This was the first time she thought she was going to die. Of course, she had close encounters, which she easily found her way out of thanks to an official or a partner. All it took was a phone call, and the mere mention of blackmail or a favor owed. Since she had been robbed of any sort of contact or bargaining tool, she was alone. Her fall from grace had happened so quickly, leaving her not as the predator but the prey.

It was a foolish move to rely so heavily on technology. It was even more foolish to use the name of a man that held her interest as of late as her password: Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective. She thought she was being clever. Using his name was something she was sure he would have never suspected or ever suggested as an option. She was so pleased with her creativity when she was watching his attempts at the code.

She underestimated him. He was always thinking, never did he stop. She knew she had something on him, something that she was finding a difficulty placing when it came to his feelings about her. So that night, while they were alone in the flat, she decided to make a move on it. She wanted to know exactly how he felt… All she had to do was work her charm, slither up to him, and talk. It worked on everyone else.

As she slithered up to him, grasped his arm, and looked into his eyes, it all changed. Something that she never thought would happen to her in all her many conquests and victories in sex. For the first time she had a deep admiration for someone, and not on a sexual level. It was confusing, and it was also heartbreaking. She had to trick him in the end. She had to follow through and walk away as the woman who beat him. And so, she hoped that he would have taken it as her normal demur: asking him to dinner, offering to fuck him, it was nothing out of character for her.

If she would have spoken to him from a distance, she could have walked away with everything. Yet, the simple touch denied her everything… her heart denied her everything.

After the government had finished stripping her phone of all the information that would have proven useful to them (and others), they returned her phone and let her go. They must have had some idea that someone out there wanted her dead. Two weeks later, one of her contacts must have discovered the information had fallen into government hands, so it did not take long to find her and to sentence her to death. Pity it was one who had a knack for beheading instead of shooting.

There were four men in the jeep with her, possibly two in the other behind. They all were speaking in their native Urdu language as far as she could surmise, casting glances at her from time to time. Her executioner was silent, however, and when she looked at him, he fingered the blade at his side. She was not going to let him see her at her worst. She was Irene Adler, and all though her death would have meant being beaten, she was not going to change at the moment of her demise.

When they had taken her out of the jeep and pressed her to the ground with forceful hands on her shoulder, they formed a wide and broken circle around her. There was a musty scent in the air-one of dirt and stagnant water and a faint hint of a metallic. In front of her a man stood with a camera in his hands. This sparked a memory off in her mind of something.

"I would like to make one last request," she stated.

"What, Irene Adler?" He asked in English with a heavy accent.

"My phone, please…" So they did understand English. She also knew that her phone was with one of them, as they had confiscated it when they had captured her. The man to her right shuffled closer and held her phone out. With surprisingly calm hands, she grasped it.

Indeed it was. She opened her contact list and clicked on the only number that she knew by heart. The only number she could recall to put back into her empty phone.

To: Sherlock Holmes

Goodbye Mr. Holmes

She had finished typing and pressed that tiny green button marked SEND. They took the phone away from her, and she could feel the ground at her left vibrate. Her death was mere moments away. So, she closed her eyes and waited to die.

Then she heard it. The moan, her moan! It was muffled but she heard it! In fact, it was right next to her. She snapped her eyes open and looked up to the left. Her executioner… and now, she recognized the green eyes all too well.

"When I say run, run!" He whispered, gripping the blade tightly.

She smiled and looked ahead at the camera that was still filming. She felt the air stir behind her and the whistle of a blade slicing through the air. There was a sound of a gun misfiring and the abbreviated bang of another. Yet another one fell next to her and with deft movements she picked it up. The man in front of her had dropped the camera and started to lift up the gun slung around his shoulder, but she took aim and shot him as his hand was reaching for it.

With gun in her hand, she quickly stood and turned around, preparing to take aim. Sherlock was just finishing off the last man, bringing the blunt handle of the blade into his jaw, knocking him to the ground (and probably twisting his neck in the process) with a swift jab.

"Run!" He called to her, as he advanced on the last two men who had moved from out of the jeep.

"Sorry, not that kind of a woman," she called out to him.

"Women," he scoffed, as he sliced the man coming out from the driver's side. Irene took aim and shot the man exiting the passenger's side. Now, they stood alone in the empty warehouse. He twirled the sword in his hand with an unsurprising amount of finesse and turned to her.

