Maxine

It was one of the best night's sleep I'd ever had. It was deep and the dreams that ran through my head were gentle, but vivid. I swam through rivers while being able to breathe under water; I flew through the sky and leapt across mountains.

When I finally woke, sunlight was peering through my window and given the angle, it was way past morning. I blinked and sat up by pushing my arms down while stretching at the same time. My fingers clenched around the sheets and I reveled in how much better my mind and body felt.

Then I wondered why the hell the boys let me sleep so late. Had nothing exciting happen? I hoped Sherlock didn't hit a dead end with the case.

After another stretch, I got out of bed and snagged my blue robe. Once it was over my arms and loosely wrapped around me, I headed out of my room and downstairs.

The sight that greeted me wasn't one I was prepared for.

Our flat was filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of books. There were books everywhere: on the kitchen table, in the chairs, on the sofa, scattered on the floor; I even saw some stacked on top of the fridge.

"Okay, what?" I breathed.

"Oh, you're awake."

I turned around to see Sherlock emerge from behind some boxes. He had an open book in one hand that he was scanning and several others under his opposite arm.

"Grab a book-—make sure there are two copies of it—go to page 15, look at the first word, tell me if it's something that might make sense with the cipher," Sherlock said, still not looking at me.

"What is happening?" I asked. "Where's John?"

"Mm, we found Soo Lin Yao last night," Sherlock said. "And John's at his new job." He spoke the second sentence with a hint of irritation.

"You found her?" I said. "Then why isn't she deciphering all this?"

"Because shortly after we found her, she was killed," Sherlock explained nonchalantly.

I blinked several times. "What did you guys do last night?"

Sherlock closed the book in his hand with a snap and tossed it aside. It landed on the floor with a loud flump near some others that appeared to have been discarded in the same manner. Finally, the detective lifted his green eyes to meet mine.

"Went to the museum again, talked to Adam, saw that another tea pot was shiny, guessed Soo Lin was coming back in the night to polish them," Sherlock said, his words firing out like bullets. "Waited for her, found her, talked to her. She's part of the Black Lotus, the group our acrobat friend is from. Tattoos of the Mark of the Tong signify them belonging to the group."

Sherlock opened the next book and paused with his rant for a moment as he leafed through the pages. He paused not too far in—page fifteen, I assumed—then closed it and tossed it aside.

"The Black Lotus is a crime syndicate running a smuggling operation here in London," the detective said, meeting my eyes. "It's more of a cult than anything. The acrobat was corrupted by one of the leaders at a young age—basically brainwashed. The leader is Shan; General Shan. Seems they like to keep a tight leash on their members."

I vividly recalled Miyako on my last night in Tokyo. My eyes lowered to glance around the room and I bit my lip. She still emailed me, and everything seemed to be all right. However, I couldn't help but feel responsible. Sure, she was alive, but what if they had pulled her back into doing work for them? What if she was trapped in her old life because of me?

"So then the acrobat comes in with a gun, shoots at us for a bit. All three of us got separated. When we found Soo Lin again, she'd been shot," Sherlock went on. "I still couldn't convince Dimmock that these kills are related, so I went to the morgue and found the same tattoos on Lukis and Van Coon to prove it. Now, all we have to go on is what little Soo Lin told us about the cipher."

He grabbed a book and tossed it toward me. I caught it out of reflex and stared at the cover. It was a copy of Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

"Hence, the book thing," Sherlock said. "Page fifteen, first word. We're specifically looking for books both Lukis and Van Coon owned; that's where these are all from." He grabbed another book from inside a box and tossed it.

I shook my head as I caught the second copy. "I doubt they used J. R. Tolkien as their guide book."

"Have to check all of them," Sherlock insisted.

I plopped down in a dining room chair. "Why didn't you guys wake me to come back to the museum with you?" I was a little bummed I missed a shootout.

Sherlock paused and looked up at me with a small tilt of his head. "You're really upset about this," he stated rather than asked.

"I wouldn't say 'upset' is the right word," I muttered as I opened the book and flipped to the fifteenth page. "'Gandalf.' Is this the code you're looking for?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched in something between annoyance and amusement. "Are you being snide?"

"Dunno what you're on about." I closed the book and tossed it aside. "Did you see our acrobat?"

"Not up close," Sherlock said after eyeing me for a moment longer, "but we know who he is. Zhi Zhu—the Spider. He's also Soo Lin's twin brother. Didn't catch his real name."

