A/N - A chapter I finished off in between the online course because I have almost become addicted to updating 😂 is that even possible? Idk but I appreciate that my mind is on a roll with this story 😄

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Elizabeth was the one to wake Irene, seemingly feeling protective over her new nest again, "Irene. Wake up."

The Woman groaned, shifting under the duvet slightly, peeking open her eyes to peer at the small crowd looking at her.

She smiled coyly, "You're finally all back. I was wondering when you would be. It's a very comfy bed, this."

"Yeah, alright Goldilocks, up."

The Dominatrix saw the harsh looking bruise and cut on the side of her head, "Ooh, that looks nasty, how did you get that?"

Elizabeth just kept scowling at her.

Irene smiled again at Elizabeth when she didn't respond, "I'm getting the impression that I've done something to upset you."

"A - you died, B - you've been texting Sherlock an awful lot and C - you've messed up the bed that I made this morning."

Irene sat up in the bed, sharing a look with John and Sherlock before meeting with Elizabeth's hard stare again, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a tad bit jealous, Elizabeth. Did you say you made the bed? Oh, did you and the detective - "

"Irene." Elizabeth was trying her best to remain composed, "Shut up and get up. Now."

"Mm, yes ma'am." Irene stretched, drawing out her time in the bed as much as possible, "Tell me, did you ever consider joining a profession such as mine? I would gladly hire you if you bossed everyone around like that."

Both John and Sherlock saw that Elizabeth was getting more riled up by the second. And Sherlock could see that Irene was finding some enjoyment in winding her up. Elizabeth's jaw flexed as she burned holes into The Woman. She let out a shaky breath before leaving the room. If she stayed, she didn't know what she might do or say.

John looked between Sherlock and The Woman before heading after Elizabeth to make sure that she was alright.

Elizabeth was sat on the sofa in the lounge, running her hands through her hair. It was supposed to be a good day. Not a 'let's harbour Irene today' day. And for her to just waltz in here, acting like she owned the place, after the week they had? Ha, anybody would be nuts to think Elizabeth wouldn't be annoyed.

"You okay?" John asked.

"Define okay." Elizabeth hissed at him but then regretted her tone, "Sorry. I'm just - I didn't even know I would ever react this badly. Why does she have to be here? Why now?"

John went to sit next to her, "If it's anything to do with the conversation we had yesterday, I believe she's after her phone."

"Well then give her the phone and send her away."

John looked at her, knowing she knew they couldn't.

"It would be so easy just to send her away."

"I know. But we still have a job to do." John spoke calmingly.

"We can't take a day off for just one day?"

"We've had months off on this case. You know we can't."

Elizabeth sighed, putting her head in her hands, "I know, I know..."

After John and Elizabeth had left, Sherlock and Irene stared intensely at each other.

"Did you have a fun night then, detective?" She asked pointedly.

"If looking after Elizabeth to ensure she hadn't suffered a concussion after the torture the CIA put her through is considered fun, then yes." He spoke curtly.

A hint of an apology echoed in The Woman's eyes, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"And yet I'm sure you're happy to know it wasn't you they tracked down." Sherlock turned to grab his gown from off the hook behind the door and chucked it to the bed, "Take a shower. Get ready. We need to talk."

And with that he left the room.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

A short while later the four were sat in the living room. Irene had taken Sherlock's chair, much to the detective's dismay. Therefore he was sat at the living room table with John as Elizabeth was in John's chair, still glaring daggers into The Woman. Irene was welcoming her daggers with open arms, staring back at the thief with an amused, kittenish look.

"So who's after you?" The detective asked?

"People who want to kill me."

"Who's that?"

Irene broke hers and Elizabeth's staring competition to look at the detective. She stated matter-of-factly, "Killers."

"Wow." Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

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

"Is Moriarty after you?" Elizabeth specified as the thought crossed her mind, garnering Irene's attention again.

Irene shook her head, "No, he's let me off."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at Irene, "So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them."

"It worked for a while."

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me."

