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]

"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.

[womanwhobeatyou]

The blast is hot, far warmer than the sun-baked asphalt, and the force of the explosion drives her to the ground. The scream of metal and shattering glass, and Irene covers her head out of sheer instinct.

After the blast, the world sounds strangely quiet, empty, and for a moment Irene wonders if the explosion has temporarily deafened her as she picks herself up. She hurts, her skin is raw and abraded from the texture of the asphalt, and bits of glass and fiberglass and whatever else the car had been made of fall from her like fine snow.

"I think that was the answer you were looking for."

[the_new_sexy]

He sees a burned one hundred dollar bill fall to the ground. So much for that sudden windfall. At least they didn't join it. He gets to his feet quickly, feeling glass cut into his soles. He looks up. The sniper is gone.

He looks back towards their hotel and notices something small and dark lying amongst the glass. He picks it up. Pieces fall into place, and he takes a quick glance back to make certain the Woman hadn't noticed before slipping the object into his pocket.

"The police would've been called," he says. "We need to keep moving."

[womanwhobeatyou]

She is too busy surveying the damage to notice what he's picked up, too busy cataloging what she'll need again, what they'll need again, and how to get it. How to disappear again, how to evade the people who had tracked them to the motel.

"Easier said than done," she mutters with a wince as she tries (futilely) to avoid walking on broken glass. She shakes her head, and a few more shards of glass fall from her hair. The gun she keeps at her side. "The woman's pockets. I thought I saw car keys."

[the_new_sexy]

He tosses the sheet her way. His feet are already lacerated, he can walk.

"Cover yourself in case he's still nearby," he says. He steps on the glass, focusing on the door. He can ignore the pain, he tells himself. His body is just transport for his brain, the pain is just neurons firing, explaining that he is injured. It is like hunger and sleep. He can ignore it.

He makes it to the room and grabs their shoes. He kneels next to the woman and grabs the keys.

Her hand grabs his wrist. Her eyes are open wide. He grips her jaw, pressing the keys into her injury.

"Tell your masters that the Woman is dead," he says. "If they want to find me, I'll be waiting."

And with that, he releases her and shakes his hand free. He shuts the door behind himself and walks across the glass.

[womanwhobeatyou]

She catches the sheet, trying to ignore the speckles of red that land on it as she does. It occurs to Irene, almost idly, that standing in the aftermath of an exploded car bomb, barefoot and scraped bloody, with a sniper somewhere in the vicinity, invisible, that she still feels distinctly less vulnerable than she had when he'd tried to deduce how she'd broken a finger twenty seven years ago.

She shakes her head, as if shaking away the thought itself, and looks around the parking lot. It's mostly empty, but there are three cars still left. All of them rentals. She dismisses the luxury car immediately, and heads towards the beige midsized. It is easily the most nondescript of the three cars, with enough space for the sniper's gear.

The sheet trails behind her as she does, as she picks her way along. She keeps an eye out for the sniper, but a part of her suspects he (or she) is gone. She says nothing as Sherlock returns; something is niggling at the back of her mind, and she isn't certain what it is just yet, but she knows it may be important.

[the_new_sexy]

"Shoes," he says, offering them to her along with the key. "You'll have to drive. Preferably to somewhere we can get medical supplies for you."

He didn't need to tell her that a hospital was out of the question. She was far from stupid, but he also knew she would be more concerned about a getaway than she would about her heavily-bleeding arm. And he---well, he couldn't let that happen, could he?

[womanwhobeatyou]

She looks blank for a moment at the key and shoes he offers, then exchanges them for the sheet and the purse she'd somehow managed to keep a hold of. "Better to get lost in the crowd first, or gain some distance. They should be keeping an eye on the area," she answers as she slips the shoes on. Another moment and she unlocks the car door, fumbling only slightly with the key.

The woman's cry had been familiar, had tugged at some memory, and it irritated Irene that she couldn't immediately bring it to mind. "If they were as prepared as they look, there may be a first aid kit in the car."

[the_new_sexy]

"Fine," he says. "Just go."

He thinks the amount of blood loss she's going to experience within the next few minutes may make him the final decider of what they end up doing regardless of the Woman's opinion. He gets into the passenger seat and immediately looks in the back, finding several weapons and some traveling equipment, along with explosives.

"This changes everything," he says. "We can't go back to the casino without opening ourselves back up."

[womanwhobeatyou]

She starts the car (sighing in relief that it's an automatic), and peels out of the parking lot, heading west. There's no thought in the choice; she's deliberately acting unthinkingly to keep from second guessing where the killers would expect them to go.

The car runs well enough, and the air conditioning that kicks on is pleasantly soothing, enough that the adrenaline begins to ebb and she starts feeling the throbbing pain in her arm, the raw sting of scratched palms and knees and the re-irritated wound from the day before high on her leg. "Then we go split up," she answers, her eyes on the road. "Give them two targets to chase, divide their resources."

That was the logical, smart answer. The correct answer. She knows this even as she says it, but the next words come anyway. "That or find somewhere to go to ground."

[the_new_sexy]

"I have a contact in Nassau," he says. "Well, I say I do, but it's Mycroft's contact. Hasn't seen Mycroft since before he started his love affair with baked goods. I think I should be able to play the part well enough."

He pulls a few pieces of glass from his foot. They bleed rather spectacularly, though he imagines with some staunching they'll be fine. It's nothing in comparison to other injuries he's experienced, and not nearly as deep as the knife wound in Montenegro.

"I did promise you a warm escape."