Time passed and the holiday season inevitably rolled around.

Sherlock finished playing We Wish You a Merry Christmas on his violin with a playful flourish of the bow. The party guests applauded and Lestrade let out a whistle.

"Lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cooed. "Sherlock, that was lovely."

"Marvelous," added John, walking across the room with a teacup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

The door flung open and Emily waltzed into the room wearing a Santa dress with an energetic "Ho ho ho, bitches!"

Mrs. Hudson looked appalled. "Goodness, young lady, are you sure that's appropriate? And if you don't stop talking like that, I swear, I'm going to have no choice but to sit you down and give your mouth a good washing with soap."

"Sounds kinky," muttered Scottie as he followed Emily in.

"Oh, leave her alone," smiled John. "It's Christmas. And I think it rather suits her." John's current girlfriend at the time, Jeanette, whipped her head around glared at him from where she had been hovering near the entrance to the kitchen. John's face reddened. "I-I mean that in the most platonic of ways! Calm down, she's like a daughter to me."

"Well I certainly wouldn't want my daughter walking around dressed like that," Jeanette grumbled unhappily. With a huff she disappeared past Lestrade and around the corner.

"I wish you would have worn the antlers," Mrs. Hudson tried changing the topic.

Sherlock knelt down to put his instrument away. "Some things are best left to the imagination."

"Oh! Mrs. H." John suddenly remembered the tea and handed it off to Mrs. Hudson. She was looking a bit tipsy and he perhaps was trying to use this to distract Mrs. Hudson from her current champagne glass.

Jeanette reentered the room with a tray filled with mince pie and slices of cake and offered one to Sherlock.

"No thank you, Sarah."

"Jeanette," Scottie interjected, hoping to spare her from the awkwardness he knew was about to ensue. "He's not good with names."

Emily bobbed her head up and down in agreement. "Terrible, actually. I don't think he even bothered to learn mine for the first month or so. It was always 'kid' or 'the female one.'"

"Right." Sherlock pursed his lips together. "Jeanette. Sorry. Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then… who was after the boring teacher?"

"Nobody," Jeanette said stiffly.

Sherlock grinned at her falsely. "Process of elimination. I would've gotten it eventually."

John came over and awkwardly lead Jeanette away. The door opened again and this time Molly came into the room.

"Oh, dear lord," Sherlock said half to himself.

The woman was smiling shyly and carrying with her two bags full of presents. "Hello, everyone," she greeted. "Sorry. Hello."

John came in again and smiled back, giving her a little nod.

"Er, it said on the door just to come up?"

"Molly!" Scottie and Emily let out, running up to hug her. She didn't hug back because of her full hands. In fact, if anything she just kind of tilted backwards and tried to keep from falling over from the onslaught of love.

"Well if it isn't my two favorite junior detectives in all of London," she laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at this. "Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful," he said much louder and more sarcastic than necessary. Molly smiled back at the man nervously and, once the teens had released her, began removing her coat and scarf.

"Let me," John started, standing ready to take her coat. "Er… holy Mary!"

"Are some of these for us?" Scottie asked, peering into one of Molly's bags. Mrs. Hudson shot him a warning look.

"Wow!" gaped Lestrade. He'd hardly moved the entire time and appeared to find Molly's dress much to his liking.

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" asked Molly.

Sherlock took a seat at the table. "No stopping them, apparently."

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me," Mrs. Hudson interjected, "so it's almost worth it!"

"Hhhh," Emily groaned. "I want to open a present already!"

"And I second this motion," Scottie added.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Don't you two have any patience? Half the fun of getting Christmas presents is the looking forward to them bit, you know."

"Oh, we might as well let them," John said. "I mean, quite a few of the people here played a part in getting them gifts and they might like to see their reactions."

Their landlady shook her head disappointedly. "Ah, youth just don't appreciate the thrills of delayed gratification anymore. Alright, but don't you two go complaining when there isn't anything to open up tomorrow morning, you hear?"

Scottie and Emily nodded excitedly as John went to fetch a couple boxes from underneath their Christmas tree (this wasn't in the original episode, but the newest members of the cast had insisted upon it being there). Meanwhile Sherlock was busy logging on to John's laptop.

"So, we all pitched in to get you this," John said, handing Emily a Christmas present that was shaped very much like a violin case and weighed the same as one.

The girl took it excitedly. "Ooh ooh ooh, I hope it's a car!"

"I bet it's a giant dildo," whispered Scottie.

Mrs. Hudson let out a horrified gasp and clipped the back of the boy's ear.

"And this one's yours." John handed Scottie a wrapped gift of his own. "While Emily handed me a wishlist long enough to fill half a notebook well over a month ago, you were much harder to shop for. So we just got you-"

"Socks," finished Scottie. He had already ripped open the cardboard box to find it filled with an entire arsenal of pairs of socks. Socks in an almost comedic variety of colors, patterns, pictures, lengths, and even materials. "But like, a lot of socks."

John made a guilty face. "Well. Yeah. Um. I hope that's alright?"

"Are you kidding?" Scottie beamed. "This must be what heaven is like!" Much to the entire room's surprise, the boy immediately began fitting as many pairs over his arms as possible as if they were gloves, or perhaps armor. "I am Captain Sockarms!" he cackled. Just next to him Mrs. Hudson looked torn between embarrassment and relief that he didn't hate the present after all.

"This is the strangest car I've ever seen," Emily mumbled, inspecting her new violin.

"So you won't keep borrowing mine without asking," Sherlock said without looking up from the computer. "John?"

"Mm?"

"Told you he knew about that. Captain Sockarms knows all the things."

John came over to see what Sherlock was looking at as Lestrade offered Molly a drink.

"How's the hip?" Molly asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Ooh, it's atrocious," the older woman told her, "but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then, I do post-mortems."

Scottie and Emily suddenly let out a forced laugh, yet again in an attempt to prevent the destined awkwardness that was to ensue.

"Oh, man, post-mortems," Emily sighed. "That… That's a good one." Scottie nodded in vigorous agreement.

Molly looked somewhat surprised by their reaction. "Oh. Um. Y-You think so?"

"Don't flatter yourself. They always did have the strangest sense of humor," Sherlock muttered flatly.

"Thank you," Molly said to Lestrade as he handed her a glass of wine. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

Lestrade shook his head. "That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together. It's all sorted."

"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher," Sherlock pointed out. Scottie pinched at the bridge of his nose.

Now Molly turned to John, who was seated on the arm of his chair next to Jeanette. "And John: I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining… saying."

