Max was at work the next day when she got a call from Raz, of all people.
"Hey, Maxie!" Raz exclaimed when she answered the phone.
She pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Please don't call me that," she said. "What is it, Raz? Got in trouble for spray-painting another national monument or something?"
Raz scoffed. "I'd be offended, but it would totally happen," he replied. "No, actually I'm calling because I have something for you."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" she asked. "What's the occasion?"
"The Hickman Gallery is holding a fancy event tonight," Raz told her. "They rediscovered this painting or something, I don't know. Anyway, it's normally not my scene, but buddy of mine got me two tickets and I was wondering if you wanted to come. Err... with me. To the event."
She blinked in surprise. "Is this your way of asking me on a date?" she asked suspiciously.
Raz scoffed. "As if," he replied. "No, I just figured you would appreciate it more than some other people I know." He paused awkwardly. "Unless you want it to be? I mean, I'd be down-"
Max grinned. "Text me the time, Raz," she said. "I'll be there."
"Wait, so is that a yes, or-" Raz started.
But she hung up before he could finish, still grinning.
Max had been to the Hickman Gallery countless times as a child; as the largest contemporary art museum in London, the Hickman was a beacon for any artist or art lover in the city. She hadn't had a chance to visit ever since she had moved back, but she had been meaning to.
She most certainly hadn't expected her first time back to be with Raz.
They had had their share of differences ever since they had met at that art competition years ago, but Max respected him, and she liked to think that he respected her too. She had never exactly considered going on a date with him, but now that she was thinking about it, she was strangely unopposed to the thought. He was a decent guy who shared her appreciation for art, and besides, it wasn't like she was looking at anybody else right now.
Without meaning to, she remembered the expression on Sherlock's face after she had hugged him. She scoffed at the thought. Just because she enjoyed his presence didn't mean that she fancied him. Besides, he was Sherlock. Dating him would be complicated, to say the least.
Suddenly her phone rang again, and she glanced at the screen to see that- speak of the devil- it was Sherlock.
"Hey, Sherlock," she said as she answered the phone. "What-"
"Did you hear about the lost Vermeer painting?" he interrupted.
She blinked in surprise. "Uh... no," she answered. "Why?"
"The Hickman Gallery recently recovered a painting by Vermeer," he explained. "Worth thirty million pounds. It's a fake."
Max pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, okay, Sherlock, slow down," she said. "Start from the beginning, please."
Even though she couldn't see him, Max could imagine Sherlock scowling. "We got a new case from the bomber," Sherlock said. "There was a dead body: Alex Woodbridge, a security guard from the Hickman Gallery. He was murdered."
She blinked in surprise. "Murdered?" she repeated. "Why? Do you know who killed him?"
"The Golem," Sherlock answered. "One of the deadliest assassins in the world. Somebody wanted to keep Alex Woodbridge quiet, and the only possible reason would be-"
Max nodded. "-if the Vermeer painting is a fake," she finished. "Makes sense. Why are you calling me, though?"
Sherlock sighed. "I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on the situation, considering you enjoy art," he told her.
She grimaced. "I do, but seventeenth-century Dutch painters aren't my specialty," she replied. "I can't help you."
"What about Raz?" Sherlock asked.
Max scoffed. "If Raz knows any more than me about seventeenth-century Dutch paintings, I'd be extremely surprised," she answered dryly. She paused in thought. "I can ask him tonight, though." Sherlock didn't reply, and even through the phone she could sense his shock. "Sherlock?"
"Why are you seeing him tonight?" he finally asked.
She shrugged. "Coincidentally, we're going to the Hickman Gallery together," she answered. "There's an event for the Vermeer painting and he had a spare ticket." Sherlock didn't reply, and she frowned in concern. "Sherlock? Are you still with me?"
Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly trying to organize his thoughts. "Right. Yeah. Do some investigating while you're there, will you?" he said.
Max scowled. "Sherlock, I'm not going to investigate for you while I'm on a date-" she started. But he had already hung up. She groaned and threw her phone across the desk. "UGH!"
000
Back at Baker St, Sherlock was scowling at his phone, Max's words still echoing in his head. "She's going on a date," he stated.
Mrs. Hudson looked up in surprise from where she was putting the weekly groceries on the counter. "Who, Max?" she asked.
Sherlock's scowl deepened. "Who else?" he challenged.
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh, I hope that it goes well," she remarked happily. "She deserves someone who can make her happy." Sherlock glared at her, and she crossed her arms sternly. "What do you expect, Sherlock? If you want her, you have to go after her!"