I raised my brows. "Her brother killed her?"

"He wanted her advice on antiquities," Sherlock explained. "One of the smugglers—Van Coon or Lukis—stole something from their last horde and sold it on auction under an anonymous seller."

"Okay..." I sighed. "So, what, the code that this Zhi Zh left—the numbers one and fifteen—it could be the item they stole?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "We didn't get much from Soo Lin before he arrived."

"Mmm, no, couldn't be the item..." I got to my feet and strode across the living room, carefully weaving through all the books. Each box was marked whether if came from Van Coon's or Lukis' place. I guessed all the discarded books were the ones already checked. I could see that there were some neat piles here and there on the table surfaces, but it was clear that as time went on, the boys got either too tired or too impatient to keep up the cleanliness.

I grabbed two boxes (one from each flat) and set them side-by-side. As I tore the tape free and opened them, I glanced back at Sherlock who was watching me curiously.

"If this Spider went to his sister to ask for her help finding the stolen item, he would have told her what it was, which would cause it to make sense for him to show her a symbol that translated to the item," I said. "However, both Van Coon and Lukis were shown the symbol as well, but only one of them could have stolen it. This leads the probable translation to be a threat and something they've used before in their organization to cause such immediate panic in those who saw it. Could be that they were either both involved, or the innocent one knew it would be pointless to try and explain his way out of anything... especially if the real one who did it was already dead..."

"You think it was Van Coon?" Sherlock asked.

I began to rummage in the books, searching for pairs of the same ones. "Think about it: say Lukis hears about Van Coon's death. The two of them hauled the same goods perhaps, or something like that. At first, maybe he just thinks Van Coon got what was coming to him for crossing this Black Lotus. But then he sees the cipher in a place they knew he would look."

I found a pair of identical books and opened the first one to the fifteenth page. The first word was "lacking" and it was mid-sentence too. I grunted and closed the book before tossing both aside.

"So, you're saying that Lukis would panic—he would know that the Black Lotus would most likely never listen to a word he says, and since Van Coon was already dead, there was no way for them to get the information out of him," Sherlock said.

I nodded. "These people appear to be a fearsome organization considering they just killed both suspects without questioning them. I mean, how do they figure they'll get their item back?"

Sherlock leaned against one of the stacks of boxes, his brow furrowed as he peered down at where I was sitting on the floor. I looked up to see those pale green eyes were sharp—sharp like when he figured something out.

"What?" I perked a brow at him.

"The way you talk about all this strikes me as odd," the detective admitted. "I know that you're smarter than the average person—you can even keep up with me at times—but the look on your face was saying something else. Like you were... recalling something. Nostalgia, maybe?"

I adverted my eyes from his before I thought about how guilty of a gesture that was.

"Ah..." Sherlock set his book down on top of a box and slowly approached me. "There's something to this you're not telling me."

"About the case?" I still wouldn't look directly at him. I was cursing myself for leaving my mobile upstairs. "Y'know I'd never do that."

"This isn't about the case; you don't hide anything when it's about someone else." Sherlock slowly squatted down beside me so that our eyes were level. When I started to reach into the boxes for more books, his hand snaked out and snatched my wrist. He used his other to grip my chin and force me to look at him. "I've been noticing you acting odd since we figured out what was really going on in this case and at first I thought it was just your exhaustion. But now, you're alert and bright-eyed and acting stranger than ever."

"How am I acting strange?" I demanded softly, trying to squirm away from him.

Sherlock's grip didn't loosen and his green eyes continued to pierce into mine. "Your words—they're quick and precise—you talk like you've seen this kind of thing before. When you heard about the Black Lotus being a crime syndicate, your gaze dropped and you bit your lip. Your eyes darted around. There are characteristics of someone recalling something traumatic."

He finally released me and leaned back. I didn't take my eyes from him this time, certain he'd grab my face again if I did.

"Thing is, Max, you adore danger. So this event you're remembering couldn't have been anything in the violent nature," Sherlock said softly. "No... it was something deeper—something emotional."

"Can you maybe—just once—ignore that side of you that needs to know everything and let this one go?" I asked him.

"No," Sherlock responded without a single second of hesitation. "And if you don't tell me, I'll just have to find out by other means." He smiled broadly.

