The next morning, Sherlock and John found themselves eating breakfast at a small diner.
Well, more like, John was eating breakfast as Sherlock sat across from him, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. The pink phone was laying on the table next to him, and Sherlock scowled at it, waiting for it to ring.
"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded. "You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" he replied.
Neither of them spoke for a second as John ate another forkful of his breakfast, but then he looked up at Sherlock curiously. "Has it occurred to you-" he started.
"Probably," Sherlock interrupted.
John glared at him. "No- has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you?" he asked. "The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes... it's all meant for you."
Sherlock smiled grimly. "Yes, I know," he answered.
The words alarmed John more than anything he had heard before. He glanced around the diner to make sure that nobody was listening to them, then leaned closer to Sherlock. "Is it him, then?" he whispered. "Moriarty?"
Sherlock was silent for a second as he thought over it, but then he nodded. "Perhaps," he replied.
They had first heard the name Moriarty back in their first case together, A Study in Pink; even though the serial-killer cabby had been the one poisoning innocent people, he had been working under a man named Moriarty. Sherlock and John had been expecting something like this ever since that night, but John for one hadn't thought that it would happen like this... or so soon.
"Where's Max?" Sherlock asked, apparently just realizing that she wasn't there with them.
John looked at him in exasperation. "It's Monday, Sherlock," he said. "She's at work."
Sherlock blinked, just as confused as he would have been if John said that he came from the moon. "But she works with us," he stated.
Wait... was Sherlock pouting?
John sighed. "Yes, she does, but she has a life outside of all of this," he explained. "She has her own friends, her own career... she can't be with us all of the time."
Sherlock frowned. "You are," he pointed out.
John glared at him. "Yes, but I don't have a job," he reminded him. It seemed like Sherlock was about to protest, but John shook his head. "Sherlock, she has her own life outside of us, one that she's worked really hard for, and that's good, and we should be happy for her. You can't expect her to just drop all of it and come when you need her-"
Suddenly the pink phone beeped a message alert, and John stopped mid-sentence. Sherlock sighed and reached for the phone, but it seemed to John that he wasn't as enthusiastic as he had been before.
000
Max was in the middle of organizing her desk when her cell phone rang.
She scowled and glanced at her phone, which was on the opposite side of the desk. There was no way that she could reach it and keep holding up the giant stack of papers that she was currently trying to balance. But maybe...
Sighing, she rolled her chair in that direction as far as she could while still keeping a hand on the papers. The phone was just out of reach- barely- and she decided to risk inching forward a bit more.
Her fingers closed around the phone for one glorious moment, but she lost her grip on it. The phone went tumbling towards the ground, and Max acted instinctively; she let go of the papers and lunged towards the phone.
She caught it.
But she fell off of the chair.
And the stack of papers toppled over.
"No no no no no-" Max started, but it was too late. All she could do was watch helplessly as the papers fell to the ground. A few loose pieces drifted slowly to the ground, spinning in lazy circles.
Oh, you've got to be kidding...
She popped up to her feet quickly and saw that everyone around her was staring at her like she had grown a second head. "Sorry!" she exclaimed. They turned their attention back to their work, and Max finally answered her phone. "I swear, this had better be important-"
"We got a new case," Sherlock interrupted.
Max plopped down on the floor and started gathering the papers together, mentally grumbling about how long this would take to sort through. "What's it about?" she asked, balancing her phone between her shoulder and her ear.
"Turn on the TV," he replied.
She stood up and glanced into Simmons's office, where she could catch a glimpse of the TV. Even though she couldn't hear what the newsreader was saying, she could read the headline at the bottom of the screen: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.
Max blinked. "Oh," she said. "Connie Prince, huh?"
Sherlock grunted his agreement. "We've just arrived at the morgue to study her body," he told her. "We have twelve hours this time; the hostage is a deaf lady."
The information barely fazed her, and she hated that this was her new normal, that she had gotten used to the idea of some mystery man taking people hostage and threatening to blow them up.
"Is that Max?" she heard Lestrade asking from the other side of the line. "Tell her I say hi."
Sherlock sighed wearily. "Lestrade says hi," he told her.
Max laughed. "Tell him I say hi back," she replied.
Even though she couldn't see him, she could imagine Sherlock scowling in irritation. "I'm not your mail carrier-" he started.
"Sherlock, get off your phone; we're working," John said. "Hi, Max."
Max grinned. "Hey, Johnny boy," she replied.
"John, can I have a normal conversation without you butting in?" Sherlock complained.
"Fine, fine, fine," John replied. Even though he sounded grumpy, Max could hear the smile in his voice. "We'll head in without you."
She could hear some shuffling as John and Lestrade headed into the morgue, leaving Sherlock alone with his phone. "So," Max commented. "Why are you calling? I thought you said you prefer to text."
