I have been working on this idea for a long time, since November. I had written most of it when I suddenly lost the muse, having recently been bitten by the writing bug I have been inclined to finish it. The title for this fic comes from the song One Week- by the Barenaked Ladies. If you are not familiar with the song you can listen to it or read the lyrics but it's not necessary. Obviously this takes place after Scandal and before my other fic The World's A Stage.

I own nothing, belongs to BBC, Moff, Mark, and ACD

"Run"

Sherlock's voice had been low and almost seductive, meant only for her ears. It was an order, not a request, one that would save her life.

"Run" he had said, and so, she did.

They made a mad dash to a waiting car, Sherlock heroically slicing down anyone in their way.

"Dead men tell no tales." He would say later.

Once inside the black Audi with full leather interior, Irene collapsed. She collapsed from exhaustion, and excursion, from lack of food and water. The last thing she remembered was Sherlock sliding in beside her and yelling at the driver to go. A strong arm around her shaking shoulders.

That had been two days ago.

Day3:

Irene had awoken in a soft warm bed, something she had been denied for weeks now. It had taken a few minutes of blinking into the bright room to realized that no, she wasn't dreaming, and yes she was alive. Irene felt she was in too much pain to be dead. Every time she moved something hurt. Looking to her left Irene notice a makeshift IV was hooked up to her arm dripping saline fluid into her blood steam.

Looking around the room Irene deduced she was in a hotel room, not a private home. The space lacked anything personal. The room only contained one king-sized bed, a bedside table with an alarm clock and lamp on it, a chair and lamp in the other corner, and a dresser that took up the wall opposite Irene. The bed was on the same wall as the door, and the light was coming through a window that only had thin white curtains. Irene was grateful there was no mirror she dared not see if she looked as bad as she felt. Irene came to the conclusion it must be one of those rooms with a separate sleeping area. The bathroom and probably a little sitting area would be on the other side of the door.

The events of her rescue slowly drifted back to her and Irene vaguely wondered if Sherlock was still around. He was probably long gone, having left her in the care of someone else. She attempted to sit up but that only sent a pain shooting up her spine and she sunk back into the mattress.

Just then the door opened and a man Irene didn't know looked in. He wasn't short, but he wasn't quite as tall as Sherlock, he had a friendly enough face that Irene didn't feel the need to scream. He had short brown hair and hazel eyes that peaked out from behind thick rimmed, black Buddy Holly glasses, and a naturally tanned completion.

He flashed a smile at her, then turned and spoke into the room beyond the door. "She's awake." He said.

American, Irene thought, possibly New York. It was hard to tell, they all sounded the same to her.

Someone in the other room gave a muffled reply to the man at the door, and he looked back in at her. "Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked.

Irene tried to speak but her voice came out dry and rough "wa…er" she was so parched from not haven spoken aloud for a few days.

The American smiled at her knowingly and dashed off presumably to fetch a glass of water. He left the door slightly ajar and Irene could hear the movements of another person in the other room. The door to the hotel opened and closed again and the American was at her side with a glass of iced water.

She smiled weakly at him in thanks before gulping down half the cup.

"Whoa, slow down" he said "you don't want to drink it all in one go."

Irene set the cup down on the bedside table and managed to croak out a "thank you."

"I also brought you these." The man held out some pain medication and Irene took it gladly.

"I'm Harold Tubbs, by the way." He said straightening up he touched the back of his hand to her forehead. "You can call me Harry though, or-" he was cut off by a shout from the other room "TUBBS"

Tubbs hung his head in defeat, "I'll be back" he promised Irene as he left, this time latching the door behind him.

Irene was still in shock. The shout had defiantly come from Sherlock. Irene was sure that he would have had no desire to stick around after her rescue; after all they had nothing to say to each other. Apparently that was not the case.

A few hours later Irene was feeling well rested if a bit dirty. She felt stiff from lying down for two days straight but no additional discomfort the medication must be working. Looking at the bedside table she noticed two more pills and a full glass of water. Also someone had taken out her IV while she slept. Irene swallowed one of the pills with half of the water and attempted to stand up.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." Irene managed to say in a voice that betrayed how much she was shaking on the inside.

Tubbs popped his head in the door again, "how are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Better, thanks. I'd love a wash though."

"Of course, no problem. Your friend has gone for a walk I'll just wait outside until you're done." He turned to go "unless you needed help" he added a little too eagerly.

The hot water felt amazing, cascading over Irene's hair and running down her back. It was worth the bit of pain she had to endure to get there by herself. The look on Tubbs face when she coly dismissed him was priceless. Irene had finished washing up a few minutes but still refused to move from under the shower head. Everywhere the water touched her felt great, but she could only stand up for so long, she could feel her legs weakening beneath her. Heaven forbid she need Sherlock's rescuing from a shower as well.