I sighed and stretched out my legs in front of me. "If you tell John, I will do every single thing I know for certain annoys you for the next month," I warned.

Sherlock considered for a moment. "Why can't John know?" he queried. Then his face lit with realization. "Ah. You hate him worrying about you just like he hates you worrying about him. You two have an awful lot in common."

"I know," I said. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Deal," Sherlock agreed. There was a hunger in those green eyes of his that made me want to scoot a few inches away from him.

I took a deep breath and then began. "So after my first few months in Japan, I got bored with the routine I'd gotten into. So, I started trying to find things to do with my time, and I passed this same Aikido place on my way to work from my flat every day. I finally went inside, and that's where I met Kaida Miyako."

"Your mentor," Sherlock said.

"Sensei, but yeah, basically," I replied. "She didn't have a large class at the time, so she let me start. She's maybe twelve years older than me—John's age, I'd say. Tiny though, smaller than me, if you can believe it. But she could throw anyone on their ass with ease.

"So I started training under her, and oddly enough, we got on well. She was the only person in Japan I really connected to. I think she understood me more than I understood myself. This was before I figured out how much I liked... er... exciting circumstances. After about six months, we were at the point that we'd go get a drink together now and then, and I'd shown her my drawings and we'd go to the cinema every so often. She was my... friend."

"You don't make friends easy," Sherlock guessed flatly.

"Miyako was my first friend," I confessed. "Unless we're counting John. Thing is, growing up I had people I would spend time with, but I never... connected with them like I did with Miyako. She meant something to me—I cared about how she thought of me and how she was doing."

"So what happened with her?" Sherlock prompted as he got into a more comfortable position sitting on the floor beside me.

"Well, one day, I noticed something a bit off about her left hand," I said. "See, Miyako almost always wore a glove on that hand. She claimed it was a lucky charm and she was sentimental about it, so I didn't pester her. But when I saw her take it off to wash her hands, I saw that the pinky was missing the top end—y'know, where the first knuckle is."

Sherlock's eyes instantly widened with new understanding. "Yakuza. Really? No, it makes perfect sense... That's why you're so invested in this case—why you were willing to just keep going no matter how tired you were... It's another asian crime syndicate—it reminds you of it."

"Miyako had once been part of the Inagawa-kai clan," I explained. "She started off smuggling drugs, but eventually moved up to protection detail. She was a quick study when it came to combat and a lot of people underestimated her because of her size. She would protect other members during jobs or go beat someone to near-death to send a message."

"Sounds like an intricate resume," Sherlock murmured.

"Miyako hated it," I said. "She eventually bought her way out of it and moved away to start a fresh life. For a while, she managed to do it."

"Then what happened?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, when Miyako told me about her past, I talked about how Aikido was normally a passive combat—it's designed to not hurt the assailant badly. Miyako told me how she had to keep fighting somehow; she was too worried to fall out of shape. And she still practiced and knew the art of lethal fighting as well. To my surprise, she offered to teach me." I shook my head, still unable to believe how I didn't see Miyako's true motives back then.

Sherlock's face twitched with curiosity. "She... used you. She betrayed you somehow."

"I dunno if betrayed is the right word," I said. "Initially, Miyako was intending to train me for more... nefarious purposes. She'd been doing it with a select few of her students for the past decade."

"Nefarious purposes being...?" Sherlock prompted.

"To try and assassinate key members of the Inagawa-kai clan," I replied with a small shrug.

Sherlock blinked several times and repositioned so he could face me without having to turn his head. "She was training you to be an assassin?"

"It sounds really outrageous, saying it out loud..." I realized with a frown crossing my face.

Sherlock let out a small scoff of disbelief and shook his head. "No, it makes perfect sense... the way you handle that dagger of yours... how you're never concerned to face off against a combatant. You didn't hesitate when Zhi Zhu had hold of me back at Soo Lin's flat and considering how quickly you got him off of me..."

"Miyako roped me in by stating that in some cases, attackers were too dangerous to keep at bay with just Aikido," I said. "Sometimes, it required a more... lethal approach to keep them away. Even with the more intensive training, she did teach me how to hold back just before a potentially fatal attack."

"Her theory you mentioned," Sherlock said. He slowly nodded, his gaze darting around the room as if he were picking up pieces of a puzzle with them and putting it all together. "So she lures you in with this kind of training after mentioning the Yakuza and how much of a danger they were in Japan. Especially Tokyo, that's where the Inagawa-kai syndicate resides... and you found the prospect of knowing how to defend yourself thrilling."

