Sherlock

I stepped back into 221B's living room after the sun had already set and it was close to midnight. John was just stepping out of the kitchen, stirring a drink. We hadn't really spoken since everything happened and I had yet to tell him about how Maxine agreed to be my girlfriend.

"Where is it now?" John asked, meaning the phone, no doubt.

"Where no-one will look," I assured, a bit relieved he didn't instantly ask about Maxine.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures," John mused.

"Yes, it is," I confirmed with a tight nod.

"So, she's alive then," John murmured, meeting my eyes. "How are we feeling about that?"

I adverted my gaze and swallowed painfully as I pulled my coat off. I abruptly got the urge to attempt what Maxine always did when she wanted to avoid verbal conflict and take out my mobile to tinker with it.

"Was she right?" John pressed.

When I turned my head, his gaze was burrowing into me. I shifted uncomfortably on the spot, worrying the fabric of my shirt with my fingers.

"The traditional thing is to ask for permission first, isn't it?" I murmured. "Typically from the father, but in this case... you."

John's mouth stretched into a tight line. He let a long exhale through his nose and stared at his socked feet for a moment. I watched his thumb rub over his fingers as he decided his next move.

"I... I suppose in some ways, you're good for her," John finally said. "You did manage to bring her out of her box."

John looked up at me again and his expression grew determined and stern. I met his eyes with as much calmness as I could muster, but I had to admit, this was terribly uncomfortable.

"But I also know how cruel you can be at times," John said. "With Molly, for instance. Maddie isn't like other women, Sherlock. If you shatter her, I don't know if the pieces would ever go back together, do you understand me?"

I took a few steps toward him, letting my own expression grow serious.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt her," I promised in a whisper.

John searched my face, his brows lowered skeptically. "Maybe not on purpose. Do you even know if Maddie feels the same way? If she fancied anyone, it would be you, but I'm not sure she's capable—"

"She agreed to be my girlfriend earlier today," I said softly, interrupting him.

John blinked and took a step back, clearly stunned. I furrowed my brow sheepishly as I waited for his response. I knew if I didn't tell him straight away that he'd be livid.

"She... she did?" he said.

I nodded. "Yes. We're... dating now."

John turned away from me putting his drink on the dining table before pacing for a few seconds while running his hands through his hair. After a moment, he stopped and faced me again. He pointed at me, almost accusingly.

"Did something happen on Christmas Eve?" he demanded.

I cleared my throat awkwardly and John's expression twisted in rising anger.

"Nothing serious!" I assured him, raising my hands in surrender. "She came to my room and we talked... and... I kissed her."

John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a long moment, letting out a sharp breath through his lips.

"Let me get this straight..." He lowered his hands and glared at me. "You kissed my drunk sister."

I suddenly saw the reason behind John's anger. I lifted my arms again, this time pleadingly.

"No-no-no, it wasn't like that... it..." I sighed and put my hands on the dining table to lean on it. "She was... telling me about her own feelings. I... I had a short lapse in self-control."

"Dear God," John breathed, shaking his head. "You took advantage of her!"

"No!" I insisted. "No. Why-why would she be willing to date me if she saw it like that?"

"She doesn't know better!" John exclaimed. "Maddie has never dated in her life—she's never even fancied anyone before! Not celebrities, not cute middle school boys, no-one! She doesn't understand what's right and what's wrong with this thing!"

"John, I promise you, I would never do anything to Max without her consent," I said sincerely. "You have to believe that. She's important to me; so are you."

John took a few deep breaths, still glaring at me. Finally he waved me off and plopped down in a chair by the dining table.

"It's not like I can tell Maddie not to date you... She's a grown woman who can make her own choices," John muttered. "This... this will take me some time to get used to."

"Thank you," I said, knowing this was John's way of giving his blessing.

Maxine came down the stairs at that point. She moved slowly and held the railing tightly. She was already in her pajamas—big T-shirt and baggy pajama pants. She looked between John and me and grimaced.

"I take it you know?" she asked her brother.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you kissed him," John said, snatching up his drink and heading for his chair.

"I didn't—" Maxine began but stopped. Perhaps she realized that telling John she didn't remember until today wasn't the best idea. She cleared her throat. "I didn't think that... you were ready to know."