"Maybe I wanted to hear your voice," he replied.
Wait... what?
Before Max could figure out how to reply to that, she heard the door to Simmons's office open. Uh oh. "Uh, Sherlock, listen... Duty calls," she said. "I'll call you back later. Good luck!" Without giving him a chance to reply, she hung up and put her phone as far away as possible.
By the time Simmons walked by her desk, Max was organizing the mess of papers on the floor as if she hadn't just been on the phone. Simmons paused for a moment, taking in the mess, then continued on her way. Max sighed in relief.
Meanwhile, outside the morgue, Sherlock was staring at the phone in his hand with a blank expression. "... She hung up on me," he stated.
John stuck his head out of the morgue. "Hey, Sherlock, are you coming-" he started, but then he saw Sherlock's expression. "Are you alright?"
Sherlock shook his head to clear it, banishing any thoughts of Max from his mind and concentrating on the case. "Fine," he answered curtly. "Let's go."
000
Max decided to spend her lunch break at Baker St.
The first thing that she noticed when she walked into the flat was that the walls had once again been taken over by a variety of maps, photos, news articles, and other pieces of paper, as seemed to be tradition when Sherlock was on a case. She took a quick glance at it and saw that it mostly consisted of information about Carl Powers and Connie Prince, as well as a few papers concerning Janus Cars. Pieces of string attached certain exhibits.
Sherlock was the next thing that caught her eye. The detective was currently pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, scowling in irritation and muttering under his breath. His hair was a careless mess, and he was staring intently out at nothing. It didn't seem like he had noticed her there yet.
"Uh... hi there," Max said.
The sound of her voice made Sherlock look up sharply, and he scowled when he realized that she was there. "Max," he greeted.
She blinked in surprise, not having expected such a grumpy response. "Sherlock," she replied. Then she realized that Lestrade was standing in the corner of the room too, and she smiled at him. "Hey, Lestrade."
Lestrade smiled back, seeming relieved that she was there. "Hey, Max," he replied.
It seemed like he was going to say something else, but then Sherlock cleared his throat loudly. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" he asked, interrupting their conversation.
Max shrugged. "I'm on my lunch break," she answered. "I decided to pop on over. Where's John, by the way?"
"Oh, I sent him to investigate the Connie Prince case," Sherlock said casually.
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked.
Sherlock shrugged. "He wanted to help," he explained. He gave her a look, seeming annoyed. "I would have preferred to have you on it as well."
Max sighed. "Sherlock, I have a job," she said. "I can't just-"
"No, no, it's fine," he interrupted, his tone making it clear that it wasn't fine. "I get it."
She looked at him in concern. "Sherlock-" she started.
"Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago," Sherlock declared, completely ignoring what she was saying. She shared an exasperated look with Lestrade, who just shrugged. "The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in stationary from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, and the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent." He scowled. "What's he doing, working his way round the world? Showing off?"
Before he could continue, Max stood up and put a hand on Sherlock's arm. "Can I have a word real quick?" she asked. "Outside?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything she had pulled him out of the flat and into the stairwell. "What-" he started.
Max crossed her arms and glared up at him. "What's your problem?" she demanded.
He scowled at her. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied flippantly.
She scoffed. "Yeah, you're not fooling me with that," she said.
Neither of them spoke for a second, but in that silence something clicked for Max. "You're mad because I'm not working the case with you," she realized.
Sherlock crossed his arms, staring down at her stubbornly. "No, I'm not," he retorted. "What makes you think that? I can solve the case without you, so whether or not you're here is irrelevant-"
The pink phone suddenly rang, interrupting him. He reached to the phone instinctively, but he paused before he took the call, sharing a glance with Max. "I-" he attempted.
"No, it's fine," she said. "I have to get back to the office anyway."
She turned to leave but hesitated for a second, as if she might have been convinced to stay. But Sherlock said nothing, and she continued on her way.
000
About an hour later, Max was wondering if maybe- just maybe- it would have been better to stay with Sherlock.
She groaned and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. No matter how much she tried to focus on her work, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. The case, the mysterious bomber, her argument with Sherlock... She wanted to call him, to see how the case was going and to explain why she couldn't be there every minute of every day.
It was ridiculous for him to expect that of her, anyway. She hadn't done anything wrong, so she shouldn't feel bad about it... right?
Unbidden, Sherlock's words came back to her. I can solve the case without you, so whether or not you're here is irrelevant. Max had no doubt that it was true, but it stung regardless.
"Ms. Arthur, can I see you in my office for a moment?"
Max looked up to see Simmons standing by her desk, arms crossed and a stern expression on her face. Without waiting for a response, Simmons turned and strode off towards her office, clearly expecting Max to follow.
Uh oh...
By the time Max reached the office, Simmons was already seated at her desk. "Close the door behind you," Simmons instructed.
