A/N - Am I still determined to finish this before 100 chapters? YES.
Am I gonna do it? Failure is not an option 😂
Warnings - some violence 🙃
Hope you enjoy!
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"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!" Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson sang in unison.
"Dear God, make it stop." Sherlock muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, destesting the out-of-tune singing from the two women.
"Happy birthday, dear John...happy birthday to you!"
"Hip hip!"
"Hooray!"
"Hip hip!"
"Hooray!" Elizabeth finally ended with, "Happy Birthday, John."
Mrs Hudson placed the freshly baked coffee cake, decorated with candles, on the coffee table beside John who sat in his chair like a child at Christmas. Elizabeth handed John a stripy blue gift bag, with a wide smile on her face, shared by the birthday boy himself.
"Might want to blow out your candles soon, dear, before the wax gets on the icing."
"Good point, Mrs Hudson." John turned to blow out the three candles on his cake (Mrs Hudson thought thirty-three candles would be a bit much for the cake to handle).
They cheered, albeit Sherlock's joyful cry was very halfhearted. To try and cheer him up, as Elizabeth often tried to do, she stood by Sherlock's chair, resting her hand on his shoulder and gently squeezing it, subtly massaging him. The detective didn't want to like the action but found he did appreciate it so. Why did his heart still persist in liking her?
"Okay," Elizabeth said, a little nervous as she watched John go back to his gift bag, "Now it's not much from me but I do hope you like it."
The doctor nodded in understanding, peeking into the bag to pull out a cosy, expensive, burgundy jumper. It was soft and thick and just emanated the feel of home. John smiled at Elizabeth.
"This is wonderful, thank you, Elizabeth. Come here!"
"Awh!" Elizabeth stepped over to lean down and embrace John, giving him a friendly birthday peck on the cheek, "I know how much you love your jumpers and while you can't wear it in the middle of August, I thought it would make a nice addition to your winter clothes."
"It's brilliant and so soft!"
"I know! I was sad they didn't make any for women." She chuckled.
Mrs Hudson presented John with a wrapped gift. The most surprising part about it was that Sherlock was able to keep himself from ruining the surprise. The doctor found it was book, set in wartime era that Mrs Hudson thought he would be fond of and he truly was. War stories (and crime stories) were his thing, after all.
"Thank you so much, Mrs Hudson." He stood to give the landlady a hug and kiss on the cheek, "And thank you for the cake too."
"Oh! My pleasure, John."
Lastly, Sherlock reached over the side of his chair to pick up a black case. Even Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at it curiously and John's eyebrows raised even more so when he turned to see Sherlock holding it on his lap. The detective offered a small smile.
"I remember you said you wanted to take it up again." Sherlock offered his closest friend the case.
The doctor studied the plain case, deeply intrigued for even he couldn't remember what he had said he wished to take up again. His gaze met with Sherlock's, appreciative of the gift and set it down on his chair to open.
"Oh my God." John chuckled, "Sherlock, you didn't."
"I...clearly did?" Sherlock tilted his head as though his friend had lost the plot.
"What is it, John?" Elizabeth enquired.
He turned around, appearing to assemble a rather long instrument, "In school, primary and even up to when I was studying at Bart's, I used to play the clarinet. After I got into the army though, I just kind of forgot about it. But I remember now, Sherlock had deduced that I must have played music at one point - "
"We were in a music shop for a case and you saw the clarinet. You picked it up and, while you couldn't play it in the shop, your fingers knew exactly what to do with the instrument. Thus, you must have played a clarinet before because no amateur would know what to do with a complicated instrument like that."
"Exactly. And I remember telling you now that I wished I could take it up again, but Sherlock, these things - and good ones at that - cost a fortune."
"Mycroft owed me a favour."
"Ah, right, of course. Forgot about the rich brother."
This earned at chuckle from the thief and landlady.
"So you do like it, don't you?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"Yes! Yes, of course I do. Thank you, Sherlock, really."
Another small smile crossed the lips of the detective who was content that he had succeeded in his choice of gift.
Elizabeth's phone buzzed and she slipped it out of her blue jean pocket, "I'm so sorry, Cleo says she needs to call me about work."
"Yeah, go ahead." John nodded.
The thief smiled already heading towards Sherlock's room for some privacy, "Thanks, back in a mo!"
When she was gone, Sherlock slipped his own phone out of his pocket. After having met with Mycroft (and surprisingly, Rita), he had taken Elizabeth's phone to an acquaintance of his and had requested a copy of her sim card. Now, he was able to receive all of her texts and could join her calls if he wished.