John grunted in irritation.

"He thinks I took advantage of you," I whispered to her.

"What? No!" Maxine went over to John as he sat in his chair. "John, I kissed him back."

"You were drunk," John said.

"Yes, but now I'm sober and don't regret it," Maxine said.

"Look, I know that I can't tell you who to date but..." John sighed heavily. "Did it have to be him?"

"Of course," Maxine replied. "It couldn't be anyone but him."

"Can you at least stop this ridiculous act until—or rather if—I... mess up?" I asked. "You said yourself that you can't tell Max who to date."

John finally met my eyes. "It just had to be you didn't it?" he sighed, shaking his head.

"You're the one who told Sebastian we were together on that banker case," I reminded him.

"Ugh." John ran his hands through his hair. "Fine. Fine. Just... I'll try, all right?"

"That's all I'm asking," I replied.

Maxine smiled slyly at her brother. "I never gave you trouble for all of your girlfriends."

"Yes, well..." John shook his head. "Never mind. Let's just celebrate this New Year, shall we?"

"Mm, more sake?" Maxine said as she spotted the bottle in the kitchen. "Not sure if my stomach is ready for it."

"Then save it," I suggested. "Try some wine."

Maxine passed me a grin and headed into the kitchen. "If it isn't too terribly dry, then certainly."

"It's not my fault you only like sweet things," John countered.

"Have you tasted sake?" Maxine replied.

John rolled his eyes.

I gave a small chuckle and got to my feet, heading into the kitchen to get some wine for myself. Once we all had a drink, we reconvened to the living room—John and I sitting in our chairs while Maxine sat on the arm of my seat. John's only sign of disapproval was the slight twinge in his brow, but he managed to hold his tongue and look away.

"Are the pencils working out?" I asked Maxine.

"Oh, yes," Maxine said, nodding enthusiastically. "Quite well. The erasers too."

For Maxine's Christmas gift, I'd gotten her some of the finest sketching pencils I could find, as well as some erasers that were thorough enough to make marks on any paper vanish without a trace. I'd also gotten her a stocking cap that was the same shade of yellow as her scarf with a small embroidered patch that bore the katakana symbol that stood for art. She'd been delighted when she'd opened the gift, and even rewarded me with a kiss. It was far better than our first one—after all, she didn't shove me away to vomit.

In the distance, Big Ben began to toll the hour. I glanced toward Maxine, suddenly feeling too warm in my skin. I wasn't typically one for tradition, but this was another excuse to kiss her. The only issue was, we'd never kissed in front of John—in fact, we hadn't had a second kiss at all.

"Oh, go on," John sighed when he spotted me staring at his sister.

"What?" Maxine asked, blinking as she looked between John and me.

I gently grasped her chin to turn her toward me. Her steel-blue eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. I could feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips that were against her throat. I drew her closer to me and pressed my lips to hers. It wasn't as... involved as our previous kiss, but it was still warm and passionate. I reveled in the sheer weightlessness that flooded me. It was the best high I'd ever had.

After a moment, we separated and Maxine smiled at me with a small satisfied sigh. I felt the urge to draw her into me once more, but John cleared his throat loudly the moment I started to lean toward his sister again.

"Happy New Year, John," I said, straightening up and looking over at him.

John glanced between us and then he gave us a small grin that seemed both reluctant and genuinely cheerful.

"Happy New Year," he replied.

I picked up my violin from beside my chair and the new bow Maxine had gifted me. I got to my feet and began to play Auld Lang Syne with fluid, easy motions. It was a song I'd memorized a long time ago. Maxine took over my chair and smiled at John before watching me play. I couldn't help but let a small smile arrest my lips as I ran the bow over the strings.

It was a new year and a new side of me had come bursting out in order to be close with Maxine. I made a silent vow to myself that I would ensure it worked—Maxine and me as well as my friendship with John. Mycroft had told me that compassion was a weakness, but all that did was spur me to prove him wrong. How could anything that felt this divine be a mistake? How could it be wrong?

There was a part of me—deep, deep down—that whispered words of warning in my ear. It talked about my line of work and the dangers it presented. It talked about how Maxine and John could easily be hurt just by being near me, let alone being my best friend and girlfriend. It talked about how hollow I would become if something ever happened.