"And me." Elizabeth added, mildly offended that she had been left out of the equation but she was ignored.

"I knew you'd keep my secret."

"You couldn't?"

"But you did, didn't you?" She smiled, sitting up in Sherlock's chair, "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here." John said, putting his tea mug down, "We're not stupid."

"Then what have you done with it? 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."

"I need it."

Both John and Elizabeth watched Irene and Sherlock's staring competition now. The thief didn't appreciate the predatory gaze that the Dominatrix was giving Sherlock. It made her uncomfortable.

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" John asked but then had a moment of inspiration and looked at Sherlock, "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."

Sherlock smiled, proud of his friend's plan, "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

The only 'however' in this plan was the fact that Sherlock already had the phone on his person.

"Thank you." He frowned thoughtfully as he realised that that wasn't a yes, "So why don't...Oh, for..."

Sherlock had whipped out Irene's phone from his trousers pocket. Irene's gaze stuck to her phone like a cat watching a red dot.

"So...what do you keep on here - in general, I mean?"

Irene stood now, "Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"What, for blackmail?" Elizabeth questioned.

"For protection." Was Irene's serious answer, "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?"

"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." She admitted.

"I assumed. Show me." Irene held out her hand expectantly but Sherlock raised the phone away from her, "The passcode."

They stared at each other, each challenging and daring the other to back down. Irene kept her hand held out. Sherlock gave in, or so she thought, sitting forwards on his chair slightly to pass her the device. She input a code into the phone and entered it. The phone beeped.

"It's not working."

Sherlock stood, taking the phone off of her again, "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight."

Elizabeth and John both smirked smugly as Irene shuffled on the spot. Of course The Woman was no match for their beloved detective. He was far too smart for her.

Sherlock dug under the pillow of his chair and fished out Irene's actual phone, "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway."

The detective went to stand in front of her, showing off his intelligence with a self-satisfied smirk of his own. He input the code and entered it - but frowned as the phone beeped in refusal. The detective looked at Irene as though not quite sure what had happened. He knew he had put the code in right - it was only four numbers after all.

Irene smiled now, shuffling closer to the detective, "I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."

"Oh, you're rather good."

"You're not so bad."

Again, the two shared a fervent gaze with each other as an impish smile crawled across Irene's lips. This made Elizabeth uneasy as she could see the glimmer of admiration in Sherlock's eyes for Irene. That and the fact that they were having this intimate moment right in front of her. John could feel the overwhelming sexual tension in the air and without thinking he cleared his throat, saying:

"HaMiSh." He paused, "John Hamish Watson - just if you were looking for baby names."

The three looked at him: Irene looked mortified, Sherlock's brows briefly squashed closer to together as he remembered that John had said the exact same thing to he and Elizabeth and the thief herself was squeezing the life out of the arm rests. When John had seen Elizabeth's face, he immediately felt the guilt rise in him for his repeated impulsive statement. Sherlock looked back to his actual partner and saw the anger rising in her.

Elizabeth was impressed that she could feel her insides boil within her. Originally, she considered Irene an ally. However, now, here Irene was having eyesex with her partner who was also being complicit in said deed. She clenched her jaw as she stood up again, all eyes on the thief.

"Who wants tea?" She swallowed, "I think I'll make tea." Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice shaking from the jealousy as she got up, brushing past Sherlock roughly as she headed into the kitchen to once again cool off.

Irene watched her go but said nothing about it, "There was a man - an MOD official. I knew what he liked." She walked over to the other side of the living room to unlock her phone, "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 her phone 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 opposite John as he answered, "Yes."

"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." She stared off slightly, seemingly reminiscing, "Couldn't figure it out. What can you do, Mr Holmes? Go on. Impress a girl." She leaned in close to the detective, her head hovering just above his shoulder.

Sherlock was boring his eyes into the phone, absorbing the apparent code he was to analyse. John was just putting his tea down, Irene was leaning in closer to Sherlock's cheek and Elizabeth walked in with her tea right as Irene kissed him.

