"Phoebe? Phoebe can you hear me?"

Phoebe groaned as her eyes fluttered opened and she looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock..." she mumbled and lifted her hand to her head before she remembered what happened. "Mrs Hudson! Where is she?!"

"I'm okay, dear. I'm okay," Mrs Hudson said from the other side of the couch.

Phoebe breathed in relief before seeing Dickolas tied up in the chair with tape over his mouth. He looked bloody and bruised which led Phoebe to believe Sherlock caused it.

"Are you okay, Phoebe?" Sherlock asked with a flat tone, but his eyes betrayed him.

He was worried.

"I'm alright. My head is killing me, but other than that, I'm okay," Phoebe answered gently, able to see that Sherlock was truly concerned.

Sherlock nodded and sat down in the chair by the couch, aiming the gun at Dickolas as he phoned Lestrade.

"What's going on?" John asked as he walked in before seeing the scene before him. "What the hell is happening?"

"Mrs Hudson and Phoebe were attacked by an American, I'm restoring balance to the universe," Sherlock said as he waited for Lestrade to answer.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, Phoebe, are you alright?" John turned and rushed to the two women worriedly. "What have they done to you?"

"Oh, I'm just being silly," Mrs Hudson cried as John sat beside her.

"Downstairs. Take them downstairs and look after them," Sherlock ordered John as he stood up.

"It's alright. I'll have a look at that," John said as he helped Mrs Hudson up.

"I'm staying here," Phoebe said as she stayed on the couch, rubbing her head gently.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" John asked Sherlock as Mrs Hudson walked out.

"Expect so, now go. You too, Phoebe," Sherlock said and John left, but Phoebe didn't listen.

"I'm not leaving this room," Phoebe persisted stubbornly and Sherlock just kept his gaze on Dickolas.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said after he finally answered. "We've had a break-in at Baker Street."

Phoebe stood up, putting a hand to her temple as she breathed deeply.

"Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance," Sherlock continued speaking to Lestrade. "Oh, 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."

Dickolas looked up at Sherlock and Phoebe realized what was going to happen.

"He fell out of a window." Sherlock's lips pulled into a side smirk as he looked at Dickolas.

Phoebe could barely register what happened after Sherlock hung up. The next thing she knew, Dickolas was out the window, landing on Mrs Hudson's bins.

"Sherlock," Phoebe said, stopping him when he went to go to Dickolas.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sherlock asked quickly as he grabbed her shoulders.

"I'm okay, just a bit of pounding in my head, but I'm fine, I promise," Phoebe assured him.

"I assume you were the one that broke the one man's nose," Sherlock said to which Phoebe laughed.

"Of course. I wasn't going down without a fight," Phoebe replied and Sherlock felt his mind ease. "Thank you."

"I'm just glad you and Mrs Hudson are alright." Sherlock leaned down and gently kissed her forehead.

Phoebe felt her heart pound, but she just pushed him back. "Go on, lover boy. You can be worried later. I don't think one fall is gonna cause that puncture lung."

Sherlock scoffed at the nickname, knowing she was just making fun of him, but he went to take care of the CIA agent he had just launched out the window.

🔎

Phoebe stood beside John as he and Mrs Hudson sat at the table in the landlady's kitchen.

She looked up when Sherlock came in, closing the door behind him.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her," John said to Sherlock about Mrs Hudson.

She was noticeably more shaken up than Phoebe was.

"No," Sherlock said after wiping his feet on the mat. "She's fine."

"No, she's not. Look at her," John argued as Sherlock opened the fridge and rummaged around. "She's gotta take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock said as he ate a biscuit he had gotten from the fridge.

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone," John said to Sherlock and Phoebe hummed. "Where is it anyway?"

"Safest place I know," Sherlock said with a mouthful as he looked at Mrs Hudson.

"You left in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot," Mrs Hudson said as she pulled it out from her bra and gave it to Sherlock. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

"Thank you," Sherlock replied as he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?" John furrowed his brows as a frown crossed his lips.