But I decided to keep playing my violin, letting the music consume me.

Irene

Big Ben tolled the New Year moments ago. I walked down the street, wrapping my coat closer around myself as I passed St Paul's Cathedral. My breath loosed a curling trail of vapor into the air from the cold. Over and over, I replayed my conversation with John Watson. Over and over, I saw Sherlock Holmes' vague outline turn and walk swiftly away when I spoke the truth—when I told John that Sherlock had feelings for Maxine and not me.

It hurt. I didn't expect it to, but the throb in my chest and gut was undeniable. Somewhere along the line, I'd fallen for the detective. However, I shoved the emotion away. I had enjoyed Maxine Watson as well—such a petite, naive thing, yet incredibly clever in her own right. I certainly wouldn't have minded kissing that cute freckled face of hers, or holding her slender hips against mine.

How was it that I somehow managed to grow fond over two different people at the same time and they could see no-one but each other.

"Pathetic," I whispered to myself.

Then, over the clacking of my heels on the sidewalk, I heard my mobile trill a text alert. Pausing, I reached into my bag and checked it.

Happy New Year

SH

A smile arrested my lips, but then another text came through, one from a number I didn't recognize. I opened it, frowning with curiosity.

Thank you.

MW

A small breath escaped my lips, letting a cloud of fog drift lazily up into the winter air. Maxine... he'd told her—or perhaps John had—and she felt the need to...

I closed my eyes for a moment, smiling again. The clever detective and his two assistants... Had I somehow managed to make a connection with them? Had I escaped the cage I'd build around myself and still held onto some of my humanity? After letting out one last exhale, I put the phone back in my bag and kept walking down the street.

Maxine

I leaned over Sherlock to stare at the computer screen with him. Displayed on the monitor was an X-ray that showed the interior parts of a mobile phone. I didn't really have any clue what we were looking for, but just being near him was enough for me. I had one hand on his shoulder while my face was almost right next to his—our cheeks mere millimeters apart.

It was a couple of days into the new year, and Sherlock had been eager to get back to figuring out how to unlock the secrets Irene's phone held. I was flattered he'd managed to hold off for a few days to spend with me. We had gone to eat at the same restaurant we ate at during the Study in Pink case. This time, we didn't have to tell the owner that we weren't a couple, though we were both rather flustered by the flowers and tea light candles they brought. Dating was still very new to us.

"I'll be honest," I said. "I'm not very savvy with the hardware of technology."

"That's quite all right," Sherlock replied. "I can teach you, but not now. I have to think about this one—focus."

"Of course," I said with a small breath of amusement.

"Did you end up texting her?" Sherlock asked.

I blinked and turned my head to look at him. "How did you...?"

"I know when someone sneaks a look at my mobile," Sherlock replied. "John told you about his conversation with her, then?"

I nodded sheepishly. "I... I didn't realize that she was sort of... rooting for us to..."

"She is a bizarre woman," Sherlock said softly, still staring at the screen. "But next time, ask before you use my mobile, won't you?"

"Why? You never ask to use mine or John's things," I countered.

"Well, that's because you two tend to be gone or busy when I need them," Sherlock said.

I laughed, shaking my head at his absurdity.

"Oh, morning Sherlock, Maxine."

I blinked and turned to see Molly entering the room. I swallowed nervously, my body tensing up. I had been dreading when Sherlock told Molly that I was in a relationship with him. I figured it would lead to some conflict I would want nothing to do with. I remembered hearing girls in high school arguing over boys and how ridiculous it could get. One time, two girls got into a physical brawl in the center hall. There was pulled hair and blood on the carpet after they'd been hauled off to the principle's office.

"Morning," Sherlock replied calmly.

I shot him a surprised glance. How could he be so nonchalant? Didn't he realize how much Molly fancied him?

Molly came around and looked at the screen as I took a small step back from Sherlock, eager to prolong the conversation about us being a couple as long as possible.

"Is that a phone?" Molly asked, gesturing to the screen.

"It's a camera phone," Sherlock clarified.

"And you're X-raying it?" Molly looked completely confused.

"Yes, I am," Sherlock replied, still scanning the image with his eyes.

