It was more distracting than he liked. More distracting than he wanted to admit. After they had taken out her execution squad in a flurry of deadly and synchronized moves, he had grabbed her hand to drag her away from the man she was kicking viciously in the stomach with a streak of dark glee. As soon as he touched her, her head whipped around; her eyes wild, and her body posed ready to fight him off. Her fury melted when her eyes fell on his face. Another dark and wild expression took its place, and he felt a wave of delicious chemicals flood his body.

They were both breathless, but there was no need for words. He didn't let go of her hand once he had her attention for their retreat, and now he was starting to regret it. As they ran, she laced her fingers with his. He knew he should have let her go, but he didn't. Now as they ran at breakneck speed from the denoting bombed encampment, her thumb was gently stroking small little circles into his palm. Irene Adler was inexplicably an unbreakable distraction. A distraction he couldn't let go of because the miserable small emotional side of him didn't want to and because letting go of her hand now would acknowledge the fact that she had an effect on him.

As they crested over the hill, Sherlock pulled her towards the helicopter waiting ahead. The loud and fast thrumming of helicopter in front of them gave him something to focus on beside the Woman's circles. As they ran up to the side of the escape craft, Sherlock quickly analyzed his escape. He pulled up short and spun around to face her, quickly taking his hand back.

"In," he yelled, tilting his head sharply towards the helicopter.

Her face still held that fascinating dark and wild look that had invaded his dreams since he first met her. Her blood red lips curled into a secretive smile. As always, he could read nothing on her. Allowing annoyance to creep onto his features was not difficult. Grasping her exactly 34 inch hips, Sherlock lifted her into helicopter, and regretted that too. For a man so sure of himself, his thoughts, his deductions, his decisions, Irene Adler had a maddening way of making Sherlock regret and doubt himself. Trust the Woman to turn a black cover up into something sensual. Though it covered everything, the fabric was thin and singular. Ms. Adler wore nothing underneath. Sherlock actively blocked out the way her curves and warmth brought on another delicious wave of chemical response.

He leapt in as the helicopter lifted into the night sky.

The noise from the blades was a blissful command for silence. Sherlock stripped off the disguise swiftly, tossing the black garment out of the helicopter. Adjusting his black dress shirt collar with one hand, he leaned back, crossing his long legs and preparing an appropriately smug expression for saving her life. Irene regarded him challengingly. Her legs crossed, she was leaning forward, a scarlet thumbnail between her teeth.

As they sat unmoving for a heartbeat, her thin eyebrow arched as if asking a question. The way her eyes flickered over the buttons on his shirt made him acutely aware of the question dancing in her eyes on whether he was going to continue taking off clothes. Sherlock schooled his expression to blandness. When she got no response from him, she shrugged; her teasing smile never leaving her lips.

She reached up and lowered her hood; her dark brown hair falling in soft waves around her face. After running a hand through her hair, she settled back comfortably, meeting his eyes without flinching. Slowly, her sharp eyes crawled over his form, moving over his body in an unquestionable caress. Sherlock fought the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. Obviously saving Ms. Adler was simplest part of this mission, resisting her until they reached London was something else entirely.