Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot.
The words echoed through Max's mind, repeating over and over as she tried to figure out what they meant, what their importance was to the situation at hand. She was curled up on the couch, staring out the window at the street below and watching the occasional passerby- it was better than looking inside the flat, anyway. John was still at the dining table, finishing up a cup of tea. Irene was back in Sherlock's armchair, staring absently at the unlit fireplace, her thoughts clearly a million miles away. Sherlock, meanwhile, had taken to pacing the length of the living room, muttering angrily under his breath as he tried to figure out the same thing Max was puzzling over- what was Bond Air?
Max glanced over at him now, watching as he reached the far wall and turned back around. Just looking at him caused her stomach to knot painfully, thinking of all she had said out in the hallway and all he had said back. She wouldn't take back any of it, but she hated what had happened to them, that even though they were solving the same case, for all intents and purposes they were on opposite sides now.
She didn't even know if they were still together anymore.
But there were bigger things at stake here. Sherlock had just decoded some government secret- probably something important, if Mycroft was involved in it- and Irene had passed it on to somebody. Max didn't even know what Bond Air was, but she had been friends with Sherlock and John long enough to know that it most likely wasn't anything good. And if Sherlock wasn't going to stop Irene... well, then it fell to Max to do something about it.
How, though, when Sherlock was working the case too? How could she ever hope to solve a mystery before Sherlock?
She couldn't.
"Tea, anybody?" Max said, a plan forming in her head as she stood abruptly. Everyone looked at her in surprise. "Cookies? Yes? C'mon, John, help me."
Before he could protest, Max grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him out of the room.
"Oi!" John protested as they reached the kitchen. "Max, have you gone mental?!"
Max whirled around to face him. "Keep your voice down!" she hissed. "I don't want them to hear."
John blinked as understanding flooded his face. "Oh," he said. "This is about you and Sherlock, isn't it? What happened? Are you alright?"
She took a deep breath, struggling to contain the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. "No, not really," she admitted. "I accused him of wanting to get it on with Irene, he accused me of being jealous of her, and... I don't know, John, we said some stuff and I'm furious but at the same time I feel horrible and-" She stopped talking suddenly, remembering why she had wanted to talk to John in the first place. "No, no, we're getting off topic! This is not about Sherlock and I. This is more important. Remember that day Mycroft said something about Bond Air?"
He stared at her blankly.
"... okay, well, it was some government thing," she explained. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it sounded important. And I think that's what Sherlock just told Irene. 007? That's not a coincidence."
John nodded slowly as he processed the new information. "Alright, so she's planning something," he said.
Max glanced back into the living room to make sure that Irene wasn't nearby. "When I talked to her in the bathroom, she said she needed something from Sherlock," she whispered. "I thought it was the camera phone, but... what if it was this? Bond Air? He just gave her government secrets, John, and I do not trust her."
He frowned. "Wait, how do you remember this?" he asked. "And Sherlock hasn't figured it out?"
She glared at him. "It's pop culture," she stated. "I can name all the James Bond movies in order, including what year it was released, what actor played Bond, and whoever was the Bond Girl for that movie. Now would you like to test my action movie expertise or-"
John shook his head quickly. "No, no, I believe you," he interrupted. He glanced around the kitchen. "We have to turn on the microwave and the faucet and whatever else makes noise. Quickly."
Max frowned. "Why-" she started.
"Just do it," John interrupted, already reaching for the faucet.
In a few moments everything was running, the room so loud that Max could barely hear herself think. She half expected Sherlock or Irene to say something, but neither of them came in. "Alright, what was that about?" Max demanded.
John grimaced. "She was in here before us," he said. "She might have bugged the flat."
Max blinked. "Good thinking," she complimented.
He gave her a look. "Yes, I do that sometimes, to everyone's surprise," he agreed dryly. "Okay, well, we can't figure this out before Sherlock does."
She grimaced. "No, I know," she agreed. "So we go to the one person who can."
John raised an eyebrow. "Mycroft?" he asked. She nodded. "Sherlock's gonna be furious."
"Quite frankly, I don't give a crap about what Sherlock thinks right now," Max snapped.
