The next morning, Max woke up to the sun in her eyes.
"What the...?" she muttered. Rubbing her eyes groggily, she pushed off her blanket and sat up from where she was laying on the couch.
It was when she realized that was at the Baker St flat that she remembered everything that had happened last night. Her stomach sank, and she put her head in her hands as she remembered everything: the pool, Moriarty... the pistol, the bomb...
Shaking her head to clear it, she got to her feet and stretched, working out the cramps she had accumulated from sleeping on the couch. It took her a moment to realize that Sherlock was sitting at the dining table.
He was wearing the same clothes that he had been last night, and it didn't seem like he had changed... or moved, for that matter. He didn't acknowledge her presence; he just stared out the window, lost in thought.
She didn't have to have Sherlock's analytical skill to figure out that he hadn't slept.
Wordlessly, she walked past him and into the kitchen. A moment later, she sat down across from him with two cups of steaming-hot tea. She pushed one towards him, then started pouring sugar packets into her own.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked after a moment.
Max hesitated. "I, uh... I will be," she answered.
She thought back to the events of last night, after Sherlock had aimed the pistol at the bomb.
Everything was still. Sherlock, Max, and John were standing shoulder to shoulder at the pool where Carl Powers had died, facing Moriarty. Sherlock had his pistol trained on the bomb jacket, a silent challenge. Nobody moved; they were all waiting to see whether Sherlock or Moriarty would back down first. Max's heart was beating rapidly; she knew that this could possibly be her death, at only twenty-four years old. She still had her entire life ahead of her, and she didn't want to die.
But there was nothing she could do but trust Sherlock.
Suddenly music started playing, echoing through the otherwise-empty pool. It took Max a second to recognize the song: "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. "... Is that your phone?" Max demanded in disbelief.
Moriarty sighed in exasperation, clearly irritated. "D'you mind if I get that?" he asked.
Sherlock shrugged, as if this were something that happened every day. "No, no, please," he said. "You've got the rest of your life."
With that, Moriarty pulled out his phone and answered it. "Hello?" he asked. "Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"
He glanced over at the three of them, grimacing regretfully. "Sorry," he mouthed.
"Oh, it's fine," Sherlock mouthed back.
Moriarty turned his attention back to the phone, as if Max and the others weren't even there, and he was quiet for a few moments as he listened to whoever was on the other side of the phone. Suddenly his expression distorted angrily as he scowled, his eyes shining furiously. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" he shouted.
Max and Sherlock shared a worried look, then turned their attention back to Moriarty.
"Say that again," Moriarty said, his voice carefully controlled, "and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will sssssskin you." He scowled. "Wait." He turned around to Sherlock and the others, looking at them thoughtfully. "Sorry," he commented. "Wrong day to die."
Max scowled, eyeing him suspiciously. "You're just letting us go?" she asked.
Sherlock scoffed. "Did you get a better offer?" he added, quite unperturbed.
Instead of answering either of them, Moriarty simply turned away and started walking back towards the door that he had came from. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," he told him. Without even looking back, Moriarty brought his phone to his ear again. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."
As he reached the door, he raised his free hand and snapped his fingers. The lasers on Max, Sherlock, and John suddenly disappeared, and with that Moriarty vanished from sight.
John breathed out a sigh of relief, and Max sat down on the ground, too drained to keep standing. "Oh God," she muttered. "We fully almost died. We almost died." Sherlock looked up at the gallery, but there was no sign of the snipers that had been up there.
"What happened?" John asked.
Sherlock scowled. "Someone changed his mind," he said. "The question is... who?"
Nobody had an answer for him.
She shook her head to clear it, focusing on Sherlock instead. "What about you?" she asked. "How are you holding up?"
He scowled at her. "I'm fine," he answered sharply. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Max frowned, looking at him in concern. "You... never mind," she said.
Sherlock was silent as he looked at her, considering. Then he looked away, taking a drink of his tea.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments, but then Max smiled at him hesitantly. "Well, uh... that was one heck of a night," she commented.
They looked at each other, grinning at the sheer absurdity of sitting here calmly in the kitchen of Baker Street after facing near-death last night. Then inexplicably they burst out laughing, unable to control themselves.
