"This… is… insanity." John made a careful incision in the palm of Natasha's hand and inserted a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued sub-dermal cybernetic implant about the size of a pill into the opening. Despite its size, the implant was state of the art and equipped with full recording and transmission capabilities.
Natasha liked to hoard her stolen tech for rainy days and she'd been saving this one for months. Catching John's eye, she smiled.
"I've done worse," she assured him.
"As have I," Sherlock droned from his chair.
John's expression was entirely disapproving. "I don't know whether that's cause for worry or admiration."
"Probably both," Sherlock and Natasha answered in unison.
Natasha smiled when their eyes met across the room. Sherlock lowered his hands to the armrests of his chair.
"I'm sure Miss Romanova can handle herself, John," he continued with his own little smirk. "In the meantime, we've got our own mission to take care of."
"Finding Ivan," John confirmed, positioning a layer of synthetic skin over the cut in Natasha's hand. Within seconds, it merged seamlessly with her skin. "That's remarkable," he informed her.
"It's still in development." Natasha took her hand back and smoothed a thumb over the patch. "S.H.I.E.L.D. was working with Doctor Helen Cho, before they revealed themselves as Hydra, and this was one of the few prototypes I snagged on my way out the door. It's temporary. We mostly used it for fingerprint duplication, but I think it serves its purpose here too."
"How long will it last?" he asked.
"About a week," she answered after some consideration. "Give or take a day."
"I still think it's remarkable." John glanced at Sherlock while he tidied up around Natasha. "So, what does finding Ivan entail, exactly?"
"Solving a puzzle." Sherlock uncrossed his legs with a flourish and approached his clue wall in three long strides, vaulting over the coffee table. He came to a stop in front of the couch.
John shot him a look. "Oi," he protested, snatching his medical bag out of the way. "Careful where you step."
Natasha scooted to a corner of the couch and tucked her legs underneath. She'd showered and changed into a clean blouse and trousers earlier in the afternoon, when they'd visited her safe house to retrieve the implant and synthetic skin.
Sherlock didn't spare a glance for either of them. "Ivan clearly wants Miss Romanova to find him," he began, blue eyes scanning the papered wall in front of him. A plastic bag with the rose and ribbon were pinned to it front and center, with the envelope beside them. "It's possible he didn't anticipate just how many people would be after her now that S.H.I.E.L.D. is no longer around, or how eager they'd be to retrieve the information she'd hidden in her body. All this time he's been attempting to rattle her, not kill her, which leads me to believe this is about reasserting control over her, first and foremost."
John stepped away to find a rubbish bin while Natasha unfolded herself from her spot and stood bare-footed on the couch. She faced the wall with her hands on her hips.
"Okay, so let's start with the basics," she said. "Who attacked me the day I received the rose and ribbon and why? What's their play?"
"Someone in the SIS working for Ivan, possibly reporting to the United Nations," Sherlock provided. "Ivan would need to confirm the information on that chip before he dispersed it to whatever parties he'd promised it to."
"Right, so would this person or persons have any idea where he is?"
Sherlock briefly placed his hands on his hips as well. "Unlikely."
Natasha hummed in agreement. "Coward never would take the risk, would he?"
"Cowards rarely do." He reached past her to snatch the rose and ribbon from the wall. "I found traces of sediment in this ribbon inherent to Eastern Moscow," he continued, "near the Klyazma River. There's a cemetery nearby—"
"The Rogozhskoye Cemetery." Natasha turned to face him and reached over to touch the plastic bag in his hands. "I never thought they'd buried her," she explained. "It was likelier they'd thrown her body out with the trash. You think this is where he's drawing me to?"
"I know it is," he answered with a confident nod of his head. "He must also be living somewhere nearby. I'll have the specific location for you very soon."
Natasha retrieved her hand and once again settled it on her hip. "I still don't know how he could've survived."
"A query that will plague you until you find an answer," he said knowingly.
"Any advice?"
"None that wouldn't be detrimental to your health." Sherlock half turned to deposit the plastic bag on the coffee table, but once again straightened in front of her. They were eye to eye, with the couch's added height, and close enough that Natasha could identify the scent of his soap. She was all too familiar with it already, having slept in his bed, and she found the scent of it oddly comforting.
"You're going to kill him," he said matter-of-factly.
"Yes," she answered simply. "If he's got allies in the SIS, United Nations and who knows how many governments, I can't risk leaving him alive."
"What of the woman who shot Arkady?"
Natasha had seen Sherlock's extraordinary mind at work several times already, but she was still surprised. "You know it was a woman?"
"I know more than that."
Natasha bit back a smile. "She told me she'd come after you," she explained. "And John, but I won't let her get to either of you. You're safe. You have my word." She paused for effect but didn't break eye contact. "Does that answer your question?"
Sherlock studied her features carefully. "Yes."
Natasha smiled fully. "You trust me?"
"I trust your skill, your intelligence and your determination to protect those you value," he listed. "Whatever the cost."
Natasha's gaze didn't waver. "You're not scared of me," she pressed.
"You're not scared of me either," he retorted. "Curious, for a woman with so many secrets. Is that trust? Do you trust me, Natalia?"
Natasha felt goosebumps rise on her skin when he said her name. She wondered if she could get him to say it again. Bracing herself with a hand on his chest, she leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to the warm skin of his cheek.
His chest rose against her palm and she smiled, this time speaking against his ear. "Yes, I trust you," she answered honestly.
John cleared his throat, leaning halfway out of the kitchen with one of his hands gripping the edge of a sliding door. Natasha pulled back and Sherlock turned away to begin an abrupt bout of pacing, like two children caught doing something they really shouldn't be doing.
"I'm making tea," John announced, flashing a quick, amused smile. "Either of you fancy a cuppa? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"I was just about to leave." Natasha climbed off the couch to grab her boots. "Once I'm captured, give me forty-eight hours before you come pick me up. I'll need the ride."
John straightened and stepped fully into the room. "You're sure you don't want to wait a few days? At least until you've somewhat recovered from yesterday."
"No." Natasha zipped up her boots and flashed him a smile. "I've pushed through worse injuries, don't worry."
"You know, you keep saying that," he said. "Doesn't make what you're doing now any better. You are human."
"So you keep telling me." Natasha retrieved her coat from the back of Sherlock's chair and turned towards him. "See you in a few days?"
Sherlock ruffled his curls and nodded once. "We'll be there," he confirmed. "Until then, Miss Romanova."
"Natasha," she requested. "Or Natalia, if you prefer," she added over her shoulder just before she disappeared through the door. Sherlock met her gaze and she winked. "See you, John," she added as she climbed down the stairs.
A moment later, the front door open and closed. Sherlock waltzed back over to his chair and settled in, studiously ignoring John's curious gaze.
"What," he said shortly.
"Nothing." John shrugged casually. "Just flexing my observational muscles."
"Careful you don't hurt yourself."
"Sherlock, when this is over—"
"She'll disappear and we'll go back to business as usual," he finished for him.
"I'm just saying," John persisted, turning back into the kitchen. "I think she likes you too, mate."
Sherlock could still feel her lips where they'd brushed against his cheek, and in spite of himself, he smiled.