Max had decided to stay the night at Baker St, so the next morning she, Sherlock, and John were sitting at the dining table for a quick breakfast. Despite the excitement of last night- after all, they had gotten into a brawl in the middle of a circus and John had been kidnapped- things were rather calm in the flat.
The paper with the decoded Hangzhou characters was laid out on the table in front of them, with Max's handwriting shining clearly over the picture. John frowned at it as he drank his tea. "So, nine mill..." John trailed off.
"Million," Sherlock corrected.
John didn't even glance in his direction. "Million, yes," he agreed. "Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den-
"-black tramway," Max finished. "What exactly does it mean, though?"
Sherlock tapped the paper. "An instruction to all their London operatives," he told them. "A message: what they were trying to reclaim."
It seemed like John was about to reply, but then Sherlock shot Max a look. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
Max had been emptying a packet of sugar into her mug, but now she stopped what she was doing and looked up at him in confusion. "Huh?" she asked.
He frowned at the pile of empty sugar packets next to her mug. "That's your seventh packet of sugar," he said.
She blinked. "So?" she replied.
"It's unhealthy," Sherlock stated.
Max shrugged. "It tastes better," she explained.
John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Max has a sweet tooth," he told Sherlock.
The expression on Sherlock's face clearly said that he wasn't convinced, but John continued on anyway. "So, a jade pin?" he asked doubtfully.
Sherlock nodded, even though he was still looking at Max's mug. "A jade pin worth nine million pounds," he agreed. "Bring it to the tramway, their London hideout."
John looked at him in disbelief. "Hang on," he said. "A hairpin worth nine million pounds? Why so much?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Depends who owned it," he answered.
Max took a sip from her mug without flinching, and Sherlock looked at her in disbelief again. She ignored his expression. "So... we know that either Lukis or Van Coon stole the hairpin," she said. "But where is it now?"
Sherlock's lips ghosted up in a hint of a smile. "I have an idea," he told her.
000
A few minutes later, the three of them them were walking into Shad Sanderson Bank once more. It seemed exactly as it had been the first time that they had walked through the revolving doors and into the grand entry hall of the bank.
That hadn't even been a week ago, but to Max it seemed like so much had changed since then.
"Two operatives based in London," Sherlock stated. "They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin."
John gave him a look. "Worth nine million pounds," he said, still sounding doubtful.
Max rolled her eyes. "John, it's not going to change no matter how many times you repeat it," she replied.
Sherlock continued on like he hadn't even heard them. "Eddie Van Coon was the thief," he told them. "He stole the treasure when he was in China."
John and Max shared a confused look, wondering if they had just missed something. "How d'you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis?" John asked. "Even the killer didn't know that."
At that point they had reached the escalators, and before getting on one Sherlock turned to them smugly. "Because of the soap," he answered mystically. With that, he turned and walked off.
"... What's he doing?" Max asked.
John shrugged. "No clue," he answered. He cleared his throat. "I... er... I'm gonna go talk to Sebastian, tell him what happened with the painting. Do you wanna come?"
Max grinned at him. "You just want to get your check," she teased. John began stuttering halfhearted protests, but she just nudged him playfully. "C'mon, let's go. I want to rub it in Sebastian's face that we solved his case."
He gave her a look. "Max..." he trailed off.
She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "I'll be nice."
000
After speaking briefly with Sebastian's secretary, Max and John were standing in Sebastian's office. The man himself was sitting at his desk, writing the check that had been promised.
"He really climbed up onto the balcony?" Sebastian asked in disbelief.
Max smirked. "Yup," she answered.
John nodded. "Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over," he added.
Max shrugged. "Except for aesthetic, but that's a different story," she corrected. Sebastian scowled in dimly-veiled annoyance as he held out a check to John.
"Thanks," John said simply.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was in Van Coon's office with Amanda- who, on paper, was the dead man's PA, but throughout the case Sherlock had gathered enough information to deduce that they had been dating. And if Van Coon was going to steal a hairpin, who else would he give it to?