"Whose phone is it?" Molly inquired.

"A woman's," Sherlock said.

"Your girlfriend's?" Molly said the word with a great deal of dread and hesitation.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?" Sherlock said incredulously, still staring at the monitor.

"Well, we all do silly things," Molly replied with a nervous laugh.

"Yes." Sherlock stared at the X-ray for a few more seconds before lifting his head and looking over at Molly. "They do, don't they? Very silly."

Molly looked even more confused now, but I looked back at the phone, pursing my lips in thought.

"She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games," Sherlock said, digging into his pocket.

"She does?" Molly's brow furrowed, her expression perplexed.

Sherlock pulled out Irene's camera phone and typed "221B" into the four-character password slot. It gave him a harsh beep and flashed a warning message: WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING. Sighing in exasperation, Sherlock shoved the phone back into his pocket, shaking his head.

"You might be onto something," I told him, gripping his arm gently. "She wouldn't choose something random. She would go for something direct, something that would possibly irritate you when she gets it back and reveals the passcode."

"Sounds like her doesn't it?" Sherlock said, looking back at the X-ray.

Molly was staring at my hand on Sherlock's forearm. I cleared my throat awkwardly and retracted it, turning my attention to the computer monitor. "So... you can't just extract the memory chip by taking it apart?"

"No," Sherlock said. "She's rigged it. Look here..." He reached up and pointed at four different spots on the screen where there were strange round capsules of some kind. "These are set to burst should there be any attempt to open the phone's casing. I'm guessing they're full of either acid or a small amount of explosive. If someone tries to open this..."

"It'll burn the hard drive," I murmured.

"We'll need to figure out the passcode," Sherlock said, exiting the X-ray's window and turning off the computer. "Where to for lunch, then?"

"Er..." I glanced warily at Molly for a moment before answering. "Chinese?"

Sherlock gave me an exasperated look. "We had that yesterday."

"It's hardly my fault that their sweet and sour chicken is so good," I replied.

Molly glanced between us, and to my horror, I could see the realization slowly flooding her eyes. She blinked rapidly and took a small step backward, her breath coming in a bit shaky.

"You-you two seem to be spending a lot of time together," she stammered.

"Yes, well, that's what couples are meant to do aren't they?" Sherlock said flatly as he put on his coat.

Molly's gaze dropped and her entire body stiffened. Her expression was crushed and her eyes began to shimmer. Terrified of the sheer awkwardness of it, I quickly grabbed her arm and gestured with my free hand toward the desk that she normally sat at.

"I left your Christmas gift there," I told her, "since our party got interrupted by a dead body."

"O-oh," Molly said shakily, managing to raise her eyes toward the present sat on her desk with blue wrapping paper and a white bow. "Thank you, Maxine."

She began to walk over to it, clearly eager to keep her face from being seen. Sherlock, completely oblivious, put on his scarf and gestured toward the door for us to leave. I hastily exited the lab, not wanting to hear any possible sounds of anguish from Molly.

As we exited St Bart's Hospital, I glanced at Sherlock with a small frown. We still didn't do much of the normal couple things like holding hands as we walked or show affection toward one another in public. We had issues with that even when we were alone.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You do know that Molly fancies you," I said. "You have to—no-one is that oblivious, especially you."

Sherlock loosed a long exhale through his nose. "Yes, I know that she... is fond of me," he said. "That's why I invited you here. Think of it like a bandaid... no sense in letting her wonder."

"You've been cruel to her in the past," I reminded him.

"Cruel?" Sherlock met my eyes. "According to who—John? Surely you can see that I've done everything in her best interest. When she was dating Jim—Moriarty—he successfully tricked me into thinking he preferred men, and even though that wasn't the case, it's certainly good she called it off early. She was being used by him to get closer to me."

"That's only one example," I said. "What about Christmas?"

"I apologized," Sherlock argued.

I sighed heavily. "It's not that simple with people. Sorry should indicate you'll never do it again."

"I doubt she'll go through getting me such a nicely wrapped gift next Christmas," Sherlock replied.

"I mean hurting her in general, Sherlock," I said. "That includes flirting with her to get your way in the lab or to get her to do favors for you."

"I don't flirt with her," Sherlock said.

