Got in the mood to write Sherlock instead of Doctor Who... whoops. But here's another chapter for you all! It's fun trying to work out Sam and Sherlock being a couple. They like to make it difficult. And poor Sam. She's having it rough. Sherlock will definitely help though! Just takes him (and her) some getting used to.

Please review and let me know what you think!

"H-Hold on. What does he mean, a super-agent?" John questioned now that we were back in the flat and I dragged a hand down my face, flopping onto the couch as my body protested not only the large amount of exercise we'd just done but also the mental strain of it all.

"I thought you told him," Mary hummed, handing me a bottled water from the kitchen, that I gratefully took.

"I said I was going to," I grumbled, sitting up and resisting the urge to fidget. "I… hadn't found the right way of telling him."

Sherlock scoffed, walking in and setting down his cup. "Mary's going to die."

"What!"

"Sherlock!" I complained. Honestly, I should have expected this. "She's not going to die. I-I said so, didn't I?"

John opened his mouth to argue, before seeming to catch himself and force himself to calm down, though his white-knuckled grip fists said he wasn't exactly calm. Ein whined softly at my side, climbing up into my lap with his ears back in uncertainty. He could tell tensions were running high and I tried to calm him down by petting him, but my hands were shaking as well, displaying my uneasiness.

"What… What are we doing to stop it?" John finally said, eyeing me. "You have a plan, right?"

"Of course, we have a plan," Sherlock drawled. "As if we're just going to let Mary get killed. I made a promise, didn't I?"

"W-What he means is, we have the semblance of a plan," I explained. "It's… It's more the aftermath of saving Mary that's up in the air. Things get really complicated really quickly, a-and I'm still trying to work…" I swallowed thickly, throat feeling a bit tight. "W-Work it all out."

I felt Sherlock's eyes on me for a moment, pointedly keeping my gaze away as I tried to calm my racing heart. God, there's so much that could go wrong. Euros, Sherlock, John, Mary, Mycroft, that… that weird smiling medical guy whose name escapes me. What if it goes wrong? W-What if I save Mary and Euros a-actually kills John? She has the opportunity and I don't doubt she would. What if that villain kills Sherlock? I-I-I can't account for everything. I-I might not be able t-to fix any of this. Mary could still die a-and then John would—

"Sam, breathe."

I sucked in a desperate lungful of air, not having noticed when I'd held my breath or began to double-over on the couch. Sherlock was kneeling in front of me and Ein had burrowed his way onto my lap despite my hunched position, trying to help.

"Hold when you inhale, then exhale. You're having a panic attack."

"W-W-What?" I managed to choke out, not even having realized that's what had happened.

"Do you know what triggered it?" He asked, hands cupping the sides of my face as I tried to think through the fog in my mind.

"N-No. We were j-just… W-W-We were talking, and I thought… I-I was thinking that…"

He frowned lightly. "You were overthinking again," he concluded. "That's why you hadn't told John. You were worried about his reaction and what would happen if something went wrong."

"I-I can't predict everything," I murmured, making him sigh and turn to John.

"Her plan is Mary's best chance, and it won't even be difficult to prevent her death. As Sam said, it's the ripples her death would have caused that we need to worry about."

John fidgeted uneasily, eyeing me with concern and guilt. "I-I… I didn't mean…"

I shook my head, trying to attempt a comforting smile. "I-It's m-my own fault, really. O-Overthinking, like S-Sherlock said."

"Though you wouldn't be overthinking if he trusted you," Sherlock grumbled, standing and making me sigh in exasperation, now that I'd caught my breath and calmed down.

"Sherlock."

"No, he's right," John muttered. "Sorry, Sam."

I thought about arguing, but I was exhausted all of a sudden and Mary quickly clapped her hands.

"Well, then! Now that that's settled, shall we discuss what we should do next?"

"Agreed," Sherlock nodded, surprising me by handing me a hot cup of tea he'd made and settling on the couch with me instead of his usual seat. "How much can you tell us, Sam?"