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act," John nodded. "In fact, the uh, the kids are coming with. Yeah. They were really keen on meeting Harry for some reason. And y'know, I figured why not, now that she's off the booze."

"Nope," Sherlock the Killer of Good News let out.

John craned his neck around at the other man. "Shut up, Sherlock."

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly," Sherlock changed the subject abruptly. "And you're serious about him."

The woman blinked in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

"INCORRECT." Scottie stood up on the sofa, drawing all the attention in the room to himself for the third and final heroic attempt of the evening. "The present at the top of her bag is for you, Sherlock, and it's merely all nice and presentable because Molly is a hella good wrapper. Scottie: 1, Sherlock: 0. Boom. Nailed it." Scottie held out a sock-clad hand to the side for Emily to high five. Instead she stared back at it blankly for a minute. Sherlock made a face and got up to see for himself.

"What the hell was that for?" Emily whispered.

"What?" Scottie shot back. "I saved Molly from further harassment."

"Which Sherlock would've given a heartfelt apology for upon realizing his mistake," Emily pointed out. "And then kissed her cheek. Which he now won't be doing."

Sherlock flipped open the card and stared down at it blankly for a moment. "Oh."

"Oh indeed," Molly said, still looking embarrassed to a degree.

"So it was for you, wasn't it?" Lestrade mused. "Damn! Sherlock was out-deduced by the runt." He clapped his hands together several times in a weak applause. "Bravo, Captain Sockarms."

"Oh, shut it," Sherlock hissed.

Scottie smirked and shot a sidelong glance at Emily. "Well would you look at that. My superhero secret identity is catching on."

"You're a fucking dork," she informed him. And then louder to Sherlock: "Great, so now that you admit that you were wrong and would've proceeded to spew out a shit ton of horrible insults if Scottie hadn't beaten you to the punchline, why don't you instead consider thanking Molly with a hug."

Sherlock squinted back at Emily. "Why should I do that?"

"He doesn't have to," Molly tried. "Really. He doesn't. I don't… It's okay. I get it."

Emily threw her head back in a sigh. "Okay, allow me to rephrase: it's fucking Christmas Eve, and Molly got you a gift. NOW SAY THANK YOU AND HUG HER OR I WILL GET UP OFF THIS SOFA PERSONALLY KICK YOU IN THE NUTS." Most of the people in the room stared back at the girl in shock. Lestrade, on the other hand, cupped a hand over his mouth and snorted. "I mean it," Emily pressed.

"Fine. Whatever." Sherlock shook himself off before looking Molly in the eyes. "Thanks."

"BOOOO!" Emily jeered from the couch, taking off one of Scottie's socks and flinging it at Sherlock. Scottie squealed and attempted to shove the girl off the arm of the couch but she put a leg down just in time, steadying herself. "You call that a sincere thank you?" she went on. "Again! But this time like you mean it!"

"For fuck's sake," Sherlock whined. "Molly… thank you for your gift."

"Y-You're welcome," Molly said softly. Sherlock put his arms out and Molly awkwardly stepped forward into the embrace.

"Now kiss," Emily whispered.

"What, do you ship them or something?" Scottie asked skeptically.

"No," Emily said defensively. "I'm just trying to put right what you fucked up."

The Irene text tone that was no longer actually Irene went off from Sherlock's pocket. Molly pulled back in shock. "No! That wasn't… I-I didn't…"

"No, it was me," Sherlock said, which only confused several of them even more.

"My God, really?" Lestrade gaped.

"What?!" Molly managed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clarifying: "My phone. You should hear the tones the children have programmed for themselves."

"Mine's just me yelling SHERLOCK LOOK AT YOUR FUCKING PHONE," Scottie told Mrs. Hudson, who was the nearest person to him aside from Emily. "Simple and straight to the point."

"Yes, I've heard it," their landlady answered bitterly. "I'm not kidding about the soap thing, you know."

"Fifty-seven?" John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced up from his phone momentarily at the doctor. "Sorry, what?"

"Fifty-seven of those texts," John went on. "The ones I've heard."

"Thrilling that you've been counting," Sherlock muttered, his eyes back on the device. The man walked over to the mantelpiece and pulled a little red box from it, which he took into the kitchen with a distracted "'Scuse me."

John's gaze followed Sherlock as he went by. "What… What's up, Sherlock?"

"I said excuse me."

"D'you ever reply?"

Emily clapped her hands together excitedly and stood up. "Whelp, now that that awkwardness is out of the way with, it's time for Christmas Bingo!" She bent over and picked up stack of papers from the coffee table. "I've got the cards right here. How it works is each of you are gonna get one of these - here, Scottie, help me pass them out - and I'm going to go shuffle a playlist over the stereo with all of the Christmas songs you'll see on your cards." As she said this John got up distractedly and went into the kitchen after his flatmate. She stared after him with a pout. "Wow okay fuck you John. ANYWAY, when a song comes on that you have on your Bingo sheet, you're going to cross it off. The first person to get five in a row wins. Easy enough?"

"Um, are we going to get pencils for this?" asked Jeanette.

"Yes," Emily answered. "Obviously."

"They're over here," Scottie said, getting a wad of pencils that had been rubber banded together for the occasion, taking one and passing it along.

Emily looked around at the guests. "Anything else before I start?"

Lestrade raised his hand slightly. "Yeah, uh, is there a prize? If you win, I mean."

"Um. I… I wasn't on planning on it?"

"But there has to be a prize," Lestrade argued. "Otherwise what's the point?"

"You mean besides the fact that it's fun and I'm an amazing party games host?" Emily crossed her arms and thought for a second. "I guess you can go last in the white elephant gift exchange or something."

"Okay, follow up question," Lestrade went on. "What's a… white elephant gift exchange?"

The girl stared back at the DI in disbelief. "You're shitting me. Didn't you bring a white elephant gift? You all brought one right?" Emily looked around all at the blank faces. "Seriously? Did no one get my email?"

"I… I brought something for it?" Molly offered, starting to dig into the bag she brought.

"And in conclusion, that's why Molly is my favorite," sighed Emily. "The rest of your generation is hopeless."

"I told you this was a waste of time," Scottie muttered.

"You shut the fuck up."

"I still need a Bingo card," John said from the doorway. Apparently his attempt to talk with Sherlock hasn't gone very well.

"Of course you do," Emily said flatly. "Scottie, please fetch the man one of the extras."