The text Elizabeth had gotten from Cleo was:
<Call me. - C.B.>
A call connected on his phone screen and he lifted it to his ear.
"You alright, Sherlock?" John asked, "You can take your call elsewhere if you want. I don't mind."
"Answer machine." Sherlock answered, "Might be a client."
"Elizabeth?"
"You wanted to talk, Cleo?"
"Yes. Next week we are planning to ambush a thief."
"This seems a tad bit hypocritical. Is there a reward? Or...?"
"He's been thieving from us. We have a strict rule against those who thieve from us and that is to make an example of them before too many others get the same bright idea. We need an extra woman, you in?"
"What day?"
"Wednesday rota. I'll get Max to cover your shift."
"Deal. I'll need to grab my stuff."
"All fine by me. Be at the Rob'n'Cat by two."
"Will do. Bye."
He removed the phone from his ear.
"Anything interesting?" John questioned.
"Woman who's upset about her husband cheating on her. Wants to know if he can be arrested." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Are people always like this when they discover a partner has cheated?"
John laughed through his nose, "Love makes you do strange things, even broken-hearted love."
"Clearly."
"Right, I'm back!" Elizabeth announced, strolling back into the living room, "Did I miss the cutting of the cake?"
"Not at all, dear!" Mrs Hudson clapped her hands together, toddling over to the kitchen to fetch a cutting knife to present to John.
The doctor took it and began to cut the cake, eliciting cheers from the two women and another pitchy rendition of Happy Birthday. Wide smiles crossed the faces of the three as Elizabeth organsied paper plates and spoons for the cake.
Sherlock sat in his chair, staring at Elizabeth, wishing he could find more joy in himself for his best friend's birthday.
Sherlock watched the fake continue to seamlessly fit into their lives.
Sherlock's shattered heart ached even more.
* * * * * * *
The thief stayed in the backroom of the café, dressing into her catsuit, trying to psych herself up to this ambush. She stared at her figure in the mirror, holding her breath to make herself appear a little thinner, puffing out her chest to appear a little bigger, struck a pose with her hands on her hips and then laughed at herself.
"What am I doing?" She asked herself, shaking her head as she stepped closer to the mirror, "You got this, Elizabeth. Channel your inner...Moriarty, your inner psychopath. We're just making an example of a guy who wrongly stole from the gang, even though the gang stole the stuff originally. You just have to appear big and scary. No doubt Amber and Cleo will want to do the dirty work. Especially Amber. Okay," She nodded, "Let's go."
She strolled out of the backroom and headed for the back door that led out into the damp alley. It had rained recently and pungent smell of petrichor was especially prominent in the alleys - that and the smell of some funny cigarette smoke. She started heading up the fire stairs to the roof where Cleo, Amber and one other woman - Sandy - were waiting.
Sherlock (and his network) kept an eye on them from afar.
"Ready for some exercise, girls?" Cleo asked with a smile.
Elizabeth mumbled, "Never ready for exercise but yes."
"Then let's jump, follow me."
And four women started sprinting towards the edge of the building, leaping across the rooftops as a means of getting to their destination more covertly than by a car. Elizabeth just prayed it wouldn't rain again for the fear of slipping and taking a nasty fall.
* * * * * *
The girls, two on each building, peered over the side at the alley down below. It was pretty much empty save for the random phallic graffiti and overflowing, gigantic, metal bins for the buildings.
"He'll be here soon." Cleo said, removing her backpack and taking out a black rope.
On the opposite building, Amber did the same. Both women paced back to secure the rope onto some sturdy object on the rooftop. Elizabeth was tilted her head as she watched them complete this task.
"Shouldn't we just use the stairs?"
Cleo laughed, "He'll hear us coming down those stairs given how much they shake. Plus, who said we couldn't have a little fun with this?"
Elizabeth couldn't argue with that and proceeded to help Cleo secure the rope on their side.
"Ever abseiled before?"
"Once or twice." Elizabeth shrugged, "Once at night off the top of The Shard."
Cleo's eyes widened, impressed, "Clearly you're the expert here then."
"I wouldn't say expert." She chuckled, tightening the rope around her waist and knotting it securely.
They heard the slow echo of footsteps below them. With eyes full of a resolved purpose, the women watched their target carefully. He had shoulder-length, dishevelled blonde hair and wore a long leather jacket.
