A few weeks after the tennis tournament, Max was sitting on her couch and watching TV when the electricity went out with a pop.

She looked up at the lights, as if that would encourage them to turn back on, but it didn't. Frowning, she put down the bag of chips that she was eating and stepped out into the hallway.

The lights were out there too, and she saw her neighbors looking out, everybody holding a flashlight so that they could see in the dark. "Did your power go off too?" she asked.

"It's the whole building," somebody answered.

Grumbling under her breath, Max went back into her flat. She headed into the kitchen and started rummaging around in the draws for candles.

She was about to light the candles when she looked around the dark room, considering her options. Then, with a sigh, she grabbed her phone and her bag, and she headed out of the flat.

000

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

He was standing in the doorway of 221B, dressed in his pajamas, and Max was standing across from him in the hallway. "The power's out at my flat and I really don't want to be there," she said. "Can I stay for a bit?"

Sherlock stepped aside without a word, and Max walked in, where- thankfully- there was power. "Oh my God, a working television!" she exclaimed. "It's a miracle!"

He gave her a look, clearly unimpressed. "Your power hasn't even been out for a full day," he pointed out.

She scowled at him. "You're into crap telly, Sherlock, you should know how it feels," she replied. "Where's John, anyway?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Not here," he said. Max looked at him oddly. "Why does it matter to me where John spends his free time?" Without waiting for a response, he turned and swept into the kitchen. "I'm working on an experiment. Don't touch anything."

Max followed after him, shooting John a quick text to ask where he was. She glanced up when she entered the kitchen. "Wasn't planning on it," she told him, looking at the severed arm laying on the kitchen table. "Err... do I want to know?"

He took a seat at the table, picking up the arm. "Probably not," he said.

Her phone beeped, and she checked it to see that John had replied. "John's spending the night at Sarah's," she announced. "He says he told you. Repeatedly."

Sherlock didn't seem particularly bothered by that. "John tells me a lot of things," he said. "Most of them are irrelevant."

She knew better than to get into this conversation with him by now. "Right," she agreed passively. Without warning, Sherlock reached under the table and pulled out a blowtorch. Max blinked. "Well, that's my cue to leave you alone with your... uh... arm," she said. "I'll be at the dining table."

Sherlock flicked on the blowtorch in response. Max backpedaled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

000

About half an hour later, Max had spread out her work on the dining table to keep herself occupied; she was working on a design for a brochure that was due by the end of the week. She was so immersed in her thoughts, she didn't even realize Sherlock had walked into the room until he sat down across from her.

She looked up in surprise. "Done already?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered shortly.

But then she smelled something in the air, something that smelled... suspiciously like burnt human flesh. She looked at Sherlock again, taking in his scowl and his crossed arms. "Accident with the blowtorch?" she guessed.

"... Yes," he admitted.

She nodded. "Right," she said. "Did you get hurt?"

He sighed. "Perfectly fine," he replied, still not seeming pleased.

Max hesitated. "And the, er, the severed arm?" she asked.

His scowl deepened, and he didn't give her a response. That was answer enough, and Max turned back to her design.

For a moment neither of them spoke, but then the silence became too much for Sherlock. "What are you working on?" he asked.

Max glanced up at him with a crooked smile. "What, you can't figure it out yourself?" she replied.

Sherlock scoffed. "I could," he answered. "But it's really not worth the effort when you can just tell me. Though, since you ask..." He stood up and walked around the table so that he was standing over her shoulder. He leaned over, his hand on the back of her chair, and she could sense the nearness of his presence, not quite touching her but standing so close.

"It's for work, that much is obvious," Sherlock mused. "Based on the size and layout, it's certainly not a logo, it might be a magazine but that's highly unlikely considering how you're only working on one page, so I'd say it's a brochure- for Pomp and Circumstance Jewelers, based on the title (horrid name, really), located in Brighton. Mystery solved." He straightened, a satisfied smirk on his face. "And I would tone it down on the royal blue color scheme- it's a tad overwhelming."

She groaned and banged her head on the table. "Ow," she muttered. "Should not have done that." She sat up with a frown, rubbing her head. Sherlock looked at her oddly. "Sorry. It's just... I don't know, I think I'm in a slump. A creative slump. I need a break."