He looked at her in disbelief. "I don't- that's not-" he attempted, but she had already left the flat.
"I just don't think that he's good for her!" he shouted down the stairs.
Even though he couldn't see her, Sherlock could imagine Mrs. Hudson rolling her eyes. "Of course, dearie!" she called up.
Sherlock looked at the door in disbelief. "He's an unemployed artist who makes it a habit to spray-paint private property and run from the police!" he protested. "She could do better!"
Mrs. Hudson didn't reply.
Still grumbling under his breath, Sherlock turned his attention back to the case at hand, trying not to think of Max and Raz going to the Hickman Gallery together.
000
The rest of the day passed by without word from Sherlock or John, and about an hour before her date with Raz, Max was in her flat. She was standing in front of her closet, digging through it for something decent to wear, and her laptop was open on her bed, in the middle of a video call with one of her friends from college, Leah Tang.
"So, run me through this again," Leah said playfully. "You've only been back in London for a month now and you already have a job at one of the biggest graphic design companies in the world, a date with a totally sexy spray-paint artist, and you're friends with a high-functioning sociopath who brings you along to solve crimes?"
Max sighed. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call Raz sexy... but yeah, that pretty much sums it up," she admitted.
Leah grinned. "Dang, you go, girl!" she exclaimed. "Maybe I should move to London!"
Max laughed. "I'm sure there's plenty of drama in the States, Leah," she said. She turned around so that she could glance at the laptop. "How's everything back there? I miss you guys!"
Leah frowned. "I miss you too," she replied. She rolled her eyes. "You're not missing out on anything, though."
Max turned back to the closet and started looking through her clothes again. "How's grad school?" she asked.
Leah grinned. "Not bad, actually," she replied. She leaned closer to the computer and raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. "This guy in my molecular bio class is totally hot."
Instantly, Max turned around to look at the computer screen again. "Wait, seriously?" she asked. "C'mon, give me details!"
Leah laughed. "As much as I'd love to..." she said. "You're the one going on a date tonight! Tell me about this Raz guy! How did you meet?!"
Max rolled her eyes. "Oh geeze," she grumbled. "That's a long story. Uh... well, I guess it started back in secondary school. We were in this art competition and I got second place- by one point, mind you! But anyway, Raz was first, and I guess we just kinda casually kept an eye on each other since then. I hadn't seen him for years until Sherlock needed to talk to a graffiti artist."
Leah grinned. "And you brought him to Raz because you wanted to see him?" she asked.
Max grimaced. "Oh, no way," she replied. "I was just trying to help Sherlock."
Leah raised an eyebrow. "Who you barely knew," she pointed out.
Max hesitated. "I... I knew enough," she told her. "We were at the bank the day before, talking with an old classmate of his, and..." She sighed. "I don't know, I can't explain it. He's different, Leah. He's different than everyone else, like he's on a whole other level than the rest of us. I think he's brilliant, but apparently people at his school made fun of him for it. I wanted to help." She laughed awkwardly. "Does that sound crazy?"
For once, Leah was serious as she looked at Max, deep in thought. "No it doesn't," she replied. "Not at all."
Neither of them spoke for a second, but then Max gave her a small smile. "You're thinking something," she said.
Leah nodded. "I'm thinking that you and Sherlock-" she started.
Max's phone alarm started ringing loudly, interrupting Leah. She glanced at her phone, and her eyes widened when she realized what time it was. "I need to go get ready," she told her. "I'll talk to you another time, though?"
Leah nodded. "Yeah, of course," she said. "Have fun!"
Max laughed. "I'll try," she replied. Leah ended the video call, and Max turned to look at the black dress that she had picked out. Leah's words echoed in her mind, and Max couldn't help but wonder what she had been trying to say.
000
"NO!"
Sherlock slammed his fist on the ground angrily, and John watched helplessly as the Golem slipped out of the back door, leaving the two men alone in the planetarium with the dead body of Professor Cairns. The two men had spent the entire day working the case, and a combination of their two efforts led them to Professor Cairns, who had been in contact with the dead security guard. But the Golem had gotten to her first, and they hadn't been able to capture him.
They stood there in silence for a moment, catching their breath from the fight. Then Sherlock stood up, still slightly winded but with a determined glint in his eyes. "What now?" John asked him. "We've lost our lead."
Sherlock grimaced. "We'll have to find out why the painting is a fake ourselves," he answered. "We'll have to go to the Hickman... and fortunately for us, it's open tonight."