I thought for a second, leaning back against him and almost pulling away if he hadn't looped an arm around my waist to keep me put. The look from Mary said she'd noticed, but John wasn't paying attention, so I was quick to ensure he didn't for my own sake. Already, a red blush was creeping up to the tips of my ears, and I had to clear my throat before I spoke.

"I-I, um… I mean, honestly, I could tell you everything but logically that would only cause problems. Um…" Think, brain! Don't keep telling them what they already know. "I actually think that… Well, Mary. I think you should be explaining what's going on."

Mary looked at me in shock. "Me?"

I nodded. "It's just that… this agent is someone you know, obviously. I just… don't think I should be the one explaining something like your past. Like… Like your last mission."

Her expression shifted then, making me internally wince and my eyes drift down towards Ein as I ran my hands over him.

"You really did know everything about me from the start, didn't you?" She murmured.

"I-I didn't. Everything I know, it's like… like a story. I knew you were an agent, the gist of your last mission, you and John, but that's it. Same with John and Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson even. I don't know everything, but I know enough and after being here for so long, I have learned even more. It stopped being a story a long time ago, which is why I'm doing my best not to screw this up."

She watched me for a second, before letting out a long sigh. "I suppose there's no point in trying to keep it hidden anymore anyway since you already know."

"Sorry," I muttered, only to wince when Sherlock pinched my side, earning a mild glare from me.

He'd really started to get annoyed by my apologizing lately. The more rattled I got though, the more I tended to regress into someone shyer and more skittish, and this case was going to make things difficult in that aspect. Sherlock helped though, as much as his pinching and scolding annoyed me. Even now, with his arm wrapped securely around me tucking me into his side, I felt safe. If he noticed me sinking further into him at the thought, he said nothing as Mary sighed softly and began to explain.

"There were four of us. Agents."

"Not just agents," Sherlock cut in, eyes narrowed.

"Polite term. Alex; Gabriel; me; and Ajay. There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other."

"Who employed you?"

"Anyone who paid well," Mary shrugged, her eyes flickering to John every chance she could to see his reaction to this information. "I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended. There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over; lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment."

"Who from?" Sherlock asked, determined to get all the answers he needed.

"I don't know. Just another voice on the phone, and a code word, 'Ammo.'"

"'Ammo'?"

"Like 'ammunition.' We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong. That was six years ago. Feels like forever. I was the only one that made it out. Or, so I thought." Her gaze turned to me. "Who survived?"

"Ajay," I murmured, eyeing her seriously even as her expression relaxed in her relief. "And he's coming to kill you."

Mary laughed in disbelief. "Sorry, no, no, 'cause w-we were family."

"Families fall out," Sherlock countered softly, gripping me a little tighter when I flinched, remembering my brothers. "How are they tracking her? And why bother with the busts?"

He was trying to distract me, I knew, but I went along with it.

"His memory stick. He hid it in a bust before he got caught. Now, he's trying to find it, but he doesn't know which bust it's in."

"Why would he want to kill me?" Mary asked, and I ran a hand through my hair uneasily.

"He… He thinks you betrayed him."

"Oh, no, no. That's insane."

"It's true," I muttered, raising my gaze once more. "I wouldn't lie. Not about this. And if you look at it from his perspective, you're the only one alive. Why wouldn't he think what happened was a double-crossing?"

"But I wouldn't—"

"That doesn't matter," Sherlock cut in. "What matters is what this means for us, for him, and how we're going to stop it."

Mary sank into a chair. "I suppose I was always afraid this might happen; that something in my past would come back to haunt me one day. God, I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it."

"No. Mary, you do. I made a vow, remember?" Sherlock pressed. "Sam and I both did. To look after the three of you."

Mary cracked a small smile. "Sherlock and Sam. The dragon slayers." Her gaze shifted to John, who eyed her back evenly as I fidgeted.

"Um, a-as much as I would like to let you two… talk…"

"At home," John surprisingly cut in, looking to me. "You can save her?"

I nodded. "I believe so. She was technically never meant to die to begin with. It was an accident."

"Accident?" John said bitterly, eyes blazing, and I turned my gaze away even though I knew his anger wasn't meant for me. "How do you shoot someone on accident?"