He nodded. "Fair enough," he agreed. "Okay. Well, we can't call him from here if the flat's bugged. We can go outside, but she might have people watching the building."
She raised an eyebrow. "Swing up to the rooftops?" she suggested.
John gave her a look. "We're not actually in an action movie, Max," he said. He frowned. "We'll have to risk the streets. I'll go out, take my gun with me. You stay here and keep an eye on them."
Max nodded. "Okay, I can do that," she agreed. She looked at him in concern. "Be careful."
He grimaced. "You too," he told her.
She scoffed. "Oh, don't worry- Irene had this coming," she said. She reached out and tested the water from the faucet. "After all, she used up the hot water."
000
Nobody commented on John leaving the flat; Sherlock was too busy thinking, and Irene didn't seem to care. Max sat in John's chair and nibbled on the cookies she had brought out- after all, nobody else was going to eat them.
"I meant what I said, the last time we met," Irene commented, quietly enough that Sherlock couldn't hear- not that he was paying attention, anyway. "You have potential."
Max scoffed. "Oh, really?" she remarked dryly.
Irene leaned forward in Sherlock's seat. "Truly," she said. "I have no grudge against you, Max. You're fierce. You have balls, which is more than I can say for some of my... associates."
Max eyed her carefully. "What sort of associates?" she asked.
Irene gestured noncommittally with her hand. "The sort you wouldn't like," she answered. "But they have their uses." She raised an eyebrow. "I can teach you, y'know."
Max almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Teach me what, how to manipulate people with sex?" she scoffed. "And where will that get me? Shampooing my hair in a stranger's bathroom while trying to get back a tacky camera phone?"
Irene smiled, unperturbed by Max's attitude. "Of course sex," she said. "Everything is sex. I understand why you doubt it. But you're a woman, Max. We both are. And men are simple creatures, easily manipulated." She raised an eyebrow and leaned closer. "Aren't you tired of playing by their rules? Don't you want to learn what they're scared of- what a woman can really do? We can be a hundred steps ahead of them, beat them at their own game." She smiled as she held up her hand, moving her fingers gracefully. "Do you understand the power of that- the power in having them all wrapped around your fingers, keeping them helpless as you..." She clenched her hand into a fist. "...crush them?" She smiled. "We can do anything, Max. You just need to open your eyes."
Before Max could reply, Sherlock sat down on the couch with a huff, still mumbling under his breath- he was within earshot now. Irene leaned back, a smile lingering on her face. "Just think about it," she said.
For once, Max didn't know what to say.
000
"Oh, c'mon, Mycroft, pick up already!" John muttered. He was in a cab- better to be a moving target, he figured- circling around London.
Finally, the phone stopped ringing. "John, I'm in the middle of a national emergency-" Mycroft started.
"That's what I'm calling about!" John interrupted. "Listen to me for one bloody second, Mycroft! Bond Air, whatever it is? Sherlock cracked it!"
Mycroft didn't even pause, taking the information in stride. Maybe he had expected it- after all, who else could have figured out that email? "Who is he working with?" he asked.
"Irene Adler," John answered.
Silence.
John looked at his phone curiously, wondering if the connection had dropped, but the call was still going. It took him a moment to realize what happened; Mycroft, for once, was at a loss for words. The thought was more chilling than John could have ever expected.
"Tell me everything," Mycroft ordered.
000
"Coventry," Sherlock said suddenly.
Max's gaze snapped to where he was fiddling with his violin, knowing that he was remembering that conversation with Mycroft, too. But Irene just raised an eyebrow, oblivious to his train of thought. "I've never been," she commented. "Is it nice?"
Sherlock looked around the flat suddenly. "Where's John?" he asked.
Max scowled. "He went out," she answered.
"... I was just talking to him," Sherlock said, bewildered.
Irene smiled. "He said you do that," she told him. "What's Coventry got to do with anything?"
Sherlock frowned. "It's a story, probably not true," he explained. "In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code, but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."
Max shifted uncomfortably at his story. She still didn't know exactly what Bond Air was, but she knew they had stumbled into something bigger than they had expected, something better left alone...
