- Here you are. The dominatrix who brought the nation to its knees. Nicely played. - No - Sorry? - I said no. Very very close but no. You've got carried away. The game is too elaborate. You're enjoing yourself too much. - There's no such things as too much - Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game I sympathize entirely. But sentiment? Sentiment is chemical defect found in a losing side. - Sentiment? What are you talking about? - You! - Oh dear God! Look at the poor man! You're not actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the Great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in a funny hat? - No. Because I took your pulse. Elevated. The pupils dialated. I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mistery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very distructive. When we the first met you told me that disguise is always a self portrait, how true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements. But this... this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head. You could've chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you had worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for a final proof. - Everything I said – it's not real. I was just playing the game. - I know. And this is just losing. - There are you, brother. Hope the contents make up for any inconvinience I may have caused you tonight. - I'm certain they will. - If you're feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go and I doubt she'll survive long without her protection. - Are you expacting me to beg? - Yes. - Please. You are right. I won't even last six months. - Sorry about dinner.