A/N - I hated writing this chapter. Got stuck on it so many times but I am finally happy with it!

Warning: minor use of bad language. Not that a lot of you need a warning 😂

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After Mycroft's 'errand-boy' had left, Elizabeth slipped back over to the stairwell to make it seem like she was only just coming upstairs. She didn't want to let on that she had seen Sherlock and Irene together. Elizabeth wanted to see if Sherlock would be truthful with her.

"Who was that?" She asked as she walked in.

"No clue, dear, you'll have to ask Sherlock about that." The landlady shrugged as she headed downstairs.

Elizabeth looked at Sherlock, expectant of an answer, and yet also accusingly as he whipped on his coat and scarf. The detective paused as he tied his scarf around his neck, looking at her apologetically once again.

"Are we...okay?"

The audacity...

He could have sworn her eye twitched with fury for a brief moment as he held his breath, almost readying himself for her to coldly blow him off. But her expression relaxed as she looked elsewhere. She didn't have the energy to fight, not now.

The fact that Sherlock pretended so easily like nothing had happened made her heart ache. Perhaps he truly was an uncaring sociopath? Or perhaps he truly did prefer Irene over herself? Either way, neither answer was good for Elizabeth.

If Sherlock didn't like her anymore, she at least wanted some honesty.

But clearly honesty wasn't a strong part of their relationship.

That's if they still had a relationship.

She shut her eyes momentarily, calming herself, "Mhm...just waiting for you to tell me who that was?" She forced a smile.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, seemingly analysing her response.

Something was wrong.

But what?

It couldn't be about earlier. No. There was a newer anger in her presence. Unless the sight of him had just irked her again. That would be a viable explanation. He couldn't think of any other reason why so he just put it down to that.

"He delivered a plane ticket to me, from my brother. Flight double-oh-seven. I'm about to solve Irene's mystery."

Good, Elizabeth thought. The sooner the better. Then she could leave forever, never to return. Although, even now she didn't know if Irene leaving would fix things. Not after what she had just witnessed. Not if Sherlock kept lying and omitting information that she considered important.

"When will you be back?"

This question unnerved Sherlock, "Give me an hour..."

Elizabeth nodded, "Okay..."

Sherlock nodded too, edging to the door, unsure of his departing words, "We'll talk...later?"

"Sure."

"Okay...until then." He nodded one final time before racing down the stairs as though he couldn't get out of there quicker.

Elizabeth stood there silently in 221B for a moment, eyes sadly gazing at the floor. Why did Irene have to make this such a mess?

Irene.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder towards Sherlock's bedroom. The door was still closed. She hadn't spoken with Irene one-on-one since she had arrived earlier in the day. Perhaps now was the perfect opportunity.

The thief approached the bedroom with an irked intent to make this mess disappear somehow. She didn't even know what she would say. Before she could knock on the door, Irene opened it, greeting her with a smile. The Dominatrix had styled her hair into a beautiful up-do and wore a stunning dress. She looked ready to leave.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?"

She scoffed, "What's wrong? You are asking me 'what's wrong'?"

The Woman shrugged, still believing it was a fair question although she knew quite well what was wrong. She just had to keep this act up a bit longer and then she could go, free to do whatever she pleased.

Curse Jim for this, she thought.

Irene did truly like Elizabeth but her hand had been forced to seduce the detective just so he could work out the code for her to send to Moriarty. The Dominatrix simply did what she needed to do to survive. Death was not on her bucket list after all.

The day she got her second phone call from Jim, she remembered how her blood ran cold. Her mind had successfully recalled the threat he had made to her after having spoken to Elizabeth, right before she had answered. Irene knew she couldn’t ignore the call or else that would have resulted in a consequence also.

And so she had answered it.

And this was the destructive task she had been given.

All to live.

Call her selfish, but she was adamant she did not want to die. She couldn't reach out to the detective either or else that would have had consequences far worse than could be imagined. As long as Irene played Jim's game, she was promised that all would be fine.

Elizabeth saw Irene's strong look falter for a moment, her eyes shining with the look of needing to say something more.

Of course, she never did say though.

"I'm going out now." Irene gave a curt nod, walking past her to the lounge.

"Where?"

Irene looked at her with a shrug, "Where ever my feet take me."

Elizabeth could tell that Irene had more of an intention than just that, "Where, Irene?"

The Woman smirked, "You're catching on to his deductions skills, aren't you? How did you know I was lying?" She tried to distract her from the subject.

"Because of your vague answer; it wasn't that hard to tell."

"Perhaps not to you, but for another that would be a sufficient answer."

"Well, I'm clearly not 'another' then so tell me where you're going."

"Away."

"Irene."

"It's not a lie."

Elizabeth looked like she wanted to scream.

"It's nothing to worry your pretty little head about." She added.

And then her look of frustration turned into one that was almost murderous at the mention of being a 'pretty little head'.