"That's him." Cleo whispered, nodding for everyone to get into position.
The boss raised her hand, counting down from three as all of them sat off the edges of their buildings.
Three.
Elizabeth crouched, holding onto the rope and gently let her feet travel onto the wall. Nerves built up in the pit of her stomach, bubbling uncomfortably. He was to be made an example. She just prayed that it didn't mean death for whoever this man was.
Two.
The girls prepared the rope so that it would ease them down into the alley.
One.
And off they went, gently gliding down the falls, their feet making contact on the walls every so often. Each woman was black widow, ready to feast upon their prey.
Having scaled the walls so rapidly, when they had set their feet silently upon the ground, they found the man still wasn't facing them but was playing a game on his phone. Cleo raised her hand; wait. She undid the rope around her waist and the other three followed.
Only then did Cleo step forwards, approaching him as though she were a lioness, ready to pounce on prey.
The Queen tapped him on the shoulder.
The stranger turned, startled at suddenly seeing four women behind him that had apparently appeared from out of thin air.
"What - what is this? You said you wanted to meet alone."
"I lied." She purred, "Where's our loot?"
"What?"
She scoffed, "Don't play dumb with me. You stole from us. We want what you took back. So where is it?"
"Sold."
"I was afraid you'd say that." She turned, "Girls!"
Amber took the lead now, moving to grab an old wine bottle off the floor, the other woman took the end of a broken broom and the only other thing Elizabeth could find was a metal pipe.
"Now what do you think you're doing now?" The man questioned, knowing he had nowhere to run.
"Teaching you a lesson." Cleo shrugged, "You're average society has laws, gang society has rules and punishments of it's own. Though, you should know that by now, Jerry." She smirked, "I hear the Elephant & Castle boys are after you too. And the Sandborns - or what's left of their gang anyway."
"I was desperate, Cleo! I needed something."
"That's fine. All fine as long as you accept the punishment now." She rose her hand, beckoning the girls to come and get him.
The Queen backed away, simply awaiting the show and awaiting to see if Elizabeth had yet gathered the spine to at least maim someone else not in self-defence. Amber and Sandy advanced slowly, sinisterly handling their chosen weapons as Jerry backed up further. Elizabeth lingered behind.
She felt a hand on the back of her neck and gasped, "I need you to do this for me. Prove to me that you would do anything for the Elephants. You failed last time, don't disappoint me this time."
"Cleo, please. I can't do it - "
"Tell that to Simon and Grayson Sandborn - you left them half dead."
"How do you know about that?"
"Sometimes our gangs meet to discuss turf, maybe strike up a deal or two. Alistair is more than furious that his only two sons are now in jail and that his own safety is in jeopardy. Now, I could just let slip that I've seen the woman who screwed over his sons or," She paused, "You can picture that night again. That night you thought you were going to die. That night you fought for your life. Imagine Jerry is Simon. Imagine you are fighting for your life."
Elizabeth's gaze locked onto the fearful Jerry that had now backed himself up against the wall, holding on to a piece of a metal sheet as some form of shield as Amber and Sandy waited patiently for their other member to join them.
"I know you can do it. Prove me right."
For the evidence, it was for the evidence, she kept telling herself as she walked forwards now. Her grip on the pipe tightened til her knuckles turned white and she paused between Amber and Sandy.
"Cleo!" Jerry called, "Cleo, please! I'm sorry!"
"Shut it." Elizabeth commanded lowly, "You look weak when you beg. You're a man, for God's sake, act like it."
"Please, please, I just - I'll find a way to get it back - " He pleaded to Elizabeth.
"Not my concern." Elizabeth brushed off his pleas, desperately trying to detach herself, "My concern is how many bones I can break in a minute."
The thief raised the pipe as he rose the sheet of rusting metal in defence. Swinging the pipe, she let it connect with his fingers that were still visible. He gave an ungodly cry, dropping the metal as he held his right hand, giving opportunity for both Amber and Sandy to beat him with the bottle and broken broom. Within seconds he was on the floor, by the wall, being kicked and hit by all three women, sobbing, pleading for it to stop.
Elizabeth brought the pipe down on his side, hearing a sickening crack and cry.
For the evidence, she reminded herself as tears gathered in her eyes.
The pipe came down again heavily on his hip.
For the evidence, she thought again, the tears now streaming as she clenched her jaw.
Again, she brought the pipe down, bashing his back harshly with the weapon and Jerry howled.