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall," Sherlock said as he put an arm around his landlady.

Phoebe smiled and leaned against the corner. It was a pretty normal day at Baker Street honestly.

🔎

Phoebe walked into the living room of 221B and she sat down as John walked in with a glass of bourbon.

"Where is it now?" John asked, referring to the camera phone that had been the cause of all this nonsense.

"Where no one will find it," Sherlock replied as he held up his violin.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures," John said as he looked at Phoebe who was sat in Sherlock's grey chair.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock responded flatly as he tuned his violin.

"So, she's alive then," John said and Phoebe looked up in confusion. "How are we feeling about that?"

Big Ben chimed, signaling the start of a new year.

"Happy new year, John. Happy new year, Phoebe," Sherlock said, ignoring the question.

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John asked and Phoebe realized it was Irene.

She felt her heart sink. How was she alive?

Sherlock just started to play Auld Lang Syne.

John sat down and Phoebe pulled her knees up to her chest.

Her mind raced as she thought about how Irene Adler was still alive. It didn't make sense to her, but she felt hurt. Of course a woman clever enough to impress Sherlock Holmes would be able to fake her own death.

Later that night, Phoebe stood up. John had gone to sleep and Phoebe had been scrolling through her phone while Sherlock continued to play his violin.

She decided to call it a night so she started towards the door.

"I'm glad you are alright, Phoebe," Sherlock said suddenly as he lowered his violin and bow.

Phoebe turned to look at him, giving a small smile. "I'm glad you showed up. I definitely wasn't even close to being able to protect myself or Mrs Hudson."

"You were outnumbered and against CIA agents. You weren't going to win," Sherlock said as he walked towards her after setting down his instrument.

"That makes me feel so much better," Phoebe grumbled as she looked down.

"You're more capable than you let on, Phoebe. You never cease to impress me," Sherlock admitted and Phoebe raised a brow.

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" Phoebe asked as she stood in front of Sherlock.

"It goes both ways," Sherlock replied as he looked down at the brunette in front of him.

Both of them were silent as they continued to study the other's face. Without communicating, both of them moved forward and their lips met, as if pulled together.

Phoebe wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck as she kissed him. She didn't want to let go.

Sherlock rested his hands on Phoebe's waist, holding her close. He had no idea why he was doing this, but it just felt right.

Phoebe tangled her fingers in Sherlock's soft curls as he slowly lowered his hands to her hips.

Both of them were completely lost in the moment, but Phoebe came to her senses first and pushed back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. We can't."

Sherlock looked at her in confusion but he let go. "And why not?"

"It's just not right. You don't really want me and- I'm sorry. Happy new year, Sherlock," Phoebe said quickly before she turned to go to her flat.

She didn't know what to think of what just happened. It felt so right, but she knew that she shouldn't have kissed him.

Sherlock caught her hand and pulled her back against him. "I do want you, right now. I'm asking you now. Unless you really want to say no."

He leaned down and kissed her once again. She melted in his grasp as she gave in, letting her desire control her.

Phoebe knew that it wasn't right. They were only friends and it would only hurt her when it was over, but she wanted it so bad.

Sherlock didn't know what he wanted, but he felt like he needed Phoebe at that moment.

She was intoxicating, addicting, like a drug. Once he got his first taste months ago after so many years, he had been craving more.

He didn't want anything serious, just a night to let loose and not worry about anything. He knew that Phoebe wanted him as well, seeing the way she reacted to his kiss.

Phoebe fingers returned to Sherlock's curls and Sherlock lifted her up.

The two disappeared into Sherlock's room, indulging in each other even though there was no intent of anything going further than a one night stand.

🔎

Phoebe had tried to brush off what happened, but her feelings weren't going away any time soon. She knew that it wasn't smart, but there was no taking it back now.

Months passed with no word from Irene Adler, but Sherlock was still trying to figure out the password for the camera phone.

Phoebe was just opening the front door to go inside when Sherlock walked out of a cab.

"Did you figure out the password?" Phoebe asked curiously as she let him walk inside before she shut the door.

