A few minutes later, the same black car that had taken John earlier in the day pulled up outside 221B, and John got out. The car drove away without a word as he approached the door to the flat.
He paused outside the door, looking suspiciously at the note attached underneath the knocker, scrawled in Sherlock's handwriting. Crime in progress. Please disturb. He glanced around the street in confusion, then decided to just roll with it and headed inside.
"What's going on?" he called as he hurried up the stairs.
He turned the corner and walked into the sitting room. The sight that greeted him was not what he had expected.
Neilson was bound and gagged with duct tape, sitting on a dining chair in the center of the room. It seemed like his nose was broken; blood was running down his face and dripping from his chin. Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the sofa with Max, who had one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other holding a phone to her ear. Sherlock, meanwhile, was in a chair nearby, pointing Neilson's pistol at its owner with a murderous expression.
"About time you showed up!" Max exclaimed.
John just blinked, trying to take in the scene in front of him. "What the hell is happening?" he demanded.
Sherlock scowled. "Mrs. Hudson's been attacked by an American," he answered. "I'm restoring balance to the universe."
Instantly, John was hurrying over to Mrs. Hudson's side. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God," he said. "Are you alright? Jesus, what have they done to you?"
Mrs. Hudson broke down in tears again, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, I'm just being so silly!" she exclaimed.
Max rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. "No, no, not at all, Mrs. H," she reassured her.
Sherlock got to his feet, still aiming the gun at Neilson. "Downstairs," he told John. "Take her downstairs and look after her."
John helped Mrs. Hudson up, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "Alright, it's alright," he told her. "I'll have a look at that."
Mrs. Hudson nodded tearfully. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted.
As Mrs. Hudson walked out of the room, John stepped closer to Sherlock, who was still glaring at Neilson. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" he asked quietly.
Sherlock shrugged. "I expect so," he answered. "Now go."
The two of them shared a look, then glanced down at Neilson, both of them knowing what was in store for him and feeling no sympathy. Then John turned and headed down the stairs after Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock turned to glance at Max, who still had her phone to her ear. "He hasn't picked up-" she started, but then suddenly the phone stopped ringing. "Oh, hullo, Lestrade! Sunny day today, isn't it?... Yes, we're fine, how are you?... You're good? That's great. Listen, we have a minor problem here... What?! No, Sherlock didn't blow up the flat. Why did you think that was... y'know what, never mind. We've had a break-in, that's all."
As Max was speaking, Sherlock yanked Neilson to his feet, dragging him towards the window. Max's gaze followed him curiously. "No, we're fine, everything's fine," she continued. "Well, Mrs. Hudson got a bit roughed up, but John's taking care of her now... You'll come over? Great, I-"
CRASH!
Max looked up sharply just in time to see Neilson plummet out of the window. A moment later, there was a muted thud as he landed on what sounded like Mrs. Hudson's garbage bins, followed by a low groan. Sherlock stood by the broken window with a proud look on his face.
"... Uh, you might want to send an ambulance too," Max told Lestrade. "Yeah, it's the, uh... the burglar. He fell out a window. Maybe a few broken ribs, punctured lung, no big deal, really... See you in ten? Great."
000
Night had fallen by the time Lestrade and the ambulance arrived at Baker St. Max, Sherlock and Lestrade stood outside of Speedy's, watching as the ambulance pulled away with Neilson in tow.
"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" Lestrade asked speculatively.
The right corner of Sherlock's lips twitched up. "It's a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector," he answered. "I lost count."
Lestrade looked at him blankly for a moment, then nodded. "Right," he agreed. "Well, I'll be getting out of here."
Max nodded. "Thanks for coming out," she told him. "We'll see you around."
He gave her a small smile. "See you around," he agreed. He clapped her on the back and nodded to Sherlock, then turned and headed off.
Now that they were alone, Max turned to face Sherlock. "Feel better?" she asked dryly.
Sherlock nodded. "Quite," he replied. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then he gestured with his head back to the building. "Come, we should go check on Mrs. Hudson."
The two of them headed back inside, taking care to wipe their feet on the doormat in front of Mrs. Hudson's flat like she always liked them to. They entered Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, where John and the landlady herself were sitting at the small kitchen table. Max observed Mrs. Hudson's rattled state with a concerned frown.
John looked up when they approached. "She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," he told them. "We need to look after her."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "No," she replied.
Max placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Hudson, you've been through a lot," she said. "Nothing's wrong with us watching out for you-"
Sherlock gave her a look. "Of course, but she's fine," he told her.
John scowled. "No, she's not," he protested. "Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker St. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."