Mrs. Hudson won the game of Bingo, but only because people kept having to tell her when she was allowed to check things off of her card. Halfway through the game Sherlock left the flat without much of a word in edgewise, and at some point John disappeared into the hallway to take a call. Unfortunately not enough people brought along something to contribute to a white elephant gift exchange, so instead Emily had them play musical chairs with Christmas music, Christmas movie-themed charades tournament, and when she was all out of ideas, a round of Mafia, which she had altered to use the roles of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Santa, and Frosty the Snowman. It didn't make a lot of sense but BBC characters were generally pretty good sports about the whole thing.

It was around midnight by the time everyone but Mrs. Hudson, John, Jeanette, and the teens had left. Jeanette waited around on the couch while Emily and Scottie walked around picking up bits of food and wrapping paper that had fallen to the floor. John was on the phone with Mycroft.

"Shit," John mumbled, holding the phone down and looking round for Mrs. Hudson. "He's coming. Ten minutes."

"There's nothing in the bedroom," the landlady informed him from the hall.

John held up his phone again. "Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night? ...I've got plans. Mycroft. M-" The man pursed his lips as the line assumedly went dead. Standing up, John went over to his girlfriend, who was still sitting stiffly at the other end of the room. "I am really sorry," he told Jeanette.

"You know, my friends are so wrong about you," the woman told him with a hint of disdain.

"Hm?"

"You're a great boyfriend."

John let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great."

"And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man," Jeanette went on.

"Jeanette, please-"

"No, I mean it. It's heartwarming. You'll do anything for him - even raise a couple of kids together and try to pass it off like it's not weird or anything!"

"It's just as well," Scottie muttered to Emily from the kitchen doorway. "Out of all the ladies John brought home, she wasn't one of my favorites."

"I miss Sarah," Emily agreed. "She took me to a spa once."

"Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes," Jeanette hissed, reaching the door.

"I'll walk your dog for you," begged John. "Hey, I've said it now. I'll even walk your dog."

"I don't have a dog!"

John went pale at this news just before shutting his eyes in defeat. "No, because that was… the last one. Okay."

"Jesus!" Jeanette retrieved her bag and stormed out of the flat.

"I'll call you," John tried.

"No!"

"Okay."

There was a brief pause before John turned to face Emily and Scottie, who started a slow and sarcastic clap. Mrs. Hudson was standing between them both with a sympathetic look. "That wasn't very good, was it?"

"Hey…" Realizing that no one else was going to, Scottie came up to John. "Are you…?"

John nodded slowly. "Yeah. I… I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's fine," shrugged Scottie. "I've seen enough movies to get the whole touchy heterosexual bit. Speaking of movies, it's Christmas Eve - Christmas Day, technically - and you promised to watch Frozen with us."

"I did promise that, didn't I?" John exhaled, allowing the boy to lead him to the sofa.

"Oh yeah, did you want to watch too?" Emily asked Mrs. Hudson.

The landlady looked surprised by the offer. "It's nearly one in the morning!" she exclaimed. "Some of us have to sleep, you know."

"But as you just pointed out, it's officially Christmas," whined Emily. "And I wanted to spend it as a family, but then Sherlock left and…"

"Oh, alright," the woman gave in. "But just this once."

"Yee!" Emily took Mrs. Hudson by her hand and pulled her across the living room happily.

They were only a little more than five minutes into the movie, cuddled up together on the couch and watching Scottie's laptop from where it was propped up on the coffee table, when Sherlock entered the room and hovered in the doorway for much longer than usual.

"Oh, hi," John said, glancing up at the man. "You okay?"

"We're watching a movie," Mrs. Hudson informed him. "Something about ice."

"Frozen," Emily clarified.

Scottie leaned forward to pause the film. "You should join us," he suggested. "It's barely started. You haven't missed much of anything except for the childhood sequence."

"Pass," Sherlock said disinterestedly, and he walked past them and through the kitchen door on his way to his bedroom. "Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time."

"Merry fucking Christmas to you too," Scottie pouted, resuming Frozen.


Scottie peered into the side mirror and grimaced. "Um. Emily, you hear that siren right behind us?"

"I'm aware."

Emily kept her eyes on the road, perhaps silently praying that so long as she didn't acknowledge the presence of the police car that had been tailing them for the past block and half, it would eventually get bored of waiting for her to stop and go bother someone else.

"I just think it might be wise to pull over. Just… Just throwing that out there," Scottie commented with a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Ugh. Fine."

In another minute or so Emily had turned off onto a side street and parked the vehicle. The police car followed suit just behind them. Emily adjusted her shirt to an optimal amount of cleavage and then rolled down her window as a man stepped out of the police car. She practiced her most innocent smile in the mirror a couple times before he approached.

"Is there a problem offi-oh, hello there, Detective Inspector!" the girl greeted him, frantically pulling her shirt up again. "I didn't know you worked traffic regulation."

"I make exceptions for particularly bad drivers." Emily's smile faded at this, and Lestrade crossed his arms. "Can I see your license and registration?"

"Even better." Emily dug around her purse and handed the DI the stapled together papers that were her learner's permit. Lestrade unfolded his arms again to flip through the permit with an unamused face. After a couple seconds he handed it back and Emily tucked it away.

Lestrade wrinkled his nose. "I didn't know you could drive."

"Well now you know. I can."

"Barely. Is this your car?"

"Molly's," Emily explained calmly. "Sherlock and John don't have their own, nor the cash to get me a proper instructor, so. She lets me take it out to get practice if she's gonna be stuck at work all day anyway. I return the favor with catsitting offers she has yet to take me up on."

"Molly Hooper?"

"The one and only."

"And I assume Scottie has a license?"

"Nope! Not even a permit!" the boy beamed.

Emily shot him a disapproving glare. "Don't tell him that, dummy!"

"What? Why not?"

"So you are aware that you must be accompanied by a licensed driver in the passenger seat," Lestrade mused. "Interesting. And are you also aware you were going 40 on a freeway?"

"Yes, but the limit was like, 60, so I definitely wasn't speeding," Emily defended herself. "Also I got off the freeway a while ago. Just how long were you following me, exactly?"

"Going too slow is just as dangerous," Scottie tutted, "which I keep telling her is why cars are always going around us. Probably think she's elderly or drunk or something."

"Now now, Scottie, I don't think the man really needs you to go into detail on that," Emily laughed nervously.

