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.

Comments

[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?"

[the_new_sexy]

"No," Sherlock says, evenly. "That was because my escort insisted I would be arrested if I tried to go without it."

So she did know about the sheet at Buckingham palace. He had always wondered if she actually knew or if she'd been simply guessing. Hardly important.

He glances back, and sees her hand is bleeding. It'll need attending to, but that's something to worry about later. They have to make their escape now.

"Ready?"

[womanwhobeatyou]

"No isn't exactly a possible answer now, is it?" she asks, heading towards the other side of the building, keeping as much of the building itself between her and any other threat that may come their way.

"You should have risked the arrest."

[the_new_sexy]

"Maybe I wanted an air of mystery, rather than just to make an impression," he says, simply to be contrary. "I nearly walked out of the palace without my sheet, I'll have you know."

And if not for John Watson, he would've.

He kneels down and checks the contents of the pockets of their would-be assailant. He knows very well that she's not alone, but he wants to see what else she may have. Wire cutters, a knife, a mobile, and car keys. Very nice.

[womanwhobeatyou]

"Who said they were mutually exclusive?" She does, however, smile at his admission as she checks around the corner. Their path to the car is clear, and she gestures for the keys.

The asphalt is already warm on her bare feet, but she ignores that too for the moment. "Unlock the doors, we can run for it."

[the_new_sexy]

He presses the lock on the keys just as he throws the sheet out of the door. Several shots ring out, but they only hit the sheet. Sherlock makes a run for it.

His own feet are also bare, and he thinks of his shoes and his coat and everything behind them. Rebuilding is what they do best, the two of them. He spots the sniper from where he'd been hiding, but he pulls back his gun as Sherlock looks.

What? Why would he pull back his gun now?

[womanwhobeatyou]

The sound of gunfire is quieter than she'd expected. Either silenced or distance, but Irene turns towards the motel's front office anyway, watching for movement inside just in case the proprietor had heard the shots and felt the need to investigate.

She doesn't see anything, but then the window's shades are half drawn, and turns back to Sherlock, who is staring out at so--

The glint of sunlight off a scope shows her where the sniper is, and Irene's initial response is to raise the weapon in her hand, even as she does, she hesitates. There is no silencer on the handgun, and a shot from this distance would definitely be heard.

Never mind that there was no way she can hit from this range. Still, she keeps it trained on where the wink of light had come from. "You're a target," she snapped. "And I'm in no shape to be dragging you anywhere if you get shot."

[the_new_sexy]

"He's lowering his gun," Sherlock says. "He has a clear shot. Why stop now?"

He turns back. Is he missing something? Him, really?

"Woman, come back---"

It's at that moment that something explodes. Hot, lashing out against Sherlock's back. He falls forward onto the pavement as the car explodes.