Sherlock watched as the door closed and Mrs Hudson entered the room. Irene sighed and stood up, looking at Sherlock with a slight frown.

"Sherlock, this man was at the door, is the bell still not working? He shot it," Mrs Hudson said as she let a man in. The same man that had taken him and Phoebe to Buckingham Palace all those months ago.

"Have you come to take me away, again?" SHerlock asked, his voice dripping with attitude.

"Yes, Mr Holmes," the man confirmed as he walked over to the detective who was still sat in his chair.

"Well, I decline," Sherlock refused as he looked away.

The man then pulled out an envelope and held it out for Sherlock. "I don't think you do."

Sherlock took the letter and opened it, pulling out a ticket for a jumbo jet.

He sighed and stood up, straightening out his jacket.

"And I was told that the girl can come if she wants," the man spoke up and Irene hummed.

"What? He really wants-"

"He meant Phoebe," Sherlock replied briskly before walking downstairs. He went into Phoebe's flat, looking for her so he could ask her to join him since John was out.

He found Phoebe curled up with a bowl beside her on her bed.

"Phoebe?"

She opened her eyes and looked at the curly haired maniac. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sherlock asked, putting the back of his hand to her forehead.

"I'll survive. Just a bug," Phoebe replied quietly.

"Alright, then get some rest. I'm heading out for a bit. I'll be back later," Sherlock said before turning to leave.

"Be safe," Phoebe spoke up just as he was walking out.

He turned to look back in with a grin. "You know I never am."

She couldn't help but smile as she watched him leave. She hated how fast he made her heart beat, but she adored him.

🔎

Sherlock got out of the sleek black car he had been riding in, approachibg the jumbo jet that had the cia agent standing at it.

"Well, you're looking all better," Sherlock said as he stood in front of the agent he had launched out of the window. "How are ya feeling?"

"Like putting a bullet in your brain, sir."

Sherlock scoffed and turned to go up the stairs.

A few steps in, the man said, "they's pin a medal on me if I did, sir."

Sherlock looked back before continuing ahead. He entered the plain and looked around him.

Dead bodies, in every seat.

"The Coventry conundum," Mycroft's voice came from the back of the plane.

Sherlock jumped and spun around to face his brother.

"What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead."

"Plane blows up midair, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties but nobody dies," Sherlock spoke as he pieced it all together.

"Neat, don't you think? You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice that pattern?"

That made Sherlock think, the little girls who had come to him about their granddad, that man who was convinced his aunt's ashes were replaced.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight," Mycroft continued.

The body in the trunk, of course! It all made sense now. That one had bothered him for a while. He only let it go when Phoebe had voiced how worried she was about him not eating or sleeping.

"But that's the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock questioned as he continued to look at some of the passengers. "Oh, pf course, unmanned aircraft, hardly new."

"It doesm't fly. It never will. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything," Mycroft said, staring at his brother in the dim light. "One fragment of one email and months and years of planning, finished."

"Your MOD man," Sherlock said as he nodded slowly.

"That's all it takes. One lonely naive man, desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special," Mycroft said, not being very subtle.

"You should screen your defence people more carefully," Sherlock replied.

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

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock replied. Did he really fall for the act too? Mycroft of all people.

"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute?  Or were you really eager to impress?" Mycroft questioned as the look of disappointment on his face grew.

"I think it was less than five seconds," Irene said from behind Sherlock and he turned to look at her in shock.

"I drove you into her path," Mycroft spoke as he looked down. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk," Irene replied as she walked towards both the brothers.

"So do I," Sherlock agree. "There arel a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

"Not you, Junior, you're done now," the woman said as she brushed passed the younger of the two. "There's more, loads more. On this phone I've got secrets and pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother?"

-

Mycroft sat in a room in his house across from Irene while Sherlock sat in a chair, not daring to look at either of them.

"We have people who can get into this," Mycroft informed as he tried to find a way out of this situation he had been put in.

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

"There are four additional unit wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to try and open the casing will burn the hard drive," Sherlock explained, keeping his gaze forward as Mycroft rubbed his forehead.

"Explosive," Irene said. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable."

"Take that risk."

"You have a passcode to open this," Mycroft continued. "I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

"Sherlock?" Irene sighed, getting bored from the simple ideas.

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

"Oh, he's good, isn;t he? I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might," Irene purred as she looked at Sherlock with a grin.

"We destroy this, then. No one has the information," Mycroft thought up, trying to stop her from fully winning.

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

"Are there?"

"Tell you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." Irene shook her head a bit as she reached into her bag, pulling out an envelope. "A list of my requests and some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying. I imagine you'd like to sleep on it?"

"Thank you, yes," Mycroft replied, looking at the list in disbelief.

"Too bad," Irene replied, making Sherlock breath a laugh. "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft sighed as he leaned nack in his chair. "You've been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit, I had a bit of help. Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love," IRene said to Sherlock who huffed lightly.

"Yes, he's been in touch," Mycroft replied with a nod. "Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged."

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the concultant criminal. Gave me a loot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Iceman and the Virgin," Irene spoke as she stood up.

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, he doesn't know me as well as he thought." Then he froze, thinking about what he had just said.

Irene raised a brow, sitting on the end if the table before continuing, "Didn't ask for anything, I think he just like to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."

"Here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees," Mycroft said, rising to his feet. "Nicely played."

"No," Sherlock spoke.

"Sorry?" Irene looked over at the younger Holmes brother.

"I said no." Sherlock finally turned to look at her. "Very, very close but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much."

Sherlock stood and began walking over to the woman sitting on the table.

"No such think as too much," Irene denied with a grin, wondering what he was getting at.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but sentiment. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side," Sherlock saiid coldly as he stared her down.

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"

"You."