Scottie laughed along, but in more of a mocking sort of way. "Oh, and don't even get me started on how long it's taking her to get accustomed to British rules of the road! She's continually cutting off cars trying to do backwards U-turns and-"

"Scottie!" Emily thwapped her friend with a rolled up permit. She turned to Lestrade again with her most winning smile. "Whelp, if that's all, Inspector, we'll just be on our way. Send Scotland Yard our love!"

"Hey, now wait just a-"

But before Lestrade could stop them Emily was already driving away at an very safe speed of just about 25 mph. With an exasperated sigh Lestrade hopped back into his own vehicle, turned on the police siren, and trailed after the delinquents.

Scottie and Emily pulled up in front of Baker Street and got out of the vehicle. Lestrade once again parked directly behind and met them just before the steps to 221. "Can I trust you to give this to one of your dads or should I go in there myself?" Lestrade asked, holding out a ticket.

Emily snatched it with a sour look. "We can give it to them."

"You're lucky I'm not going to take away your learner's permit," threatened Lestrade. "Driving is a big responsibility and if you have no intention of following the rules like that…"

"Yes, I get it," the girl groaned. "Driving is a privilege that can be taken away at any point, yadda yadda yadda. Isn't there, I don't know, a murder investigation or something going on right now that might be a better use of your time?"

"When you return Miss Hooper's car, make sure you're accompanied by Sherlock or John. And, um… Say hi to them for me, would you?" On that note, Lestrade turned to leave.

"Well. You're getting better, if it's any consolation?" Scottie tried. Emily ignored him as she locked the car with a button and put the keys into the door in front of them. "And - And you did a really nice parallel parking job just now! I mean, even I was impressed, and that's saying something."

"I can't believe Lestrade actually wrote me up a ticket," the girl muttered half to herself as the two of them began to ascend the stairs to the flat. "I know he wasn't exactly big on the idea of us at first but like, aren't we friends now? He wouldn't have written Sherlock a ticket if he were in my position!"

"Except that Sherlock is over twenty-one himself," Scottie pointed out.

"I know that!"

They'd reached the top of the stairs now and saw that the door was already cracked open slightly. Emily swung it open the rest of the way and took a wide step inside before suddenly stopping again. Scottie collided directly into her backside with an "Oof!"

"Okay you've got to stop doing that," he said wrinkling his nose and stepping back again. Only then did Scottie, too, see the man standing in front of the fireplace with a sobbing Mrs. Hudson seated in front of him, a gun pointed at the back of her head. He recognized the American as the same man who had led the group in the raid on Irene's house. Two other gentlemen were positioned about the room: one was standing near the window and another hovered in the kitchen doorway. "Oh. Hello," Scottie managed.

"We should've invited Lestrade in," Emily whispered.

"Basically yes."

The man in charge of the break-in exhaled, lowering his gun only slightly. "Not who I was hoping for," he admitted, "but happy to have you join the party none the less."

"Is it a party though?" Scottie asked weakly. "I mean, from where I'm standing this looks strictly business related, and I forgot to wear my suit. So."

"Have a seat," the other American instructed.

"You look busy," Scottie tried. "Maybe Emily and I could get out of your-" The man held out his weapon again, this time pointing it in the direction of the two teenagers. Scottie swallowed. "Yeah no okay we can do it that way too."

Silently regretting not having gone to return Molly's car before coming here, they shuffled over to the couch uneasily and plopped down in the middle of it. The both remained tense and a silence hung over the flat. Scottie folded his hands together and glanced around at the three intruders.

"So. Um. Does anyone know any good jokes, or…?"

"Scottie," Emily hissed through gritted teeth.

The leader nodded towards the man at the window, who took several steps in their direction until he was practically looming over them. Scottie and Emily both fixed their eyes on their laps.

"Right," the boy mumbled. "Sorry. Shutting up now."

Luckily it wasn't too much longer until Sherlock did show up, and when he did Mrs. Hudson let out a wail. "Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!"

"Don't snivel, Mrs. Hudson," the newcomer told her, looking stiff. "It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet. What a tender world that would be."

"Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock," whimpered Mrs. Hudson.

"Why are they here?" Sherlock asked with a nod to Scottie and Emily.

"Wrong place wrong time," answered the American. "A specialty of theirs, I'd imagine. I believe you have have something that we want, Mr. Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Taking several steps into the room, Sherlock held out a hand to Mrs. Hudson. As soon as she took it, he pulled back her sleeve to have a look at her injuries.

"Sher…"

"I've been asking this one," the man said. "She doesn't seem to know anything."

"Probably would've had more luck asking the kids," Sherlock said calmly, still holding Mrs. Hudson's hand. "They always seem to know more than is expected of them."

"But you know what I'm asking for don't you, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock let go and straightened himself again. "I believe I do."

"Oh, please, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson let out again.

"First, get rid of your boys."

"Why?"

"I dislike being outnumbered. I makes for too much stupid in the room."

"But you're not outnumbered," the man reminded him with an ever so slight nod of his head towards the onlookers at the other end of the room.

Sherlock smiled, but only just. "They don't count."

Although hesitant, the other man eventually said "You two, go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away," Sherlock added. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work." He waited until the others had left the flat before continuing: "Next you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?"

Sherlock put his arms out to the side. "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist."

"Don't do anything," Mrs. Hudson begged, watching as the man circled around her and came towards Sherlock.

But Sherlock did do something. In fact, he did it so fast that it was difficult for the witnesses to later describe even what he had done, except that it involved spraying something into the man's eyes and then headbutting him as he stumbled back. Scottie and Emily let out a simultaneous yelp and dove in different directions away from the couch just as the man fell backwards over the coffee table and landed right where they'd been sitting moments ago. He didn't appear to be conscious anymore.

Sherlock grinned triumphantly and tossed his spray can into the air, catching it. "Moron." Sherlock then slammed the can down onto the coffee table and hurried over to Mrs. Hudson and dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Oh, thank you," Mrs. Hudson said tearfully.

"Don't worry about us," Emily called out. "We're… We're fine."

"You're all right now," Sherlock stroked the woman's face gently, "you're alright."

"Yes."

"Scottie, fetch my duct tape," Sherlock instructed without turning around. "Bedroom, second drawer to the right."

"Aye aye captain!"

"What about me?" asked Emily.

Sherlock stood up again and went over to the table by the window. He scribbled something in marker over a piece of paper and handed it to the girl. "Tape this to the front door."

"Crime in progress: please disturb," she read. "I love it."