"John," Sherlock said sharply and upon noticing my quivering hands, the man forced himself to relax somewhat.

"Sorry."

"The gun wasn't aiming at her," I managed to respond. "I-I can't tell more than that."

"So, what? We all wear bullet-proof vests?" John questioned, catching me awkward fidgeting and Mary's crook of a smile. "Oh, you're joking. Seriously?"

"T-There's still room for it to go wrong," I said but winced when Sherlock pinched my side again.

"No more overthinking it," Sherlock scolded me sharply. "Focus on the present. What do we need to do next?"

"Get the memory stick, I guess," I shrugged.

"And then what?"

"Ajay will go after it, though I suppose we could not bother since he's going to come after you anyway, Mary."

"So, play bait," she concluded, and John bristled.

"Oh, no. We're not having my wife, who's supposed to die playing bait!"

I knew he'd disagree, but can I risk explaining that Ajay wasn't the one who kills her? And whether I do or don't, there's still a risk of someone getting hurt when we confront him. I chewed my lip, not hearing Ein whine again until Sherlock tugged harshly on my ear.

"Voice your thoughts, Sam. I'll not have you dig yourself into another dark hole tonight," he said sharply, as I clenched and wrung my hands together, resisting the urge to scratch at the itch on my inner elbow and give away just how stung up I was about this.

"I just… I-I don't know if I can give something away."

"Would it change anything?"

"Not really? I-I don't…" I grimaced, not wanting to say it. "I feel like if I say anything and it goes wrong…"

"It won't be your fault," Sherlock pressed, gaze sharp, knowing I would blame myself if anything did happen.

Begrudgingly, I gave in. "Ajay isn't the one who kills her," I admitted. "It's the person who leaked their last mission."

"And you can't tell us who that is?" John asked, not meaning any harm by it as I shook my head and Ein yawned, hopping off my lap with a stretch and pattering away now that I'd calmed down.

"It's… someone in a rather high-up position," I said, giving Sherlock a glance that he frowned at, understanding that whoever it was, was close to Mycroft. "And if they find out we're onto them, they'll run. I don't want to risk giving them that chance."

John's brows furrowed. "Then, why do we need to confront Ajay at all?"

"Do you honestly think he's going to stop chasing Mary?" Sherlock scoffed as I shook my head.

"I'd rather us confront him, convince him that Mary's not the traitor. Believe it or not, there is a chance he might believe us."

"And there's a chance he won't," Mary added, making me nod.

"And by the time we manage to get him to listen, we could be hurt or worse," I agreed softly.

"All right. Say I go along with this," John huffed, not looking pleased by the idea but willing to listen. "Where are we going to fight this guy? Here?"

I shook my head, cringing at the thought. "No way. He either won't attack because we're on our turf, thus having the upper hand, or because we feel safe, it could be our downfall. We've got people here that are close to us. He could use them against us too."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "And going to him would be a mistake."

"So, what do we do?"

Sherlock and I exchanged a look, understanding each other immediately.

"We go somewhere none of us know." I shrug. "Preferably far away from friends and family."

"You have an idea?"

I glanced at Mary, who nodded.

"A few."

Oh, before I forget. "Ah, and John? I need your phone."

"What?"

Sherlock sat in front of Mycroft, glancing at his watch, knowing they had a flight to catch and that Sam was waiting just outside the Diogenes Club—smoking, probably. I'd rather that then the alternative, he mused. Although, I'm mildly concerned she's back on the nicotine. The panic attacks are relatively new as well. She's thinking too hard. Trying to plan out every little detail without margin for error. It's putting her on edge. Paranoia often leads to mistakes. It's become difficult to increase her confidence, though once this mess is over, I'm certain that will calm her down. The question is, can we wait that long? He set the thoughts aside—along with various ideas that may help Sam—for later, giving Mycroft a look as the man frowned.

"Agra? A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometers west of the state capital, Lucknow—"

"What are you, Wikipedia?" Sherlock scoffed, knowing Mycroft knew this wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"Yes," Mycroft smiled.

"A.G.R.A. is an acronym."