She stopped.

She had seen friendly kisses, apologetic kisses, joking kisses...that wasn't one of them.

Sherlock blinked, barely registering what happened.

This seemed to irritate Elizabeth more.

He hadn't told Irene to stop. He hadn't told her not to. He hadn't even said that what she did made him the least bit uncomfortable. Did he not care what this looked like to her? Because in not protesting, it seemed to Elizabeth that he was fully acceptant of her behaviour.

"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 met John's stunned look, not even realising that Elizabeth had witnessed that moment between he and Irene.

Even Irene was stunned by his impressively quick break down of what the code meant.

Sherlock continued, "Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look," Sherlock turned the phone around to face John and then to Irene, "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a 'one'; 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," Sherlock stood up, "The only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

"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."

Elizabeth may have been more amazed if it wasn't for Irene and Sherlock flirting so obviously.

Irene stepped closer to him again, looking at him with a look like she was about to prance on her prey, "I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice."

At hearing this and still seeing no disagreement from Sherlock, her jaw tightened again. John just looked between the two, still in shock as to what was happening.

Without daring to look away from Irene, Sherlock instructed his friend, "John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?"

"Uh-huh. I'm on it, yeah..." The doctor got to it.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life."

"Twice."

There was a shrill shatter as Elizabeth dropped her tea mug on the floor, drawing everyone's attention to her once again.

The thief exhaled sharply, "Sorry. Yeah. I'm still here too. Did you forget? Again?" She could feel the hotness of the fallen tea burning her leg but she stood still.

Irene's face was expressionless save for the mischievous glint in her eyes. John didn't quite know what to make of the situation anymore. Sherlock just looked at her somewhat cluelessly and yet also apologetically. The latter just confirmed to her that he knew exactly what was happening.

"You know what? It's fine. If I can live with you ghosting me for a week, what's one more day right? One more day with her." Elizabeth pointed at Irene, glaring at Sherlock. Then she lowered her arm and scowled at Irene, "I knew you never really wanted to help me. You're only in it for yourself. This  - this proves it to me. If you truly cared in any way, shape or form, you wouldn't be doing this."

"Elizabeth - "

"No, Sherlock. Shut up. I don't want to hear it. Neither of you even have the dignity to go and flirt so blatantly when I am out of the room. And Sherlock, you don't even discourage her. Maybe I am overreacting but honestly? Am I supposed to be okay with this?" She ran her hands over her face, "Solve the damn case. You're already trying so hard to impress her, Sherlock, so I'll provide you with the dignity to flirt the rest of the day away without me having to see. I'll be in the bedroom if you need me. Not that you will when you have Irene."

Elizabeth left, not caring to pick up the pieces of the broken mug or bothering to clean up the spilt tea. There was a loud bang as she flung Sherlock's bedroom door closed. John could have sworn he almost saw Sherlock flinch at the sound.

No one spoke.

Silence remained the sole sound for what felt like an eternity.

"Sherlock?" John quietly prompted the detective.

"I - " He seemed to stand up a little straighter. He wanted to go to Elizabeth but there was still a case to be solved, "John, continue."

"What?"

"Continue looking up the flight."

"Oh..." It wasn't what John expected to hear but he did so anyway, "Uh, yeah, you're right. Uh, flight double oh seven."

"What did you say?"

"You're right." John repeated.

"No, after that. What did you say after that?

"Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven."

Sherlock rapidly repeated the words in a desperate attempt to jog his memory, "Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven - something," Sherlock took Irene by the shoulders to move her out of the way so he could pace, "Something connected to double oh seven...what?"

As Sherlock continued to mutter to himself, he failed to see Irene discreetly texting behind her back.

"Double oh seven, double oh seven, what, what, something, what?" Sherlock looked back to the flat door.

Then he remembered. He approached the door as he visualised his memories. Mycroft on a call. His last words to the recipient: Bond Air is go.

Bond Air is go.

Bond Air is go.

He heard it. He saw it. Yet he still couldn't make sense of it.