They arrived in Russia by nightfall, wearing matching field uniforms and sporting the latest MI6 developed field gear. Communication devices were tucked inside their ears. Code names were given out to each. 'Redbeard' for Sherlock and 'Widow' for Natasha. They couldn't risk being spotted, so they were dropped a few miles out away from the complex that was their target, and together they made the trek over. Radio silence was the order of the day unless it was an emergency, or they were ready for extraction.

Natasha was unusually tense, and the closer they got to the complex, the more noticeable it became.

Sherlock didn't speak either as they trekked through the cold wilderness that surrounded the complex. There was just a bit of snow on the ground, for it was autumn here, and the air was stiff and thin. He didn't miss the tension radiating off of Natasha, and it was getting stronger as time passed. His mouth opened and closed about five times before he found the words, a stupid question he knew the answer to. "You alright?"

"No," she answered quietly. "I keep running through different possible scenarios in my head, and I can't help thinking... this is what they taught me to do." She paused. "I'm concerned I'm putting you in danger."

"I came along willingly, and I like danger," he countered. "And if you keep up this concern, it'll slow you down, which is more dangerous. Top of your game, remember? We're prepared, we have the advantage."

"Right." Natasha made a conscious effort to relax as they neared the complex. "But if something happens and I can't get out in time, you need to blow the place up regardless of whether or not I am in there," she persisted. "Okay?"

Sherlock dodged it, replying instead with an observation. "Looks pretty quiet on the outside, I think we're good to go."

Natasha switched to the proper channel on their comms so they could talk privately. "I'll go in first to clear a path for you. Give me five minutes."

She didn't wait for a reply, moving from shadow to shadow towards the building. She an eye out for surveillance cameras, traps, or patrols, just in case. Sherlock was right, it was all but deserted on the outside, but just as she remembered it. She knew the place like the back of her hand, having walked through its hallways so many times.

Waiting for her inside were two armed guards, heavy and slow in their movements. She dispatched those quickly. Armed guards weren't the issue. The girls and their instructors, they were the issue. However difficult armed guards could be, they weren't nearly as dangerous in comparison. Around a corner, two more guards were headed their way. She dispatched those too, and within five minutes she'd cleared a good portion of the hallways for Sherlock to maneuver through.

Sherlock was four minutes behind her, the bag over his shoulder stuffed with explosives. Fairly simple plan, he'd follow, placing charges at calculated critical points, and then find her. Then they'd both get out, with whoever she determined was fit to save. He worked quickly and quietly, his gun in his thigh holster, but untouched for the moment. Four down, twelve to go.

Natasha didn't notice the pattern until it was too late. She knew whom she had to get to and how, but between one group of guards and another she was being herded in another direction. She was being led towards another room, one she'd rather forget existed altogether. She'd lost a lot of things in that room, memories being one of them.

She didn't want to go back, but the way she was being played told her several things: one, going into that room was the easiest way to get to all the people she needed to take out, completing the task in one fell swoop; and two, they knew she was already in the building. Which meant they knew Sherlock was there too.

Even if she could've avoided the room and taken them out another way, allowing them to play her would provide her with an opportunity to distract them while Sherlock fled. Because that was the thing, they wouldn't let him go either. They'd send one of their Black Widows after him, and they'd kill him. They'd make her watch, and then they'd kill her too. The Mother Land was nothing if not cruel to its enemies, and there's no worse enemy than a traitor.

Natasha raised her wrist to her mouth so she could speak to Sherlock through the comm. "Change of plans," she spoke quietly as she reached the proper door. "I need you to go back the way you came." She paused and decided to tack on a lie for good measure. "I'll meet you out there."

"Negative. Four minutes and two explosives away from being done." Sherlock's voice came quietly through the radio. "Where are you? I'm headed…northwest from detonation spot fourteen towards fifteen."

"I'm close by, you'd just have to follow the trail of bodies." Natasha closed her eyes and steeled herself to say her next words. "But don't," she said firmly. "I need you to find the girls and get them out, and then I need you to get out yourself, is that clear? And Sherlock..." She paused, wanting to say the words but knowing if she did Sherlock would know there was something wrong, and he would come after her. She opened her eyes and reached for the door handle. "Just be careful."