I shrugged helplessly. "I didn't quite understand why. It was the first real spark I'd ever really felt. It was like the very mention of dangers that could take my life is what it took to make me feel like I had one—like I was alive. And, I won't lie... with the training to defend myself, it gave me an excuse to go to more dangerous parts of Japan."

"You would go hoping to get mugged or something?" Sherlock asked.

I nodded. "Didn't realize it at the time, but yeah. Too bad getting robbed in Japan is very unlikely, especially if you look like a tourist."

Sherlock exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "So then, what happened? What caused you to leave?"

"The Inagawa-kai clan tracked Miyako down," I said. "They found out that the assassins they'd been dealing with were all her students. She's send three of them at the families; two of them died after killing a few of the clan, but the last one they caught alive. Aoi, was his name—er, well, his nickname. Miyako gave us all different names to go by in class and never kept records of our actual identities... I thought it was some weird thing to do with the culture at first, but, well... It was for something else entirely. Anyway, Aoi, he was in the Aikido class with me—but I had no clue he was getting special training like I was. Aoi was... he was wrong. He enjoyed the prospect of violence too much; not the potential danger of it, but causing harm to others. I never understood what he was doing in Aikido because I could read it on his face the first time we sparred."

"Psychopath? Sadist?" Sherlock said.

"Both, probably," I muttered. "Miyako didn't care for him too much, but apparently he was skilled in fighting or she'd never take him as a private student. When the Inagawa-kai clan caught him, he spilled everything. Where Miyako was—her new alias, her job, and... her last remaining student that she was fond of."

"You," Sherlock guessed.

I nodded. "They sent Miyako a message along with the top joint of Aoi's pinky finger. They knew she didn't care about him, but they basically threatened that if she didn't stop what she was doing... I'd receive a far worse fate."

"Is this when she told you?" Sherlock asked. "That you were one of her 'assassins?'"

"Yeah," I said with a long sigh. "She told me that though that was her initial intention for me, she'd decided against sending me after the family since we became friends. That was why she took Aoi as another student. She told me that I had to leave Japan—go back home since I could work from here. After all, they never figured out my identity. I still had time to get away..."

"You think that they forced her to start working with them again," Sherlock said softly. "That it was like what Zhi Zhu tried to do with Soo Lin."

I nodded and shook my head. "If I hadn't pressed—if it wasn't for me—"

"She could be dead," Sherlock interjected. "You showing up caused a lull in her sending all these students after one of the notorious crime syndicates in the world. They would have found out eventually and because they knew that she had attachment to you, they decided to use that instead of jumping to killing her."

"I guess so," I said. "But—"

Sherlock gripped my shoulder, stopping me mid-sentence.

"Max," he said sternly. "Take if from someone who can see things from every possible angle. You did everything you could, and you did everything right. The Yakuza isn't an organization you can just take on."

"D'you think I could convince Miyako to come here?" I asked. "Perhaps she's be safer in London."

"You saw how easily a Chinese crime ring was able to take out three of their smugglers," Sherlock murmured. "Soo Lin left them behind in China, and they still tracked her down here."

"It's really annoying not being able to do anything about it," I admitted. "We still email, so at least I know she's okay, but all the same..."

Sherlock stared into my eyes for a moment as his lips pursed into a thin line. I could tell he was wrestling with something.

"What?" I said.

"Er, nothing..." His hand slipped from my shoulder and he got to his feet.

I frowned as I stood up as well. The detective walked a few paces away, seeming intent on diving into another box of books, but then he abruptly spun around and took two long strides to cover the distance between us. He stood gazing down at me, still with that look of conflict haunting his expression.

"You need to stop emailing her." Sherlock's words came out so fast I barely understood them.

"Sorry?" I spluttered.

"Listen to me, Max," Sherlock gripped my upper arms and stared at me as intensely as he had stared at John back at the skate park. "I can see how much Miyako means to you, but what you're doing is terribly dangerous. If the Inagawa-kai clan knows Miyako still cares about you, just because you're in London doesn't mean they won't attempt to get at you to get to her. By emailing her, you could leave a digital trail leading them directly to our local IP address, and therefore our physical address. All it would take is for them to take her computer, her email log-in information, and send you an email with a virus attached to it. It might not even be an obvious virus either—you might not see a single change in your computer's functions and it could be stealing information of your current location."

