As soon as the door to the sitting room swung closed, Max and John glanced around to see if anybody was in the hallway. "It's clear," John said. "C'mon, quickly. We know what we have to do."
Max nodded and grabbed a magazine from a nearby table, rolling it up. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, frowning slightly. "I don't like leaving Sherlock in there alone," she told him. "Not with her. Did you see how she was looking at him? And how he was looking at her?!"
John took out the lighter that they had taken from Harry back at the palace. "He can handle himself," he replied. They shared a look, and John opened the lighter. "Ready?"
"Ready," Max replied.
000
Meanwhile, Sherlock and Irene were still in the sitting room. Irene was sitting up straighter now, casting suspicious looks at the closed door, but Sherlock didn't comment. "Two men alone in the countryside," he said. "Several yards apart, and one car."
Irene blinked in confusion. "Oh, I- I thought you were looking for the photos now," she told him.
Sherlock scoffed. "No, no," he replied. "Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them. But you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so let's pass the time."
He turned to face her, but he wasn't looking at her; in his mind he was picturing the field of the crime, frozen in time. Phil was seated in his car, scowling in annoyance and about to slam his hands down onto the steering wheel in frustration. "The driver's trying to fix his engine," Sherlock said. "Getting nowhere."
Out across the field, the hiker was standing by the stream. "And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky," he continued. In his mind's eye, Sherlock was walking around the hiker, observing him. "Watching the birds?" He scoffed. "Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?"
"The hiker's going to die," Irene said.
Sherlock turned around and saw Irene there, sitting on her sofa. She was there too; she was picturing this scene in her mind, just as he was describing it. "No, that's the result," he told her. "What's going to happen?"
Irene frowned. "I don't understand," she replied.
He scowled. "Oh, well, try to," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why?" she asked.
Sherlock scoffed. "Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression," he snapped. "Stop boring me and think." He gave her a look. "It's the new sexy."
Irene was silent for a moment as she tried to figure it out. "The car's going to backfire," she finally said.
He nodded. "There's going to be a loud noise," he added.
She gave him a look. "So what?" she asked.
Sherlock smiled. "Oh, noises are important," he told her. "Noises can tell you everything. For instance..."
And then they were back in the sitting room, the mental image broken by the sound of a smoke alarm.
000
Of course, there wasn't actually a fire. Outside the room, Max was sitting on John's shoulders, holding the flaming magazine up to the smoke detector. Smoke rolled off of it, drifting towards the detector. "Since when did you get so heavy?!" John demanded, stumbling back and forth as he tried to stay still while balancing her weight.
Max shot a poisonous glare down at him. "None of your business!" she exclaimed. "Stay still, will you?!"
000
Back in the sitting room, Irene glanced at the large mirror over the fireplace as the smoke alarm rang shrilly. Sherlock followed her gaze, and he smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said dryly. "On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." He walked over to the fireplace and ran his hand underneath the mantelpiece. With deft motions, he located the switch and flicked it; instantly, the mirror slid upwards, revealing a small wall safe.
They had found it.
Irene stood up in alarm, and Sherlock smirked at her. "Really hope you don't have a baby in here," he remarked dryly. His gaze turned to the door. "Alright, John, you can turn it off."
No response.
000
"I said you can turn it off now!" Max heard Sherlock shout, clearly annoyed.
Max and John shared a look. Having successfully triggered the fire alarm, Max was off of John's shoulders, and the two of them were still in the hallway. "Uh, we heard you the first time!" Max shouted. "Give us a minute!"
They turned to look at the magazine in Max's hands, which was still on fire despite their multiple attempts to extinguish it. "It won't go out!" Max hissed. "What should we do?!"
John scowled. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. He took the magazine from her and started thwacking it on the table, but that just caused sparks to fly up.
Before they could brainstorm another method, Max heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. They both turned to see three armed men, the first of which raised his pistol and fired it at the smoke alarm, silencing it. The other two men hurried up to Max and John, holding a pistol to each of them. John instantly raised his hands, and Max followed his lead. "I'm getting way too used to this," Max grumbled.
"Thank you," John said. The men- and Max- looked at him strangely, and he gestured up to the smoke alarm. "For the... uh... never mind."
Max glared at the three men. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
The first man smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "My name is Agent Neilson," he said. "And I want Irene Adler."
Of course he did.
000
Sherlock stood in front of the safe, examining the number pad. "Hmm," he mused. "Should always use gloves with these things, y'know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used- that's quite clearly a three- but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six digit code. Can't be your birthday- no disrespect but you were clearly born in the eighties. The eight's barely used, so..."
Irene smirked. "I'd tell you the code right now but y'know what?" she said. "I already have." Sherlock frowned in confusion, and she smiled at him. "Think."