Irene used one of the large white fluffy towels to dry off and wrapped it around her body to preserve her modesty on the way to the bedroom. She need not have worried though for all was quite. The main area of the hotel room consisted of a sofa that undoubtedly folded out into a bed, a fine wooden desk with leather chair at it, a TV across from the sofa, and a chair and lamp in the far corner. Irene made her way back into the bedroom and was relieved to see a fresh set of clothes had been laid out for her.

The outfit was nothing special just a pair of jeans and a plain top, as well as necessary under garments. Everything fit perfectly of course; Sherlock knew her measurements after all. Although why he found them important enough to keep stored away in his memory Irene couldn't say. She was brushing out her damp hair when the door outside opened up and someone entered. Irene tensed for only a moment when she realised it was Sherlock.

Irene pressed her ear to the door, it sounded like he was having quite the conversation with someone. The door muffled all sounds so she cracked it open a smidge to better listen in.

"Yes, I'm in the hotel room now" he said, rather impatiently. Ah, he must be on the phone. A beat "I told you I'd be gone for about a week, surely you can handle one minor-" he huffed as the person on the other end cut him off. "Lestrade knows I'm abroad."

He must be talking to John Irene thought with a ping of envy. It would be nice to call someone and let them know she was alright, but there wasn't anyone to call.

"Well tell Mycroft to keep his pants on." Sherlock was showing how much he hated getting orders from his brother, especially second hand through John. Sherlock hadn't set down upon entering the room and was instead pacing about chatting away into his mobile. He passed a little too close to the door and Irene could hear John's light reply "You mean like you do?"

Sherlock huffed "if you're referring to the incident with the sheet in Buck-"he was cut off again and suddenly broke out into a deep rumbling laugh. There was that ping again. Irene was jealous that someone could make Sherlock laugh like that. It was that noise he was capable of when he was happy then Irene wanted a reason to make him laugh every day.

Irene steadied herself and opened the door a little wider and made her way into the room just as Sherlock settled into the chair and flicked on the lamp. "Nothing you can't handle. I'll be home by Saturday, I promise. Send my love to Mycroft." And with that he hung up the phone. A ghost of a smile was still on his lips and a bright light in his eyes that made Irene stall.

"Ah, Miss Adler decided to join the world of the waking have we?" Sherlock sounded like he didn't really care one way of the other, but he had gone through an awful lot to save her, Irene thought.

"Yes, thanks, with no help from you I might add." She teased at him playfully. Now that she was well rested she wanted a verbal sparring match.

He only raised an eyebrow at her to form a question. She had to know the only reason she was alive at all was because of him, but he was in no mood to goad her.

"Doesn't the rescuer usually have to kiss the princess to wake her up?" Irene supplied, raising her own eyebrows.

"Dull." He supplied, what was with this woman did she really not understand.

"Then why bother saving me at all?" shit, shit, shit. She had asked the question she wasn't going to ask. The one she didn't want to know the answer to.

"I… well because….I, not important." He finally huffed out rather sternly.

For a moment Irene was taken aback. She hadn't exactly expected a confession but nor was she expecting total denial, total rejection. They had a past, a history, she… she what loved him? Surely not, not really. She had come out to say thank you, but now she felt like keeping it from him. If he was going to keep his reasons for saving her, then she would keep her thanks.

She was saved from saying anything more as the door opened and Tubbs came in with a food service trolley. The three of them ate in relative silence, Sherlock didn't eat at all.

Irene quickly found out everything she didn't know. Harry Tubbs was a man from New York City, New York who helped people out of tight spots. He was a specialist at creating fake IDs and passports, school records and credit information, anything that would be needed to start a new life. Sherlock had assumed a fake name as well; Harry kept referring to him as Mr. Locke. When he finally asked Irene what her name was a small shake of Sherlock's head had told her to lie as well.

"Addison" she supplied quickly and with a smile.

"You may not know this Addison," he said "but I was driving the car that night we save your ass."

"Oh, well thank you Tubbs, I knew I was safe when I reached the car. You don't know how grateful I am." This was it; she should just add "to the both of you" it would be so easy. But the words died on her lips, and still Sherlock said nothing.

Along with the clothes Sherlock had brought her a book, a mystery, and Irene spent the rest of the day reading in the chair in the little sitting area. She paid little to no attention to Sherlock and Tubbs who were both huddled around a laptop. After another light meal and more polite conversation with Tubbs Irene couldn't handle it and retired to the room for the remainder of the night.

Those familiar with American History will know of a woman named Harriet Tubman, if you haven't heard of her, please look her up, she was an amazing woman. She helped many slaves to freedom after reaching freedom herself. I only hope to do her memory justice for borrowing her name for my OC Harold (Harry) Tubbs.