"Oh, good. I love and acronym. All the best secret societies have them," Mycroft chirped, not taking this seriously enough as he twirled a pen.

"Team of agents, the best. But you know all that."

"Of course, I do. Go on."

"One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team."

"Indeed? Well, that's news to me," Mycroft hummed.

"Is it?" Sherlock challenged, doubting that was the truth. "He's already killed looking for that memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bidder. I thought that might include you."

"Me?" Mycroft frowned before understanding dawned on him. "Ah. You mean Sam believes it's me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sam has intel she can't entirely share, as I'm sure you know. She said whoever's behind this if from high up. Your level of high up. As in the British government or whatever government you're currently propping up."

Mycroft's lip twitched, giving Sherlock some information. "AGRA were very reliable; then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages, but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers."

"Your initiative?"

"My initiative," Mycroft confirmed. "Freelancers are too woolly; too messy. I don't like loose ends—not on my watch."

Sherlock reached forward, pulling a notepad over and scribbling on it. "There was something else; a detail, a code word Sam mentioned." He slid it back, revealing said word and making Mycroft raise a brow.

"'Ammo'?"

"It's all we've got."

"Little enough," Mycroft scoffed. "Sam can't just tell me who I'm arresting?"

"Would spook them, according to her. And without proof, even you would have a hard time convicting them for more than a moment. Not to mention however high up they are could mean no conviction at all." Sherlock leaned back into his seat. "Could you do some digging, as a favor?"

"You don't have many favors left," Mycroft smiled.

"Then, I'm calling them all in."

Mycroft hummed, setting his hands on the desk. "How about a favor in return, hm? Sam has information. I'll dig in a bit for you both, provided she can give me something in return."

Sherlock frowned eyes narrowed. "I'd have to discuss it with her."

"She's right outside. I could request her to be brought in."

Sherlock immediately shook his head. "She's stressed enough as it is. I'm not going to have you interrogating her."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "A simple request, nothing more."

"No," Sherlock pressed.

"Ooh, tetchy. She's not doing well then, I take it."

"Like I said. She's stressed."

"And stressed implies a mild temper, maybe a shouting match or two. The way I see it, she's smoking a pack or more a day, is beyond jittery, hasn't been sleeping and has had at least three separate panic attacks within the last twenty-four hours. I do believe she is a bit more than just… as you put it, stressed."

Sherlock's scowl deepened. "There's not much we can do. She's concerned over upcoming events that could potentially lead to people dying. She's overthinking it."

"To the extreme, it seems," Mycroft mused, letting out a sigh. "Well, she is part of the family now. I can offer a good therapist."

"She has a therapist."

"That she rarely goes to now," Mycroft countered.

"Then, what makes you think yours is any better?"

"Mine is more used to dealing with those involved in my line of work."

"Meaning torture and interrogation," Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft simply shrugged. "She has been in that situation before. He might be useful, in any case. I'll pass along your number."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "So, you'll look into it then?"

"Since it's involving my work, yes. I doubt Sam would have sent you my way without reason. Although, if you can find who's after Mary and neutralize them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever?"

"Of course," Sherlock declared confidently.

"Is that sentiment talking?"

"No. It's me."

"Difficult to tell, these days."

"Told you. I made a promise, a vow."

"Yes, well, remember this, brother mine: agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way."

"Not on my watch."

My foot bounced anxiously as I stared out the plane window at the clouds we hovered over. I chewed my abused lip, wishing I could smoke as my mind raced. Maybe I've changed too much. Sherlock didn't confront Ajay by that guy's pool, and we don't have his memory stick but I'm pretty sure we don't really need it. All it did was bring Sherlock to Mary and learn more about her past. I winced, feeling my lip split and tasting copper. I rang my tongue over it, grimacing and knowing Sherlock would probably frown when he saw but my anxiety was growing. And what did this change with the whole Eros bit? Did it change anything? This is kind of a side case, other than Mary's involvement. Why am I feeling like I missed something though? L-Like something I did is going to screw something up or—

I jumped when a hand dropped onto my leg just above my knee, stilling the bouncing appendage and sending a flush of embarrassment up to the tips of my ears as Sherlock sat down beside me, handing over a ginger ale. Not even close to a smoke.