I gave him a harsh look.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "All right, I... inflate her ego to soften her up. It's important for my work."

"I'm sure if you just ask normally she'll still help you," I said. "This toying is only making it worse for her."

"Since when do you care so much about what someone else is feeling?" Sherlock asked.

"John taught me a lot while I was growing up," I explained. "What's right, what's wrong, what polite, what's rude..."

Sherlock huffed in frustration and rolled his eyes, but after a moment he glanced over at me with a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

"You're trying to avoid a confrontation with her," he said.

I immediately adverted my gaze. "Well, it's rather awkward now, isn't it?"

Sherlock grinned in amusement and shook his head. "Practically a trained assassin and you want to avoid a row."

I shoved him lightly and he chuckled, taking the opportunity to snatch my hand and hold it in his own as we walked toward the main road to hail a cab.

The next few months went by in what seemed like a blur. Sherlock and I continued to date and grew less and less awkward around each other. John was even slowly coming around to it and even announced it on his blog, which delighted several readers while crushing some others who either fancied Sherlock, fancied me (which astonished me completely), or fancied Sherlock and John together.

It was strange to feel content for such a long period of time. We had a few cases here and there, but nothing spectacular. Meanwhile, Sherlock still couldn't figure out Irene's camera phone. He wrote down password ideas all the time, but he didn't dare try any with so few attempts remaining.

"It would have to make complete and total sense," he told me, "otherwise I'm not going to risk it."

Irene hadn't texted either of us since New Years but I was certain it wasn't the last we'd hear of her. She wasn't that type of woman. She would want her phone back eventually and who knew what means she'd go through to get it. Sure, she sort of helped Sherlock and I hook up, but that didn't mean she was our friend.

Of course, the day that Irene Adler finally didn't return wasn't one I enjoyed.

"New case," John said as Sherlock and I stepped into the living room, having just gone out to eat.

"Oh?" Sherlock perked a brow.

"Yeah, in your bed," John said, gesturing warily toward Sherlock's bedroom.

"In my...?" Sherlock began, clearly confused.

However, when he looked into his bedroom, he sighed as if he should have known. Irene Adler was nestled under his sheets, sleeping.

"Really?" I muttered, my brow twitching somewhat.

I hadn't been in that bed since Christmas, but that didn't mean I enjoyed seeing another woman—especially this woman—snuggled up in it. Sherlock made to walk into the room, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back to walk in first. He chuckled and waited by the door.

"Never pegged you as the jealous type," he said.

"She's not in my bed, she's not in John's bed," I told him as I walked to his bed's side. "So clearly..."

Sherlock just chuckled again.

I reached over and gripped Irene's shoulder to give her a gentle shake. She moaned and stretched, lifting her arms high above her head and exposing her chest which was mercifully in a bra. When she blinked her long-lashed eyes open and spotted me, she smiled provocatively.

"Not who I was expecting, but all the same..." Irene murmured sleepily. "Care to join me?"

"What are you doing here?" I sighed in exasperation.

"Well, I have a case for the detective," Irene replied, sitting up in the bed.

"Okay, but why are you in Sherlock's bed?" I demanded in a low tone.

"Touchy!" Irene smirked. "The first bed was too hard, the second too soft, but this one was just right."

"Please tell me you weren't in my bed." I ran a hand over my face.

"We can go back upstairs if you prefer," Irene purred.

"Okay!" I turned around and marched out of the room. "I'm done here."

Sherlock's amusement seemed to have dissipated. Apparently he didn't like Irene flirting with me just as much as I didn't like her flirting with him.

"You best put something appropriate on," he said, his voice a touch tight. "I have dressing gowns in that wardrobe."

"Think I'll freshen up first," Irene said. She hopped out of the bed, showing off her matching lacy set of underwear. I heard John choke on his own spit behind me.

Sherlock was unfazed by Irene's show. He merely gestured with his head toward the bathroom. "By all means."

Sherlock, John, and I retreated to the living room as Irene went to take a shower. It was all a show, I knew that and I knew Sherlock wasn't interested in her, but all the same I was incredibly uncomfortable.

"She's here for the phone," I said, plopping down in Sherlock's chair, as he went to pacing.