"It's seven in the morning and we almost died yesterday," a grumpy voice said behind them. "What are you laughing at?"
Max and Sherlock turned to see John shuffling out of his room, still in his pajamas and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight of him just made them laugh harder, and Max gasped for breath, tears streaming from her eyes. "Oh my... oh my God!" she laughed.
John looked at them like they had lost their minds- they might have, for all that Max knew- but then he started laughing too, laughing at the absurdity of it all. And it was in that moment that Max knew everything was going to be alright.
000
Max spent the rest of the day at Baker St with Sherlock and John. They had spent the morning relaxing, but when Max found out that Sherlock had never watched Lord of the Rings, she had insisted on a movie marathon of the extended versions of all three movies. John had settled in on his armchair, and Max and Sherlock had grabbed the couch. Collectively all three of them had eaten through four bags of microwavable popcorn, three boxes of biscuits, and five bags of chips.
Well, actually most of that was Max.
By the time the end credits of The Return of the King rolled around at 4:00 in the morning the next day, John looked positively dead after watching TV for twelve hours straight. Max shook herself back to consciousness- she had been dozing off for the past few hours- and yawned. "In hindsight, this wasn't the best way to get over a near-death experience," she commented drowsily. "How long did I sleep for?"
John shrugged. "Two hours?" he guessed. "Sherlock's been out for four hours though, so don't feel too bad."
Max looked down to see- to her surprise- that Sherlock had fallen asleep on her, his head resting in her lap. His curly brown hair was a complete mess, sprawled out in every which direction, and his face was completely relaxed, unguarded in sleep. She smiled slightly, feeling a sudden rush of affection for him, then looked up at John. "He needs to rest," she said. "He didn't sleep last night."
John nodded. "I know," he replied. He yawned. "We should probably get to bed too. It's four in the morning."
She yawned as well. "Yeah," she agreed. "I'm gonna head out."
He looked at her in concern. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You can stay another day. Sherlock won't mind you taking his bed, since he's on the couch."
Max smiled. "I know," she said. "It's fine though, really." She lifted Sherlock's head gently and slid off of the couch, then propped his head up with a pillow. After a second of hesitation, Max grabbed a blanket and put it over him. He was so deeply asleep that he didn't even stir. "When he wakes up tell him I said bye, alright?"
John nodded. "Got it," he agreed. "I'll... I'll walk you out-" He yawned suddenly, interrupting himself.
She waved him off. "No, don't worry about it," she said. "I'll text you when I get home." She walked over and gave him a hug. "See ya, Johnny boy."
He yawned again, sitting back down in his armchair. "Yeah, see ya, Max..." he mumbled, already drifting off. By the time Max was out the door, he was asleep.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Max opened the door and headed out into the street. The brisk morning air hit her, and she breathed in deeply, fully appreciating the fact that she was alive right now to be here. But she only had a moment to enjoy the moment before a black car pulled up in front of her. The door swung open, revealing none other than...
"Oh, what a coincidence to see you here, Mycroft," Max commented dryly.
Mycroft nodded to her from where he was sitting in the back of the car. "Ms. Arthur," he greeted. "Please, get in."
Max sighed. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" she asked.
He gave her a small smile. "No," he answered.
Sighing again, Max got into the car, closing the door behind her.
000
The car took off as soon as Max was settled. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, trying not to feel self-conscious of her crumpled clothes and messy hair. A chauffeur was driving the car, and a young lady who seemed to be Mycroft's assistant was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Max herself was sitting in the back next to Mycroft, who seemed to be perfectly content just sitting there in silence.
"So, uh... did you want to talk to me about something?" she prompted.
Mycroft gave her a look. "You lost the missile plans," he stated.
Max nodded. "We did," she agreed. She didn't bother to lie; Mycroft would see right through it. "How did you know?"
He shrugged. "I have my ways," he replied.
Of course you do, Max thought dryly.
"My people recovered the flash drive from the pool, of course," Mycroft continued. "It's useless now, though; too much water will do that, I'm afraid." He paused, clearly waiting for her to say something.
