckled a little. "No. I came to say I'm sorry, and I'd appreciate if you didn't make me repeat it."

Pulling the pins out of her hair, her dark locks fell to her shoulders. There was silence.

"Do you really want to know why I took your pulse?" He asked, ghosting closer to her.

As she ran a brush through her tresses, she said "I don't ask questions if I don't want to know the answer. So yes, tell me."

He sighed as if contemplating whether it was a good idea or not. In the end, he spoke.

"Because... I wanted to know if you felt the same for me as I do for you. I wanted to know if I created any sort of real emotion. Because I think I'm in love with you, Irene Adler."

While he'd been talking he'd been walking ever nearer, so that when he'd finished they were barely six inches apart.

She glared up at him and gave him a hard slap across the face. He winced, but didn't move, and the next thing she did left him shocked but pleased.

She roughly grabbed his collar and pulled his lips down to hers in a searing kiss, forcing all the pent-up tension into it.

He responded with just as much fervor, pulling her to him and tangling his fingers in her hair.

When they were both oxygen-starved, they pulled away a little, resting their foreheads against each other.

"I wonder... Your brother doesn't know you're here, does he?" Irene questioned, earning her a small laugh from Sherlock.

"If he did I'd be locked in a cell somewhere, most likely." He stated. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, the fish Irene had ordered arriving.

"Send it back, I'm not hungry anymore." She told the man with the platter.

Locking the door, she hurried back to the bedroom to find Sherlock casually reclining on the king-sized bed, flipping through the TV channels. She smirked and leaned against the entryway before making her way to sit beside him. He pulled her into his side and started stroking her hair.

"I'm still going to be dead in six months..." She said, snuggling a little closer. He stiffened the tiniest bit, then relaxed.

"No, you're not. I mean you are, but you're not."

She looked up at him, confused."What does that mean?"

"It means you and I are going to fake your death yet again, and it will be so perfect even Mycroft will believe it..." He stated, confident-sounding.

For the rest of that night, they laid curled together, plotting. By morning they had everything worked out, their plan foolproof.

As he stood to leave, Irene slowly strode over to him. "You'll come, then? You won't let me die?" She questioned, doubtful.

He stared deep into her eyes as he spoke. "Irene Adler. You are not going to die before you're old. You're the only woman I will ever love, and I will protect you to my dying breath. I promise."

She smiled then stretched on her toes and planted one more seductive kiss by his ear, then he turned and left.

~•~ Six Months Later ~•~

Irene knelt on the ground, dressed in a traditional Pakistani woman's robe. She was going to die. And there was no one to save her.

Asking the guard next to her for her phone, she requested that she be allowed to send one last text, a request that she was granted.

With tears in her eyes, she slowly typed the words "Goodbye Mr. Holmes" and hit the send button. Looking forward once more, she braced herself as the executioner took his spot.

Suddenly, she heard her own voice sighing next to her, then a familiar whispering.

"When I say run, run."

She smiled, then did as he'd ordered.

.
.

After a long fight with the terror cell, the two found themselves on a plane to Istanbul, Turkey. During the journey they didn't speak a word, and acted as if they didn't even know each other. But when they landed they found an upscale hotel and got themselves a suite on the thirtieth floor, up at the top.

"I didn't think you'd come..." She confessed when they looked out over the bedroom view, his arms around her waist. He leaned down and kissed her, slow and lovingly.

"I promised you, didn't I?" He said.

She smirked and whispered something in his ear which made his face break into a small grin, as she closed the bedroom door and locked it.

~•*•~


AN: Oh my goodness, I love this ship so much. It's like Dramione, they balance each other out perfectly and she can actually match his wits. So when I watched "A Scandal In Belgravia" this instantly popped into my head. So there. My first Sherlock fanfic. You should totally leave a review, I wanna know what you guys thought. But no flames please.
~Juliet