She took the earpiece out of her ear before he could reply and tossed it aside, twisting the doorknob to enter the room. Inside, the walls were red but bare, and a complicated looking chair sat in the middle, sporting monitors to one side and straps for both arms and legs, as well as the head. Cables, both thick and thin, connected to the back of it, clustering the closer they were to where the head should be. Beside it, just opposite the monitors, was another chair, with a tray of shiny instruments she knew all too well organized on top.

There were only three people inside that room, but just beyond in the observation deck Natasha could glimpse a couple more.

"Natalia Romanova," spoke the one closest to her. Male and familiar, but unwelcome.

Natasha met his eyes steadily. He smiled. "My little Natalia... I knew you'd come back, but I didn't expect it'd be so soon." He cast a regretful set of eyes over the chair. "You'll have to forgive the hasty preparations."

Natasha didn't speak, waiting as she was for him to make a move, to reveal his play. Stalling was her only plan at this point. Stalling long enough for Sherlock to get out and blow up the place without getting caught.

Ivan, the only one who'd spoken up until now, laughed. "Still as quiet as ever," he said conversationally. "Perhaps you should have a seat, then? This may take a while."

Natasha was eyeing the seat in front of her impassively. She knew that Ivan knew she'd be going nowhere near it of her own free will, but he still hadn't attempted to force her into it. She was afraid, for a moment, that they were planning on capturing Sherlock to coerce her into cooperation.

"This," Ivan gestured to a young woman with short blonde hair who'd stepped forward, wearing a black suit similar to the one Natasha wore as her own Black Widow uniform, "is our little Yelena," he introduced. "Yelena's very eager to earn her title of Black Widow."

"This is the girl you sent to London," Natasha said, more than asked.

"Yes, very good," Ivan said jovially. "You weren't supposed to know it was a Black Widow behind these murders just yet, but we weren't quite counting on your... lover to take an interest. He's very good, isn't he? It didn't take him long to figure out who was behind it, did it? Do you wonder if he'll leave you after seeing the darkness of your past, now that he's here?" Yelena took another step forward and Ivan smiled. "Does it break your heart?"

"You trained me not to have one," she retorted.

"But you resisted that training at every turn, didn't you?" Ivan gave the signal, and this time Yelena sprang forward, ready to attack. Natasha met her blow for blow, but Yelena was as fast and as well trained as she was. Lethal, and less forgiving. More of a Black Widow than Natasha had ever been because unlike her, Yelena wanted this and Natasha never had. Her instincts should've been to kill her, but what she wanted was to save her, to give her another shot at life. Yelena, however, would take her head off if she gave her so much as an inch of latitude.

"You were always the best, Natalia. Unbreakable. Made of marble, but just as difficult to carve," Ivan said.

Natasha ignored his words so she could concentrate on incapacitating Yelena, who hadn't so much as said a peep throughout the entire exchange. Yelena, on the other hand, was aiming to kill as quickly and efficiently as possible. There'd be only so long Natasha could keep up her strategy if she wanted to survive the encounter and take Ivan out, along with the rest of the people in that observation deck beyond the chair. Or maybe, just maybe, they'd all get blown to pieces together and the whole thing would be over. No more Red Room. No more R2. No more Natasha either, but she'd been living a happy life for over a year now.

Maybe that was more than people like her deserved. Maybe it was time to pay the price for it.

Sherlock wouldn't agree, and it was with him on her mind that she pushed back and forced Yelena to the floor, straddling her. Yelena didn't miss a beat, swiftly stabbing her twice in the stomach with a serrated dagger before rolling them both over so that she had the upper hand. Natasha retrieved the knife stashed in one of her boots to return the favor and held it against Yelena's throat.

"Yelena," she breathed, just one last try. "Stop. You have a choice."

"For the Motherland," Yelena spat back, stabbing her one more time. Natasha grit her teeth against the pain and used the moment to her advantage, taking Yelena out with a swipe of her blade before she pushed her off and staggered to her feet. Faintly, she could hear a door opening and someone approaching, but she was fading too quick. Her own knife dropped to the floor.