Max gave him a look. "If you want me to apologize, I'm not," she stated. "Sherlock made that call."
Mycroft nodded nonchalantly. "Oh, I'm aware," he told her. "I'm not mad. I perfectly understand my brother's reasoning, even if I don't necessarily agree. Besides, we have other copies. No, I wanted to talk to you because I want to ask you some questions about him."
She blinked. "... You want to ask me about Sherlock," she repeated incredulously.
He nodded. "Exactly," he said. "I've observed that he is getting unusually close to you. Why do you think that is?"
Max looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Why don't you just ask him yourself?" she asked.
Mycroft scoffed. "If I asked my brother anything about this he would simply get irritated," he said. "Probability suggested that I would get a better answer if I talked to you instead."
She groaned. "God, Mycroft, I don't know," she replied. "Maybe he likes my hair." Mycroft gave her a look, and she sighed. "That was a joke."
He scowled. "Ms. Arthur," he warned.
Max sighed. "Alright, alright," she grumbled. "It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you, Mycroft. You've got the wrong person."
Mycroft looked at her thoughtfully. "No, I think I'm talking to the right person," he muttered. Before she could ask what he meant by that, Mycroft cleared his throat. "And what do you think of him?"
She blinked. "What... what I think of him?" she repeated. "Uh... He's a swell guy, I guess?" He makes me laugh, he makes me smile... I trust him with my life and I know he feels the same... Being around him just makes me feel right... "I don't know? You can't just ask someone what they think of someone else at 4:00 in the morning, Mycroft!"
He nodded, as if that answered his question. "I see," he said. "Well, thank you, Max. That's all for today. Ah, and here's your flat. Perfect timing."
The car pulled to the side of the road, and Max glanced out the window to see that they had indeed reached her flat; something told her that it wasn't a coincidence that they had arrived just as Mycroft was done talking to her. She turned back to Mycroft. "Err... thanks for the lift, I guess," she told him.
Mycroft gave her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was nothing," he replied. "I'll see you soon, Max."
She frowned, slightly uncomfortable with his tone of voice; it was as if he knew something she didn't. "... Yeah," she agreed. "See ya." With that, she opened the door and climbed out.
The door had barely closed behind her when the car took off, leaving her dumbfounded as she tried to figure out what exactly had just happened.
000
A few hours later, Sherlock found himself drifting back to consciousness. The TV was on at low volume, and John was sitting in his armchair, typing on his laptop. Sherlock sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "...What happened to Lord of the Rings?" he asked. "Where's Max?"
John glanced up at him. "Oh, you fell asleep," he answered. "Max left. She told me to tell you that she says bye."
Sherlock sat up, pushing his blanket off and looking around the flat. The sun was up by now, shining into the flat through the cracks in the planks over the window; it must have been far past noon by now, probably closer to sunset. "Well, at least tell me if they destroyed the necklace," he said.
John gave him a look. "... Do you mean the Ring? " he demanded.
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "You know what I mean," he grumbled.
John scowled. "Sherlock, did you even pay attention to the movie?" he asked. "It's literally called Lord of the RINGS."
Sherlock grunted. "I don't like fantasy," he said.
John groaned. "Then why did you agree to watch it?!" he exclaimed.
Sherlock scowled at him. "Because Max wanted to!" he retorted.
Neither of them spoke for a moment as John just started at him in disbelief. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.
John laughed dryly. "Why am I looking at you like this?" he repeated. "Oh my God, you don't see it, do you?"
Sherlock scowled. "I don't see what?" he demanded.
That just caused John to burst out laughing even harder. "You never put up with anything if you don't like it!" he exclaimed. "You fancy her!"
Sherlock groaned. "We've been over this before," he reminded him. "I don't."
John just grinned at him. "Yeah, sure," he agreed sarcastically. Sherlock groaned again and fell back down onto the couch.
His mind drifted back to last night, when they had faced off with Moriarty at the pool. Oddly enough, he wasn't thinking about Moriarty, or that mysterious phone call that had caused him to spare their lives; no, it was Max that was on his mind, how she had stood before the face of death with her head held high and defiance in her eyes.