Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock are not mine, neither is the story, nor are the characters from the original stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I make no monetary profit from this

Note: Written for this fill on the Sherlock kink meme, but it sort of got a mind of its own and started wondering off in a different direction so it doesn't seem to be a specific fill any longer: So it's pretty much canon that Shelock is a virgin... And Scandal was just lovely all over. So please, please, please, can we have Irene taking Sherlock's virginity? I don't care how, I don't care why, I just NEED wonderful, toppy Irene punching the HELL out of Sherlock's v-card. You know she'd take such good care of him. Smack him around a bit, then tie him up and go to town until he was a whimpering mess. Maybe a bit of a cuddle afterwards if he was a good boy ;)

(Why, yes, I do burn ships, sometimes including my own.)

The Last Night at the End of the World

"You should leave here in the morning."

Here was a small house in Orangi Town, Karachi - easily the largest slum district in Pakistan, probably the largest in the world. They had, however inconceivable the idea had been a few hours ago, escaped the execution squad: something had exploded just as Sherlock Holmes had swung his blade away from Irene Adler ("The timing was off," he told her later. "They weren't supposed to find out that I'd replaced one of them, but I couldn't stall them any longer, especially after the text tone . Lucky thing, shrapnel.") and they had run, a harum-scarum, tumbling flight to the nearest village and from there, they'd ridden to the city in the back of a goat truck.

Sherlock had explained, softly, barely audible over the goat noises and the rumbling of the old diesel engine, that there had been a military raid that night, and that they would find the charred, beheaded body of a woman in the wreckage. He'd also said that enough of the terrorists would survive and escape to report to their superiors that Irene Adler had been killed, said that there was a minor glitch in that he had had to cut one of them down, but he wasn't going to survive, and the raid had happened soon enough that the men - grunt workers of middling to low intellect, all of them, except for one who had waited in the jeep - wouldn't have noticed or wouldn't remember more than a sword being swung, so it was all fine.

"Getting rid of me so soon?" she said, unwrapping the scarf from her head and shaking her hair loose. She had thanked him in the goat truck, bringing her lips close to his ear to be heard, and she had meant it. She was alive and in one piece, which was much more than she'd expected to be, and she liked that, even if she had mixed feelings as to how exactly that had come about.

"Not soon enough. I'd rather you left tonight, but you're in no condition to travel any more. Tired and in shock," he stressed the words when she opened her mouth to protest. "And in an unfamiliar part of a strange city. I doubt you even speak the language fluently. You'd make mistakes."

It was probably true, though her Urdu was moderately passable. Tired and in shock and desperate, was what he should have said. She'd been desperate enough to trust Sherlock Holmes, after all she had done to him (used him ruthlessly,and showed him exactly how, that was all) and after what he had done to her (taken her whole world apart and left her to the wolves, only that), and that was probably enough of a litmus test of her ability to make good decisions tonight.

"Go to the port," he continued. "There are smugglers who'll take you on board, no questions asked, if you have the money. I suggest you pass yourself off as a man, easier to move around that way in this part of the world. Don't skimp on it. Cut your hair. Bind your breasts. Can't do anything about the foreign, though, no time for that: you'll still be memorable, but at least not as a woman."

"I'm no stranger to male costume," she said sharply, piqued that he was telling her how to go about it. "What about you? It doesn't sound like you're coming with me."

"I'm not. I'll be heading to Mumbai with an illegal shipment of Banarasi silk." Sherlock turned to face Irene where she sat on the bed, his features carefully blank. Almost too carefully, she could tell. "This is the end, Miss Adler. You're dead. I've taken precautions enough to fool anyone who looks into it. And unless you're very, very stupid, you will stay that way."