Max nodded. "Getting out of the city will do her good," she agreed. "Fresh air, peace and quiet..."
As Max and John had been talking, Sherlock had been digging through Mrs. Hudson's fridge. Now, apparently having found what he wanted, he kicked the fridge door shut and started casually eating a mince pie. "Don't be absurd," he grumbled.
John looked at him in disbelief. "She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone!" he exclaimed. He scowled. "Where is it, anyway?"
Sherlock smirked. "Safest place I know," he answered. He glanced down at Mrs. Hudson... who reached down inside her top and pulled the camera phone out of her bra.
"You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot," she laughed as she passed the phone to Sherlock. Max and John stared at her in shock. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."
Max looked at her in disbelief, then burst out laughing despite herself. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you sneaky woman," she said. "We always keep underestimating you."
Smugly, Sherlock tossed the phone up in the air, then caught it and slipped it into his coat pocket. "Thank you," he told her. He turned to John victoriously. "Shame on you, John Watson. You too, Max."
John blinked. "Shame on us?!" he exclaimed.
Sherlock wrapped a protective arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders. "Mrs. Hudson leave Baker St?" he said sternly. "England would fall."
000
After saying goodnight to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had headed out for a bit on his own. Now, a few hours later, he had just returned to the flat, and at the moment he was taking off his coat. John emerged from the kitchen with two drinks in hand, giving one to Max who was sitting on the couch and keeping one for himself. For a moment nobody spoke; there was too much to say, but none of them knew how to start that particular conversation.
"Where is it now?" John finally asked.
Sherlock picked up his violin as he headed towards the window. "Where no one will look," he answered vaguely.
Max nodded. "Good," she said. "We've had enough trouble with that thing." She frowned. "I wonder why the Americans want it so much."
John shrugged. "Whatever it is, it's more than just pictures," he commented.
Sherlock started tuning his violin, the strings twanging awkwardly. "Yes, it is," he agreed.
They lapsed back into silence for a few moments, all of them lost in thought. Then John cleared his throat. "So," he commented. "She's alive, then. How are we feeling about that?"
Before anybody could say anything, off in the distance Big Ben started tolling: twelve bells to herald in the new year. The corner of Sherlock's lips twitched up in a half-smile. "Happy New Year, John," he said. He leaned over and gave Max a kiss on the cheek, lingering there for a moment. "Happy New Year, Max."
Max gave him a small smile. "Happy New Year, Sherlock," she replied.
For a moment John was going to steer the conversation back to Irene, to try to get to the root of Sherlock's feelings towards her. But then he saw the slight smile still on Max's face, and the lightness in Sherlock's expression as he started to play a cheerful song on his violin by the window. Looking at them like this- happy, despite all the chaos and mystery- John realized that he didn't have to worry about it, because everything that really mattered was in this room with them. At that moment, life was good- and no matter what happened, the three of them would stick together until the end.
"Happy New Year," he said quietly.
000
A few days into the new year, Sherlock was at St. Bart's lab by himself, x-raying Irene's camera phone. At some point Molly had wandered in to check on his progress- he wasn't exactly sure when, it didn't really matter. Now she was standing nearby and watching as he analyzed the scan of the phone, which was displayed on the computer screen.
"Is that a phone?" Molly asked, breaking the silence.
Sherlock huffed. "It's a camera phone," he answered, his eyes flitting over the small dark circular areas that certainly shouldn't be there, but were there anyway- and he couldn't figure out why.
"And you're x-raying it?" Molly continued.
He nodded. "Yes, I am," he replied.
Silence fell for a moment, but then Molly cleared her throat. "Whose phone is it?" she wanted to know.
Sherlock hesitated. "A woman's," he answered shortly.
Molly raised an eyebrow. "Max's?" she asked.
It took a second for that to sink in, but when it did Sherlock turned sharply to face her. "You think it's my girlfriend's because I'm x-raying it?" he demanded.
She laughed uncomfortably. "Yes, well, we all do silly things," she said awkwardly.
"Mmm," Sherlock replied passively, not really paying attention... but then suddenly his eyes widened as a thought struck him. "They do, don't they? Very silly."
Quickly, Sherlock headed over to the X-ray machine, taking the phone out and holding it up. Molly watched him in confusion. "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games," Sherlock mused.
Molly blinked. "She does?" she asked.
Sherlock opened the phone to the I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED screen and typed 221B into the blanks. Once again, the phone beeped aggressively, and a message popped up on the screen: WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
Scowling in exasperation, Sherlock put the phone down on the table.
"... so it's not Max's," Molly stated.