When Emily returned from doing what Sherlock had asked, she found Sherlock had put the man in the chair where Mrs. Hudson was previously. She could now see that blood was dripping down his face and from his chin. Scottie came in from the kitchen and handed Sherlock a roll of duct tape, which Sherlock took silently and began securing the villain to the chair. Once he had finished, Sherlock took a seat in a nearby chair. He kept the gun he'd confiscated aimed at its owner with one hand and held a phone up to his ear with the other. Scottie and Emily joined Mrs. Hudson back on the couch.

"What's going on?" John asked, suddenly in the doorway. He scanned his eyes across the room, stopping once he'd reached the man who was currently bound and gagged in front of the fireplace and now conscious again. "Jeez. What the hell is happening?"

"Mrs. Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe," explained Sherlock coolly.

Without a second though John came scurrying over to Mrs. Hudson at sat down at her side opposite of the kids. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God. Are you alright? Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs. Hudson immediately broke down crying again. "Oh, I'm just being so silly," she whimpered, trying to cover her face with her hands.

"No, no," John cooed, pulling her closer.

Emily leaned forward. "We're fine too, thanks for asking."

Sherlock stood up now. "Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her. In fact, take the children with you."

"Alright, it's alright," John said, helping Mrs. Hudson to her feet. "I'll have a look at that."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the landlady insisted. She walked past John and out of the room.

John turned to Sherlock. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"I expect so. Now go." John started to leave and Sherlock turned his head to Scottie and Emily, who were now standing but otherwise hadn't budged. "You too. I mean it." The detective waved his gun in the direction of the door and they reluctantly saw themselves out, stopping once they'd gone through the doorway just long enough to hear Sherlock say in to the phone, "Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. Oh, no no no no no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured. Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull… suspected punctured lung. He fell out of a window."

Scottie snickered. "Shh, go!" Emily hissed under her breath, nudging him down the stairs. Instead of joining John and Mrs. Hudson in their landlady's flat, they waited for Lestrade and his men to arrive outside the building, cringing when they heard the nearby sound of the man's body being thrown from the above story and onto Mrs. Hudson's trash bins.

"Over there," Scottie told several of the officers with a point upon their arrival.

After coming back from taking a look at the man himself, Lestrade stopped in front of them both and folded his arms. "Geez. I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"Apparently not," Emily replied. "You were probably only just driving away when Scottie and I went in there to find three armed strangers in the flat. It's a miracle nobody got shot."

Lestrade squinted. "You didn't tell Sherlock I was with you just before the incident, did you?"

"Of course not. Not YET, anyway. I do still have to give him that ticket you wrote up, though, and it's got the time and your signature and everything." The DI held out a hand unhappily and Emily gave him back the ticket, which he ripped up. Emily tilted her head towards Scottie with a smirk. "Like a boss."

Not a moment too soon, Sherlock came down from the flat and Scottie and Emily parted to let him through. "There you are," Lestrade grunted. "And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count."

Without a word, Lestrade walked away and Sherlock went back inside. The teens followed him into 221A, where they found Mrs. Hudson and John sitting at a small kitchen table.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," John told him. "We need to look after her."

"No," Mrs. Hudson disagreed.

"Of course, but she's fine."

"No, she's not," John argued. "Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock helped himself to a slice of pie in Mrs. Hudson's bridge and kicked the door shut again. "Don't be absurd."

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone! Where is it, anyway?"

"Safest place I know." Wiping crumbs from his mouth, Sherlock looked down at Mrs. Hudson, who reached into her bra and handed the phone to Sherlock.

"You left it in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot," she said with a laugh. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Sherlock tossed the phone into the air and caught it before tucking it away again into his coat pocket. "Thank you." And then to John: "Shame on you, John Watson."

John looked appalled at the comment. "Shame on me?!"

"Yes, shame on you," Scottie repeated for him. "Dishonor on you, dishonor on your family, dishonor on your cow."

"M-My what?"

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?" scoffed Sherlock. "England would fall." The detective put a protective arm around Mrs. Hudson and pulled her into a side hug. She laughed and stroked at his hand and John smiled at them both.

"Okay no this is touching and all but seriously, what is Sherlock eating and can I have some of that?" Emily asked, already getting into the fridge.


Time passed. John had started threatening to put the kids in school again to keep them from lounging about the flat all day being unproductive, and they eventually compromised by installing a landline, which Scottie and Emily were to take turns answering and keeping up with Sherlock's website, taking down names and cases for Sherlock to eventually look into when he was feeling up to it. Every so often they would go out and attempt to solve said cases themselves, but their successes were typically limited to finding lost animals and exposing cheating spouses.

One particular afternoon John was sitting in his armchair reading when said phone went off. He looked up at Scottie expectantly who climbed over the coffee table from the couch, did a summersault over to the table by the window, and then got up to answer it.

"Heeeello?"

"Yes hello, is this Papa John's?" Emily, who was the one on the other line, asked from where she was sitting on the steps just outside the room.

"NO THIS IS PATRICK." Scottie yelled into the receiver before slamming it down again.

John flailed and dropped his book off on the nearby smaller table as he got up and came over to the boy. "Scottie!" he gasped. "You can't just hang up on clients!" The phone rang a second time and the doctor shoved Scottie out of the way, this time picking it up himself. "Hello?"

"I'd like a large pepperoni with olives on one side," Emily said.

"W-What?"

"Papa John's?"

"I… Hang on a minute." Not hanging up just yet, John set the phone down on the table and stepped forward just enough so that he could now see Emily through the doorway. The girl glanced up from over her shoulder, let out a yelp, and then scurried further down the stairs. John pursed his lips together and hung up the phone.

"I love you but you're terrible what you do and I'd fire the both of you if I could." He went to fetch his coat and started out the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Scottie called after him.

"Grocery shopping. Between the four of us there's never any goddamn milk in this place. Don't leave the flat, don't let anyone into the flat, for the love of God don't do anything that could cause you to burn down the flat, and also while you're at it, you're not allowed to use the phone anymore." John took his keys from where they'd been set down nearby and went through the doorway. He then paused and looked back at Scottie. "If anything happens Mrs. Hudson's in charge, but I'm also a phone call away."

"You literally just told me we're banned from using the phone," Scottie argued.

Ignoring him, John started down the stairs, passing by a guilty looking Emily on his way out of the building. Once the front door had shut behind him, Emily got up out of the armchair in the lobby and went to join Scottie in 221B.

"Someone doesn't have a sense of humor," she muttered upon entering the room. She opened her mouth to say something else, but before the girl had a chance she and Scottie heard something clanking around in the kitchen.