For the evidence, she panted, sight blurry, cheeks wet as she brought the pipe down upon him several more times as he was kicked by the other two.
Amber stopped, noticing Jerry moved less and less and before Elizabeth could attack again, Amber turned to roughly grab the pipe and threw it to the side. The thief would have thanked the right-hand woman for stopping her if she could speak but she just stared down at the groaning bag of bloody and beaten bones that Jerry was now, hands clenched by her sides as she stared down at him.
"Please," He croaked, "No - no more - "
Cleo strolled back over to the girls and Jerry, crouching near Jerry's face and grabbed his swollen cheeks to force him to look at her.
"I'll get it back," He whimpered, "I will - I - I swear."
"I know you will." Cleo nodded, "Because if you don't, next time you will find yourself and your girlfriend at the bottom of the Thames."
"Not - not Lena - "
"Shush," Cleo stroked his cheek before she stood, "Bring it back by Friday."
Then, she sent a final incapacitating kick to his face before turning to leave.
Elizabeth still stared down at him, ashamed by what she had done. Amber almost stayed to reassure her but didn't end up bothering. Sandy was the only one to approach her after discarding the broken broom.
"It gets easier over time." Sandy said quietly, "Don't look at him anymore. Let's go."
"We can take the stairs this time, girls." Cleo announced, "Good work. You'll be paid at the end of the week."
And as they left to collect their equipment from the roof top, they failed to catch the lingering detective who had witnessed the whole scene. He would call for an ambulance once they were gone but other thoughts played on his mind.
Elizabeth looked like she had been persuaded to carry out the task. But even having been persuaded, she had still been so brutal, so erratic that one of the other thieves had to physically stop her. If she didn't want to do these things, why was she here? Or was she really just that desperate to get back into stealing that she was willing to do anything yet simply needed a little push to get her to go the whole way?
The detective was left with more questions and more doubts about his own deductive abilities and about Elizabeth's true intentions.
* * * * * *
October came and went with the disappearance of Moriarty. Everyone was on edge for about a week before they forgot again.
But now it was November.
John bid his last patient for the day farewell, relieved that there were no more patients to see. But then there was a knock at the door. Please don't make me cover someone else's patient, he thought quietly.
"Yes?"
The door opened to reveal a kind-looking woman with a soft face and soft eyes who smiled at him, "Hello Dr Watson."
"Crystal!" He smiled back, "Everything alright? Didn't lose a patient file again, did you?"
She chuckled, a light blush on her cheeks, "No, no, nothing like that. I - um - gosh, would you like to get a coffee with me?"
"Uh, yeah, sure! Do you finish now too?"
"Yeah, thought you might like a lift home too?"
"That would be ace. But yes, of course. Let me just grab my things."
"Alright, I'll be in the waiting area."
He nodded as she shut the door again.
"John Watson, you've still got it." He mumbled to himself with a triumphant smile.
Crystal was the new receptionist. She had only been at the medical practice for three weeks but John got on with her like a house on fire. He could safely say they were close work buddies, even after only such a short time and if he was honest, he was mildly attracted to her. So to hear her ask him out for coffee was music to his ears.
He put his messenger bag over one shoulder and left his room to find Crystal in the waiting area, looking down at her phone.
"Ready."
She looked up at him, beaming, clearly just as excited by the fact that he had accepted her offer of a coffee date. Even if they hadn't strictly called it a 'date'.
"Great, let's go!"
And together they walked out, side-by-side, smiles a mile wide.
* * * * * * *
It got to midnight.
Elizabeth was biting her thumb nail as she stared out of the window of 221B. Where was he? John must have finished work at most nine hours ago. And no text to say he was going out somewhere? No text to any of them?
Sherlock jogged back up the stairs, removing his scarf and gloves. It was terribly chilly out there in the night.
"Anything?"
"Nothing." Sherlock responded, his face echoing calm but his mind shouting alarm, "I've checked every place I know John would choose to go and every place he might have found the least bit intriguing but nothing. Did you call again?"
"Yes but he didn't pick up."
"Perhaps he went on a date." Sherlock suggested, trying to reassure himself more so, "Forgot to tell us."
"But Sherlock, would he forget? And even if he did, surely within nine hours he would have had to realise that he should send a message saying that he's alright?"
The detective sighed, "Try not to worry - "
"Sherlock, I am worried because Jim has disappeared and the last time, you told me he tried to get to you through John. He could be in danger!"
"I know." Sherlock replied quietly.