"My hero," she replied, lowering the assault rifle she previously pilfered. She looked over at the man who had held the camera. He was still alive, but a slight rattle and a gurgle indicated he was swiftly approaching death. She advanced towards him, looking down at him. "I do hope you got me from my good side," she mused, picking up the camera and turning it off. Popping open the side, she extracted the one possible piece of evidence against her being alive. She turned towards Sherlock who was already picking over the bodies and checking for any communication devices.

"I don't know whether to kiss you or to shag you," she said with a grin. "I'd settle for both."

He pretended not to hear her while he finished checking the last body. The mobile he discovered was slid open with his thumb and sorted through in search of a particular number. Finding the number he was looking for, he gingerly held the phone to his ear. Someone must have answered on the other line. Sherlock paused for a moment, spoke a reply and waited for yet another moment. He hung up without speaking again.

"The job is complete, you're dead Irene Adler," he said with a tone of finality.

"Wouldn't be the first time, you know," she said, making her way over to him. She was directly in front of him, staring up at him with a satisfied expression. She extended the tape towards him, a slight tremor betraying her calm. "Now, tell me, my knight in shining armor, what shall your reward be?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment and then raised a hand to grasp her wrist. Without a word, he plucked the tape out of her.

He finally deigned to reply while pivoting on his heel and striding towards one of the jeeps. "No reward is necessary, Ms. Adler. Your life is sufficient enough." She followed him and climbed into the passenger side while he got into the driver's side.

"I would have thought you couldn't care less if I lived or died," she asked him in all honestly. She watched his face, looking for any sign of emotion that would give her the answer she was seeking (even if his words would not match). He started the engine of the jeep with a twist of the key and then drove out from the warehouse.

"And you are correct, Ms. Adler. If I did not know you, and your capabilities, I couldn't have cared less if you lived or died." He sped up and drove off the abandoned base, speeding off into the night air. The desert was still around them except for the sand stirring up under the tires. "But I do know you, and I know that it is partially my fault you have ended up in this mess."

"So, you are admitting that the ordeal," and here she said the word ordeal with a slight haughtiness, "with my phone was uncalled for, and so was stripping it of all my contacts. Didn't get to thank that brother of yours, he could have at least left me with some numbers. Which brings me to wonder, does your brother even know that you're here?"

She shifted in her seat to better face him and quirked an eyebrow.

"First of all, Ms. Adler, let us recall that your phone had documents that were important to that of the British government. Second, I assumed my brother's purpose for doing that was, indeed, to get you killed. And finally, he does not know I'm here."

"The documents were freely given to me, I didn't bribe them from anyone," she replied. "I explained this to you before, if you recall." She leaned back in the seat, looking at her face in the rearview mirror. She was pale, parched, and in need of a good facial—or a decent bath, at least. "I do hope that you were kind enough to bring a change of clothes."

"No," he said with a cheeky smile, "I have no reason to carry around women's clothing. I'm sure you can deal with wearing the clothes on your back until we are finished."

"You intend to stay?" It was her turn to smile a cheeky smile. "Now I'm starting to think what you said to me that night was actually another play in the game. Admit it, Mr. Holmes, it's not just your compassion to see things right that brought you here…"

"As I told you, Ms. Adler, I'm doing this because all though I did what I set out to do, I could not have a life as interesting as yours be collateral damage. Though you may have ties with an array of interesting clients, and at one time possessed information dangerous to selective parties, you are quite innocent. You are not the villain; I did not mean to paint you as one."

"But, I did align myself with one," she voiced.

"Not by choice," he said simply. "That was quite obvious. Any consulting criminal would come across someone who had something on Irene Adler."

He was correct. The only reason she aligned herself with Moriarty was he had, indeed, found information that could not only expose her, but other parties. He knew of her clientele and that she may come across someone with information useful to him (and the people he consulted). It was by chance that the email fell into her possession. She offered it and he accepted. He then told her that the only way she could encrypt it was if Sherlock Holmes did it. His reason: he wanted to tease Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to see Sherlock Holmes, for once, come undone by a woman.

He almost did…

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said after some minutes of sitting in silence, flexing her fingers on the armrest of the seat. She took notice of her nails and considered that she also needed a good manicure as well. "Irene Adler is believed to be actually dead, once and for all. She can never come back."

A Note From the Author: I do hope that this short story will appeal to some of my readers who are looking for that moment that was lost in time between Sherlock and Irene (The Woman). I do also wish to credit my wonderful editor-and friend-who turned my simple story into one that I believe would suffice in the continuity of the series. RavenRising88, you are amazing, thank you.

So please, do stick with this story. I promise we will be very thorough...