Sherlock didn't reply for a second, but then he stood up and walked away.

Startled, Max turned around in her chair and watched as Sherlock walked into the kitchen and out of sight. "Uh, Sherlock?" she called. No response. Slightly confused but knowing that she wouldn't get an answer, she turned back to her work.

A minute later, Sherlock slammed a bowl of vanilla ice cream down in front of her.

Max looked up at him in surprise. "What is this?" she asked.

He gave her a look, holding a bowl of ice cream also. "Vanilla ice cream," he said simply.

She blinked. "... you don't like to share your ice cream," she stated.

Sherlock shrugged, taking his seat across from her. "It seemed like you needed it," he explained.

A small smile on her face, Max leaned back, away from her work. Curling her legs up on the chair, she dove into the ice cream. "Mmmmm," she sighed. "You're right, I needed this. Food is the way to a girl's heart, y'know."

It was a moment before they both realized what she had said, and they paused awkwardly. "Oh, I didn't mean it like-" Max started, but then Sherlock's phone beeped- sighed, really. Max knew the sound well.

Irene Adler.

Sherlock broke eye contact with her, slipping his phone out of his pocket and glancing at it. Without replying to the text, he slid it back into his pocket and turned his attention back to Max. "Did you say something?" he asked.

Max looked at him for a moment, then gave him a small smile and shook her head. "No," she said. "But thanks. For the ice cream, I mean."

He nodded. "Of course," he replied.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but then Sherlock pulled her binder of designs towards him. Max was silent as he flipped through them, looking at each expressionlessly as his eyes flitted down the page. "They're quite good," he told her.

Max blinked in surprise; Sherlock had never taken interest in her work before, and now that he had, she hadn't expected a compliment. "Oh," she said. "Thanks."

He flipped to the last page, and paused, his gaze caught on something. "Did you draw this?" he asked.

She glanced over to see what he was looking at: a quick sketch she had done of a stack of books on her desk at work. "Oh, yeah," she answered. "I was bored."

Sherlock looked up at her, turning his gaze from the drawing. "Why don't you draw for yourself?" he wanted to know. "You're good- very good."

Max looked at him oddly. "Okay, something's wrong here," she said. "Sherlock Holmes, giving me not one, but two compliments in less than five minutes?"

He gave her a look. "I'll take it back if you want," he offered.

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed. "Thank you for the compliments."

Sherlock smirked. "You're welcome," he replied.

Max rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," she said. She sighed. "But to answer your question, I don't really know. I just... haven't drawn in a while. I've been meaning to pick it up again but I haven't gotten around to it. I guess I just need a push to-"

"Ow," Sherlock interrupted suddenly, and Max stopped talking, looking at him in concern as he rubbed at his temples, screwing up his eyes in pain. "Owww. Brain freeze."

Max stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around the absurdity of the situation, that she was sitting here with Sherlock Holmes, the Internet-famous consulting detective, and of all things he had gotten brain freeze. Then, even though she knew it wasn't really funny, she started laughing.

Sherlock glared at her. "It's not funny!" he insisted, but that just caused Max to start laughing louder. He tried to scowl, and for a second he actually almost pulled it off- but then, despite himself, he started laughing too.

000

"How are you so good at this?" Max groaned.

Sherlock smirked. "It's a gift," he replied confidently.

Max scowled at Sherlock, who was sitting on the ground next to her. They had relocated from the dining table to the floor in front of the TV, and sprawled out in front of them was nothing other than...

"It's Candyland!" Max insisted. "Skill has nothing to do with it- it's just luck! But you've won the last five times!"

Sherlock shook his head. "Six," he corrected. He took a card from the deck; then, with a broad smirk, he moved his piece to the color indicated on the card- an orange- which just so happened to land him on the rainbow square of King Kandy's castle. "I stand corrected. Seven, now."

Max fell backward to the floor with a groan.

000

"What d'you mean, you haven't watched Star Wars?!" Max exclaimed.

Sherlock shrugged. "I never watched it," he said.

She looked at him in shock. "But... it's Star Wars!" she protested. "It's a classic! How?"

