It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

81 - Watson & Parrish, Adler & Holmes

"Don’t." He spoke softly, "Don’t keep wondering. Because it will hurt you. As horrible as it is, you can't change what happened. I can't change it, neither can Sherlock or Mycroft. But if you keep wondering, you will spiral. You don't want that."

"No, you're right, I don't." Tearfully, the words left her lips.

"And as far as friends go, you still have me, you have Mrs Hudson and Sherlock - "

She interrupted, wiping away her tears, "And Molly."

"And Molly too." John repeated, "We're all here for you too. And we're not going anywhere." The hedgehog-like man walked around the bed to stand in front of her and opened his arms to offer her a hug (which she could never refuse), "We'll find Rita. I can't promise you'll be able to make things right with her because I don't know her but we can try and make things right - together."

Elizabeth buried her head into John's shoulder. Of all the places she could have ended up after being caught, where she was now, regardless of the drama, was the place she had always longed to be. John pulled away, smiling reassuringly at her.

"Come on, maybe the guards remember something more."

John began to back away, heading for the door when, just as she drew her hands across her face again to wipe away the tears, Elizabeth glimpsed a hair at the end of the bed. Now if it was long and black, it wouldn't have been a problem, she would have assumed it to have been Rita's. But this strand of hair was curled and blonde - much like her new boss's untamed lion mane locks.

"Elizabeth? Are you coming?" John asked, lingering by the door.

She looked at him, nodding quickly, croaking, "Uh, yeah, I just need a moment - don't want Mycroft grilling me for looking like a mess."

John nodded, respectfully leaving the room, and the second he did, she moved to grab the strand of hair. If she wasn't looking for Rita, the pride she felt in herself might have shone through. It was such a minute detail, something she was sure only Sherlock could have spotted (so thank God he wasn't here) and yet she had been the one to see it.

What did this mean for Rita though? Had Cleo extracted her, somehow knowing Mycroft and Sherlock had grown distrusting of the surgeon? Her mind couldn't come to any other logical conclusion.

Pocketing the strand of hair, she headed out after her fellow amateur detective.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Meanwhile in the winter of Karachi, Pakistan, Sherlock had successfully infiltrated the terrorist cell where he had located The Woman, Irene Adler, to be.

They had chosen the execution site to be within a warehouse (typical, he thought). It was pitch black save for the ochre headlights of their vehicles all forming a spotlight on a woman kneeling in the centre.

One of the men gave her the phone that had originally caused them all so much trouble. She tearfully sent a text.

And that was his cue.

Sherlock walked out, dressed in black, looking like the image of death himself, except he had a sword instead of a sickle. He raised the sharp silver behind her head - had to keep in character after all or they would never stand a chance.

Then that familiar erotic sigh filled the dreaded silence. Probably should have put the phone on silent first...

She looked up at him, two glimmering mist-blue eyes full of emotional hope as she stared into his mesmerising, unforgettable irises.

"When I say run, run!" He hissed at her, drawing back his sword, continuing with this act of his.

And then he spun, swiping the executioner's instrument at the terrorist behind him, surprising the man totally by this sudden act of violence against himself instead of their prisoner. There were shouts and yells in Urdu as Sherlock wounded the terrorist, swapping the sword for his (typically) black submachine gun.