Scottie made a face. "Um. Didn't Mrs. Hudson say something about thinking there was a family of raccoons going through her bins?"

"Sounds like an awfully big raccoon." Emily crept closer to the entrance to the flat's kitchen, only relaxing when she got close enough to see in. "Oh. It's just Irene breaking in through the window."

"I assumed you'd be at school or something," the intruder admitted.

"A mistake so many trespassers seem to be making as of late. So what brings you here?"

"What brought you?" Irene threw back playfully.

Scottie shifted his eyes over to Emily before answering. "We… live here?"

"But you didn't always."

"Unlike you, we weren't on the run from anybody," Emily said.

Irene pursed her lips into a sly smile. "See, now if you already knew what I was doing here then why did you bother asking?"

"Um. Common courtesy?"

"Mm. I bet. Now tell me, is Sherlock around?"

"Evidently not," answered Scottie. "I'd call him for you, except that I'm still unclear as to whether or not I'm actually banned from using the phone."

Irene nodded slowly. "I'll wait then."

Emily leaned a hip against the doorframe. "Okay then. So, uh, while you wait… Do you want anything to drink? Maybe we could play cards, or paint each other's nails or something…?"

"I'm actually quite tired," the other woman replied. "Think I might just take a quick nap if that's alright with you."

"Oh. I… I suppose that's fine."

"Aren't you worried about… y'know, the people after you?" asked Scottie.

"With you two here to protect me? Not even a little bit." With a half-smile, Irene went into the hall in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Scottie and Emily exchanged glances. With a shrug, they both went back to the living room and started to set up Mario Kart.

Sherlock came home before John and was almost immediately struck by a hurled Wii remote with a plastic steering wheel attached, which he narrowly avoided.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Scottie spat. "You lose four tournaments in a row and what do you know, it's time to start breaking controllers in a temper tantrum!"

"That's because you cheated," Emily threw back stubbornly.

"I did not cheat. It's impossible to cheat in Mario Kart."

"I kept going back and forth between the first and the last few, and then, the ONE time I'm actually in first at the end of the final lap, you HAD to go and hit me with a freaking blue shell!"

"Good to know nothing's changed around here," Sherlock said sarcastically, taking a cautious step into the flat.

"Yeah, about that…" Scottie trailed off, watching the detective as he went into the kitchen and stopped to examine the window. Like a dog, Sherlock began sniffing at the air and followed a seemingly invisible trail towards his bedroom just as John came back with his hands full of shopping bags.

"Well what are you two gawking at?" he asked the kids. "Help me put this stuff away."

"Fine," said Emily said, getting up to take one of the grocery bags from him, "but you should know that Sherlock has a surprise waiting for you in the bedroom."

"H-He does?" John looked around the room at then back at Emily, not entirely sure what to do with this information. He handed off two of his bags and set the rest down, venturing towards the kitchen. "I'll, um. I'll be right back."

Scottie shut off the TV and helped Emily take the groceries into the kitchen. They had just started dumping the contents of the bags out onto the already cluttered table when Sherlock and John came into the room together.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in the flat" were the first words out of John's mouth.

"She let herself in," Scottie clarified. "More specifically, through the window."

"Why didn't you tell us as soon as this happened?" interrogated Sherlock.

"Because John said we were indefinitely banned from using phones."

The detective squinted at Scottie and then John.

"Don't worry about it," the other man said defensively.

Sherlock squinted harder. "Why would you-"

"I said don't worry about it."

A silence fell over the four of them. Emily placed her hands on her hips and looked around at the boys in the room with her. "So anyway. Care to wait around for your lady friend to come to over Super Smash Bros. Brawl?"

John made a face. "I'm sorry?"

"That fighting game they like," Sherlock answered rather quickly.

"You know what video games they play?"

"I know we only bought them two for Christmas, and if it's not the racing game then it's obviously the fighting one."

"One of your more clever deductions, I assume," John mocked. "Anyway, I suppose if we're going to be waiting around for… well…" John motioned to Sherlock's bedroom. "Then we might as well pass the time with something, and their suggestion is as good as any."

"Not exactly my thing," Sherlock shrugged. "Games on the telly, that is. Or really any games that require only the mindless bashing of controls and no real stimulation."

"That's code for he's afraid of losing and embarrassing himself," Emily told Scottie and John matter-of-factly.

Scottie snickered. "Well what do you know. Something you two have in common."

Emily furrowed her eyebrows at her friend. "Hardy-har-har. Why don't you go set the console up."

"What are you going to do?"

"...get the other remote from the bottom of the stairs."

"Because you're a what…?"

"Because fuck you, that's why." With a flip of her hair, Emily disappeared around the corner.

Scottie cupped his hands over his mouth, calling out "The word I was looking for was 'sore loser'!" When she didn't answer, he shrugged carelessly and went to change out the Wii's disc.

After having retrieved the remote she'd thrown, Emily came back in the living room to find John and Scottie already crouched in front of the TV, and Scottie was bringing the game to its main menu. Emily popped the Wii remote out of its plastic steering wheel case and handed it to John, getting another one for herself from a bin beside the TV. Sherlock came into the room moments later and stood behind the ensemble.

"Changed your mind?" Scottie asked, looking up at the man.

"I'll watch."

"No you won't." Emily tossed yet another Wii remote at Sherlock, who caught it without so much as a flinch. "All in or all out, buddy."

And so Scottie and Emily did miraculously manage to talk the others into joining them in Super Smash Bros. Brawl, a game Emily was considerably better at and Sherlock kept having issues figuring out the controls to.

"What the… Where did my character go?!" the detective asked furiously. He was now cross-legged on the floor and crowded around the TV just like everyone else.

"You died three times," John explained, eyes not leaving the screen. "That means you're out of the round."

"Since when did you become the expert on a kids' video game?" Sherlock scowled.

"Since I just killed you, apparently."

Sherlock exhaled rather loudly and set down his remote. He then thought he heard something from the other room and got up to investigate.

"She's awake?" John asked, pausing the game.

"Oi! Rude!" Emily hit several buttons in succession, trying to unpause it again without any success.

"Using my shower, apparently," Sherlock informed his flatmate. "Same as everyone else in this building aside from Mrs. Hudson, despite having their own that I'm fairly certain works just as well."

John let out a thoughtful humming noise before going back to the game without warning.

"You did that on purpose!" Emily gasped, her character having just been knocked from a cliff by John's when she wasn't ready to resume just yet.