He shrugged again.

"Well prepare to get educated, you... you filthy, stinking... uneducated... Hutt!" Max exclaimed. She frowned. "Sorry, I don't really know where I was going with that. It was supposed to be an insult."

Sherlock blinked. "What's a Hutt?" he asked.

Max sighed, shaking her head. "You will learn, Sherlock," she said. "You will learn."

000

Sherlock sat down across from Max, ice cream refills in his hands. He passed one to Max, who started eating right away. "Do you ever... stop eating?" he asked.

Max shrugged. "When I'm talking," she said. She patted her stomach. "See this? Bottomless pit. Besides, I exercise it off... mostly." Sherlock just gave her a look. "What?! Eating is my stress relief! At least I don't shoot up walls."

He frowned. "Touche," he grumbled.

000

"... but... the planet is blown up. Poof. Destroyed. So Han is like, how am I going to get my money? And then they see something off in the distance, and it looks like a moon. But Obi-Wan is like... that is no moon. Guess what- it's the Death Star."

Max paused her story and glanced at Sherlock, trying to gauge his reaction to her dramatic retelling of Star Wars, complete with flailing arms and exaggerated facial expressions. But the detective sighed in boredom. "Why are stories so predictable, even in space?" he asked. "Let me guess, they sneak onto the Death Ship-"

"Star," Max corrected.

"The Death Ship, and they rescue Princess whatever-her-name-is, and then Darth something-or-other kills the old man," Sherlock continued.

Max raised an eyebrow. "And you've never watched Star Wars?" she asked.

000

Sherlock blinked. "Why don't I like my brother?" he repeated in surprise.

Max nodded. "Yeah, it doesn't seem like you guys can last two minutes without one of you insulting the other," she said.

He was silent for a moment as he considered that, then he shrugged. "It started when we were children," he replied.

She waited for a moment, waiting for him to continue. He didn't. "...what about it?" she asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "He was an insufferable child," he said simply.

It seemed like that was all he was willing to say on the matter, and by now she knew better than to push him. "Right," she agreed.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but then Sherlock sighed. "He treated me like I was stupid," he muttered. "He still does."

Max blinked in surprise, taken aback by him suddenly opening up. "...You're not stupid, you know that, right?" she asked.

Sherlock gave her a small smile. "I know," he said. "But..." His smile faded, and he looked at her earnestly. "Thank you."

000

Sherlock frowned. "What do you mean, Darth Vector-"

"Vader," Max muttered.

"-is Leo's father?" Sherlock demanded.

Max grimaced. "It's Luke," she told him. "Leo... that's not even close. They don't even sound the same. And yes, Darth Vader is Luke's father." She gave him a look. "How do- how do you not know that? Everyone knows that, even if they haven't watched Star Wars! I thought you knew that!"

But Sherlock seemed too shocked to take offense. "Wait- how- what?" he stuttered.

She smirked. "Am I making a Star Wars fan out of you yet?" she teased.

He blinked in surprise, as if just realizing how invested he was. Then he scowled. "No," he said.

Max grinned. "I think I am!" she exclaimed.

Sherlock's scowl deepened. "Are not," he grumbled.

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"... I'm not doing this with you."

000

"Rock... paper... scissor... shoot."

Max whooped as her paper covered Sherlock's rock. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "I win!"

Sherlock frowned. "Best of five," he insisted.

She laughed and shook her head. "Nope, I already let you do best of three when you lost the first one," she replied.

He scowled. "But... it's just luck!" he protested.

Max grinned at him. "Suck it, you frickin Candyland genius!" she retorted. "Rock paper scissors is mine!" She burst out laughing, falling to the floor. Sherlock just shook his head with an indulgent smile as she whooped again. "Ha! Take that!"

000

"No," Sherlock said. "Leia is Luke's sister?"

Max blinked. "Yes," she replied. "That... that is also something I thought everybody knew."

Sherlock looked at her with wide eyes. "No way," he declared. "She can use the Force too, then, right? Does she get a lightsaber?" He paused, and it was almost like Max could actually see a lightbulb turn on in his head. "She could be the one to defeat the Emperor."