"Clearly," Sherlock said.

"But why now?" John asked.

"Danger, most likely," Sherlock replied. "She said that the phone was her insurance."

"So someone's after her," I said.

John sat in his chair and pursed his lips. "Hell of an entrance."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

"You think she's really trying to get with Sherlock still?" John said. "C'mon, she saw that you two were a thing before you even were!"

"Sure, but excuse me while I don't trust a woman who's stabbed me in the neck with a needle and faked her own death so well it convinced Sherlock," I said, gesturing to the detective.

"I would have figured it out," Sherlock said defensively.

After a few minutes, Irene came out into the living room, her hair loose and damp. She'd taken one of Sherlock's dressing gowns as asked and went to sit down on the sofa. She smiled at each of them in turn and her eyes promised... something… for each and every one of us.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked her.

Irene didn't so much as blink. She must have figured that Sherlock would deduce her reason for being here.

"People who want to kill me," she replied.

"Who's that?" Sherlock pressed.

"Killers," Irene said coyly.

"It would help if you were a bit more specific," John said.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock guessed.

"It worked for a while," Irene admitted.

"Except you let John know that you were a live, and therefore me and Maxine," Sherlock went on.

"I knew you'd keep my secret," Irene said, smiling lightly.

"You couldn't," Sherlock countered.

"But you did, didn't you?" Irene smiled wider briefly, then her expression grew serious. "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here," John told her. "We're not stupid."

"Then what have you done with it?" Irene demanded. "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago," Sherlock said.

Irene eyed him. "I need it."

"Well, we can't just go get it, can we?" John said. Then, he looked over at Sherlock, his eyes lighting up. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the cafe, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it back up."

I blinked rapidly and gave John a slightly impressed look. However, there was just one thing.

"John..." I began.

"What? It would work!" John protested.

"Yes, very good, John," Sherlock said. "Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

"Thank you," John said as he picked up his phone. "So, why don't... Oh, for..."

He spotted Sherlock pulling a camera phone out of his jacket pocket and hold it up. Of course, I knew that it wasn't truly Irene's. I'd given him the idea of a duplicate in case Irene ever showed back up. Perhaps we could ge the passcode that way.

Irene stood up from the sofa, her eyes glued to the device. Sherlock looked her over carefully.

"So what do you keep on here—in general, I mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful," Irene replied.

"What, for blackmail?" John asked.

"For protection," Irene said. "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"How do you even gather all this information?" I asked.

"I told you—I misbehave," Irene pressed.

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection," Sherlock said. "Do you know what it is."

"Yes, but I don't understand it," Irene muttered.

"I assumed," Sherlock said. "Show me."

Irene held out her hand for the phone, but Sherlock held it up out of her reach.

"The passcode," he said.

Irene continued to hold her hand out, her eyes like daggers. Eventually, Sherlock passed the device to her. She activated the screen and held the phone so none of us could see it or the keypad before typing in four characters. The phone gave a warning beep—the kind it did each time Sherlock guessed an incorrect passcode.

"It's not working," Irene said, blinking and looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock took the phone from her hand so fast, she didn't have time to react. "No, because it's a duplicate we had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight."

Irene watched incredulously as Sherlock went over to his chair I was sitting in and without even asking me to move reached beneath the cushion and pulled free the real camera phone.

"I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway," Sherlock said as he opened the phones screen and typed in the numbers. He gave Irene a smug look.

Then the phone beeped warningly, meaning we only had one attempt remaining.

"I told you, that camera phone was my life," Irene said. "I know when it's in my hand."

I clicked my tongue disappointedly and gave Sherlock a sheepish shrug. "I thought it'd work for sure."

"It's okay, she's rather good," Sherlock sighed.

"You're not so bad," Irene said, smiling at him.

I let out a small grunt of irritation and she rolled her eyes at me.

"Oh please, it's too fun to not," Irene murmured. "Anyway, there was a man—a MOD official. I knew what he liked." She held out her hand for the real phone.

Sherlock exhaled sharply through his nose and handed it to her. Irene walked a short distance away so none of us could see the screen or keypad as she typed in the real passcode. Once the phone was unlocked, she turned back around and came back to Sherlock's side. I sat up in his chair to see she was showing him a photo.

