When Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later- fully dressed, thank God- Max was waiting for him, leaning on the wall across the hall.
"You took your time," Max remarked dryly. "Aren't boys supposed to be quicker in the bathroom?"
Sherlock looked at her oddly. "What are you doing?" he asked.
She shrugged, keeping her face neutral. "I was getting bored," she answered. "Your brother doesn't seem happy. His bad mood is rather contagious, isn't it?" Sherlock scoffed in agreement, and Max's expression changed to one of concern. "And I wanted to check up on you."
He frowned. "Why?" he replied.
Max nodded towards the room where John, Mycroft, and Harry were waiting, probably sitting in an awkward silence. "Things got kinda heated in there," she said. "Are you okay?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Conversations between my brother and I are often heated," he told her. "I'm used to it."
Even though she clearly wasn't convinced, Max nodded. "Right," she agreed. "Just... if you don't want to take the case, you don't have to. You know that, right?"
He was quiet for a moment, thinking over her words, and then he gave her a small smile. "I know," he replied. She smiled back, and for a moment she forgot that John and Mycroft were waiting for them in the next room over and that they had a case to solve; it was just the two of them, and nothing else mattered.
Then Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away. "We, uh... we should go back," he said.
Max felt herself begin to blush, and she nodded quickly. "Yeah, we should," she agreed. "Let's go."
000
John gave the two of them a look as they walked back into the room, sitting down next to him. Max knew him well enough that he was annoyed at her for leaving him with Mycroft and Harry, but he was also curious as to why she was still blushing slightly and Sherlock was more flustered than usual, and he couldn't decide which of the two was more important at the moment.
Mycroft leaned forward and started pouring tea for them. "I'll be mother," he said. Superstition dictated that only one person- the "mother"- could pour the tea for the group, and Max found it vaguely amusing that Mycroft believed in that sort of thing.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," he remarked dryly. Max snorted in amusement, but Mycroft glared at him as he put the teapot down.
"Uh, do you have sugar?" Max interrupted.
Harry cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him... but not before Mycroft passed the sugar to Max. "My employer has a problem," Harry declared as Max began spooning the sugar into her cup.
Ah. So they were getting straight to the point.
Mycroft nodded. "A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature," he told them. "In this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."
Sherlock glared at them. "Why?" he demanded. "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
Max grimaced, still adding sugar to her tea. "They do," she admitted.
Sherlock's glare deepened. "But not, to date, anyone with a Navy," he quipped.
Mycroft sighed. "This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore trust," he told him.
John raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust your own Secret Service?" he asked.
That just caused Mycroft to scoff. "Naturally not," he said. "They all spy on people for money."
Harry scowled at all of them. "I do think we have a timetable," he reminded them.
Mycroft nodded. "Yes, of course," he agreed. He opened his briefcase, pulling out a photograph and then handing it to Sherlock. "What do you know about this woman?"
Max leaned over Sherlock's shoulder to look at the photograph; it was a woman, with brown hair, green eyes, and a haughty expression. She would have been completely unremarkable except for the look in her eyes that said I eat men's souls for breakfast. Max had a feeling that if she knew this woman from the photograph, she wouldn't get along with her.
"Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock declared.
Mycroft scowled at him. "Then you should be paying more attention," he said shortly. "She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."
Max grimaced. "She sounds pleasant," she remarked sarcastically, finally adding the last spoonful of sugar to her tea.
But Sherlock didn't seem impressed. "You know I don't concern myself with trivia," he snapped. "Who is she?"
"Irene Adler," Mycroft declared. "Professionally known as the Woman."
John raised an eyebrow. "Professionally?" he asked.
Mycroft grimaced. "There are many names for what she does," he replied. "She prefers 'dominatrix.'"
Nobody said anything for a moment, but Max knew Sherlock well enough to know that he was mulling over this new information. "Dominatrix," he muttered thoughtfully.
Mycroft gave him a look. "Don't be alarmed," he warned. "It's to do with sex."
Sherlock glared at him. "Sex doesn't alarm me," he retorted.
But Mycroft just smiled dryly at him. "How would you know?" he asked.
Max suddenly started coughing loudly, and everyone turned to see that she had choked in the process of drinking her tea. John started hitting her on the back, and Sherlock gave her a look. "I told you that it was a bad idea to put that much sugar in your tea," he said. Max glared at him, knowing full well that sugar had nothing to do with why she was coughing.
Mycroft continued talking as though nothing had happened. "She provides, shall we say... recreational scolding for those who enjoy that thing and are prepared to pay for it," he told them. He reached into his briefcase again, pulling out more photographs. "These are all from her website."