Max was silent for a second, but then she patted him gingerly on the shoulder. "How about I, ah, keep going, shall I?" she suggested.

000

Sherlock stretched out on the floor, his arms folded behind his head, and Max did the same next to him. The two of them were laying on the ground, facing the ceiling. "That looks like a sheep," Sherlock said, pointing to a pattern of cracks in the middle of the ceiling.

Max pointed to the far right corner. "See that?" she asked. "That's a dragon- you see the teeth and the wings and the body, curled up to pounce? And there-" She gestured slightly to the left. "-is a human, taming it. She's reaching out- she's scared, she doesn't know what the dragon's going to do... but she's taking a leap of faith."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but then Sherlock glanced at her. "You really are an extraordinary artist," he told her.

She scoffed. "Me?" she replied. "Nah. I'm nothing special."

He gave her a small smile. "Max, you've never been more wrong about anything in all of the time that I've known you," he said.

Max blinked in surprise, staring at him with wide eyes. Then she smiled back, and they turned back to the ceiling in a warm silence.

"I'm scared," Max suddenly said. Sherlock looked over at her. "That's why I don't draw for myself. I'm scared of putting my thoughts- myself- on paper. I mean, I know I can do it. It's just... it's intimate. I'm sharing something that's close to me, but what if somebody hates it- hates me?"

Sherlock stared at the ceiling as he considered that. "Then forget about them," he told her.

She blinked. "What?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Forget about them," he repeated. "They don't matter. Don't listen to anything else besides what's in here." He tapped her heart, his touch feather-light.

Max looked at him in surprise, stunned into silence. Then she smiled at him. "Thanks," she said.

Sherlock nodded. "Of course," he replied.

Just as before, Sherlock's phone sighed suggestively- a text from Irene. But this time Sherlock made no move to get it, his eyes locked with Max's.

"... are you going to check that?" Max asked.

"No, I don't think so," he answered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sherlock turned his attention back to the ceiling. "I think my sheep is dancing," he said. "See, it's wiggling back and forth."

Max looked at him oddly. "Are you high?" she demanded.

Sherlock frowned thoughtfully. "No," he mused. "But I feel like it."

"It's the sugar high from the ice cream," Max decided. "How many bowls did we eat? Three? Four?"

He shrugged. "I lost track around five," he said.

They shared a look... and they both burst out laughing.

000

"... that's it?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. "That's the end? The Death Star blows up and oh, it's all happy now?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, that's it," she said. "The end."

He scowled. "No, that can't be it," he protested. "That was too simple. Too easy. Where's the... the twist? The surprise?"

She shrugged. "Sorry to break it to you, Sherlock, but not everything's a mystery," she told him. Sherlock frowned. "... Alright, well, there's the prequels, but we are not talking about those, even though I totally had a crush on Obi-Wan. Do you know how hard it is to resist Ewan McGregor?"

Sherlock gave her a look. "I'll take your word for it," he replied, even though he seemed unconvinced.

They lapsed into silence for a moment, but then Max nudged him. "So, you liked it?" she asked.

He hesitated. "... No," he answered.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, c'mon," she said. "You were invested. You even remembered all the names by the end of it!"

Sherlock frowned. "... I... might have... enjoyed it," he admitted.

Max grinned. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Victory! Was it the sci-fi? It must be the sci-fi, since you didn't like Lord of the Rings." Her eyes widened. "I got it. We should watch Star Trek."

He looked at her in confusion. "Is that related to Star Wars...?" he asked.

She glared at him. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," she told him.

000

They had gotten through the first few episodes of Star Trek when Max glanced at the clock. "Oh my God, it's two in the morning," she realized. "I didn't mean to stay this long, I totally lost track of the time-"

"No, it's fine," Sherlock said. "Might as well stay the night."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she asked. "You're okay with that?"

He nodded. "Of course," he replied.

Max grinned. "Alright, then, I'd better get comfy," she said, settling in on the couch that she and Sherlock were sharing.

For a few moments they were quiet as they watched, but then Max glanced over at him. "Thanks," she told him.

Sherlock just hmmed in response.

