Sherlock looked around the darkened interior of a seven-forty-seven jet that he'd been brought to under Mycroft's orders. He could see in the dim light from outside, the countless people sitting in each row, but they made no reaction to him. He clicked on an overhead light and got a better look, realizing then, that they were already dead.

"The Coventry conundrum." Mycroft said then, making Sherlock turn as his brother stepped out into the cabin. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead."

Sherlock looked around, understanding dawning on him. "The plan blows up, mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?"

Sherlock forced a smile.

"You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

Sherlock remembered a number of cases. One with a little girl and another with a man and an urn.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight." Mycroft hinted, reminding Sherlock of the man in the back of a car they found. "But that's the deceased for you. Late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock asked, before quickly answering himself. "Of course. Unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn't fly." Mycroft snapped at him, making him pause. "It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man." Sherlock concluded.

"That's all it takes." Mycroft declared. "One lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

"Hm. You should screen your defense people more carefully."

"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock. I'm talking about you." Mycroft growled, stamping his umbrella against the floor. "The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock argued.

"Absurd?" Mycroft stopped then. "Was Sam lying when she said you told Miss Adler about the plans then? She obviously didn't prevent this from happening, so she must have been playing some part, yes?"

Sherlock stiffened. "She had nothing to do with this."

"So you say, but how quickly did you decipher that email for Miss Adler? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"

Irene walked in then from behind Sherlock, smirking. "I think it was less than five seconds."

Sherlock whipped around and Mycroft spoke solemnly.

"I drove you into her path. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Mr. Holmes. I think we need to talk." Irene said, beginning to saunter over.

"So do I." Sherlock replied. "There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

Irene walked right past him though. "Not you, junior. You're done now." She brushed him off, showing Mycroft her phone. "There's more. Loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Unable to argue with her, the group left the plane and went to Mycroft's office, where a familiar young woman sat in a chair quietly.

"Sam, what are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, before seeing the handcuffs on her wrists and the defeated look in her eyes; making Sherlock immediately round on his brother. "Mycroft, what's going on?"

"Not now, Sherlock. There are more pressing matters to deal with." His brother snapped at him and Sherlock went to argue, but Sam spoke up.

"It's fine, Sherlock." She said, attempting a small smile. "Really, just…" She glanced briefly at Irene. "Remember what I told you. She's the key to all of this."

Sherlock frowned in confusion, but turned away from the group angrily as Irene and Mycroft began discussing the phone.

"We have people who can get into this." Mycroft tried.

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months." Irene said confidently. "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone."

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive." He said bluntly as Mycroft lowered his head into his hands. "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive." Irene corrected. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable." Mycroft tried.

"Take that risk?"

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you." Mycroft said, growing tenser by the second as Sam flinched in her chair nearby.

"Sherlock?" Irene chimed and he responded.

"There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

"He's good, isn't he?" Irene hummed. "I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might."

"We destroy this then. No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea." Irene praised, before going on. "Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." Irene threatened, pulling an envelope out of her purse and sliding it across the table to him. "A list of my requests and some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying. I imagine you'd like to sleep on it?"

Mycroft, looking over the list in shock, nodded slightly. "Thank you, yes."

"Too bad." Irene said, making him look up as Sherlock smirked slightly. "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft sank back in his chair. "You've been very… thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." Irene said, looking over at Sam. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock raised his head as Sam grimaced, wringing her hands and making the handcuffs rattle.

"Yes." Mycroft grumbled. "He's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged."

Irene stood and walked around to sit on the table by Mycroft. "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man…" She looked over at Sherlock. "…and the Virgin."

She stood again, wandering around the table and over to Sam. "And then there's his dear Sammy. How's the shoulder?"

Sam turned her head away, but Irene reached down and grabbed her chin, making her face her.

"Nasty scar you've go there on your eyebrow, but he'll be glad to hear you're doing so well."

"Fuck you." Sam snapped, regaining some courage, though Irene took it in stride as she leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, I plan to." She got up and walked back towards Mycroft though, looking proud of herself for making Sam shiver. "Didn't even ask for anything. I think Moriarty just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played." Mycroft said, standing up, but only to smirk down at Irene. "That is what I would say, however, it seems you forgot a player in this little game of yours."

Irene frowned. "What?"

