Irene sat in her new apartment. It was cold and gray, but she had a cup of chamomile tea to warm her. She also had a plate of ice cubes to reduce the swelling under her eyes from tears.
She was single once again, as her girlfriend had dumped her. Her chair was leather but comfortable even though it was new. It had been the fifth time this week that she had felt this way, it felt like her world was just collapsing in on her. The white silk robe she was wearing clung to her where little tear drops had fallen on her shoulders, and her usually tied back hair fell in loose ringlets and cascaded down her back. She felt confused, she just wanted someone to love, well, she had that but now it was too late. She didn’t understand why she felt so empty, she was attractive, she had money, and she had people lined up around the block to sleep with her, she just wondered why she had no one except herself now. She had taken a break from being a dominatrix and just focus on herself, although she didn’t like it that much, as she noticed her flaws a lot more now then when she just stuck to work. She didn’t know what to do. Ironically she had been with her girlfriend, probably around seven years now, but in her line of work it was complicated to fall in love, which ultimately ended in the breakup. This was why Sherlock was such a low point for her, she couldn’t even believe herself, his specialty was understanding people, it was so obvious that he didn’t love her. She remembered him picking through her mind and whenever he did it, it was the best part of her day, the closest thing she had ever had to romance aside from- actually she didn’t want to think about it anymore. The tea she had was now cold, and she craved the feeling of sex. She emptied her tea glass and proceed to fill it with champagne, she didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. She decided to text Sherlock.
Sherlock glanced down at his phone
“Meet me at my place, dinner? ;)”
Just from reading the text he knew that there was no way she actually wanted dinner, but he knew that she would never text him without reason, so he put on his jacket and hailed a cab.
It was Irene's third glass of teacup champagne when Sherlock arrived. She was wearing red lipstick with her hair loosely pulled back, all she was wearing was a black satin dress.
As soon as Sherlock opened the door Irene jumped on him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her bun falling, leaving her hair to cling loosely around her body. Sherlock made a noise and separated himself from her, her lipstick clearly smudged all over his face. His lips looked like she bled on him, but hers looked cracked and overused. A moment passed, Irene looked at him, her face as cold and smooth as porcelain. Tears slipped down her face as Sherlock watched, he looked concerned for her, but in a fatherly way. He pulled her in for a hug as she slumped all of her body weight on him, it startled him, he had never seen Irene in such a state. Her hair was loose and was clumpy, and her face was frail and clearly unwashed, but when he hugged her he didn’t seem to notice any of that.
However, when they talked there was a wall between them, as she fell apart in front of him, he studied her as if she was an object. She didn’t think that this was as good as her past experiences, and when he left her home she felt no remorse.
Irene was done focusing on herself, she realized that with her work schedule as busy as it usually was she would have no time to focus on her problems. As she watched all of the openings on her website fill up it filled her with a joy. She decided to take a bath as she would have a very busy day tomorrow and went to sleep, happier than she had been in a long time.