Being dead had distinct advantages. No one would bother to track a dead person, except one of two people who still knew he was, in fact, very much alive. Beholding to none.

Being dead had distinct disadvantages that revealed themselves like layers of an onion, first benign and each slightly more potent that the one before. John's blog ceased to update. Hotel rooms were not Baker Street. The weight of the mobile in his pocket a reminder that he no longer had the capacity to tell John to meet him somewhere, anywhere. A grey sky left his fingers mentally plucking violin strings. Dead corpses of Moriarty's web would never grace his pathologist's table. John's intermittent texts asking him to still be alive. Cursing him. Begging him.

In a dark hotel room, somewhere in southern Greece, Sherlock sat in a comfortable chair and stared outside through the crack in the curtains. He watched a man go back into the cafe across the street. Again. The definitive proof of the next player in the spider's web. He watched the cafe with his eyes, but was deep within plans.

Until she interrupted.

It wasn't her lithe form at the cafe, nor a distinct knock at the door. Her perfect lips had not danced next to his ears, but the effect was nearly the same. Her gasp lit the room from the backlight of his phone. Her presence immediately filled the room and jolted him into a reality he had never considered. He predicted her usual invitation.

Even without drugs, she proved that she could still disarm him. "The Space Needle or Eiffel Tower would have been much more effective. - IA"

He slid his thumb over the screen, almost like a caress, and stared at the words. He laughed so hard that his head tumbled forward and his shoulders bounced. As his laughter died down, Sherlock struggled with the inconvenience of sentiment. He reasoned that there was no other explanation to the almost physical ache he had for someone familiar. Even the seasoned gaze of Miss Adler. The touch of a pulse. Her pulse, specifically. The thought of actually touching her wrist, smelling her hair sent him deep into his Mind Palace, forgetting his plans.

"Don't be a spoil sport. It is the end of your world. Let's have dinner. – IA"

She had again invaded his thoughts. He debated himself into a response.

"Rain check. – SH"