"No," Sherlock answered plainly and they both walked up the stairs. "She doesn't seem like the type to choose any random number."

"But maybe she wants you to think that. Maybe it's not even a number," Phoebe suggested as they went up to 221B.

"It's got to be a-" Sherlock paused when they walked into the flat. A new scent filled his senses. He knew Phoebe's perfume. Vanilla with a hint of roses.

This was different. This scent was flowery and more concentrated. It was overpowering the scent he had grown accustom to with Phoebe being by his side. He knew this fragrance.

"What is it, Sherl?" Phoebe asked when she saw his face go completely serious.

Sherlock didn't answer her as he sniffed the air and walked over to the kitchen window.

Open.

Phoebe followed Sherlock as he walked towards his room and John came in with his suit fresh from the dry cleaners.

Phoebe was shocked by what she saw and almost jealous.

Irene Adler was sleeping in Sherlock's bed and she looked comfy.

Phoebe wished she could be snuggled up in bed, taking a nice long nap. Totally not fair.

"Hey, Sherlock," John started as he walked over to talk to the detective.

"We have a client," Sherlock said as he stayed looking at the woman sleeping in his bed.

"What? In your bedroom?" John then saw Irene and it made sense. "Oh."

🔎

"So, who's after you?" Sherlock asked Irene as she sat in his chair. Phoebe sat against the edge of the table between where Sherlock and John were sitting.

"People who want to kill me," Irene answered vaguely.

"Who's that?" Sherlock asked as he studied her.

"Killers," Irene replied, not giving him the clear answers he desired.

"Would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," Phoebe said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock spoke, not caring that Irene wasn't fully playing along.

"It worked for a while," Irene said as she looked at Sherlock.

"Except you let John know that you're alive and therefore Phoebe and I," Sherlock replied and Phoebe looked down with a soft huff.

"I knew you'd keep my secret," Irene said with a slight smirk.

"You couldn't," Sherlock disagreed.

"But you did, didn't you?" Irene was having too much fun with this. "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid," John said as he set down his tea.

"Then what have you done with it?" Irene asked, worried about what might've become of her most precious belonging.

"I suggested throwing it off a cliff, but Sherlock didn't like that idea," Phoebe spoke as she looked up.

"If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you," Irene said, ignoring Phoebe's comment.

"If they've been watching me they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at the bank on the Strand a few months back," Sherlock replied calmly, but Phoebe looked at Sherlock, knowing that he had the phone.

"I need it," Irene said as she leaned forward.

"Well, we can't just go and get, can we?" John looked from Irene to Sherlock. "Molly Hooper, she could collect it and 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."

"Very good, John. Excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions," Sherlock said and Phoebe snorted.

"Thank you. So, why don't I phone-" John stopped when he saw Sherlock pull out the camera phone.

"So, what do you keep on here? In general, I mean," Sherlock asked as he looked at the phone and Irene stood up.

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

"For blackmail?" John questioned.

"For protection," Irene corrected as she looked at the war doctor. "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?" Sherlock asked, not noticing how uncomfortable Phoebe looked.

"I told you," Irene said with a grin. "I misbehave."

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

"Yes, but I don't understand it," Irene answered honestly.

"I assumed," Sherlock replied. "Show me."

Irene held out her hand for the camera phone, but Sherlock held it up.

"The pass code," Sherlock said, but he had a short stare down with Irene before handing her the camera phone.

Irene smirked at Sherlock and Phoebe held her breath. John put a hand on hers, knowing what was going through her mind.

It would forever be a mystery to him how Phoebe fell in love with Sherlock Holmes for a second time. He was a complete dickhead all the time. However, John knew that he at least had to be there for his friend no matter what.

"It's not working," Irene said after she tried unlocking her phone.

"No, because it's a duplicate I had made into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight," Sherlock replied after getting up and taking the phone from her. "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that, but, uh, thanks anyway."

Irene watched with a slight smirk as Sherlock put the password into the actual camera-phone, but it didn't work. "I told you that camera-phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."