"One of the things he liked was showing off," Irene continued. "He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." She handed the phone over to Sherlock. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen—can you read it?"

Sherlock sat down at the dining table and John and I both got up to go to him. Irene sat across from the detective and waited. I peered over Sherlock's shoulder at the screen, squinting my eyes a bit. The top of the email—what I assumed was the subject line—read: 007 Confirmed allocation and beneath it was a string of numbers and letters.

4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K.

I frowned, unable to even fathom what it might mean.

"Yes," Sherlock said to Irene, indicating he could read it.

"A code, obviously," Irene said. "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it—though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."

"Maybe don't distract him so much next time," I suggested.

"Ah ha, she's cheeky!" Irene grinned widely at me. "Has dating made you a touch less dull?"

"Has being on the run made you less of a harlot?" I countered.

"Ladies, ladies!" John interjected.

"Oh, it's quite all right." Irene continued to grin at me. "I like this feisty side of Maxine. Makes me wonder how long it would take to get her to say please."

"There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore," Sherlock abruptly said, his words running rapidly off his tongue. "Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds."

The rest of us were all staring at Sherlock, clearly at a loss of how he got a plane departure from that string of nonsense.

"Oh, come on," Sherlock said, noticing our confusion. "It's not a code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look..."

He put the phone flat on the table and pointed at the numbers and letters.

"There's no letter I because it can be mistaken for a 1; no letters past 'K'—the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place—families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number—zero zero seven—that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

Irene's expression turned to one of admiration as she gazed at him. Sherlock looked up and noticed this. He sighed and adverted his gaze.

"Please don't feel obligated to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice," Irene said intensely.

I sat upright and set her in a glare as John spluttered and Sherlock furrowed his brows in mild surprise.

"Well, that's new," he admitted. "John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?"

"Uh-huh, I'm on it, yeah," John said, shaking his head slightly. He cleared his throat and reached across the table for his laptop and opened it.

As John began to type away on his computer I tapped the table a few times with my fingers and shot Irene a dark glance. Irene noticed and smiled widely. She seemed to delight in my reaction. However, instead of pressing the matter, she darted her eyes between Sherlock and me.

"You two haven't done anything worthwhile yet, have you?" she said.

Sherlock coughed, probably briefly choking on his own saliva. I felt my cheeks running hot and John's typing paused as his head snapped upright.

"I-I don't see how that's any of your business one way or the other," I stammered.

Irene chuckled as John began to type again, but it was considerably slower.

"I suppose it isn't surprising, but come on, you two..." she said.

"Uh, yeah, you're right," John said, clearly eager to change the subject as he looked up at Sherlock. "Uh, flight double oh seven."

Sherlock, who was appearing quite uncomfortable, turned round to look at John with sudden intent. "What did you say?"

"You're right," John said.

"No, no, no, after that," Sherlock pressed. "What did you say?"

"Double oh seven," John replied. "Flight double oh seven."

"Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven..." Sherlock repeated quietly to himself and glared down at the table briefly before standing up to start pacing. "Something... something connected to double of seven... What?"

He went over to his chair and sat down, pressing his hands together as if in prayer. I recognized the look in his eyes. He'd be searching his mind until he understood the connection he felt. I didn't understand what it could be, but figured the detective would figure it out in due time. John went out to get some food and finish up some other errands, clearly needing some air after Irene's continued suggestive talk regarding Sherlock and me.

This left only Irene and myself in the room, considering Sherlock was checked out, most likely lost in the palace of his mind. While Sherlock sat in his chair, Irene curled up in John's, seeming to have no intent on changing out of the dressing gown. I went and made some royal milk tea and carefully set the tray on the coffee table.

"Er, would you like some?" I offered awkwardly.

Irene blinked and looked down. "Mm, milk tea?"

"Royal milk tea, it's a bit different," I said. "Japanese style. The milk is boiled with the leafs instead of aft... just, would you like some?"

Irene's suggestive talk had left me as flustered as my brother, it seemed.

"I'd be delighted to," Irene replied with a slight smile.

I nodded and poured her a cup. I brought three out just in case Sherlock came to while the kettle was still warm. After handing Irene her cup, I poured my own and sat down in front of the coffee table, sitting on the heels of my feet like I used to while in Japan. Irene noticed this as she sipped her tea.

