Sherlock: No.
Irene Adler: Sorry?
Sherlock: I said, no. Very very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.
Irene Adler: No such thing as too much.
Sherlock: Oh enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment, sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.
Irene Adler: Sentiment. What are you talking about?
Sherlock: You.
Irene Adler: Oh dear god, look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes? The clever detective in the funny hat?
Sherlock: No. Because I took your pulse.
Sherlock: When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self portrait—how [bad word] of you. [bad word] to your safe, your measurements. But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart. And you should never let [bad word] your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.
Irene Adler: Everything I said, it's not real. I was just playing the game.
Sherlock: I know. And this is just losing. {I AM SHERLOCKED}.
Sherlock: There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.
Mycroft: I'm certain they will.
Sherlock: If you're feeling kind, lock her up. Otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection.
Irene Adler: Are you expecting me to beg?
Sherlock: Yes. 
Irene Adler: Please. You're right. I won't even last six months.
Sherlock: Sorry about dinner.