Or maybe, like Irene said, they had been involved since the start.
Irene sighed. "History," she remarked. "So dry. Not very practical, memorizing facts and dates, is it?"
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson suddenly called from downstairs. The three of them turned to see Mrs. Hudson entering the flat with none other than the agent from the palace, the very one who had taken Sherlock to meet with Mycroft in the beginning of all of this. Max tried not to let her relief show, but she knew what his arrival meant; John had gotten in touch Mycroft. "Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?" Mrs. Hudson turned to the agent. "He shot it," she explained, gesturing to Sherlock.
Sherlock glared up at him. "Have you come to take me away again?" he asked.
He nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes," he answered.
"Well, I decline," Sherlock told him.
It seemed like the agent was expecting that. He simply reached into his jacket and took out an envelope, offering it to Sherlock. "I don't think you do," he replied.
Sherlock snatched the envelope from him and opened it. Inside was a plane ticket in his name... for flight number 007.
"Well, then," Sherlock said.
The agent turned to Max. "Ms. Arthur?" he asked. Max nodded, and he handed her an envelope too.
It was different from Sherlock's: too small to fit a plane ticket and made of expensive fibers. Max opened it curiously. There was a small piece of stationary inside, just as fancy as the envelope. It was folded into a neat square, so perfect that she almost didn't have the heart to unfold it. Almost.
She knew immediately that it was from Mycroft. She had never seen his handwriting before, of course, but who else would have such immaculate script? She frowned as she read the note.
John told me everything. Remain in the flat and don't let her leave. Stay safe. MH.
Well, at least her message got through. A gun would've been appreciated, though.
She glanced at Sherlock, who hadn't even noticed that she had gotten an envelope too- he was too busy slipping on his coat. Irene, on the other hand, was looking at Max in interest, her gaze on the note. Max hurriedly shoved it into her pocket, crumpling the perfect paper. Whoops.
By this point Sherlock was ready to leave. Standing before the doorway, he glanced over at Irene, then Max, his gaze lingering on her. There was something in his eyes, unspoken words of farewell that would have been so easy just hours ago...
But he swept out of the room without a word.
The agent remained a moment longer. He nodded to Max and Mrs. Hudson, then turned and followed Sherlock.
000
And now Max and Irene were left in the flat alone. Irene stood by the window and watched the car with Sherlock and the nameless agent pull away, but Max remained in her seat.
"You said you didn't want him," Max said, breaking the silence.
Irene glanced at her. "I don't," she replied. "But I also said I needed something from him, and this was the best way to get it."
Max raised an eyebrow. "The flight?" she asked.
Irene smiled. "Good girl," she praised. "Yes, the flight."
So she had been right. Trying to keep her face expressionless, Max picked up the cookie tray and brought it to the kitchen. She was vaguely aware of Irene following her. "About what you said earlier," Max said. "Maybe you're right."
She reached the counter and placed the tray in the sink. There was a knife there, soaking in the water. Max thought back to Mycroft's instructions: don't let her leave. Well, she would have appreciated a weapon if he was asking her to do that. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Irene was lingering by the entrance of the kitchen, then surreptitiously reached for the knife, hiding it behind the tray... not that she knew what to do with it, but it made her feel better.
"But then I remembered the Bond Girls," Max continued. "Y'know, the love interest in every James Bond movie. They all die by the end, then the next film there's another one. They're the ultimate symbols of feminine sex and beauty, and they live in this world of intrigue and betrayal, like you. But really, they're just... objects. They don't have power, like you say; in fact, they're always the most powerless characters in the movie, entirely subject to someone else's whims and desires." She took a deep breath. "So I'm going to have to say no."
Suddenly there was something sharp at her back, another knife. Max's blood chilled. "Very generous of Sherlock to leave a knife on the mantle, isn't it?" Irene remarked, her voice low in Max's ear.
Max sighed. "I always hated how they keep their mail," she grumbled.
"Now, put down the knife," Irene instructed coldly.
Max grimaced, but she couldn't see another way out of this. Sighing, she dropped the knife back in the sink.