"Well I'm glad you lot are so easily distracted," Sherlock sighed, retreating to his computer.

Less than a half hour later Irene emerged from the bathroom, her hair down and wet and wearing Sherlock's bathroom. "I wasn't aware there was a party going on," the woman mused, looking round the room from Sherlock, hunched over his computer, to Scottie, John, and Emily, who had just been pushing one another over with their elbows trying to block the screen from the others.

"Were you not?" Sherlock asked, glancing up. "I'd have guessed that was why you invited yourself over."

Irene took a seat in John's armchair and crossed her legs. "I admit, I always was curious as to what went on behind the scenes in the Holmes-Watson household. So I take it you're the fun dad" - Irene pointed to John as she said this and then to Sherlock - "and you're the hardworking mother figure?" Sherlock shot her a look to which Irene pursed her lips into a smile. "Please. You know I'm only teasing. I'm sure you both make excellent mothers."

"Excuse me a minute."

"Of course."

Sherlock stood up and came over to the TV. "In case you haven't noticed," he said, looming over the three of them, "our guest has come out you're all being terribly rude by ignoring her."

"Oh, I don't mind," purred Irene.

"We're just going to finish this round," John told Sherlock without looking up.

Sherlock frowned and came in front of them, which caused the entire group to begin to make whining noise. "False," he said flatly, hitting a button to turn off the TV.

"But I nearly won that one!" Emily wailed, falling backwards so that she was sprawled across the floor.

"That's what you think," John muttered pridefully.

"Enough games. Miss Adler, would you care to take this to the table?"

"I suppose that could be arranged." Irene stood again and relocated to the kitchen table, Sherlock just behind her and being trailed by the disappointed looking remainder of the group.

"So who's after you?" asked Sherlock, pulling out a chair for himself.

"People who want to kill me."

"Who's that?"

"Killers," Irene answered nonchalantly.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John said, sitting besides Sherlock now and across from Scottie and Emily.

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

"Who around here hasn't?" Emily muttered. Suddenly all eyes were on her questioningly. "...wanted to fake their own death?" she quickly tacked onto the end of her comment. "I mean. C'mon. Sneaking into your own funeral Tom Sawyer-style? How awesome would that be?"

"It worked for a while," Irene went on, getting back on topic.

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore all four of us."

"I knew you'd keep my secret, and they have no one else to tell."

"Well she's not wrong," Scottie admitted.

"You couldn't," Sherlock pointed out.

"But you did, didn't you?" Irene pressed. "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here," John told her, not even knowing for himself of the phone's whereabouts. "We're not stupid."

Irene wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. "Then what have you done with it? If they've guess 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."

"I need it."

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" offered John. "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 up the back."

Sherlock smiled. "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

"Thank you. So why don't..." John looked proud of himself for all of two seconds before Sherlock took the camera phone in question out of his own jacket pocket. Irene stood up upon seeing the phone. "Oh, for…"

"You sound surprised," Emily commented, leaning over the table with her chin in her hand.

"So what do you keep on here?" Sherlock examined the phone. "In general, I mean?"

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

"GIFs of cats being dumb," Scottie guessed.

"Naughty fanfiction," Emily added to the list.

"Funny cat videos."

"Selfies."

"Cat memes."

Emily turned her head to Scottie with raised eyebrows. "Okay, seriously?"

"Cats falling off of things and trying to make it look like they did it on purpose is God's gift to mankind," Scottie defended himself.

"How exactly would I find any of those things useful?" Irene questioned, squinting at them both.

"Rule number one: never take anything Scottie or Emily says seriously," John sighed. "Now tell me, this… whatever it is - it's for blackmail, then?"

"For protection," the woman corrected him. "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."

"So how do you acquire this information?" interrogated Sherlock.

"I told you. I misbehave."

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

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

"I assumed. Show me."

In response, Irene held out an expectant palm to Sherlock, who only held the phone further out of reach at this gesture.

"The passcode."

But Irene didn't budge, and Sherlock finally gave in and handed over the cell phone, which she held in such a way that he couldn't see what she was putting into it. The phone made a beep and she frowned. "It's not working."

Sherlock stood and took the phone from her. "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one-oh-five-eight." Sherlock strode into the living room and pulled forth the real phone from underneath a chair cushion. "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway."

The others followed him into the room as he inserted the passcode into the real phone. "I came very close to moving it to the other chair," Emily admitted to Scottie. "But then I figured he'd probably notice and know that I knew."

Scottie snorted. "Do you just get off on slightly fucking with people or…?"

"Don't you?"

Sherlock looked down at the phone in disbelief, it having not worked with the new string of numbers.

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

"Oh, you're rather good," Sherlock admitted, meeting her eyes.

"You're not so bad," the woman flirted back. Irene smirked and looked back into his eyes. In fact, one could assume they were pretty much having eye sex at this point.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Suddenly Scottie came forward and swooped in between Sherlock and Irene, snatching the phone from their hands. He inserted the correct passcode and then handed it back.

A stunned look came over everyone else in the room as they stared at him, mouths slightly ajar. Emily took a pillow from the side of the couch and pressed her face into it. "Oh my god Scottie no," she moaned, the words coming out muffled against the object. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"The sexual tension was annoying the shit out of me," he answered, seemingly unconcerned.

"YOU JUST RUINED EVERYTHING."

"You don't know that. It's not like I'm actually going to tell him what it is or anything."

"You're such a douchecanoe!" Emily let out, launching the pillow at him. It completely missed and flopped onto the middle of the living room floor.

"Now hold on, how come he knew the passcode?" John demanded. The same exact question was obviously on the other's minds as well, but they were apparently still too busy taking in what had just occurred to ask themselves. "Sherlock has had the phone for six months now - hell, he even had the thing x-rayed in a lab and came no closer to unlocking it! So one of you better explain how the FUCK Scottie was able to punch in the right digits on his FIRST ATTEMPT."

The younger boy smiled weakly. "Um. Lucky guess?"

"We can figure out how he knew later," Sherlock concluded, shaking his head.

"I think I have a right to know now," protested Irene. "And the doctor makes an excellent point. As I have said many times before and will again, that camera phone is my life, and under no circumstances would I ever allow its passcode to found out by some fifteen year old kid."

"Eighteen, actually," Scottie mumbled.

"I said we'll get to the bottom of it later," Sherlock went on. "I'm just as… intrigued as you are, but believe me when I say that stranger things have happened between those two. For now, let's worry about the issue at hand."