Sherlock nodded, scowl still on his face. "It's not," he confirmed.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Molly looked at Sherlock awkwardly. "How are things going with her, then?" she asked. "Max, I mean."
Sherlock's scowl faded at the sound of Max's name, and when he looked up he seemed more at ease. "Good," he answered.
Molly nodded. "Good," she replied. They shared a look, and then Molly's expression softened. "I'm happy for you. Really."
Something about the tone of her voice caught Sherlock's attention, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at Molly. For a moment it seemed like he was truly seeing her, seeing all the times she had put her own life on hold to help him, seeing the hope in her eyes every time she had asked him if he wanted coffee... but then he blinked, and it was gone. Wordlessly, he nodded to her and turned back to the camera phone.
000
About a week later, Sherlock was sitting at the dining room table, holding the camera phone in his hands. He was turning it over and over, trying to think of something he hadn't tried over the course of the last few weeks, when suddenly two shadows loomed over him. He looked up to see Max and John, with identical scowls on their faces.
"You need to get out of the flat," Max declared.
Sherlock gave her a look. "I've been out of the flat," he said. "I went to the lab."
John frowned. "Exactly," he agreed. "That was a week ago."
Max nodded. "And you've been working on that phone since Christmas," she added. "Christmas, Sherlock. You haven't even taken any other cases. It's not healthy."
Sherlock scowled. "I'm perfectly fine-" he started.
John shook his head. "No, no you're not," he interrupted. "You need fresh air. And besides..." He lifted up an empty jug of milk, shaking it in Sherlock's face. "Max drank the last of the milk."
000
And that was how Sherlock ended up in the refrigerator aisle in supermarket, trudging after Max as she made her way towards the milk aisle. John, meanwhile, had split off to get snacks.
"It's cold," Sherlock grumbled.
Max glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling at him broadly. "Because we're in the refrigerator section, Sherlock," she said. "It's supposed to be cold."
Sherlock gave her a look. "You're enjoying this," he accused.
That just caused her smile to broaden. "Yup," she agreed. He scowled at her, and with a light laugh she fell back so that she was walking shoulder to shoulder with him. "Sorry. Will it help if I buy you a cookie?"
Sherlock hesitated, pride warring with hunger. Then he sighed. "Yes," he admitted.
Max laughed, and despite himself, Sherlock found himself chuckling as well. He looked down at her, smiling broadly as they walked down the aisle- a simple everyday act, yet something about it made her happy... and he realized that he was happy, too.
Acting on instinct, he reached out and took Max's hand, twining his fingers through hers. Max looked up at him in surprise, then smiled and leaned her head on his arm, pulling him closer.
"Aren't you glad that you got out of the house?" she asked.
"Mm," Sherlock agreed. "Very."
She smiled. "Good," she said. "Now let's get that milk."
000
Half an hour later, Max, Sherlock, and John were heading back to Baker St, with Max and John holding the bags of groceries. Sherlock- in true Sherlock fashion- had refused to carry anything, and by the time they reached the flat he was walking a few paces ahead of them. "Jesus, Sherlock, why are you so fast?" Max grumbled.
Sherlock shot her a look over his shoulder as he turned his key in the lock. "Maybe you should be asking why you're so slow," he retorted as he headed into the building.
Max looked at John in exasperation, but he just shrugged helplessly. Don't look at me, you're the one dating him, his expression seemed to be saying.
Meanwhile, Sherlock had reached the top of the stairs, but suddenly he stopped before he entered the flat. Something was wrong; he could smell something in the air, the tint of a perfume that certainly wasn't Max's. Frowning, he stepped into the kitchen, glancing around carefully. Nothing seemed out of place, yet...
Wait. No. The window was open- he hadn't left it like that, and John and Max wouldn't have either. Frowning, he took another sniff; the perfume was stronger here. Someone had come in... but where were they now?
He turned around, following the scent across the flat. On the first floor, he heard the front door slam closed as John and Max started to head up the stairs. He paused for a moment in front of the door to his room... then opened it.
Meanwhile, Max and John had made their way up to the flat, plopping the shopping bags on the kitchen table. "What do you mean you bought Sherlock a cookie and not me?!" John was complaining.
Max rolled her eyes. "You are an actual child!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Both of you! It's just a-" She trailed off when she saw Sherlock standing there, a shocked expression on his face. "Sherlock?"
"We have a client," Sherlock stated.
John and Max shared a look. "What, in your bedroom?" John asked. They walked over to Sherlock's bedroom... and paused at the sight in front of them.
Irene Adler, fully clothed for once, was asleep on Sherlock's bed.
"Oh," John said.