"Said he bought it in a street market," Amanda commented as she took out her hairpin, at Sherlock's request. She held it out to him.
Sherlock shook his head as he examined the jade pin. "Oh, I don't think that's true," he replied. "I think he pinched it."
Amanda just chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, that's Eddie," she agreed.
He didn't even look up at her, just continued studying the hairpin. "Didn't know its value, just thought it would suit you," he continued.
She raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Oh?" she asked. "What's it worth?"
Now Sherlock turned his attention to her, smirking slightly as he looked her in the eye. "Nine... million... pounds," he answered.
000
"NINE MILLION?!"
Max and John heard Amanda's shout all the way from Sebastian's office, and the three of them shared a confused look. "What-?" Sebastian started.
But then Max connected the dots, and she grabbed John's arm. "We should get going!" she interrupted suddenly, dragging John off towards the door. "We'll probably never see you again, so bye!"
The door slammed behind them, but it was open again in a second as Max stuck her head back in. "Before we leave, do you have any more of those chocolate truffles laying around-?" she attempted.
Before she could finish, John grabbed her and pulled her back into the hallway.
000
By the time Max and John reached the lobby, Sherlock was already there, standing where he had left them as if he had never walked off. "So I'm assuming that screaming was a sign that you found the hairpin?" Max asked.
Sherlock nodded. "Van Coon gave it to his PA," he answered simply. They headed towards the doors of the bank; Max, for one, was glad to finally put the place behind them. "We'll probably hear about it in the news tomorrow. How's Sebastian?"
John blinked in surprise. "Wh- Sebastian?" he repeated, trying very hard but failing to keep his tone casual. "What about Sebastian?" Max resisted the urge to facepalm.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes as they exited the building through the revolving doors. "You obviously went to go see him," he said. "Did he have any of those truffles from last time?"
Max shot John a look. "I didn't have a chance to find out," she replied pointedly. John ignored her.
"Shame," Sherlock said. "I rather liked them."
It didn't seem like he was going to say anything else about Sebastian, which John took to mean that he was safe. Max, however, highly doubted that Sherlock didn't know about the check. For John's sake, she appreciated the fact that he wasn't going to bring it up.
"So... it's lunchtime," Max commented. "Anybody up for a quick bite?"
John nodded. "Sounds good," he agreed.
They both turned to Sherlock, who shook his head. "No, I need to go to the morgue," he told them.
Max blinked. "Sorry, the morgue?" she repeated.
"He, err, likes to whip corpses," John explained.
Sherlock shot him an annoyed look. "For research," he clarified. "And I've only whipped a corpse once- a man's alibi depended on how fast the bruises formed."
Max blinked. "Err... right," she agreed. Last week she would have found that whole conversation extremely disturbing, but after spending the past few days around Sherlock, she was only mildly fazed; it didn't even make the thought of food any less appealing, which was a good thing. "Do you want us to come with-?"
"It's fine," Sherlock interrupted. "Go have lunch."
She and John shared a look, feeling slightly guilty about leaving Sherlock, but then Max nodded. "Alright," she said. "Until next time, then?"
Sherlock nodded. "Until next time," he agreed. They looked at each other for a moment, their gazes lingering for a few seconds, and then Sherlock turned and walked away, his coat flaring out behind him.
Max watched him go until he disappeared into the crowd.
000
"So, I suppose life goes back to normal now, huh?" Max commented.
John nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so," he agreed. "Until we get another case."
The two of them had stopped off at a McDonald's a few blocks down from the bank, and they were currently eating their burgers on a bench in Russel Square Park, where they had spent much of their childhood running around. Max felt strange to be back so many years later and to see that the park looked exactly as it had in her memories, but at the same time it was like an escape from reality, as if time had turned back a few years.
John suddenly laughed dryly, and Max raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked.
He shook his head, still grinning. "You came over last Tuesday for a quick visit and I ended up dragging you into a murder case," he said. "Things haven't exactly gone to plan."