Suddenly the door to the room burst open, and an armed man came in, aiming his pistol at Sherlock. "Hands behind your head!" he ordered. He nodded to Irene. "On the floor. Keep it still."
Two other men came in, herding Max and John in front of them, and one of the men nudged Irene closer to them. "Sorry, Sherlock," John said.
Neilson turned to Irene as Sherlock raised his hands. "Ms. Adler, on the floor," he ordered. His colleague pushed Irene to her knees beside Max and John, both of whom were on their knees too. John had been forced to double over so that his face was on the ground, his hands behind his head and a pistol to his neck. Max looked at him in concern, but he shook his head at her. Don't do anything, he seemed to be saying. Max grimaced, but she nodded.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want me on the floor too?" he asked dryly.
Neilson glared at him. "No, sir, I want you to open the safe," he answered.
But Sherlock didn't seem to be concerned with that at the moment. "American," he commented. "Interesting. Why would you care?"
Neilson gave him a look. "Sir, the safe, now, please," he said.
Sherlock scowled. "I don't know the code," he replied.
Neilson scowled back at him. "We've been listening," he told him. "She said she told you."
That just caused Sherlock to scoff. "Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't," he said sharply.
Neilson gave him a look. "I'm assuming I missed something," he replied. "From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."
"For God's sake!" John exclaimed. "She's the one who knows the code! Ask her!"
Neilson scoffed. "Yes, and she also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm," he agreed. "I've learned not to trust this woman."
Max frowned up at them from where she was kneeling on the ground. "Sherlock doesn't know," she said. "He's not lying, I can tell." Sherlock looked at her gratefully, but she stubbornly didn't look at him, still angry.
Irene nodded. "She's right," she agreed. "Mr. Holmes doesn't-"
"Shut up," Neilson interrupted. "One more word out of you- just one- and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."
Nobody said anything for a moment, just stared at Neilson in surprise. Then Neilson nodded to the man standing by John. "Mr. Archer," he said. "At the count of three, shoot Dr. Watson."
"What?!" John exclaimed.
Max scowled at them. "I swear, if you touch him-" she started.
"I don't have the code," Sherlock said.
Ignoring them, the man behind John- Archer- pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the back of John's neck. "One," Neilson said.
Sherlock frowned. "I don't know the code," he insisted.
"Two," Neilson continued.
Sherlock's eyes widened. "She didn't tell me!" he exclaimed. "I don't know it!"
Neilson nodded. "I'm prepared to believe you any second now," he said.
Max glared at him. "After you shoot John!" she protested.
But Neilson acted as though she hadn't said anything. "Three," he said.
"No, stop!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Neilson held up his hand, and Archer lowered his gun. John sighed in relief, and Max gave him a small smile.
Sherlock stopped in front of the safe, looking down at the number pad. He paused for a moment, then started punching in numbers, glancing at Irene now and then.
And the safe unlocked.
Irene smiled slightly, her eyes shining in satisfaction. Max looked between the two of them in confusion, trying to figure out what her smile meant, but there was no time to think more on it as Neilson stepped forward. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Open it, please."
Sherlock reached out to open the door, but before he pulled it open he glanced at Irene. The two of them shared a weighted look, information passing between them wordlessly, and Max and John watched the two of them in confusion; then Sherlock turned back to the safe. Max held her breath, waiting for him to open the door.
"Vatican cameos," Sherlock suddenly said.
Max blinked in confusion. "What?" she asked.
But she had barely finished the word before John threw himself over her, pushing her to the ground and covering her with his body. Sherlock pulled open the door of the safe as he ducked down below the fireplace.
Max wasn't exactly sure what happened next; for one thing, John was on top of her, so she couldn't see much, but also it happened so quickly that it was over before she realized what was going on. All she knew was that a gun emerged from the safe- probably a trap, knowing Irene- and fired. It just so happened that Archer was directly in the line of fire, and he fell to the ground as he was shot in the chest. In the following few seconds, Sherlock had managed to knock Neilson unconscious, and Irene had stolen her guard's gun and knocked him to the floor, aiming the gun at him.
"D'you mind?" Sherlock asked.
Irene smiled slightly. "Not at all," she replied. Without further ado, she slammed the gun across his face, knocking him out.
John got to his feet, pulling Max to her feet as he did. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Max looked down at Archer. "Fine," she replied. "Is he...?"
He knelt down by his side, taking his pulse. "Yeah," he said. "He's dead." He got to his feet, turning angrily to Sherlock. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.
Sherlock blinked in surprise. "What was what?" he asked. With a deft movement, he slipped something into his pocket; Max frowned, looking back and forth between him and the open safe. Did he...?
"Vatican cameos?!" John exclaimed. "Vatican cameos?!"
Sherlock frowned. "John, what-?" he started.