Sherlock flipped through the photographs with minimal interest, and Max glanced over to see that they all featured Irene in a variety of revealing positions. She wasn't sure whether she should feel uncomfortable about looking at a complete stranger's naked body or if she should admire Irene for her confidence. "And I assume this Adler woman has some comprising photographs," Sherlock stated.
Harry nodded appreciatively. "You're very quick, Mr. Holmes," he praised.
But Sherlock just scoffed. "Hardly a difficult deduction," he said. "Photographs of whom?"
Harry grimaced. "A person of significance to my employer," he answered. "We'd prefer not to say anything more at this time."
Glaring angrily, Sherlock tossed the photographs on the table. "You can't tell us anything?" John asked.
Mycroft grimaced. "I can tell you it's a young person," he said. "A young female person."
Sherlock, Max, and John shared a look. "How many photographs?" Sherlock wanted to know.
"A considerable number, apparently," Mycroft answered.
Max frowned. "There's no way to pass off the pictures as fake?" she asked.
Mycroft sighed. "They appear in the photographs together," he answered.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios," he stated.
To his credit, Mycroft seemed rather nonchalant about the whole thing. "An imaginative range, we are assured," he said.
Apparently this whole scenario was a bit too much for John to comprehend, because when Max glanced over at him she saw that he was frozen in place, his teacup halfway to his mouth. "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now," Sherlock advised. John blinked in surprise as he recovered his wits and did as Sherlock said.
Harry frowned at them. "Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, getting them back on topic.
Sherlock scoffed. "How?" he challenged.
The look on Harry's face made it clear that he wasn't amused. "Will you take the case?" he said.
But that just caused Sherlock to scoff. "What case?" he demanded. "Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten.'" With that, he began to get to his feet, clearly intent on leaving the room.
"She doesn't want anything," Mycroft declared.
Sherlock paused, turning back to look at Mycroft.
Max blinked. "Well, that changes things," she commented.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "She got in touch," he explained. "She informed us that the photographs existed, and she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."
And there it was: The Look that declared that Sherlock was interested. It was the first time that Max had truly seen it since the situation with Moriarty. "Oh, a power play," Sherlock mused. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"
John and Max shared a look. "Uh, Sherlock-" John started.
"Where is she?" Sherlock interrupted, getting to his feet.
Mycroft blinked, clearly startled at Sherlock's change in attitude. "Uh, in London, currently," he answered. "She's staying-"
But Sherlock was already walking towards the doors. "Text me the details," he instructed. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."
Harry frowned as they all got to their feet. "Do you really think you'll have news by then?" he asked.
Sherlock turned back around to face them. "No, I think I'll have the photographs," he said.
Still, Harry didn't seem convinced. "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think," he remarked.
Max grimaced. "Uh oh," she muttered.
Sure enough, Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously at the challenge. For the first time since he walked into the room, he cast a quick glance at Harry, deducing him. Apparently deciding that he wasn't worth the trouble, he turned back to Mycroft. "I'll need some equipment, of course," he said.
Mycroft nodded. "Anything you require," he agreed. "I'll have it sent to-"
"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock interrupted, looking at Harry.
Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?" he asked.
But Sherlock just held out his hand expectantly. "Or your cigarette lighter," he amended. "Either will do."
Harry frowned. "I don't smoke," he said.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I know you don't, but your employer does," he told him.
John and Max shared another look as Harry sighed and handed his lighter to Sherlock. "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes," Harry warned.
If anything, that just amused Sherlock. "I'm not the Commonwealth," he answered simply. With that, he turned away as he put the lighter in his pocket.
"And that's as modest as he gets," John interrupted before anybody could say anything else. "Pleasure to meet you." He started walking out after Sherlock.
Max nodded, walking backwards after Sherlock and John. "Yeah, it was nice," she said, forcing some cheerfulness into her tone. "We should do it again sometime. Thanks for the tea."
"Laters!" Sherlock called over his shoulder.
John gave Mycroft and Harry an apologetic smile, and Max mouthed sorry before closing the doors behind them.
000
A few minutes later, Sherlock, Max, and John had piled into a taxi, with Max in the middle. "Okay, the smoking," John stated. "How did you know?"
Sherlock smiled slightly, shaking his head. "The evidence was right under your nose, John," he said. "As ever, you see but do not observe."
John frowned. "Observe what?" he asked.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Max?" he said.
Max closed her eyes, trying to recall everything in the room. "The ashtray," she realized.