Max laughed too. "Not exactly," she agreed. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing."
Neither of them spoke for a second, but then John chuckled nervously. "Now that the case is over, err... are you going to stick around?" he asked. "Sherlock likes having you with us, y'know. I do too."
She didn't give him a response right away, and John glanced over at her, waiting for an answer. "I... I don't know," she said. "It's complicated."
John looked at her worriedly. "It's not Sherlock, right?" he wanted to know. "He's not too... Sherlock?"
Max laughed. "No, no, it's not Sherlock," she reassured him. "Not at all." She shrugged. "He's different than everyone else, but it's not in a bad way- for the most part, I mean. I... I really like him, actually."
Something in her tone caught John's attention, and he looked at her closely, noting the sparkle in her eye as she spoke of Sherlock. He had seen that expression before, when they were younger. Did she...?
No, that was impossible. There was no way that Max would fancy Sherlock, of all people. No way.
But if she did...
John eyed her curiously.
Oblivious to John's train of thought, Max remembered her words to Sherlock the other day, when he had asked her why she was helping him. I'm not sure, really, she answered. All I know is that I keep coming back. But still, there was a part of her- the normal part, the one with common sense- that told her it would be smart to just walk away right now before she got pulled in any further- because, like it or not, she was already part of it all, part of the crime-solving team that was 221B Baker St.
"Just think about it," John requested. He grinned at her. "It'll be just like old times, y'know, the two of us hanging out!"
She rolled her eyes. "Except that we'd be solving murders instead of playing basketball," she pointed out.
John shrugged, still grinning. "Nah, we're too old for basketball, anyway," he replied.
Max nudged him. "Well, maybe you are, old man," she teased.
He laughed at that, and she did too; and in that moment, just sitting there in the park where she and John had spent their childhood and eating McDonalds, Max didn't feel like she had spent the last few days trying to solve a murder. Rather, she just felt like a normal person, catching up with an old friend.
000
The next morning, just as Sherlock had predicted, the story of the nine million pound hairpin was in the newspapers. The front page of one of those newspapers was currently open on the dining table of 221B Baker St as Sherlock and John had their breakfast.
"Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night," John said in disbelief, shaking his head.
Sherlock nodded. "He didn't know its value, didn't know why they were chasing him," he told him.
John shrugged. "Should've just got her a lucky cat," he commented.
Sherlock smiled briefly, remembering their visit to the Lucky Cat shop in Chinatown, but then the smile faded from his face. His solemn gaze became distant, and by now John knew his flatmate well enough to realize that he was thinking about something.
"You mind, don't you?" John asked.
Sherlock turned back to him. "What?" he replied.
John nodded towards the newspaper. "That she escaped- General Shan," he said. "It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."
Sherlock grimaced. "It must be a vast network, John," he told him. "Thousands of operatives. You and I- and Max- we barely scratched the surface."
John frowned. "You cracked the code, though, Sherlock," he said. "Maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."
Sherlock shook his head. "No, no, I cracked this code," he corrected. "All the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." With that, he picked up the newspaper and started reading another article, signaling that the conversation was over.
John's gaze drifted out the window, which had a perfect view of the street below them. As he watched, he saw a young man in a hooded jacket walk up to the parking permit dispenser on the over side of the street. The man looked around to make sure that nobody was paying attention to him, then lifted a spray paint can and sprayed his tag onto to back of the machine. He finished his work quickly, then ran off before he could be spotted.
For a second, John considered mentioning it to Sherlock, but he decided against it.
"Have you heard from Max?" Sherlock suddenly asked.
John turned his gaze to him. "What?" he asked.
Sherlock looked up at him, looking slightly annoyed. "Max," he repeated. "Have you heard from her?"
John blinked. "Oh," he said. "No, I- I haven't. Why?"
Sherlock glanced back down at the newspaper. "No reason," he replied.
Even though John knew that Sherlock wasn't telling the full truth, he decided not to mention it. The two of them sat there in silence for a few seconds as John ate his breakfast and Sherlock read the newspaper.
