(Alice’s POV: )

Sometime later Irene had changed into one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and was sitting in his chair in the living room. The boys were sitting at the table looking at her. I was in John’s chair, looking bitterly at the woman in my usual spot.

 “So who’s after you?” Sherlock asked.

 “People who want to kill me.” Irene answered.

 “Who’s that?” I asked bitterly, hoping I could contact them and give her to them. I crossed my arms childishly.

 “Killers.” She said, looking smugly and directly at me. I scowled.

 “It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific.” John said sarcastically.

 “So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them.” Sherlock clarified.

 “It worked for a while.” Irene said.

 “Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore us.” Sherlock reminded.

 “I already knew, Sherlock.” I said, raising my hand a bit. He looked at me and gave me a, ‘later’ look.

 “I knew you’d keep my secret.” Irene said, looking at both Sherlock and I.

 “You couldn’t.” Sherlock said.

 “But you did, didn’t you? Where’s my camera phone?” Irene tested.

 “It’s not here. We’re not stupid.” John put in.

 “Then what have you done with it? If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you.” Irene warned.

 “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 reasoned.

 “I need it.” She said, sounding urgent.

 “Well, we can’t just go and get it, can we?” John asked. He looked round to Sherlock, inspired. “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 café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back.” John suggested.

 “Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions.” Sherlock congratulated. I looked at my lap to hide my smile.

 “Thank you.” John replied, picking up his mobile. “So, why don’t...” He saw Sherlock take the camera phone out of his jacket pocket and hold it up. “Oh, for...” John trailed, looking very disappointed. I smiled quickly and looked back at Sherlock. He looked at the phone closely as Irene stood up.

 “So what do you keep on here – in general, I mean?” Sherlock asked.

 “Pictures, information, anything I might find useful.” Irene answered, looking rather desperately at the mobile.

 “What, for blackmail?” John asked.

 “For protection. 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.” Irene replied simply. My mobile vibrated a text alert. Sherlock ignored it and the continued their conversation as I pulled my phone out.

 “So how do you acquire this information?” Sherlock asked. I looked at the sender; it was an unavailable number. I narrowed my eyes.

 “I told you – I misbehave.” Irene repeated. I read the message.

 “I saw you today. I can’t wait to talk to you.” It read. No signature, no calling card. I put my mobile away, ignoring the strange message.

 “But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?” Sherlock replied.

 “Yes, but I don’t understand it.” Irene answered.

 “I assumed. Show me.” Sherlock ordered. Irene held out her hand for the phone. Sherlock held it up out of her reach. “The passcode.” He ordered again. She continued to hold her hand out, and eventually Sherlock sat forward and handed her the phone. Activating it and holding it so we couldn’t see the screen or the keypad, she typed in four characters. The phone beeped warningly.

 “It’s not working.” She said simply.

 “No, because it’s a duplicate that I had made, into which you’ve just entered the numbers one- oh- five- eight.” Sherlock revealed, standing up and taking the phone from her. He walked over to his chair in which she was just sitting and retrieved the real camera phone from under the cushion. “I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway.” Sherlock added. He pulled up the “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen and typed ‘1058’ into the phone. He looked at her smugly but then the phone beeped warningly and a message came up reading: ‘WRONG PASSCODE. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING’. He stared in disbelief.

 “I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand.” Irene bragged. I rolled my eyes.

 “Oh, you’re rather good.” Sherlock complimented.

 “You’re not so bad.” She returned, smiling at him. She held her hand out again and took the phone from him. John frowned at the pair of them as they stared... no, glared at each other for the next few seconds.

 “Hamish.” John interrupted abruptly. We all turned to look at him. I gave him a confused look. “John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names.” John joked, but sounding serious.

Sherlock frowned in confusion. I laughed quietly and Sherlock turned his confusion to me.

 “There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked.” Irene said, almost as abruptly as John had. She glared at me for a moment –unseen by the men- but then walked a short distance away so we couldn’t see her screen or keypad. She typed in her real passcode and called up a photo. “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.” She handed the phone to Sherlock. “He was a bit tied up at the time. It’s a bit small on that screen – can you read it?” I made sure she saw my disgust. Her eyes narrowed at me as Sherlock sat down on the other side of the table to John and narrowed his eyes at the photograph. The top of the email read: 007 Confirmed allocation. Underneath in smaller print was a string of numbers:

4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K.

 “Yes.” Sherlock answered.

 “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.” Irene said. Once again, I showed my disgust. She looked like she wanted to come over to me, but she stayed where she was. Sherlock leaned forward, concentrating on the screen. “What can you do, Mr. Holmes?” She asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Go on. Impress a girl.” She began to lean towards him. Oblivious to her approach, Sherlock’s mind began working. I would have been too, but I couldn’t see the code and was a bit distracted by Irene kissing Sherlocks cheek.  I could see that he had solved it by the time that she had pulled away. I cleared my throat awkwardly, hoping to get her away from him. It didn’t work; she ignored me.

His eyes drifted momentarily in her direction as she pulled back smiling, but then he concentrated on the screen again.

 “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. 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.” Sherlock began, speaking at high-speed. He looked at John’s blank face in front of him, and then glanced round at Irene who hadn’t even fully straightened up yet. He glanced at me discreetly, quickly going back to Irene. “Oh, come on. It’s not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. 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 six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport.” Sherlock continued. By now he had stood up, and now he lowered the phone and looked down at Irene, who gazed up at him in admiration. “Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language.” Sherlock dismissed, engaging the full force of his cello jaguar voice. I very much hated myself for thinking that, but continued thinking it.

 “I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy... twice.” Irene said intensely. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Sherlock spoke again.

 “John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I’m right?” Sherlock asked with his eyes still locked on Irene’s.

 “Uh-huh. I’m on it, yeah.” John answered vaguely, seemingly overcome by all the... intimacy in the air. Clearing his throat, he started to type on his laptop. Sherlock and Irene continued to stare at each other. I glared at the pair, angry despite myself.

 “I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.” Sherlock said.

 “Twice.” Irene repeated emphatically.

 “Uh, yeah, you’re right. Uh, flight double oh seven.” John answered, still looking at the screen.

 “What did you say?” Sherlock asked, looking round to him.

 “You’re right.” John repeated.

 “No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?” Sherlock questioned.

 “Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven.” John emphasized.

 “Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven...” Sherlock chanted, as if he recognized it. It sounded familiar to me as well. My face changed from jealousy (or what I thought was jealousy) to concentration. I wracked my brain. Pushing Irene out of the way, Sherlock stood up and began to pace. “...something ...something connected to double oh seven ...What?” He mumbled. As he continued to pace and mutter the numbers to himself, Irene put the phone behind her back and began to type blind on it. My eyes narrowed as I watched what she typed; ‘747 TOMORROW 6:30PM HEATHROW’. She sent it to a contact labelled, ‘Him’. Sherlock had walked to the fireplace and was standing in front of the mirror with his eyes closed.

 “Double oh seven, double oh seven, what, what, something, what?” He mumbled quietly.

 “Sherlock...” I began.

 “No! Shut up! Double oh seven...”

“Sherlock!” His eyes snapped open and he looked at me. Our eyes met and we looked at the door.

Okay, sorry. Only one chapter again. I'm still too behind to post two. I HAVE NO EXCUSES!! So I am sorry. Anyway. Vote, comment, and enjoy, fun peoples!! =)