"You couldn't have given me a better drink?" I grumbled.

"You're not allowed alcohol, per John's orders," he countered. "And caffeine would only amplify your anxiety which is already getting out of hand."

My face darkened when his thumb brushed over my bottom lip, earning a small wince at the small amount of pain the action brought. I'm just glad John and Mary are sitting closer to the front discussing their own issues and not paying us any attention.

"H-How, um…" I cleared my throat, ignoring the smug look on his face for having embarrassed me. "How was your talk with Mycroft?"

"Middling," Sherlock grumbled. "He'll look into it though, probably wanting to get the mole out of his group before something worse happens. However…" He pursed his lips, a furrow forming between his brows.

"What?"

"His request is to gain information from you for this favor. I told him I didn't approve, but that I would discuss it with you."

I frowned as well, wringing my hands and eyeing them as I tried to think. Could I warn him about Eros? Would putting him on high alert change things?

"Don't bother," Sherlock interrupted my thoughts. "This helps him as well as us, so no favor is really needed."

"No, let me just… Let me think on it," I muttered, earning a raised brow. "I might have something I can say that will help us later, but… I-I just need to work it out. Make sure it doesn't alter too much."

"You're already thinking too hard," Sherlock argued.

"I know, but… It has little to do with this. It's about something big that's happening later. We… We might need him in the loop."

"I detest the day we have to include him in this."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly thrilled either but what happens… it's going to affect everyone, especially the two of you." I winced at the look he gave me, fidgeting in my seat before occupying myself with opening the can of soda.

We fell into silence for a bit, myself not even noticing his hand still resting just above my knee as his thumb now rubbed small circles on my leg. My mind drifted back into concerns about Eros and what I would tell Mycroft, and Sherlock must have noticed as he cut in once more.

"Why did you need John's phone?"

"Hm?" I hummed, having only just realized he'd said something.

"You asked for John's phone before. Why?"

"Oh, I was, uh…" How much can I say? "I was blocking a number. It's for something that was supposed to happen later. He won't even notice." I just hope she doesn't either.

"And you snuck out the other night," he added, thankfully dropping the subject of John's phone.

"To help John and Mary. Rosie was being cranky, and I figured that since I was up anyway, might as well help so they can sleep."

He glanced at me. "We could sleep together if you'd like."

Just the thought had my face burning, but Sherlock didn't notice.

"I read that it helps to have companionship when resting and exercise as well. Perhaps you could add another walk with Ein before bed since I do believe he was chewing my loafer the other day and… What? Why are you doing that?"

I'd buried my face in my hands, caught between wishing Sherlock knew what he was saying and being slightly glad he didn't.

"Are you ill? Should I get John?"

"No!" I yelped, head snapping back up though it seemed John had gotten up and headed our way already, overhearing that he might be needed.

"What's that? What's wrong?" He questioned, drawing Sherlock's gaze to him.

"I don't know. I was merely mentioning an article I read that said vigorous exercise and companionship while heading to bed may help one sleep. And then she began to act strangely."

John's smiling gaze landed on me as my blush ran right up the back of my neck, covering my face and ears in a dark cherry red hue.

"Right. And where did you find this article?"

"One of Mrs. Hudson's magazines that she left in the flat after cleaning. Why does that matter?"

"Well," John cleared his throat with a cough that was very much covering up his urge to laugh. "Sherlock, I'm pretty sure the article was talking about something else."

"Something else? What else could it have possibly been—" He cut himself off then, making the connection and looking to me as I hastily turned back to the plane window in a vain attempt to hide how frazzled I was. "Oh… I, um…" He cleared his throat as well, his own cheeks tinting pink. "I wasn't trying to imply—"

"J-J-Just shut up," I groaned. "Please."

All we heard the rest of the flight was John and Mary's quiet giggling as I tried desperately to sink as far into my seat as I could and disappear.