Irene wrinkled her nose before giving in. She held out the palm of her hand expectantly. "Very well. May I?" Sherlock gave her back the phone, which she took with her a short distance away and then handed back to the detective. "There was a man," she told him. "An MOD official. I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." Irene handed Sherlock the device. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on the screen; can you read it?

Sherlock took the phone with him to the other side of the table and had a seat, John following him to have a look for himself. Scottie took the opportunity to slink back onto the couch.

"Told you it would work out," he told Emily, sounding less confident than he had before.

The girl took a deep breath breath before replying: "You got lucky."

"Yes," Sherlock finally answered Irene.

"A code, obviously. 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. What can you do Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock leaned forward, concentrating on the screen in front of him, as Irene hovered just over his shoulder seductively. "Go on," she cooed. "Impress a girl."

"Yup this is officially making me uncomfortable," Scottie said, starting to leave.

"Where are you going?" Emily called after him.

"Back to 221C," the boy answered without looking back.

"It's unlike you to leave when there's a case going on," Emily pointed out worriedly.

"Yeah but this" - Scottie started walking backwards so that he could motion to the scene between Sherlock and Irene - "is not my division."

"Suit yourself." With a shrug, Emily came closer to John's side to watch what was going on. Sherlock was halfway through his deduction when she tuned back in.

"These are seat allocations on a passenger jet," Sherlock was explaining, showing John the picture for himself. "Look. 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 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

By this point Sherlock was on his feet again and handed the phone back to Irene. "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.

Emily glanced up to see Scottie hovering in the doorway still. She came over to him. "I thought you said-"

"I made a genuine effort. What have I missed?"

"Sherlock figured out the plane thing," Emily told him with a quick glance over her shoulder to see that none of the others were overhearing their conversation. "Which I too admit is a little hard to be in the presence of, knowing what we do now."

"You're right. But it's not our place." Scottie sighed, leaning up against the door frame.

"Says the guy who just risked throwing off the rest of the episode by giving them the right passcode instead of waiting half a second longer for Irene to do it."

"Shush. Don't make this into a contest of who's interrupted the original script most, because you've certainly had your fair share of incidents."

"Pfft." Emily folded her arms. "Like what?"

"Pool scene."

"...Oh yeah."

Scottie looked over at Irene, who was typing something on her phone from behind her back so that the men wouldn't notice.

"I really want to trust her," Scottie sighed.

"I know. Me too. But."

"I guess… sometimes knowing too much isn't a good thing."

"Feels like a test a lot of the time," Emily commented. "And not an easy one to pass."

"But we're doing alright," Scottie told her in such a way that almost sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of this.

Emily smiled back at him. "Yeah. Despite everything, we make a pretty good team."


Irene was gone the next morning. Sherlock didn't seem to want to talk about it much, but they knew why even before he finally brought himself to fill at least John in on what had happened that night with Mycroft, and as such they all did their best to go on with their lives as ordinarily as they could given the circumstances, which got easier the more time went on.

A little over a week seemed to fly by in no time at all, at which point one might not have even guessed that the Irene ordeal had taken place. One particularly rainy evening Emily was sitting sideways in Sherlock's chair while the detective himself toiled away at his microscope in the kitchen. Scottie was currently lying on his stomach in the middle of the floor with his laptop out in front of himself.

The landline went off for the first time in what seemed like ages and Emily excitedly flopped forward and pressed it up against her ear.

"Hello and welcome to Papa John's, how can I help you?"

Mycoft Holmes' response was entirely lacking amusement at her running gag. "Put John on the phone," he instructed.

Emily tilted her head to the side. "Sir. Papa John is just a mascot and not a real person. Can I interest you in our two for one special?"

"I will have child services over there five minutes if I have to."

"Yeah right. Legal adult, remember?"

"Oh so now you're being Emily again?"

The girl's smug look faded. "Shit. I mean sausage. Would you like John's sausage? No, wait, that's not what I…" Unable to successfully come up with a witty response, Emily melted into her seat shamefully and held the phone out into the air above her, shouting "John, it's for you!"

On cue, the doctor came in from the kitchen and took the phone from her. "Yes?" he said into the receiver. "I… oh. Geez. Yeah, I'm sorry about that. If I knew how to get it to stop I would. Yes. I'll be down in a minute."

John hung up and disappeared down the stairs mere moments later. He was only absent from the flat long enough for Emily to finish an episode of Lost on her phone.

"Clearly you've got news," Sherlock called out before John had even reentered the flat. "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring."

John came in and poked his head around the corner into the kitchen. "Hi. Er, no, it's, um… It's about Irene Adler."

Emily pulled her headphones out with one hand and looked over. Scottie had the same idea in mind and made a 180 in order to benefit his eavesdropping. He couldn't see their faces from where he was against the ground, but he could hear the two of them well enough.

"Oh?" Sherlock asked with vague interest. "Something happened? Has she come back?"

"No. She's, er…"

"She's in America."

"America?"

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

"I know what?" asked Sherlock, who evidently did not know.

"Well. You won't be able to see her again?"

"Why would I want to see her again?"

"Didn't say you did," John muttered.

There was a pause before: "Is that her file?"

"Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft. Do you want to…?"

"No."

"Hm."

More awkward silence. Scottie and Emily exchanged glances.

"Listen, actually…" John started.

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though."

"There's nothing on it anymore," John told his flatmate. "It's been stripped."

"I know, but I… I'll still have it."

"I've gotta give this back to Mycroft," John argued. "You can't keep it. Sherlock. I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give…"

"Please," Sherlock asked politely. John hesitated for a moment longer before giving up and putting the phone into Sherlock's waiting hand. "Thank you."

"Well. I'd better take this back."

"Yes."

John started to leave through the door connecting their kitchen to the hallway, but paused again before asking "Did she ever text you again, after… all that?"

"Once," Sherlock told him. "A few months ago."

"What did she say?"

"'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes'."

"Huh…" John came back into the living room. "You two are going to need to see about getting a real job sooner or later," he told Emily and Scottie just before turning around to go out the side door for real. "Get off your comfortable arses for once in your life." They didn't answer and in another couple seconds he was gone again.

There was a long silence that followed. Scottie and Emily held their breaths.

"The woman," Sherlock finally said to himself. "THE woman."

Smiling, Scottie and Emily turned their heads to one another again from across the room and smiled. Scottie gave Emily a thumbs up, which she returned with a satisfied nod just before they went back to their electronics.