I couldn't help but just blink at him for a few seconds as I tried to process everything he said. He's spoken so fast—so deliberately—it was like when he was analyzing or... or when he awkwardly told John he wasn't interested in dating him the first time the three of us ate together while spying on Jeff Hope.

Before I could answer, Sherlock's eyes suddenly lit with concern and he lowered his face down and even closer to mine.

"Have any of her recent messages seemed off?" he asked. "Did you notice anything strange—any code she might leave only for you that would indicate that it wasn't her or she was being forced to write it?"

"N-no," I stammered. "Sherlock—"

"I need to see your laptop," the detective insisted.

"Sherlock, what about the case?" I asked.

Sherlock released me and started heading toward the stairs. "It won't take me long to search your computer for viruses."

"Wait!" I called, scrambling to follow him. "Sherlock, Miyako was certain that coming to London would keep me safe! And she didn't have a problem with emailing! They don't know who I am!"

Sherlock reached the top landing and was already striding toward my door. I went into a sprint so I could clasp my hand over his when it gripped the knob.

"Think about it," I pressed. "Why would she think it was safe to email me if it wasn't? She worked with these people for years—she knows how they tick—some of her students even took out some key members!"

Sherlock didn't even blink. "She could be under the impression that she can keep away from them. I'm guessing she immediately went into hiding after you left and hopefully still is. But if anyone from her old clan found her, then they have a direct line to you."

"If they have her then they don't need me," I said. "Even if she got caught, they would kill her—"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "No, they would have killed her after finding Aoi if they wanted her dead. Instead they used you as a threat to keep her in line. She is responsible for the deaths of some of their key members, as you said. Why wouldn't they want her dead? Because they need her for something. And if you're the only person that she cares about enough to try and shelter from the Yakuza, then you're their ticket to controlling her."

Sherlock put a hand to my collar bone and firmly pushed me away from him, but not hard enough to cause me harm.

"You're too close to this Max," Sherlock said. "It's when you first discovered your true self and Miyako is the one who helped you. You don't want to let that go, and that's understandable. But you need to look at all of this, really look. I know you can, you're the smartest woman I've met."

With that, he glanced over me one more time before entering my room.

I tried to wrap my head around everything Sherlock told me on top of the compliment he'd dropped. Being called the smartest woman he'd ever met carried a hefty weight considering the type of man the detective was. I swallowed and stepped into the room after him.

My bedroom consisted of two parts: one third was the double bed with the soft green sheets and blankets along with a wooden dresser and mirror, and the other two thirds was my studio. The walls were covered in my story-boarding and random panels of my manga that I was trying to put into proper order. There were notes tacked here and there, some in-depth and specific, others as vague as "Kaz likes pudding."

My desk was large and had a portion that could tilt to allow easier drawing. There were compartments attached to the back of it with slots that held various art supplies and reference books. There were pencils scattered around and several crumpled balls of paper were overflowing from the small wired bin near the door.

I didn't like anyone being in my studio. It felt to me like it was allowing someone to step into a portion of my soul. John and Sherlock both knew that I didn't enjoy them coming fully into my room even when it wasn't when I was working. However, in that moment, Sherlock didn't seem to care in the least as he strode purposefully across the soft beige carpet and snagged my laptop from where it had been sitting at the end of my bed. He then turned and sat down on the edge of the mattress and flipped up the computer's lid.

"Password," he demanded.

"I'm not telling you that," I said.

"Doesn't matter, it'll just take me a few more minutes is all." Sherlock began typing away on the keyboard.

"Sherlock, stop this," I pleaded.

"I just gave you all the reasons why I can't," Sherlock replied. "Surely you can see the logic in this Max."

I stood in front of him as he kept typing. I hadn't thought about any of the things he'd mentioned before—not once. Was it true that I was just too close to this matter to look at it properly? Was I so attached to Miyako and communicating with her that I'd turned a blind eye to the possibility of the Inagawa-kai clan tracking me down here? Miyako had never told me why they were after her, and Sherlock had a point that it was weird she wasn't killed.

"Damn," I breathed.

Sherlock glanced up at me with a perked brow, waiting.

"Give it to me, I'll type it in," I said, reaching down and grabbing the computer.

