It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

27 - Late Night Meeting

As a pariah, she had no one and no freedom.

While Elizabeth slept, Irene wandered the flat silently, admiring all the little trinkets the two men (well, mainly Sherlock) had that decorated their flat. She studied the bookcase, picking out some of her favourites. She even studied some of Sherlock's notes he had on cases, one of which she solved for the detective by leaving a post-it note answer on the paper. Irene smiled to herself, knowing this would annoy Sherlock no end.

Her eyes fell upon Elizabeth's laptop sat upon the desk as well. Irene knew there had been a listening device planted on it. Where could she put it so that Jim wouldn't hear the conversation that she was about to have with *his* thief?

Making a split second decision, she decided to take it to the bathroom, placing it upon the wash basket before closing the door behind her. As long as she and Elizabeth spoke quietly, she didn't think the laptop would hear.

When she returned, she took a seat in Sherlock's chair, her hand delicately tracing invisible scribbles on the leather arm. This intimate moment was ruined by the mutter that came from the sleeping Elizabeth. As Irene looked up, she noticed the shine of tears on the thief's face. Irene's brow hooded over her eyes, which burned with worry for her. She saw no choice in having to wake her up now.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, wake up, are you okay?" Irene tried to nudge her awake.

The thief opened her eyes quickly when she felt the touch of a hand on her arm. When she did, she saw Irene looking down at her with an air of concern. How late was it? How long had Irene been in the flat for?

"Hm? When did you get here?" Elizabeth asked, sitting up on the sofa, "How late is it?" She was still weary having just been woken up.

"A few minutes ago." Irene replied quietly, "But are you okay?"

She looked around the flat as though worried that Irene would have stolen things, regardless of the irony, "Yeah, of course - "

"You're crying."

Elizabeth paused. Her brain processed the damp on her face and she brought a hand to her cheek, only to come into contact with liquid. She knew why. She just didn't expect it to have been expressed physically as well as unconsciously. Nightmares could come across so realistically sometimes, no matter how improbable the situation seemed in a rational state of mind. But she ignored it, rubbing the wetness away from her cheeks quickly.

"Sorry for not staying awake."

"It's okay." Irene nodded understandably, the atmosphere a little tense, "But are you - "

Standing up, Elizabeth interrupted, "Please, don't make small talk. I've already seen you naked today - yesterday - so I wouldn't say there is any more ice to break. Yes, I was crying but it's fine. I'm fine."

Irene watched Elizabeth pace over to the other side of the living room, by the fireplace, back turned to her. Elizabeth, having just been awoken from a nightmare, just needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She had questions that she was sure Irene would at least have some answers to. She was also sure Irene had something to say as her note had alluded to.

Changing the subject, Elizabeth turned around and asked, "Where's Sherlock's coat?"

A teasing smirk reached Irene's lips, "You really like him, don't you?"

"What? No? I just - he likes his coat. I know he would miss the coat if he never got it back - "

"You mean *you* would miss the coat?"

"Well, yes. That too. As I said before - "

"It's a nice coat?"

"Yes. Exactly."