"Sam?" Mycroft called out, looking over at the young woman who grimaced at the sound of her name. "Would you like to speak now?"

Sam grit her teeth as Sherlock frowned and actually turned in his chair to see what was going on; his mind still going rampant on what he could do to fix this.

"No." She snapped.

"Need I remind you just what, exactly, is on the line here?" Mycroft pressed and Irene looked between the two in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, it seems to me that Moriarty was keeping a secret from you, Miss Adler." Mycroft said, walking over to Sam and lifting her up onto her feet by her arm before bringing her over. "Because Sam here, knows quite a bit more than you think."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he realized what had happened between Mycroft and Sam during his blunder with Irene. Even Irene looked concerned now.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, I believe it's safe to assume that Sam knows the passcode to your phone. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam closed her eyes and bit out a single word. "Yes."

"Therefore, Miss Adler, you lost the moment you gave me your phone." Mycroft smirked as Irene's face fell. "Moriarty has apparently sent you on a suicide mission."

"No. That can't be." Irene breathed out, but Mycroft smiled.

"Go on, Sam. Say it."

Sam clenched her eyes shut and took in a shaky breath, but then, Sherlock got it.

"No."

All eyes went to him; Sam's brimmed with tears.

"Sorry?" Mycroft questioned.

"I said no. Very, very close, but no." Sherlock repeated as he stood and walked towards Irene. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much." Irene argued, but Sherlock stood, towering over her and glaring down at the woman in a way that made Irene suddenly feel nervous.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment? Sentiment is the chemical defect found in the losing side." Sherlock snapped.

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"

"You."

Irene smiled, though she looked anything but calm with how things were turning out. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No." Sherlock said, leaning in towards her, taking her wrist. "Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils, dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements. But this." He took the phone from Mycroft and flipped it in the air. "This is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for, but you couldn't resist it, could you?"

Irene looked devastated, realizing now that her plan was ruined by both brothers, by Sam, and by Moriarty.

"Sam, your words to me, your warning." Sherlock said then, making Sam look at him. "Thank you for that. I'm… sorry, I didn't care to listen until now. Miss Adler is the key, as you said. And I'm not about to let Moriarty or anyone get their hands on you." He snapped, glaring at his brother, who looked surprised at Sherlock's declaration of war. "I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage." He said then, turning back to Irene. "Thank you for the final proof."

"Everything I said. It's not real. I was just playing the game." Irene whispered and Sherlock's gaze hardened.

"I know, but the moment Sam gets dragged in, is the moment I make sure it stops. This is you losing."

He held up the phone, displaying the answer to the locked screen.

I am

SHER

Locked

Mycroft went to take the phone from Sherlock, but the man held it out of his reach with a glare.

"Let her go."

"What?" Mycroft questioned.

"You heard me. If you want this phone, then release Sam. Pardon her for whatever crimes you're attempting to arrest her on and cease on threatening her brothers as well. If you don't, I will destroy this phone right now. Do not test me on that, brother."

Mycroft stiffened, unused to seeing this side of Sherlock aimed at him, but begrudgingly nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key for the cuffs, releasing Sam and allowing her to move away from him before Sherlock passed over the phone; tucking the young woman behind him protectively.

"I'll not have you attacking my companions again, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped and his brother nodded sharply, glancing at Sam, who didn't even look his way. "And if you're feeling kind to Miss Adler, lock her up. Otherwise, let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

Irene looked at him in shock, stunned to see how the man cared so much to save Sam by threatening his own brother, but was willing to throw her to the dogs.

"Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied and Irene swallowed her pride.

"Please." She murmured. "You're right. I won't even last six months."

"Sorry about dinner." Sherlock snipped harshly, turning away and wrapping an arm around Sam; leading her out.

"Why did you do that?" I muttered in the cab; Sherlock's coat draped over me as the shock began to wear off and my shoulders slowly stopped shaking.

"I do believe I have already answered this question before. Christmas Day, if I remember correctly." Sherlock grumbled.

"Yeah, but…" I paused, trying to think up the right thing to say. "He was right. I didn't try to stop you. This mess was partially my fault."

"Hardly. This is Moriarty's fault." Sherlock said bitterly. "He manipulated Irene into doing this—though she was a willing party at some point—and that is why Mycroft's plan was ruined. You not stopping it was hardly of consequence. They would have simply found another way to do it otherwise. However, I do believe we have a new problem on our hands."