"Shame," Irene commented. "I really did like you, Max." She raised an eyebrow, still pointing the knife at Max. "You knew about Bond Air, didn't you? And you told Mycroft?" Max nodded wordlessly. "Ah. Well, no matter. A minor complication, but it would have come out eventually." She gestured with the knife to a chair at the dining table. "Sit."
Glaring up at Irene, Max did as she said, unarmed with her phone across the room. She silently cursed herself for not keeping it at hand. "So what, am I your hostage?" she demanded.
Irene laughed. "Oh, no, I have more than enough leverage without you," she replied. "You're quite irrelevant, actually. I should kill you, but it's too... messy. I'll just tie you up and leave you here. Doubtlessly John will find you when he comes back, but the two of you are mice in this game- ultimately worthless and definitely not worth my time. Now, does Sherlock have any rope?" She glanced around the room, her gaze landing on a blanket. "This will have to do."
"Hey, that's my favorite blanket!" Max protested as Irene started cutting it up into strips on the floor.
Irene ignored her. "I have to admit, you almost had me," she mused. "But you quite overplayed your hand there with your little Bond Girls speech, don't you think? And you have a horrible poker face, dear. I could read you like a book." She stood up, holding the strips of blanket. "It would have been so much easier if you just joined me."
Max watched Irene as the dominatrix tied her arms behind the chair with practiced ease. Just a few hours ago they had been arguing in the bathroom, and Max had been terrified, barely able to keep her head as she confronted the naked woman standing in the shower. But oddly enough, now that she was the vulnerable one, Max realized that she wasn't scared anymore. Something was different after her argument with Sherlock. Maybe she was too tired to care anymore- but no, that wasn't right. It was more like... for the first time since she had started solving crimes with Sherlock and John, she was completely alone... yet she found that she was up to the challenge. She was confident.
She was stronger than she had known.
"I stand by what I said," Max said. "You think you've, what, manipulated society to your benefit? You think you've beaten the world at this little game of yours? Well, look at you. You've become the very thing they want- gorgeous, confident, intelligent... and powerless. It's pathetic." Irene paused, shock flitting across her features, then moved on to tying Max's feet. Max continued speaking, growing more emboldened with every word. "Yes, Irene, you're pathetic. All this power you think you have, all this influence, but not a single person who would risk their life for yours without expecting anything in return. That's why you came to us, isn't it? Because there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you that we have something you can't even begin to understand. Loyalty. Friendship. Love. And that's what matters in the end." She scoffed. "So what you have pictures. Do you want a trophy? That's all you'll ever get, because you haven't beaten anybody. You think you've manipulated society and come out on top, but really, you're the one who's been manipulated- because you're exactly where they want you, vulnerable and completely alone, with nobody you can truly call your friend. And you don't even realize it. I almost pity you." Max shook her head. "A woman's power doesn't only come from her body. We have our hearts and minds and souls, and we're perfectly capable of making our own way in this world without becoming you to do it." She scowled at Irene. "And right now, my way is buying a new blanket to replace the one you cut up!"
Irene stood up, having just finished tying Max's arms and legs to the chair. She looked down at her curiously. "That was a nice speech," she commented. "Thank you for that- I would've forgotten to gag you if you hadn't been running your mouth the entire time." Max glared as Irene tied the last blanket strip around her mouth. "There. Well, time for me to go- I have a... special flight to catch." Irene tugged at the bonds one more time to make sure they were secure, then stepped back and admired her handiwork. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but you got quite annoying by the end of it. I look forward to never seeing you again, Max."
She turned to go but paused in the doorway, looking back at Max with a smug smirk. "Oh, and I'll make sure to tell Sherlock you send your love," she told her. "He'll need it after I'm done with him."
And with that, The Woman left the flat.
Max waited in silence for a few moments, listening as Irene headed down the stairs and out into the street, the front door slamming closed behind her. Then, when she was sure that Irene was gone, she started angrily yanking at the pieces of cut-up blanket, trying to loosen the knots. It didn't work. Irene knew bondage too well: definitely a side-effect of being a dominatrix. Max groaned at the appropriateness of the situation.
There was no doubt about it; she really should have stayed in bed today.