The group had stepped into a small home in Morocco, having settled in as night began to fall and Mary bumped hips with Sam, making her fumble as she nearly dropped her cigarette—having been leaning out the window to smoke and keep an eye on anyone trying to sneak into the alleyway behind the home.

"So, I take it you and Sherlock haven't 'done the deed' then."

"Mary," Sam whined, having hoped she got enough of their teasing on the plane.

"Just curious," Mary smiled, settling down beside her as she sighed out a breath of smoke.

"Sherlock's probably asexual and honestly, I probably am too. It just… doesn't seem right. I don't know. Maybe it's just the age difference or something." She folded her arms on the windowsill and dropped her chin to rest on them. "I never want him to do anything he's uncomfortable doing."

"But?" Mary pressed, knowing there was a "but" in that sentence.

"But… I guess it'd be nice to like… you know, do some couple-y things."

"You're not?" Mary questioned; brow raised in surprise.

"I mean, there are small touches here and there but that's about it. I don't want to force him as I said, but sometimes I just… I don't know." She snuffed out the butt of her cigarette, closing the window with one last look.

"Sam," Mary grabbed her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Every woman wants to be held close by the person they love. You don't need to be embarrassed by it."

Sam sighed softly. "I'm not. Well, I am in public and Sherlock is too, but… I… I miss Bobby."

"Oh… I'm so sorry."

"Not that I love Sherlock any less, but Bobby was… touchy-feely all the time and… and it was nice, sometimes when we'd just… lie there, you know? Just take a moment and finally feel… safe."

"I see, now," Mary murmured, drawing Sam's gaze to her. "It's not just about him, is it? It's the lifestyle too."

Sam winced. "I… I do love him but look at me." She held up a quivering hand. "I don't remember the last time my hands weren't shaking like this. Ever since the drugs, I just… I-I can't stop worrying, thinking. It makes me feel terrible. L-Like I'm embarrassing him. I'm trying to be strong like before, but I just… I can't and it's killing me, Mary."

"You went through something terrible, Sam. No one is expecting you to just jump up and be okay. Least of all, Sherlock. And you know what? I've never seen Sherlock more uncertain about himself than when he's around you. And that may not sound like a good thing, but you don't see him. Not like John and I do." She grabbed Sam's upper arms, squeezing them both in reassurance. "He would do anything to make you happy. He doesn't care about that strong persona you had before. He just wants to see you. All of you. The strong, the quiet, the scared, and the happy. And if you told me years ago that Sherlock would be holding hands and caring for someone, I would have laughed. Now? I couldn't see him any other way. So, just try it out. You might be surprised how he responds."

Sam nodded silently, before giving Mary a small smile. "Thanks, Mary."

Mary beamed, hugging her around the waist. "Us ladies need to stick together, you know."

"Then, you too."

"Hm?"

"You and John. You know. If you guys ever need time, Sherlock and I will watch Rosie. I just… I don't want you two to feel like because things have changed that…" Her brows furrowed. "I'm not sure how to explain this."

Mary chuckled. "It's fine. I think I understand. And, if you wouldn't mind taking Rosie for a bit, John and I might have a little thing after this. You were really good with her the other night."

Sam shrugged. "I'm… patient, I guess."

"Hm, I'm patient and even I couldn't deal with that screaming."

The two cracked small smiles and stepped into the main living space where Sherlock and John were—both glancing up when they walked in.

"You know, I'm wondering if I should be worried how well you two get on," John murmured, and Mary unwrapped her arm from around Sam, moving over to him and kissing him briefly.

"We need girl time, just like you and Sherlock."

"Oi," he grumbled, not really upset as they kissed again, only for Sherlock to clear his throat.

"Oh, shush, you," Mary huffed, rolling her eyes. "The less aware we seem, the more likely he'll try something before you get bored."

Sherlock went to argue, but Sam saw the red laser light and called out.

"Everyone, down!"

Mary pulled John down and Sam grabbed Sherlock before he flipped up the table to shield them against the bullets that just penetrated the door. Mary returned fire with her own pistol as Ajay burst in and everyone settled themselves behind their own cover.

"Hello, again," Ajay snarked.

"Ajay," Mary replied.

"Oh, you remember me. I'm touched."