"So we should report him missing. Get the police to - "
"We have to wait twenty-four hours before we can report him missing."
"Phone Lestrade. He can help - "
"Let's just wait." Sherlock approached her, still aware of her genuine care for John, and gently held her upper arms, "We should wait until morning. If he hasn't called, if he hasn't turned up, then we ask for help and then we can start worrying more."
Elizabeth hugged him, held him tight, held him close, burying her head against his chest, listening to that quickening heartbeat of his. Sherlock didn't hug back straight away - their hugs and intimate moments had been few and far between during these last few months - but he did hug back. His arms wrapped around her, his one hand soothingly caressing the back of her head as he leant his lips against her temple.
Every time a now rare embrace happened, he always found himself missing her. Their relationship hadn't been the same and he knew that she knew this but he saw that she didn't wish to speak up about it for fear of losing him entirely. And perhaps that was also why he continued not to mention what he knew because he had considered confronting her multiple times but Rita and Mycroft would remind him not to. Not until they were certain they could take a large part of the gang down with her.
Sherlock was still afraid of losing her.
* * * * * * *
The following morning, the couple went straight to the medical practice in the hopes that John had simply spent the night at a friend's or partner's residence. They marched in, heading directly to the front desk.
"Hi there, we're hoping to see Doctor Watson?" Elizabeth politely asked.
The receptionist shrugged, "He hasn't come in. Neither has the new receptionist so I've got to cover for her, haven't I?"
"New receptionist?" Sherlock prompted.
"Yeah, Crystal. Thinking about it, when we have switched over shifts, I've seen her being quite flirty with Dr Watson."
"You have CCTV?" Elizabeth questioned.
"Yes but we're not going to let just anybody see - "
"Sherlock Holmes." The detective introduced himself, "My friend, John Watson, is missing and so I want to see your CCTV."
"The Sherlock Holmes?"
"Missing man." Sherlock reiterated slowly, "Show me your CCTV now."
Elizabeth smirked. She did so love it when Sherlock used his commanding tone.
* * * * * * *
"So John leaves with the new receptionist - what do we know?" Sherlock asked as he and his thief walked away from the practice.
"We know what she looks like. We know what car she was in, we know her number plate." Elizabeth recounted, "Caucasian, about five foot three, dark blonde hair - drives a red Kia Ceed..."
But as she was talking, Sherlock zoned out, staring at the pole of a streetlight in front of the space where Crystal had parked her car the day before. He left her side and she paused, watching him march away but then saw the note too and joined him. Grabbing the note off the pole he held it in his hands, his eyes tracing each stomach-churning letter.
Elizabeth peered down at the note in his hands and sighed heavily, the sigh bordering on a choke and she fought to keep her tears back. Reading the words over again she shook her head. This couldn't be happening.
~Your white knight is lost. - M~
* * * * * * *
The consulting couple raced into Scotland Yard, making a bee-line to the elevator. They willed it to travel faster but it always had been a ridiculously slow method of transport - perhaps they should have taken the stairs. Elizabeth's leg bounced as they waited to arrive on the floor that housed the homicide division. Sherlock held his hands behind his back but fiddled with the material of the coat.
"He'll be alright." Sherlock mumbled.
Elizabeth looked at the detective, a harrowing look upon her face. Who was he really trying to reassure? She wanted to agree but she knew that if anything happened to John, it would destroy Sherlock. The army doctor was Jim's perfect target if he wished to burn his enemy.
"John's strong. He's a soldier." Sherlock continued, "And a doctor. He'll be alright."
Being a soldier and a doctor would do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet though. Elizabeth reached out her hand towards his back, intertwining her fingers with one of his anxious hands. Her thumb gently rubbed the side of his index finger. Pale, ghostly, Sherlock looked at her and she at him, and while nervous, both looked at each other with a silent love.
"We'll find him." She whispered finally.
It was a neutral enough statement. They would find him but it was a matter of whether he would be dead or alive when they did. She prayed for the latter.
At last, the silver doors split open and Elizabeth lead them out, still holding onto Sherlock's hand she guided him hurriedly past the desks to Lestrade's office. They knocked on the glass door and Greg beckoned them in.
"Everything alright - "
"John's missing." Elizabeth interrupted.
"What?"
"We need you to run a number plate." Sherlock said, "F-T-four-zero E-L-C."