Max did as she said, trying to hide how nervous she was feeling. This was the first time she had been in the office since her job interview, and she couldn't help but feel like she was in trouble. "Ms. Simmons-" she started.
"Take a seat, please," Simmons interrupted, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Max gulped and sat down in the chair. "Tea?"
Max shook her head. "It's fine, thank you," she replied.
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds as Simmons checked something on her computer, and Max shifted awkwardly, not sure if she should say anything. But then Simmons turned her attention away from the computer and looked Max straight in the eye. "Max," she said. "Are you alright?"
Max blinked, not having expected that. "What?" she asked. "I mean, uh, yeah. Why?"
Simmons gave her a concerned look. "You've been distracted all day," she answered. Max began to protest, but Simmons cut her off with a shake of her head. "You're allowed to have bad days, Max. I just want to make sure you're okay."
Max was silent for a second as she considered that. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to talk to someone about everything that was going on, but...
"It's a long story," she finally said.
Simmons smiled. "I have time," she replied.
That was all it took for Max to start telling her everything about Sherlock and the case, about how he expected her to be there for him when she couldn't. Simmons didn't say anything the entire time, just listened intently as Max told her story.
"Your friend Sherlock," Simmons said when Max finally finished. "He seems to be a... unique person."
Max scoffed. "You can say that again," she grumbled.
Simmons smiled briefly. "He obviously cares about you," she told her. "It seems to me like he's only pushing you away because he misses you, and he's not sure how to deal with those emotions."
Max didn't reply for a second as she thought that over. It made sense, but...
"So what do I do?" she asked. "Should I apologize, or-"
Simmons shook her head. "You've done nothing wrong, Max," she reassured her. "You don't need to apologize. If he's truly your friend- which I believe he is- he'll come around."
Sherlock, come around? As if.
Maybe Max's doubt showed on her face, because Simmons gave her a small smile. "I went through this too, when I was your age," she said.
Max blinked in surprise. "You did?" she asked.
Simmons nodded, still smiling fondly at the memory. "She was everything I could have ever dreamed of, but my job was demanding, and when I realized that I couldn't have both... I decided that my career was more important," she explained. "So I let her go."
Max raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that I should stop working with Sherlock if he's going to be like this?" she said doubtfully.
Simmons shook her head quickly. "Oh, goodness, no," she replied. "I still keep in touch with her, and I'm happy with where my career took me. But what I realize now is that you don't need to have one or the other, Max. You care about him, and you care about your job; if they're both important enough to you, then you'll find a middle ground, and if he cares enough about you, he'll help you do that in any way he can."
If they're both important enough to you, then you'll find a middle ground, and if he cares enough about you, he'll help you do that in any way he can...
Max smiled. "Thanks, Ms. Simmons," she said. "That... that made me feel a lot better, actually."
Simmons nodded. "Anything I can do to help," she replied. She smiled. "Now get back to work."
Max laughed. "Yes, ma'am," she agreed, and she headed back to her desk.
000
When Max arrived at 221B after work, she certainly hadn't expected to see Sherlock and John sitting there in misery, staring blankly into the fireplace.
"Uh... are you guys alright?" she asked.
John looked up at her, but Sherlock didn't even react to her voice. "We solved the case," he said. "The houseboy poisoned her through her botox injections. But the bomber killed the hostage anyway."
Max's eyes widened in horror. "What?!" she exclaimed. "Why-"
"She started to describe him," Sherlock answered, his voice sounding hollow. "She said his voice was soft."
Nobody spoke for a second, but then Sherlock stood up. "Max, can we talk?" he asked. "Privately?" John looked from Sherlock to Max in concern, but she nodded, and the two of them headed to the stairwell.
Sherlock closed the door behind them, and Max sighed. "Sherlock, I-" she started.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock interrupted.
Max blinked in surprise. "Uh... what?" she asked.
Sherlock grimaced, as if saying those two words were the hardest thing that he had ever done. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I... I shouldn't have been mad at you. Your career is important to you, and I get that. I can't expect you to be on every case with us. And I know I said that I can solve the cases without you- and it's true- but whether or not you're there is far from irrelevant."
She stared at him blankly, more than surprised that she hadn't even had to say anything. Then she gave him a small smile. "It's alright, Sherlock," she said. "And... thank you."
Now it was his turn to look at her in confusion. "For what?" he asked.
Max grinned at him, remembering Simmons's words. "For being a friend," she answered.
Without warning, Max pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping tight around him. Sherlock tensed at first, not expecting that; but then he relaxed and hugged her back.
"I might not always be able to be there all the time, but if you ever need to talk something over, I'm just a call away," Max said. "You know that, right?"
Even though she couldn't see him, she could feel him smile.
"I know," he replied.