000

John returned to 221B early the next morning; Sarah had an early shift, so she was out of the flat early, and he didn't see a reason to stick around if she wasn't there. He walked into the flat quietly, expecting Sherlock to be asleep.

Sure enough, Sherlock was asleep, but the scene was far from what John had expected. Max and Sherlock were sitting on the couch, the TV in front of them playing a Star Trek episode, and they had both fallen asleep. Max's head had fallen onto Sherlock's shoulder throughout the night, and his arm was resting on the couch back behind her.

"No bloody way," John whispered.

Sherlock started stirring at the sound of John's entrance, and his eyes opened blearily, taking in the situation. He glanced at Max next to him, then turned to John, raising his finger to his lips to indicate silence. John nodded and, after flashing a thumbs up to Sherlock, headed into his room, grinning from ear to ear.

000

The alarm on Max's phone went off at 7:30, and she woke up without realizing where she was at first. Then she took in the familiar surroundings of 221B and... and Sherlock next to her, still sleeping. Max stared at him for a moment, observing the unguarded expression on his face, peaceful in sleep.

Suddenly she remembered her alarm, and she realized she would be late for work if she didn't head out now. She stood up and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Sherlock," she whispered. "Sherlock."

He groaned as he woke up, rubbing his eyes, obviously still half asleep. "Max?" he asked. "What is it?"

"I'm slipping out," she told him. "I have to get to work, I just wanted to tell you so you didn't wonder where I was when you woke up."

Sherlock grunted. "Right," he answered.

Max turned to go- but right as she was about to step away from the couch, she turned back around and gave Sherlock a hug. He tensed for a moment, obviously taken by surprise... but then he hugged her back.

She pulled away after a moment, giving Sherlock a small smile. "Well, I'll, uh... I'll see you," she said.

He nodded, still seeming surprised about the hug. "Right," he agreed. Then she turned away and walked out of the flat... unaware of Sherlock's gaze following her.

000

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and that night, Sherlock and John were sitting in their armchairs. John was on his laptop, typing up his next blog entry, and Sherlock was fiddling with his violin, plucking random notes as he stared out at nothing, deep in thought.

"Can you... can you do that quieter?" John asked. Sherlock glared at him, but he quieted his playing.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and the comfortable silence stretched on. Then Sherlock frowned. "John," he said seriously. "I think something's wrong with me."

John looked at him oddly. "What d'you mean?" he asked.

Sherlock scowled. "My brain is frozen," he answered. "I can't- I can't think! I can't get her off of my mind!"

John blinked. "Who, Irene?" he guessed.

Suddenly Sherlock stood up and started pacing. "No, no, no!" he shouted. "Max! This whole day, I can't stop thinking about her! She makes me feel fuzzy and warm and... ugh!" He whirled around to face John. "What's wrong with me?!"

John stared at him in shock, hardly able to believe that the very thing he had been trying to get to happen was now happening before his very eyes. "Sherlock," he said slowly. "Nothing's wrong with you. Now, this is going to come as a shock, but... you're having something called feelings."

Sherlock scowled. "I know I have feelings, John," he retorted. "But that's not... this. I haven't felt this before."

John placed his laptop to the side, turning his full attention to Sherlock. "No, I mean... you're having feelings for Max," he clarified. "Y'know how I've always been saying you fancy her? You really, really do now."

"Do not," Sherlock muttered, but he said it halfheartedly, as if he wasn't totally convinced.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments as Sherlock frowned in thought. John looked at him in concern, and then he reached over and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Just... think about it," John said. "And if you decide that you fancy her, well, I can help you out."

With that, John grabbed his laptop and headed to his room. Sherlock remained in his armchair, staring at the empty space that John had just vacated... then he stood up with his violin in hand, walking over to the window.

John could hear when Sherlock started playing- Sherlock always played loud, so he was used to it by now. But something was different about this time. Sherlock's song choice always reflected his mood- whenever he had just met with Mycroft, he played something angry, and then there was the haunting piece he had composed after their encounter with Irene, filled with yearning and mystery. But now he was playing something new- another original piece- and it was happy. There were no double meanings or hidden agendas; it was just... simple and pure.

Nothing could have been more fitting.