"Oh, dear God," Irene murmured as she looked up at the curly haired detective. "Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? ecause you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No," Sherlock replied lowly, stepping towards her as he gently grabbed her wrist, leaning in next to her ear. "Because I took your pulse."

Irene thought back to when she and Sherlock had been in his living room before Phoebe came in, him turning his hand to grab her wrist.

"Elevated. Your pupils dilated," Sherlock said before letting go of her wrist, reaching to grab her camera-phone. "I imagine John Watson and Phoebe Hunt think love is a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive. WHen we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurments, but this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head."

Sherlock began pressing the keys on her phone slowly. Irene looked at him with fear flooding her eyes.

"You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed thta love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof."

Just as Sherlock was about to hit the final button, Irene grabbed his arm.

"Everything I said, it's not real. I was just playing the game," Irene said as tears pricked her eyes.

"I know. And this is just losing," Sherlock said, pressing the last button before holding up the phone so she could see it.

I AM
S H E R
LOCKED

Sherlock held the phone out for his brother who came and took it, unlocking it to see its contents. "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain they will," Mycroft replied gratefully as he clicked through the files on the camera-phone."

"If you're feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her 'protection'," Sherlock said as he grinned slightly.

"Are you expecting me to beg?" Irene asked as tears were pooled in her eyes.

"Yes," he replied, walking away from her.

Irene stod there for a moment, as her lip quivered. "Please. You're right. I won't even last six months."

"Sorry about dinner," Sherlock replied, turning to leave the room. "But I have a woman more clever than you to eat with."

With that, he exited the room, leaving Irene crying in the room with Mycroft.

🔎

Phoebe sat in her flat, curled up in the corner of her sofa. She had found her old diary and was reading through it.

Remembering all the fun memories she had of Sherlock made her heart ache. She knew that all of those times she had dragged him to a festial, or to the market, or out to have a picnic, that she was only bothering him. It hurt because she had thought they were both having a great time. She had photos tucked in between the pages which she looked at with tears trickling down her cheeks.

She hated crying, but when she came across a letter she had written for Sherlock, she couldn't stop it. She had been so infatuated with Sherlock. Her crush started a little after they met and it grew into a lot more as they years passed. She wished she had known that she meant nothing to him.

"Why am I like this? I shouldn't be in love with him anymore. Nothing's going to change. He's just gonna tell me that it's pointless. Why can't I just stop feeling?"

She threw her book into the corner of the room and buried her face in her knees, trying to get her emotions under control as she cried.

"Hey, Phoebe, I was just coming-" Sherlock opened her door before seeing her crying on her couch. "What's wrong now?"

"It's nothing. I'm just being stupid. Don't worry about me," Phoebe said as she looked up, wiping her cheeks swiftly.

"No, it's not nothing," Sherlock argued as he walked towards her.

"It's nothing you would care about," Phoebe corrected herself.

"It's that guy you're in love with, right?"

Phoebe just stayed silent, looking at the floor.

"If he doesn't want you then find someone else. Or just get over yourself and figure out that you don't need anyone. Relationships will only hurt you in the end. They're pointless," Sherlock continued and Phoebe tensed.

"You really don't know anything about emotions. I can't just stop loving him. He's one of the smartest people I know. He can make me laugh. Whenever I see him, which is almost every day, I can't help but feel like my worl is more complete. He... he makes me feel like I'm smart, like I can do anything. He believes in me like no one has before and I just... I don't want to lose that."

"I believe in you. John believes in you. Why can't you just stay friends with him. He'll still make you feel the same," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe you're right. Being friends is probably the safer option. Honestly I'm lucky he evern wants to be friends with me," Phoebe said under her breath, resting her chin on her knees. "I'll be fine though. It's not like I have a chance anyway. He wants someone else."

Sherlock was about to shoot back a reply before he looked at her face, seeing the tears trickling down her cheeks.

"What if I'm just not meant to have anyone? What if I'm not meant to mean the world to someone? I just want to share my life with the one person who makes me feel like I can be successful. I wanted to be the one to make him feel as special as he makes me feel," Phoebe said softly, redufusing to look him in the eye.

He walked over and wiped her cheeks. "Stop crying. You know what'll get your mind off of him, we'll go on a case tomorrow. Just the two of us. Okay?"

"Okay," Phoebe replied with a little nod. "Let's do that."

"Now, I came to check if you were feeling any better today," Sherlock said and she shrugged.

"Well, I haven't thrown up today and my fever went down, so yeah. I feel a lot better than yesterday."

"Good. I'll be upstairs if you need me," Sherlock said before waking out the door.

Phoebe watched him go, sighing as she stood up.

"He's right. I need to get over myself," ashe said as she brushed herself. "I don't need anyone. I have friends who believe in me. That's all I need."

She breathed deeply and turned to get ready for bed.

-

Sherlock went up to his flat and started pacing.

"Who? Who could it be?"

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked as he looked at him from his chair.

"Trying to figure out who Phoebe is in love with. They hurt her and I'm gonna hurt them back," Sherlock said.

"What?" John looked at him in disbelief.

"You? No, she thinks of you as a brother and she wouldn't be trying to help you get a date if she was in love with you. Mycroft? She doesn't see him every day. They talk often but she said that she sees him almost every day," Sherlock thought hard.

"You really-"

"Peter! The guy at her bakery!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Of course! It all makes-"

"Are you really that daft?!" John stood up and glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked over with confusion. "What are you on about?"

"It's you! She has been hurting for months because you fell for Irene Adler over her!" John shouted.

"What?" Sherlock froze. How did he not see it? He knew that he always had trouble reading Phoebe but that should've been obvious.

"Phoebe loves you! You are so dense!" John stormed out of the room and Sherlock reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out his locket. He stared at the photo of Phoebe in his locket.

"Oh..."