"Max doesn't know military code, Sherlock!" John shouted. "She didn't know what to do!" Realization dawned on Sherlock's face, but John wasn't done. "What would have happened if I didn't tackle her?! That bullet," he pointed angrily to Archer's dead body, "might have hit her! Did you think about that?!"
Max sighed wearily. "John, please, don't make this a big deal," she said. "I'm still here. It's fine."
John scowled. "Well, it is a big deal!" he exclaimed.
Sherlock looked at Max, for once seeming lost for words. "I..." he trailed off. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
John's expression darkened. "Yeah," he agreed bitterly. "You forgot."
"Thank you," Irene interrupted suddenly. They all turned from to see that she was addressing Sherlock. "You were very observant."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Observant?" she repeated.
Irene smiled slightly. "I'm flattered," she told Sherlock.
But Sherlock just scoffed, still appearing troubled. "Don't be," he snapped.
John frowned. "Flattered?" he asked.
"There'll be more of them," Sherlock said suddenly. Holding Neilson's pistol, he turned and walked out of the room. John grabbed the pistol in Archer's holster and followed him out.
Max glanced over her shoulder back into the room, where Irene was looking into the safe, her eyes wide in horror; she knew that Sherlock had stolen her photographs. Max hesitated for a moment, then continued on her way out of the room.
"We should call the police," John was telling Sherlock as she joined them; they were standing outside the house by the street. Despite all the craziness that had just taken place in Irene's sitting room, everything was calm, untouched by what had just happened.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes," he agreed. With that, he pointed the pistol at the sky and fired multiple times. Nearby, they heard car tires screech loudly. Max flinched, and John sighed. "On their way."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Was that really necessary?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It's quick," he said simply.
John groaned. "For God's sake!" he exclaimed, then turned and walked back inside.
Sherlock and Max stayed outside for a moment, neither of them saying anything. Then Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "About the Vatican cameos."
Max looked at him silently for a moment, thinking back on everything that had happened in the sitting room. She wasn't angry, oddly enough, or disappointed even. No, she was... sad.
Looking at him now, she couldn't imagine how she thought she would have a chance with him. She had seen him with Irene, the wordless connection that they seemed to have, and she knew that Sherlock would never have that type of connection with her. She would never be able to keep up with him, and she realized that now.
She forced a smile, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it," she told him. "I'm not mad. It was a mistake. Let's just move on, shall we?" She chuckled. "Y'know, back in the cab when you said we were gonna add a splash of color to this whole situation, I didn't realize how colorful things were gonna get."
Sherlock frowned. "Max-" he started, but she was already walking back inside.
They reconvened in the sitting room, where Irene was still sitting. Max was partially surprised that Irene hadn't made a great escape, but then she couldn't exactly leave when Sherlock had her photographs. "Check the rest of the house, see how they got in," Sherlock told John. "Go with him, Max."
John nodded and headed out to the room, but Max hesitated. "Be careful," she said quietly. "She knows you have the photographs."
Sherlock smirked slightly, then nodded. She continued on her way out of the room, and Sherlock's gaze followed her for a moment, concern clear in his eyes.
Then he turned to Irene, taking out the phone that he had stolen from the safe and flipping it into the air, then catching it again. "Well, that's the knighthood in the bag," he remarked.
Irene forced a smile, holding out her hand. "Ah," she said. "And that's mine."
Ignoring her, Sherlock powered on the phone, looking at the lock screen. I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED, it read. "All the photographs are here, I presume," he commented.
She shrugged, as if she couldn't possibly care less. "I have copies, of course," she told him.
He scoffed. "No you don't," he replied. "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection; unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."
Irene lowered her hand. "Who said I'm selling?" she asked.
Sherlock gestured towards the unconscious agents on the floor. "Well, why would they be interested?" he challenged. "Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs."
She gave him a look, her expression one of practiced indifference. "That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I'd die before I let you take it. It's my protection."
"Sherlock!" John called from upstairs.
At the sound of his name, Sherlock started backing up towards the door, holding the phone up in his hand. "It was," he told her. Then he turned around and walked out of the room.
Irene didn't even hesitate before running after him.
000
"Oh my God," Max muttered. "Is she...?"
John knelt down next to the maid who had opened the door for them, who was currently sprawled out on the floor of the bedroom. He put his ear to her mouth, checking for her breathing, then looked up at Max. "She's alive, don't worry," he told her. "Neilson and his team must have come in this way."
Max nodded. "I'll look around," she said. "Just... make sure she's okay."
With that, she turned away and looked around the room. Seeing an ajar door, she opened it and walked in. It was a bathroom... and the window was open.
"Huh," she muttered. "There it is."
She turned around and headed back into the bedroom just as Sherlock walked in, followed closely by Irene. "They came in through here," she said. Sherlock nodded to her and walked into the bathroom to examine it. Irene, meanwhile, walked over to where John was examining the maid.