Sherlock smirked, nodding. "The ashtray," he agreed... as he pulled out a glass ashtray from his coat.
John laughed as Sherlock tossed the ashtray into the air- the ashtray he had stolen from the palace- then caught it and tucked it back into his coat, chuckling. Max smiled slightly, but then she glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of her eyes. Something about his laugh, the way his eyes were sparkling with satisfaction... It captivated her, and for a moment she could only stare at him, lost for words.
And then Sherlock's eyes met hers, and he smiled wider, his eyes twinkling happily. Max found herself smiling back, lost in everything about him. In that moment... well, everything seemed perfect
But the taxi made a sudden turn, causing Max and Sherlock to bump into each other. Both of them looked away quickly, Max blushing furiously. I'm falling for him, she realized. Of course, she had acknowledged that she was attracted to him a long time ago, but it was then that she realized that she was serious about this, about him.
She wasn't sure if she should be happy or concerned about that, but at the moment, she was definitely happy.
000
Little did they know, someone in the car next to theirs was taking pictures of them. And across London, those pictures were being received by a certain dominatrix.
Irene Adler smiled as she scrolled through the pictures of Sherlock, Max, and John. She wasn't worried about the other two; they were inconsequential. But Sherlock...
Well, this would be interesting. Very interesting.
000
"So what was that about?" John asked.
Max looked up from her book and turned her attention to him. "What do you mean?" she replied.
He scoffed. "Oh, you know what I mean," he said. "That look that you were giving Sherlock earlier. I haven't seen you look at someone like that for a while. You're serious about him, aren't you?"
"Shh!" Max hissed, glancing around quickly to make sure that Sherlock was out of earshot. She didn't have to worry, though; she and John had the living room of the Baker St flat to themselves, while Sherlock was in his bedroom, out of earshot. Neither of them knew exactly what he was doing in there, but it honestly sounded like he was having a fight with his closet.
But John was still looking at her, waiting for an answer. "Oh, shut up," she grumbled.
That was answer enough for John, who gave her a small smile. "I get why you fancy him," he told her. "Tall, dashing, very heroic... It's probably the heroic part, isn't it? Everybody wants to be swept off their feet by a knight in shining armor-"
"Okay, no," Max interrupted. "No, I don't fancy him because he's a hero, John. I fancy him because he's himself, regardless of what everyone else thinks." She grinned at him. "Are you sure you don't fancy him? That sounded kinda personal."
John looked at her in disbelief, sputtering. "What?" he demanded. "No, no, no way. Sherlock? No, I don't fancy him. Why...? No! I'm not gay!"
Max grinned. "Alright, alright, geeze, I was joking," she said.
He frowned at her. "I'm not gay," he repeated.
She rolled her eyes. "Sure," she agreed. John gave her a look, like he wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.
Neither of them spoke for a second, but then John sighed. "I think he fancies you too, for the record," he told her.
Max sat up quickly, her eyes wide. "What?" she demanded. "You think he-"
Before she could finish her sentence, there was a loud bang from Sherlock's room, and she and John looked in that direction only to see a closed door. "What are you doing?" John demanded.
"Going into battle, John," Sherlock answered. "I need the right armor."
And with that Sherlock emerged from his room, wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket. Max blinked. "Uh... what type of armor is that?" she asked.
Sherlock looked down at his clothes, then shook his head. "No, this won't do," he decided. With that, he turned back into his room and closed the door behind him. A second later, Max and John heard the sound of more rummaging.
The two of them shared a look, and John shrugged. You chose him, he seemed to be saying. Max rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her book.
000
A few minutes later, Sherlock, Max, and John were in the back of a cab, making their way to the address that Mycroft had sent them. After all of the time that Sherlock had spent trying to find an outfit, he had emerged in his usual coat and scarf.
"So, what's the plan?" John asked.
Sherlock shrugged. "We know her address," he answered.
John scoffed. "What, just ring her doorbell?" he demanded.
Sherlock nodded. "Exactly," he agreed.
Max frowned. "How does that help us find the pictures, though?" she wanted to know.
Sherlock just smirked. "You'll see," he replied. He leaned forward. "Just here, please," he told the cab driver.
The cabbie pulled to the sidewalk. Max glanced out at the house that they had stopped in front of, and she saw that they were a few houses down from Irene's. "You didn't even change your clothes," John protested.
Sherlock smirked as he opened the door of the taxi. "Then it's time to add a splash of color," he said. With that, he climbed out of the car.
Max and John shared a look, then hurried out after him.