John blinked in confusion. "What?" he demanded. "Why? Sherlock?"
But Sherlock was already walking away, heading towards the exit. "Call Lestrade and tell him what happened here," he ordered. "But make it quick; we have an event to go to... and a date to crash."
000
"Wow, I missed this place."
Max looked at her surroundings with a broad smile on her face, taking in the familiar sights of the Hickman Gallery. Being back after so long was strange, almost like no time had passed since high school; but at the same time everything seemed smaller in a way, or maybe she had grown. Music played in the background as the guests wandered around, socializing and discussing the Vermeer painting. A handful of servers held trays of cocktails and appetizers, deftly weaving their way through the crowd.
Raz shrugged. "I can't say I ever liked the gallery, but the food is definitely worth it," he replied. A waiter walked by, and he grabbed an appetizer.
Max glanced over her shoulder to look at him. Unlike his normal combo of a sweatshirt and jeans, Raz was wearing a suit and tie, which was far fancier than anything she had ever seen him wear. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she wouldn't have realized that the man standing with her right now was the same one who she had spoken with a month ago, spray-painting one of the walls of the National Gallery.
"Like what you see?" Raz asked.
She laughed. "You wish," she teased.
Raz rolled his eyes. "Oh, I see how it is," he replied. "You just don't appreciate fine art."
Max scoffed. "If anyone here doesn't appreciate fine art, Raz, it's you," she joked.
He clutched his chest playfully, stumbling back in mock pain. "Oh, Max, you wound me!" he exclaimed dramatically. "How could you say such a thing?!" They both burst out laughing, causing the people around them to look at them strangely; but that just made them laugh even harder.
Eventually they composed themselves, and Max grinned at him. "Seriously, though, Raz, thanks for inviting me," she said.
Raz shrugged. "No problem," he replied. "It was nothing, really." Neither of them spoke for a moment, but then he nudged her playfully. "Hey, did you ever find that murderer?"
Max blinked in surprise, trying to figure out what he meant, but then she realized that he was talking about the case that John had dubbed the Blind Banker. "Oh, right!" she exclaimed. "Yeah, we got him. You'd never believe what-"
He frowned suddenly, looking at something over her shoulder. "Wait, is that your friend?" he asked.
"I'm telling you, the painting is a fake, and if you don't let us in to prove it, a bomb will go off and kill hundreds of people!" a familiar voice shouted, carrying over the casual chatter in the room.
Max turned around to see Sherlock and John standing by the doors of the Gallery, arguing with the security guard.
"... I'm going to kill him," she growled.
Sherlock looked up when she and Raz approached them. "There you are, Max!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Can you-"
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Max interrupted.
Sherlock scowled. "We need to see the painting," he replied.
"The better question is, why are you with him?!" John demanded, gesturing to Raz.
Raz blinked innocently. "Me?" he asked.
John glared at him. "Yes, you!" he snapped.
Max crossed her arms. "That's none of your business, John!" she exclaimed. "Sherlock, you can't just randomly show up at an event and demand to be let in! Actually, on that topic, what is it with you crashing dates?! First John at the circus, and now-"
The security guard sighed, pinching his nose in irritation. "Alright, listen up, folks," he interrupted. "I don't know how y'all know each other, but you two," he said as he gestured to Sherlock and John, "are going to have to leave. I can't let you in if you don't have a ticket, or my job's toast."
Sherlock scowled. "Oh, yes, and your affair would be over," he retorted. Everyone stared at him blankly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently. "Clearly she's only using you for access to the Gallery."
Max groaned. "Sherlock, please-" she attempted.
"You again?"
They all turned to see a stern-looking lady walking up to them, wearing an elegant black dress that probably cost more than Max's monthly rent. Max recognized her as Ms. Wenceslas, the owner of the Hickman Gallery. She clearly didn't seem pleased to see Sherlock... not that Max was necessarily happy with him, either.
Sherlock nodded to her. "Hello again," he replied nonchalantly.
Max blinked. "You two know each other?" she asked in surprise.
Sherlock shrugged. "I snuck in earlier today to look at the painting," he explained.
Max sighed. "Oh god..." she muttered.
Ms. Wenceslas glared at him. "I'm going to call the police if you don't leave right now," she said.
"Already present," someone replied. They all turned to see Lestrade walking up to them, displaying his badge. "Ms. Wenceslas, we're going to have to ask you to show us that Vermeer painting."
One look at his expression made it clear that he wasn't joking.
"This evening is not going to plan," Max muttered.