"Oh, you're rather good," Sherlock complimented.

"You're not so bad," Irene flirted and Phoebe rolled her eyes as Irene practically eye fucked Sherlock.

"Hamish," John said suddenly and everyone looked at him. "John Hamish Watson, just if we're looking for baby names."

"I'm going for Oswin Robyn Hunt," Phoebe said, clearly as uncomfortable as John.

"There was a man, an MOD official, and I knew what he liked," Irene said as she took her camera phone and walked past Sherlock. "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. He was a bit tied up at the time."

Irene had unlocked the phone and pulled up the photo of the email before handing the phone back to Sherlock to decipher it.

Sherlock sat down at the desk in the living room as his eyes darted across the screen.

"It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?" Irene asked as she looked at the detective.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, excited to get a puzzle like this.

"Code, obviously," Irene said to which Phoebe hummed. "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."

"Maybe you're mistaking it for code," Phoebe spoke as she looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the email.

"What can you do, Mr Holmes? Go on, impress a girl," Irene said as she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"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. I'm not sure how that could be, but give me a moment, I've only been on the case for eight seconds," Sherlock spoke quickly.

Irene and John looked at Sherlock in shock as well as confusion.

"Phoebe was completely correct, it's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look," Sherlock said, showing the screen John. "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."

Phoebe listened to Sherlock and glanced at Irene. She looked back at the screen and focused on what Sherlock was saying.

"Families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo is wide enough to need a 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."

Zero zero seven. Phoebe stood up straight, and she snorted. Double oh seven.

"And assuming the British point of origin, which would be logical, considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you 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 finished as he stood up and looked at Irene. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed that thought in every variant available to the English language."

"I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice," Irene spoke smoothly as she stared Sherlock dead in the eye.

"John, please can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?" Sherlock requested, not moving his gaze from Irene's.

"Yeah," John said awkwardly as he got to it. "I'm on it, yeah."

Phoebe looked down before she started to leave, but Sherlock grabbed her wrist to hold her back.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock said to Irene, keeping Phoebe by him.

"Twice," Irene repeated.

"Uh, yeah, you're right, flight double oh seven," John said and Phoebe snorted.

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked as he looked at John.

"You're right," John replied with a slight nod.

"No, no, after that, what did you say after that?" Sherlock asked again.

"Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven," John said and Sherlock started to go into a frezy, repeating double oh seven over and over.

Sherlock walked over to the fireplace as he tried to think.

"James Bond," Phoebe said and Sherlock snapped his head to her.

"Say that again," Sherlock ordered.

"James Bond," Phoebe repeated.

"Bond Air is go," Mycroft's voice echoed in Sherlock's mind.

But what did it mean?

🔎

Phoebe hated the feeling of sadness and agony everytime she saw Sherlock Holmes. She knew she stood no chance, but it still hurt her.

She wanted to stop loving him so she didn't speak to him unless necessary.

Phoebe sighed as she looked at the time and she figured John would be back from his date. She wasn't feeling well so she wanted him to see if he could diagnose her instead of going to a doctor's office, maybe give her some advice on how to feel better.

She made her way upstairs, hesitating at the door. She sighed softly and opened the door, but froze at what she saw.

Sherlock was sat in his chair while a beautiful woman, Irene Adler, was knelt in front of him. They were holding each other's wrist and it looked as though they were about to kiss.

Phoebe felt a lump rise in her throat and they both looked over at her.

"Phoebe?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for interrupting. I'm looking for John..." Phoebe fiddled with her necklace.

"He's not here yet. Is everything alright?" Sherlock asked when he saw that she looked unwell.

"Yeah... I just was hoping that he could check me over... I'll be going..." Phoebe quickly turned around and shut the door before her tears came.

"Don't cry, Phoebe. Stop crying... you knew that you didn't have a chance... he said that he could never fall in love with you... just accept it..." Phoebe let out a shaky breath before she saw a man with Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. She stepped to the side and let them pass before she went down to her flat.

She then ran to the bathroom and threw up.