"It's alright," John told her. "She's just out cold."
Irene chuckled slightly. "Well, God knows she's used to that," she replied. She looked from John to Max and back again. "There's a back door. You two had better check it."
Over Irene's shoulder, Max saw Sherlock walk back into the room. He nodded to her and John, signalling that they should do as Irene said. "Sure," John agreed. "C'mon, Max."
Max nodded. "Right," she agreed. The two of them headed out of the room, leaving Sherlock and Irene alone again.
"Are you sure you're okay?" John asked quietly. "About earlier?"
She gave him a look. "John, please," she said. "I'm fine. Stop worrying about it. And don't be mad at him."
John frowned. "I just can't believe that he forgot," he grumbled. "He never forgets."
Max scoffed. "It's because of Irene," she told him. "He hasn't thought of anything else since she walked into that room naked... and that includes us."
Maybe her tone was more bitter than she had intended, because John looked at her with something like pity in his eyes. "Max, I-" he started.
"Just don't be mad at him, okay?" Max interrupted. "Please? I'm not upset, really."
He frowned, but still he nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "If you want me to beat him up just give the word."
Max grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," she laughed. The smile slid off of her face, and she looked at him seriously. "Thanks, John. Really."
John gave her a small smile and clapped her on the shoulder. "No problem," he replied. "Anything you need." He cleared his throat. "Well, we'd better go on and check that back door."
She nodded. "Right," she agreed. "Let's go."
000
Back in the bedroom, Sherlock had taken out the camera phone again, examining it closely... close enough that he didn't even notice as Irene slipped a syringe out of a draw on the dressing table. "You're very calm," he commented. Irene looked at him blankly, and he smirked slightly. "Well, your booby trap did just kill a man."
She shrugged, slowly walking closer to him. "He would have killed me," she replied. "It was self defense in advance."
By this point she had reached Sherlock, and she ran her hand down his left arm. Sherlock let his eyes follow her hand, and then-
He gasped in pain when he felt her stab a syringe into his other arm, and he stumbled backwards. "What is that?" he demanded. "What-?"
Suddenly she slapped him hard, sending him falling to the floor. She stood over him, eyes flaring angrily. "Give it to me," she growled. "Now. Give it to me."
Sherlock felt his vision going fuzzy, but still he attempted to get back to his feet. "No," he managed to say. "No."
Irene sighed. "Oh, for goodness' sake," she muttered. She picked up her riding crop from the dressing table and wielded it at him. "Drop it." He clutched the phone tighter.
There was a sharp pain in his face as she thrashed him with the whip. "I said, drop it," she hissed. She thrashed him again, and the phone tumbled out of his grasp.
She smiled as she picked up the phone. "Ah," she commented. "Thank you, dear." She got to her feet, looking down at him as he still struggled to get to his feet. "Now, tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just insurance." She smiled slightly as she slipped the phone into her pocket- no, Sherlock's coat pocket, which she was still wearing. "Besides, I might want to see her again."
Still dazed, Sherlock tried to get back to his feet, but Irene pushed him back down with one foot at the end of her whip. "Oh, no, no," she said. "It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it." She stroked the whip against his face, gently. "This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you." She smiled. "Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
It was at that moment that Max and John came back, and they both paused when they took in the scene in front of them. "Jesus," John muttered.
"What did you do to him?" Max demanded angrily.
Irene waved a hand dismissively. "He'll sleep for a few hours," she told them. "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse." She headed to the bathroom casually, as if this was perfectly normal.
Max knelt to the floor beside Sherlock, brushing the hair out of his face in a futile attempt to do something helpful, and John examined the syringe lying on the floor. "What's this?" he snapped. "What have you given him?"
Irene shrugged. "He'll be fine," she reassured him. "I've used it on loads of my friends." She looked down at him, seeming almost... tender. "Y'know, I was wrong about him. He did know where to look."
John looked at her oddly. "For what?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"
Irene smiled. "The key code to my safe," she answered. She looked down at Sherlock, still unable to speak. "Shall I tell him?" Without waiting for an answer- she wasn't going to get one, anyway- she turned back to John. "My measurements."
My measurements.
Just when Max had thought this couldn't get any worse. Sherlock had noticed Irene's measurements.
Irene turned to Max, backing up into the bathroom as she did. "Take care of yourself, Max," she said. "I like you, y'know. You have potential." She smiled. "And tell Mr. Holmes I'll be in touch."
And then she pushed herself out the bathroom window.
John hurried over, as if he could catch her, but Max knew that she was gone. Her last words echoed through Max's head, and suddenly she felt a pit in her stomach.
Max didn't have to be a genius to know that nothing would be the same from here on.