"Slow down, hang on - what do you mean - "
"We don't have time, Greg," Elizabeth stopped Elizabeth inspector again, "He's been missing since yesterday, he never came home, he hasn't texted or responded to any of our texts and calls, the last he was seen was leaving with a new receptionist from the medical practice he works part-time at and they were both supposed to be in for work today and neither of them have shown up and Moriarty left a note in the space where the receptionist's car was. Now please, run the plate."
"God, alright then." Lestrade shook his head as he absorbed all of this information, "What was the - "
"F-T-four-zero E-L-C," Sherlock repeated.
Typing it into the system, Lestrade scanned the results, "Red Kia Ceed belongs to a Crystal Woodlace. Address is five-oh-five, Tideman's street but - "
"We're headed there then." Sherlock turned away.
"Wait! She was found dead this morning."
The detective turned back again, "What?"
"Neighbours complained of an altercation last night. Police went 'round and found the place a tip - she had a fight with someone but there were bruises on her neck, purple as plum."
Elizabeth looked between the two men, "You don't think - "
"John wouldn't do that."
"But you said it appeared there was a fight," The thief said, looking at Lestrade and then back at Sherlock, "The note mentioned him being a 'white knight', something commonly seen as good but why else would Moriarty write that if not to throw it in our faces?"
"John wouldn't." Sherlock said again sternly.
"She has a point though, Sherlock." Lestrade nodded, "I'm not calling John a murderer - it could have been in self-defence - but with a girl murdered and the last person to have seen her gone - "
"I'm telling you both that he wouldn't ever do that." The detective took a breath, distraught by the idea of his friend being turned into a murderer, "I need to take a look at the crime scene. You might have missed something."
Lestrade nodded, "Go ahead. And if you do find something, do text or call, Sherlock. I do want to help."
The detective nodded thankfully, beckoning Elizabeth to follow.
* * * * * * *
On the way to the crime scene, Sherlock was silent.
On the way back, Sherlock was silent.
When they returned to Baker Street and Mrs Hudson welcomed them warmly, hoping they had news of John, Sherlock was silent.
Even when they got up to the flat, Sherlock was still silent.
The detective, silently seething as his thoughts filled with concern for his best friend, the doubt sneaking in aggravating him more so, paired up with the heartache he felt knowing that his partner was a liar and now a violent thief, sat down at the desk by the window, just staring at all of the piles of papers. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he tried to draw himself back to a sense of calm.
Elizabeth watched Sherlock's jaw clench as he sat there, seeing the fury in him, clear as day, and unsure of whether she should speak or not.
A frustrated shout tore itself out of Sherlock's throat as he slammed his hand on the table (the thief flinched at this), shoving the papers off in one fell swoop as he stood, running his hands through his curls and tugged. His chest rose and fell like a tremor raging it's way through his body.
"Sherlock - "
"There was nothing! Nothing there! There was only - it only - " The detective's voice broke as he run his hands over his face.
"Sherlock..." Elizabeth called to him softly, heartbroken by his reaction and inching forwards cautiously, afraid he would lash out again.
But the detective didn't lash out again. He just stood there, face buried in his hands, taking heavy gulps of air, feeling Elizabeth's hands gently creep up his arms, comfortingly squeezing them. Removing his hands from his face, he moved to bury his head in her shoulder, not wishing for her to really see him like this, but still wanted her close, still wanted her near. His hands rested on her back and her one arm now moved to rest on his shoulder while the other tenderly caressed his curls.
"This is my fault..." His voice was muffled.
She whispered, "It's not."
"I can't lose him."
"You won't. We'll find him."
She didn't need to see his face to know how frustrated and worried he was.
The tears she felt on her shoulder were enough.
* * * * * * * *
Later that evening, the two lay in bed, asleep. Or at least one of them had gotten to sleep. Elizabeth was surprised that she had been able to persuade Sherlock to take a well-needed break but was glad that he followed through with it. She stroked his smooth cheek, her thumb gently stroking his rougher chin, wishing the detective was always this peaceful. With his pale skin and eyes shut and perfect cupid-bow lips, she thought he were a beautiful statue, deserving of a place in a museum given his ancient calmness in slumber.
A buzz drew her attention away from him.
Carefully, she turned in the bed to grab her phone off the bedside table. It wasn't very late as Elizabeth had suggested an early night but Cleo had messaged her.
<You've impressed me lately. Join us tomorrow for your initiation. - C.B.>
<What time? Where? - E.P.>
<Come to the café at midnight. - C.B.>
<I can't promise to make it. We have a situation. - E.P.>
<Make it. - C.B.>