"Look, I thought you were dead, believe me, I did."

"I've been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine."

"I swear to you, I thought you were dead. I thought I was the only one who got out."

Ajay fired a shot into the table John was hiding behind, and Mary passed Sherlock her pistol as Sam slipped behind the table to get John out of the way of possible fire.

"How did you find us?" Sherlock asked, hoping to keep Ajay distracted long enough for Sam and John to move out of harm's way.

"By following you. You left a painfully obvious trail."

"Which any assassin would know means this is a trap," Sam muttered, earning a sharp look from Sherlock and wincing. "Sorry. I'll shut up now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, firing the gun at the light overhead and shattering it in the hopes of drawing him out, but Ajay just ducked further down.

"Touché."

"Listen: whatever you think you know, we can talk about this. We can work it out," John said, attempting to convince the man, but knowing it wouldn't be easy.

"She thought I was dead. I might as well have been."

"It was always just the four of us, always, remember?" Mary said, trying to appease him.

"Oh yeah."

"So why d'you want to kill me?"

"D'you know how long they kept me prisoner; what they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. I can still hear the sound of his back breaking. But you, you—where were you?"

"That day at the embassy, I escaped."

"Oh, yeah."

"But I lost sight of you too, so you explain: where were you?"

"Oh, I got out ... for a while. Long enough to hide my memory stick. I didn't want that to fall into their hands. I was loyal, you see; loyal to my friends. But they took me, tortured me. Not for information. Not for anything except fun. Oh, they thought I'd give in, die, but I didn't. I lived, and eventually, they forgot about me just rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there, until one day I saw my chance. Oh, and I-I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things—little whispers, laughter, gossip: how the clever agents had been betrayed. Brought down by you."

"Me?"

A train rushed past, horn blaring and everyone moved. John grabbed the other gun they'd brought, and Mary took her gun from Sherlock, turning to point it at Ajay as he did the same. Two guns were trained on him and one on her, though John was tense, hating that Mary was in that position to begin with.

"You know I'll kill you too," Mary said calmly. "You know I will, Ajay."

"What? You think I care if I die?" Ajay spat, taking a threatening step forward and allowing the barrel of Mary's gun to rest against his forehead. "I've dreamed of killing you every night for six years. Of squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat."

"I swear to you, Ajay," Mary murmured, Sam shooting John a look to keep him from getting up or trying to stop what was happening.

Not just yet.

"What did you hear, Ajay?" Sherlock asked, wanting to know if there was any more information he could get since Sam wasn't saying anything. "When you were a prisoner, what exactly did you hear?"

"What did I hear?" Ajay struggled to even say the word. "Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo." His voice trembled and his hand shook. "You betrayed us!"

"They said her name?" Sherlock pressed, wanting to be certain.

"Yeah. They said it was the English woman."

"And what if we could give her to you?" Sam finally spoke up, standing despite Sherlock's small glare and drawing attention to her. "We know it wasn't Mary who set you up for failure. I know who it really was. An English woman, yes, but not this English woman."

"What do you know?" Ajay spat. "You're with her!"

"Then, why would I lie to you?" Sam pressed, eyes flickering to the door behind him as she slowly moved closer to Mary and him, hands raised peacefully. "I don't want her to die and… and neither of you have shot each other yet, so I'm assuming you don't really want to either. You've grown to trust each other to that point, where even betrayal doesn't make sense. You want to know why right? She can't give that answer to you, but I know who can. You want answers? Then at least get them from the person who has them."

Ajay's eyes flickered between her and Mary. "Who is it?"

"I can't tell you that."

His gun suddenly snapped to Sam, making everyone stiffen as he tipped his head and snarled. "You just said you could. You just said you will!"

Sam, surprisingly enough, didn't even flinch. "If I tell you now, she'll run."

"I followed you here. I'll follow her."

"That won't work. She's high up. She has protection. You'll just end up back where you were, and you don't want that."

"You don't know anything," he spat.

"I know what it's like," Sam countered. "Being tortured, wishing you were dead because anything was better than that. The repeated questions echoing through your skull every time you close your eyes. Their voices haunting you, screaming at you, even after you killed them, it's still there, isn't it?"

