for womanwhobeatyou: Waking up in Vegas---again.

[the_new_sexy]

Follows this.

It's surprising when morning comes. Sherlock rarely sleeps when he's on a case, and this entire excursion is really just a case in and of itself. Even more than that, he rarely sleeps an entire night. However, when he looks at the blinds in the motel room, he can see the faint hints of pink streaming through. Dawn, then. In the part of the world he used to live in, it would be nearly noon, if not very early afternoon.

He turns his head to look at the Woman, still sleeping next to him. She stayed.

She's different when she sleeps. He remarked on it to John when he found her sleeping in his bed so long ago. Not like an angel, of course, no one would ever think of the Woman as an angel. Instead, she looks like all of the things she's holding tightly together are relaxed, and she's comfortable. It's a strange thing, but beautiful in its own way.

He lets his hand rest on her shoulder. Are there people that find this sort of thing normal? Waking up next to a lover, watching the light stream in? Sherlock imagines there must be people who are accustomed to it.

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[womanwhobeatyou]

Unlike him, she sleeps regularly. The dominatrix could hardly be seen with dark circles under her eyes, and even in her multitude of disguises, very rarely did sleep deprivation figure into it. Self-portraits, all, and the reminder of a woman who likes her luxuries.

But the way she jerks awake at the touch of his hand on her shoulder speaks of just how unused to it she is. It is equal parts the wary instinct of being on the run, and the simple fact that she rarely let anyone get close enough to see her asleep. Vulnerable.

The time she'd climbed through the window of Baker Street had been a calculated necessity, and even then she'd put that off as long as she could without risking losing the game.

She catches herself waking up with that telling start, and draws a hand across her eyes, giving herself a few more moments to collect herself. A sleep tinged smile, still too vulnerable for her own comfort, tugs at her lips.

"Good morning."

[the_new_sexy]

When she jerks awake, he moves his hand away. He has a startled, almost childish look on his face. The Woman would be unaware, but it is similar to the time he reached out to touch a glass flower sculpture that Mrs. Hudson had acquired from her daughter, and he unintentionally touched it too roughly, shattering the stem. He stood there in horror while Mrs. Hudson informed him it was fine, it would be okay. It is simply a reminder to himself to stay away from the more delicate things within his grasp.

He stills his facial expressions when he sees her smile. That is good, isn't it?

"I had half expected to see an entirely different person sitting in the room again," he says with a small smile of his own.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She sits up and the covers fall from her with little care on her part. She doesn't linger in bed, already turning to stand. It's too uncertain to linger, too much an echo of the previous night and its unexpected intimacy that is uncomfortable in well-rested daylight.

Still, the smile lingers on her face. "You might have, if I'd woken up first,"

[the_new_sexy]

He nods. She is far more quiet than he is---and he knows just how quiet he can be when he wants to be.

He nods to the door.

"Distraction over, I suppose the game should continue, then?" he says.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She's on her feet by the time he asks, bending to pick up the purple dress from where it had been discarded, crumpled, on the floor. She shakes it out; it's mussed but serviceable. But then it'd have to be, given the lack of other options. The duffel with her spoils from the church in Boulder City and her purse are on the table, and she spies the sleeve of his shirt on the floor as well.

"It's why we're here, isn't it?"

[the_new_sexy]

Is it?

Part of him wants to say of course, because it is why he originally planned to come here. Part of that isn't true, though. He's also here, with her, because it's an escape from the mundane, allowing him to be Sherlock Holmes and her to be Irene Adler.

He makes no move to leave the bed, watching her as she shakes out her dress and looks around the room.

"Unless you intend to use that travel itinerary," he says. "Which would be unfortunate. Australia is hot this time of year."

[womanwhobeatyou]

She is supremely comfortable in her own skin despite his watching. But then she had been before. The dress is left on the bed before she collects her underthings from where they'd been scattered about. She finds three hairpins, hardly enough to pull her hair back into its knot.

"Maybe I like the heat," she says as she moves towards the window closest the door. She doesn't, but that isn't the point.

[the_new_sexy]

"Then maybe I'll take you somewhere warm before this is all over," he says. He has no real intentions to go anywhere warm, really. His next stop is to a contact in Los Angeles before he leaves the country again. It just sounds like the right sort of almost-flirtatious thing to say.

He lays his head back on the pillow and looks up to the stained motel room ceiling.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She checks the window and sees that the car is still there, and the parking lot is emptier than it had been. A dark haired woman is packing up her vehicle. Irene sets her things down on the table and picks up a cheap ballpoint pen from its place next to the telephone. That she uses to pull her hair back up as she makes her way to the bathroom. "I thought the distraction was over," she points out as she does.

Deliberate misunderstanding.

[the_new_sexy]

She knows very well what he means, and he finds himself smiling despite everything. There are worse places to be in life than here, he supposes. Or in death, anyway.

He looks down at his arm, where the mottled bruising is starting to darken. He can't move past the wall of words in his mind that reminds him that she should've left and not looked back. Before he can properly register it, he has stood and stepped over to his clothing, slipping on his pants and then his wrinkled trousers.

"With you, Woman, I think the distraction is only just beginning."

[womanwhobeatyou]

She runs the sink to splash water on her face and clean up quickly, superficially. It also allows her to indulge in a smile at his words. She almost wants to ask what he plans to do now, whether the casino owner's son would live and this part of Moriarty's web would remain free. But to ask would be to admit she doesn't know, and the distraction was over.

She dries her face with a towel. "Should I take that as a challenge?"

[the_new_sexy]

He zips up his trousers and looks over to her, washing her face in the sink. It's all sort of domestic, really. Two people just dressing and cleaning up in the morning. Normal.