"So you did spend time in Japan," she said.

I glanced toward her and nodded before taking a sip from my cup.

"Suppose that's where you learned to be so handy with the knife," Irene mused.

"It's a dagger—" I caught myself correcting her and shook my head. "I actually took lessons before I went."

It was a lie I acquired from Sherlock, who was still worried about the Yakuza learning that I was Miyako's student.

"Fascinating," Irene said. "You must make men quake everywhere you go. Most don't like a woman with such confidence. But there are a good number who do." She winked.

I adverted my gaze.

"Have you ever had anyone?" Irene asked.

I was in the middle of sipping my tea and nearly spat it out. After swallowing and coughing a few times, I turned my watering eyes to Irene, who smiled wickedly at me.

"Again, not really any-any of your business," I stammered while still trying to clear my throat.

Irene chuckled softly. "I doubt you have. You don't seem the type to even need it, really. It would have to take someone very special, wouldn't it?" She glanced toward Sherlock who was still out of it, staring at the fireplace.

My cheeks might as well have set aflame. I knew there was no hiding my blush, but I still turned away all the same and hastily took a drink.

"H-how about we talk about something else?" I muttered.

"Your first time will probably hurt, but just think like a butterfly," Irene said, her voice sultry as ever. "Spread those wings wide and fly—"

"Okay! Okay. Sherlock, come on, come to already," I said, smacking Sherlock's knee a few times.

"Coventry," he said abruptly, life returning to those pale green eyes as he looked around at us.

"I've never been. Is it nice?" Irene smiled at Sherlock like nothing had happened between her and me.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked, looking around the living room.

"Left a couple hours ago," I said.

"I was just talking to him," Sherlock argued.

"They said you do that," Irene replied, her eyes glinting in amusement. "What's Coventry got to do with anything?"

"It's a story, probably not true," Sherlock said. "In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."

"Have you ever had anyone?" Irene suddenly asked the same question she had to me.

Sherlock looked up at her, startled. "Sorry?"

"And when I say 'had' I'm being indelicate," Irene said.

Sherlock still seemed perplexed. I wanted to bury my face in my arms.

"I don't understand," he said, a sentence that rarely left that man's lips.

"If Maxine here was naked right here, right now, would you have her?" Irene purred.

Sherlock's expression changed in a blink. The confusion fell way to shocked bashfulness, his cheeks pinking.

"U-uh-um..." He glanced toward Maxine and the blush deepened before he cleared his throat.

"So yes, then!" Irene said, beaming. "You two fascinate me."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's voice came from the stairs.

"Oh thank God," I rasped, getting to my feet and turning to see our landlady step into their living room.

With her was none other than Plummer from the Palace, still in his black suit and stone expression.

"Sherlock this man was at the door," Mrs. Hudson explained with a hint of irritation. "Is the bell still not working?" She turned to Plummer and explained, "He shot it."

"Have you come to take us away again?" Sherlock asked in a clipped tone.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Plummer said.

"Well, I decline on behalf of myself and Max," Sherlock said.

Plummer took and envelope from his jacket and stepped further into the room to offer it to the detective. "I don't think you do."

Sherlock snatched it out of the man's hand and opened it. I walked over to peer over his shoulder at the contents. Inside was a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways in the name of Sherlock Holmes for flight number 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18:30.

"Bond Air is go..." I whispered, abruptly remembering Mycroft's words when he was speaking on the phone here in this very flat.

Sherlock sighed and got to his feet.

A/N::: Sorry for such a late update, guys, I've been battling a chronic condition of mine and it's been almost impossible to keep up with anything in my life, let alone my fics. It's better now.

Oh! If any of you are in the Cheyenne, Wyoming area, I'll be at the public library on September 14th selling and signing copies of my book, The Whisper of Shadows, for a discounted price of only $12! First ten folks to show up get a free exclusive poster of one of the characters, Ash Rednal.

I know it's a long shot that any of you are nearby, but figured I'd put it out there! Hope you enjoyed the chapter regardless; I enjoyed John's reaction in the beginning about the kiss.

Thanks as always for the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites!

-Red