Ajay was fidgeting, shaky and uncertain about this person who seemed to hold at least a fragment of understanding of what he'd gone through.

"And I know you won't be satisfied if you killed Mary only to know it was never her, to begin with. Especially not now that we've told you so. Now, you're beginning to have doubts."

"Why?" He grumbled, taking a step towards Sam dangerously. "Who did this! Why would they do this!"

"Greed," Sam muttered. "That's all it was. A woman being greedy, and you know Mary. She'd never do that. If there's anything you two know about each other the most, it's that neither of you would hesitate if Mary had actually betrayed you. There wouldn't be any of this. No discussion, no fight. So, let's stop this and deal with the person who really betrayed you, Ajay."

He hesitated, before slowly lowering the gun as Mary did the same with equal pause—John waiting only a second longer before doing the same. Sam reached into her pocket—holding up a hand when Ajay stiffened—before handing him a card.

"He can help you with anything you need for now. I've already made arrangements. You don't even have to physically meet him if you don't want to, but he'll keep you updated on what happens."

Ajay slowly took the card. "And what if I want to deal with her?"

"You dealt with the people who tortured you. Did that honestly do anything to help?" Sam challenged and Ajay grit his teeth.

"She won't be punished if she has that authority."

"I've taken steps to ensure she's punished and if something happens and she isn't, then I'll contact you."

"Sam!" John complained and Sam sighed.

"Mind you, this is the woman who would have killed Mary, so do you really want to debate morals right now?"

John scowled as Sherlock took a step forward.

"What now?"

"Now, Ajay laves before the police show up and we head back to England to deal with the person who started this mess."

"What, that's it?" John questioned, rather surprised as Ajay sent Mary one last look before leaving—not having planned on even being alive, much less this odd turn of events.

Sam watched Ajay go before looking back at John. "It, um, actually went better than I expected. If we didn't convince him, I-I'm pretty sure someone would be dead."

"What was supposed to happen?" Mary asked, putting her gun away for now.

"T-The boy who was here would have sent the cops a-and Ajay would have been shot."

"What!"

"S-S-Sorry. I-I need to sit down." Sam stepped back and quickly sank into a chair, shaking badly and immediately bringing John and Sherlock to her side.

John took her wrist and checked her pulse. "Your heart rate is a bit high."

"N-No shit," Sam stuttered, Sherlock hovering over her shoulder uncertainly. "I-I just talked down a psychotic gunman who would have most d-definitely killed me i-if I didn't give him the answers he wanted."

"I thought you handled it pretty well, honestly," Mary commented, making Sam lift her gaze slightly.

"I-I was honestly t-talking straight out my ass."

Sherlock snorted at that, earning a glare from Sam "About the card too?"

"No. That was r-real. It was Mycroft's. I-I told him I'd send the ex-agent over. He could still prove useful if he joined MI6 or something, but M-Mycroft said he'd help him either way—mentally and with his living situation a-and such. I-I-I could have really done without t-the whole torture talk though."

John was the one who lightly pulled her hand away from her inner elbow as Mary spoke.

"Still… thank you, Sam, for helping him."

"Us," John corrected, giving her a small smile. "Though, you did have me worried there for a minute."

"A-Anything could go wrong," Sam muttered, taking Sherlock's offered hand up.

"Or it could go very right," he countered. "Stop selling yourself short, Sam or the plane trip back will be very depressing."

Sam winced, making to pull away, but Sherlock kept a firm grip on her hand, squeezing it in a small attempt to get her to understand that he too was worried. She did and Mary's words from earlier came back into her head.

"…just try it out. You might be surprised how he responds."

So, once they caught a cab she chose to lean into his side, tucked between him and the window. He glanced down at her, mildly surprised, before relaxing and slipping his arm around behind her to hold her close. He could still remember how his heart had leaped into his chest at the sight of the gun being aimed her way and the fear of what would have happened if it went off. So, for once, he didn't care about the other couple in the car and kissed the top of her head, holding her close and being grateful that—at least for now—she was safe.