While still leaving it on Sherlock's lap, I crouched down and typed in my password. Once the system began booting up, I turned it back around to face him.

As Sherlock promised, he only took a few minutes before he exhaled a long breath and closed the laptop's lid.

"You're clean," he said.

"I told you—" I began.

"This does not mean that what I said isn't true," Sherlock interrupted. He glared at me from beneath those long lashes of his. "You can send your friend one last email: tell her it's too dangerous for you to keep in contact with her."

I took a small step back from him. "You're acting like you have all the say in this."

Sherlock put my laptop aside and stood up from the bed. I was uncomfortably aware of how much taller than me he was. I tried to take another step back, but he caught me by the arm.

"This isn't just your life, Maxine," he said in a dangerously low voice. I was shocked he used my full name. "You share this flat with two other people, including your own brother. If those kind of people come here for you, there's no guaranteeing that we won't be caught in the crossfire."

The detective had a point, much to my dismay. I adverted my gaze from him and jerked free from his grip; he didn't try to grab me again. I loosed a long exhale through my nostrils and shook my head.

"I'm... I didn't expect this from myself," I muttered.

"The emotional attachment? No, neither did I," Sherlock said, his voice equally hushed.

In that moment, I noticed that I wasn't certain if he meant the emotional attachment I had for Miyako, or perhaps some emotional attachment Sherlock had for me. I raised my head to see he was still peering down at me as if I were some complex problem he was trying to solve.

"I'll send the email," I promised.

"And do not open any others she sends your way," Sherlock said. "No matter what the subject line—no matter how much you might think it's really her."

"Sure," I said with a tight nod.

"It might be wise to delete that email address of yours all together," Sherlock added. "Switch any accounts you have linked to it over to a new one from a different site. You can use the domain from my website if you like."

He began to leave my room and I was a bit surprised by how... odd I felt. There was a storm raging within me of icy dismay about not being able to talk to Miyako anymore—to make sure she was safe; then along with it was a strange warmth that I wasn't familiar with stemming from Sherlock's actions. Was he really just so determined to keep everyone in the flat safe or...

"Sherlock," I suddenly said.

The detective paused in my doorway and glanced back with one brow raised. "We need to get back to the books, Max," he said. I was oddly happy he was using my nickname again.

"Downstairs... when I first told you about all of this... the second I mentioned emailing Miyako, you knew this was a threat," I said while folding my arms. "You made this face and then almost didn't tell me to stop."

"Er, well, I guess I was still putting all the pieces—" Sherlock began.

"Mm, it's not like you, not at all," I interjected. "You don't take long to figure something out, and even if you were still realizing how dangerous it was, you wouldn't have tried to dismiss it, you would have told me to be quiet or something equally brash and abrupt."

"I don't—" Sherlock tried again, turning to fully face my now.

"So why did you hesitate? Why did you try and say it was nothing at first, then cave and tell me to stop?" I went on. "One thing that is nice about spending the last few months with you, is that I now know just how much we have in common, Sherlock. You were actually thinking about letting me continue and potentially leading some of the Inagawa-kai clan here so it could be a brand new case for you. More bad guys to chase and catch."

Sherlock's mouth clamped shut now; I was astonished that he actually looked a bit sheepish. I had just pulled a Sherlock on Sherlock.

"Yes, well... as I told you, it would have been irresponsible, it's more than just your life and I suppose... a new case for me," the detective said while avoiding my eyes. "John would have shot me at least in the leg if he found out I willingly allowed you to put yourself in danger... and besides, I promised I wouldn't tell him and if Inagawa-kai clan members showed up on our doorstep that might give it away."

I tilted my head. "We're friends, aren't we?" I realized out loud.

Sherlock's eyes finally flicked back to mine. "I did introduce you to Sebastian as my friends, you and your brother."

"Yeah, but that was to annoy him," I replied. "He was a bully back in uni to you, so throwing the fact that you have companions at him was fun."

"Sure it was, but I... I still meant it," Sherlock said indignantly. "Is it so hard to believe I can make friends?"

"When we first told you about Mycroft abducting us, you were shocked when I called him a friend of yours," I pointed out.

Sherlock shrugged in amendment.

"I guess I'm just... honored," I said with a small grin. "To be a friend of the great Sherlock Holmes."

"Don't let it go to your head," Sherlock warned while pointing at me. Then he gestured for me to follow him. "C'mon. Books to go through."