"Is she coming back?" Sherlock asked.
John shrugged. "I don't know," he answered. "She said she'd think about it."
Sherlock scowled, but he turned back to the newspaper. They were silent again for a few seconds.
"I'm going to text her-" Sherlock started.
John glared at him. "No, you're not," he interrupted. "We're both going to give Max time to think this through."
Sherlock frowned. "But-" he started, but John cut him off with a look. "Fine." He lifted the newspaper again and went back to reading.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke, but then John looked at him curiously. "You fancy her, don't you?" he asked.
Sherlock looked up sharply. "What?" he replied. "No, of course not. You're being ridiculous."
John raised an eyebrow. "Am I, though?" he said.
Sherlock glared at him. "I told you, John, I'm married to my work," he answered.
John nodded. "And Max is part of your work, isn't she?" he challenged.
For a second, Sherlock was silent. But then he turned back to the newspaper. "I don't fancy Max," he said again. "Or anyone, for that matter."
John looked at him for a few seconds, then sighed and finished his breakfast.
000
For the next couple of weeks, Max was occupied with her new job at Bibliotheque, and the events of the mystery gradually faded from her thoughts, replaced by the countless protocols at the office and all the work she had been assigned. It was only once she was settled in at Bibliotheque, about a month after she had first stepped foot in 221B Baker St, that she was able to return.
"Oh, hello, Max!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed happily as she opened the door for her. "It's so good to see you!"
Max smiled. "Hi, Mrs. Hudson," she said. "How've you been?"
Mrs. Hudson waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, fine, fine," she answered. "I suppose you'll be wanting to see the boys?"
Max stepped into the building as Mrs. Hudson opened the door for her. "Yeah, that's what I was hoping for," she agreed.
The landlady smiled widely, clearly pleased that she had returned. "Oh, it's so good to know that Sherlock's getting on well with a young lady!" she gushed. "Go on up, go on up!"
After thanking Mrs. Hudson quickly, Max found herself climbing up the familiar stairs to Sherlock and John's flat. It had only been two weeks since she had been here last, but at the same time it felt like so long ago.
As she got closer to the flat, she began to hear someone playing a violin, and she paused for a second to listen. It was beautiful music, obviously being played by someone who knew what they were doing. The last time she checked, John had never been interested in learning how to play an instrument, so she assumed that it was Sherlock who was playing.
She continued on her way up the stairs, and when she reached the top she saw that the door to the flat was wide open. Quietly, she stepped inside the living room.
The crates of books were gone, as well as the pictures of the Hangzhou characters. Other than that, the flat looked exactly like it had the last time she had seen it: slightly cluttered with a skull on the mantelpiece and a knife pinning the mail down. John was nowhere in sight, but Sherlock was standing by one of the windows, playing a violin.
Even though she hadn't made a noise, Sherlock paused and turned around, taking his violin from his shoulder. His gaze landed on her, and for a few seconds neither of them said anything. But then Max smiled. "Hey," she said.
Sherlock blinked in surprise, clearly surprised to see her there. "Max," he greeted. "Come in."
Max stepped further into the flat, feeling slightly awkward. "I would've stopped by earlier, but I didn't really have a chance," she said. "Sorry about that."
He glanced over her quickly. "You got the job," he stated.
She gave him a small smile. "Yeah," she replied. "I did."
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but then Max cleared her throat awkwardly and reached into her bag. "Anyway, I, err... Here," she said, pulling out a spray paint can. "I saw it the other day and I thought of the case, so..."
Sherlock reached out and took the can, glancing over the label declaring the can Michigan, and a yellow band across the bottom that was the same exact shade as the paint that had been used to write the Hangzhou characters. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. "Does this mean that you're staying?" he asked.
Max nodded, looking him straight in the eye. "I am," she declared.
Maybe it wasn't the best choice, for her safety or her sanity. But really, when it came down to it, it was the only choice she could have made.
Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, but then he nodded to her, and she nodded back.