Irene rolled her eyes. She would be out of Elizabeth's hair soon enough. The Woman grabbed her coat from the stand and headed to the door.

"For what it's worth, Elizabeth," The Dominatrix looked over her shoulder at the thief, "It was nothing personal."

"What?"

"Goodbye, Elizabeth." With a last captivating smile, Irene headed out of the flat and down the stairs, leaving an awfully conflicted Elizabeth behind.

Mrs Hudson was back in her own apartment. John was still out. Sherlock was out and now Irene had left too. But she didn't trust it - she didn't trust Irene. There was something about what The Woman said that made her compelled to follow. But Mycroft's terms echoed in her head. She had already broken the 'leaving accompanied by John or Sherlock' rule once. Would she do it again? Just because of a hunch she had?

Of course she would.

It felt wrong not to.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock was driven to Heathrow airport by Mycroft's men. On the way there  he had flaunted his knowledge but received no amazed reaction. Mycroft's employees were just as serious as his brother, he found. Serious and boring. How could one not be amazed at their sheer talent?

The car pulled up by a lone jumbo jet and Sherlock wasted no time in getting out. He couldn't wait to be proved right. 

As he approached the plane, he recognised a familiar, detestable face by the stairs to the plane.

"Well, you're looking all better." Sherlock spoke with a mock American accent to Neilson, "How you feeling?"

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

"Hm." Sherlock disregarded the comment as he turned to walk up the stairs.

"They'd pin a medal on me if I did...sir."

At this, Sherlock paused though, turning to send Neilson one last glare before he continued into the plane.

Safe to say the interior was not what the detective had expected at all. The lights were off and in the dim light, Sherlock could make out many people, but none stirred. He walked down the aisle, looking at each passenger with a cold, analytical gaze.

Confusion echoed in his expression as he turned on a light in the middle row.

Pale. Not breathing. Still. No pulse.

They were dead.

"The Coventry Conundrum."

Sherlock whipped around at hearing his brother's voice. Mycroft appeared from behind the curtains to another seating area.

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

Sherlock's gaze continued to gaze at all the passengers. Flight of the dead? Where did Mycroft acquire so many fresh-looking corpses from? Surely he hadn't killed them all himself? No, his brother would never do that. They must simply have recently died. Sherlock questioned the ethics of that silently.

The detective spoke up, "The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody, dies."

"Neat, don't you think?"

Sherlock breathed a laugh of disbelief. He couldn't lie; it actually was a brilliant idea, albeit a little morbid.

"You’ve been stumbling 'round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

Sherlock thought back to the clients he had received over the past few months. There were the little girls who couldn't see their grandfather after he had died. The man who could discern what real human ash looked like. And there were countless other cases involving a deceased person that he had just brushed off too.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight. But that’s the deceased for you – late, in every sense of the word."

"How’s the plane going to fly?" Sherkock answered his own question before Mycroft could get a word in, "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn’t fly. It will never fly." Disdain laced Mycroft's words, "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. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man." Sherlock murmured, still convinced he knew it all.

"That’s all it takes: one lonely, naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

The detective retorted, "You should screen your defence people more carefully."

But Mycroft raised his voice, slamming the tip of his umbrella onto the floor out of frustration, "I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I’m talking about you!"

Sherlock's brow bunched together at this accusation. How ridiculous. He would never be so careless. Never.

"The damsel in distress." Mycroft scoffed, "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle and watch him dance." Mycroft drew circles in the air mockingly with his umbrella.

"Don’t be absurd." Sherlock wouldn't believe it.

"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"

Irene appeared behind Sherlock unexpectedly, smirking, "I think it was less than five seconds."

Sherlock pivoted to look at The Woman. Hurt flashed in his eyes for a brief moment. He liked her for her intelligence - someone that was close to matching him at his own game (that also wasn’t his brother). And yet his own intelligence had failed to notice he was being used. How did he get so distracted?

"I drove you into her path." Mycroft looked to the floor, eyes full of regret, "I'm sorry. I didn’t know."

"Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk." The air of authority in Irene's tone was staggering.

"So do I." Sherlock answered, still struggling to comprehend the whole thing, "There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on."

"Not you, Junior." Irene dismissed him, walking past him as though he wasn't even there, "You're done now."

Sherlock watched her approach his brother, his chest tight and stomach unsettled. He couldn't have let this happen to him. Surely, he couldn't have been played so badly.

"There's more, loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world." Irene purred, "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." She pouted mockingly.

They were putty in her hands.

"Get off of me, prick!"

Again, their attention was drawn behind them to see Elizabeth being held there by Neilson.

"Sorry, Mr Holmes, found this one snooping outside."

Mycroft’s brow furrowed and Irene and Sherlock simply had expressions of shock on their face at seeing the thief stood there. And seeing the three people staring at her made Elizabeth's heart stop.

What the hell was happening?