"What?"

Sherlock looked over at me. "Mycroft knows about your foreknowledge. He just informed Miss Adler how well that foreknowledge works. She is under Moriarty's control. It would be easy for him to discover the truth behind this and come after you once again."

I winced, looking away and shivering again as memories of what happened threatened to shorten my breathing. "P-Please don't remind me."

Sherlock said nothing, waiting for me to calm down.

"He… He already knows I have information I'm not supposed to. The… The only reason he tortured me, was because I let something slip. Shan, she… she was a part of his influence too. Another one of his cases."

Sherlock's eyes widened, having not known that.

"I accidentally let that slip. He was just going to use me like John with the bomb jacket before that, I think." I explained, unsure why I was telling him this now, but my nerves were fried and I hardly knew what I was saying anymore. "S-So he knows that I have information that could be valuable to him. I, um…" I paused, regretting what I was about to say. "I-I got texts from him over winter break. Him teasing me a-about my brothers not being around and… letting me know that just because I was in New York, I wasn't out of his reach. I didn't tell you because I-I wasn't sure if I could. The last thing I want is him coming after you."

"He's already coming after me, Sam." Sherlock pressed and I sighed, nodding and knowing that he was right.

"I'm just… worried, is all. I know how bad things are going to get and…" I looked up at him in concern. "It's not good, Sherlock."

"Then we'll plan ahead and make sure the outcome is good." He concluded as the cab pulled up to Baker Street. "Now come on. I have an experiment to work on in the kitchen."

I managed a small smile, nodding and coming up after him. "Right."

"Clearly, you've got news." Sherlock said into his microscope, startling Sam awake from her dozing at the kitchen table as John walked in; having just had a talk with Mycroft about Irene. "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring." He muttered the ending as John hesitantly stepped into the room.

"Hi. Uh, no. It's, um…" He shuffled as Sam yawned and pawed tiredly at her eyes. "It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock glanced up and Sam even turned to face him.

"Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?"

"No, she's, uh… I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call." John said, upon seeing Sam stiffen.

He'd heard what had happened to her with the older Holmes brother and had made sure the chew the man out downstairs as well for that.

"Is she back in London?" Sherlock repeated, attempting to steer the conversation away from Mycroft as he stood.

"No. She's, uh…" John struggled to lie to Sherlock before managing to control himself and reply. "She's in America."

"America?" Sherlock said with a frown.

"Mm-hm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but… uh, well, you know."

"I know what?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

Sherlock frowned. "Why would I want to see her again?"

John forced a smile. "Didn't say you did."

Sherlock then noticed the things John had with him, sitting back down as Sam got up to make tea. "Is that her file?"

"Yes. I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." He offered it to Sherlock. "Do you want to…"

"No."

John hummed, not entirely believing that. "Listen, actually—"

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone then." Sherlock replied suddenly, holding out his hand, but not lifting his gaze from the lenses of his microscope.

"There's nothing on it anymore. It's been stripped."

"I know, but I…" Sherlock paused. "I'll still have it."

"I've got to give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it."

"John, just give it to him." Sam grumbled, setting down Sherlock's mug next to him and moving back to her own seat tiredly. "The government will just toss it anyway. As you said, it's been stripped. It's useless to them now."

John hesitated, but then Sherlock extended his hand a bit further.

"Please."

John begrudgingly gave in and passed it over, allowing Sherlock to tuck it into his pocket.

"Thank you."

John awkwardly nodded and lifted the package with the rest of Irene's files. "Well, I'd better take this back."

"Yes."

John started to go, but paused, turning back around for one last question. "Did she ever text you again after… all that? Either of you?"

"Yes." Sam murmured as Sherlock was more specific.

"Once a few months ago."

"What did she say?"

"'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.'" Sherlock replied as Sam answered soon after.

"'Goodbye, Sammy.'"

"Huh…" John muttered, before soon heading out.

Once gone, Sherlock raised his head and pulled out his phone, looking over all the messages Irene sent him as he walked to the living room window and looked out into the rain.

"He doesn't know, does he?" He called back to Sam, who had moved to lean against the frame of the kitchen entry.

"John, no. Your brother, probably not. Mo…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them. "Moriarty, I don't know."

Sherlock chuckled, flipping Irene's phone and placing it in a drawer of his filing cabinet. "The woman… The woman."