He sighs. "No, I think---"

Breaking their quiet conversation, the phone on the nightstand suddenly rings. Its sharp, piercing sound startles Sherlock more than he'd like to admit. He looks to the bathroom, to the Woman, as though she can explain this.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She nearly jumps at the telephone's ring, and peers out of the bathroom with a questioning look, meeting his eyes at the same moment as he looks to her.

"I didn't call for room service." Not that a place like this would have such a thing. She moves back towards the table and begins dressing.

[the_new_sexy]

"Neither did I," he says.

He peers at the ringing phone for a moment, and then reaches out for it. He picks it up, instantly putting on an American accent, sleepy-sounding for the early hour.

"Hello?"

"Yes, this is your wake-up call," a female voice says. Slight accent, Chinese. Learned English, not American English. Slight roll on the a and r. Woman, late 20's, very awake.

"Of course," he says. "Thank you."

He hangs up and turns to the Woman. "We have to get out of here."

[womanwhobeatyou]

She shrugs into the dress as he picks up. She can't hear the conversation, but once she pulls the dress over her head she can see the set of his shoulders, the sudden tension, and she feels herself tensing in response as she zips up the dress, wincing as she catches skin with the hasty tug.

"The car's still. Opposite side of the building. We'll need the bag." She doesn't ask who had been on the phone. That could wait, she trusted him enough for that.

[the_new_sexy]

"We can come back for it," he says. "They know we're here."

He looks around the room. No way out, apart from the primary door at the front, though that is likely to be watched. He dashes past her, to the bathroom. A very small window is in the upper corner, though with his shoulders, it's not likely he can get out that way.

"You can get out there," he says, gesturing. "Take the phone."

[womanwhobeatyou]

The 'they' answered the question she hadn't asked, and Irene's frown deepens as she grabs the purse and the car keys. Keyless entry, but no keyless ignition. That'll be another five, ten seconds.

She shakes her head at his plan, at the window. "Why did they call when they could have broken in?" she asks.

[the_new_sexy]

"Too see if we're here," he says. "If we aren't then they wait for us to arrive. If we are, then they either wait for us to leave, or---"

There's a knock at the door.

Sherlock starts, trying to plan for an exit. Anything, someway to get away from here. He stretches his arms out and shuts his eyes, trying to concentrate.

[womanwhobeatyou]

"Or they startle us into doing something impulsive," she finishes for him as somebody, presumably the mysterious caller, knocks on the door. Presumably they'd be watching the room, including the bathroom window, for exits, and she'd be too vulnerable in the moments of pulling herself out of the small space and dropping to the ground.

Her eye is drawn to the single chair in the room. It's plain and utilitarian, but sturdy. Heavy enough to stand up to years of being used by less-than-gentle patrons. "Take the car keys. You've got a better shot of making it out to the car than I do."

[the_new_sexy]

"Divide and conquer, Woman, I'm not having them do that." It is irrelevant that he suggested they do the very same thing only moments earlier. He knew very well that he would not be able to get through that window fast enough, and the Woman was the person who truly stood a chance.

He grasps the small fire extinguisher off of the wall and grabbed the pen from her purse. He twists the pen open, removing the ink and spring, and he turned the exterior in on itself. He reaches into the drawer, pulling out the bible that lay within. He slams it onto the pen against the fire extinguisher. Nothing.

"Not heavy enough," he says. He reaches back in and picks up the Book of Mormon. He tries that, and the pen goes into the side of the extinguisher.

"Get ready to open the front door," he says.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She growls in irritation at his contrary reply, and abandons the thought of using the chair. The chair is too heavy to wield one-handed, and if she has to open the door, the mass isn't going to help anyway. She looks around again as the knock comes again, sharper, more insistent this time (though that might be her own imagination), and her eye is caught by the unzipped duffel bag, and the ceramic statue of Mary within.

Not too heavy, but it is brittle, and nearly the length of her forearm. It was better than nothing, and if she were lucky, the impact could shatter the porcelain and blind whoever was coming through the door. She holds it in her right hand, and reaches for the door, eying Sherlock again. She waits, watching him and straining to hear anything from the other side of the door.

When she suspects their visitor is about to knock or force their way through the door, she pulls it open. A second or two would be better than nothing.

[the_new_sexy]

He nods at the statue, and the moment the Woman opens the door, he releases the pen, aiming it at the door. It fires like a shot, extending outwards and hitting their assailant---the woman from the clothing shop---in the forearm where she had raised a gun. She cries out a word that Sherlock can only assume must be a swear in Chinese.

He leaps forward, throwing the still-fizzing extinguisher aside and kicking the gun away from the woman.

"Now!" he calls out to the Woman.

[womanwhobeatyou]

Irene recognizes the woman's cry of pain, but before she has time to connect it to a certain British diplomat with a penchant for knives, she swings the statue at the woman's face with full force.

The statue shatters spectacularly, and the woman staggers back, crying out. Irene barely notices that a shard of broken ceramic had left a jagged line down her arm, her attention on the spinning path of the gun Sherlock had kicked out of the woman's hand.

She dives for it.

[the_new_sexy]

She dives for the gun, Sherlock reaches behind himself and pulls off the sheet from the bed. He grabs her purse.

"Car has a keyless entry, we should open the doors and run for it. The sheet can be a diversion."

[womanwhobeatyou]

Her fingers grasp the gun, and Irene flicks the safety on without a second thought. Adrenaline is keeping her from feeling the jagged gash on her arm and the fragments of ceramic that will need to be picked out later, and she grabs the duffel while backhanding the already wounded assassin with the hand holding the pistol.

She steps over the woman, and nods. She sounds winded, almost.

"Is that what the sheet was for in Buckingham Palace?"