A/N: Thank you for over 1000 reads! Apologies for any typos.
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"It is the middle of an incredibly warm July and we are in the middle of London - how are you wearing a suit?" Elizabeth asked quite frankly when she walked into the kitchen and headed over to the fridge.
It had been a month since the whole Scarlett situation had happened. Elizabeth's wounds were healing nicely and she was slowly being trusted more and more by the residents of 221B. Sherlock looked up from his experiment on the table when he heard her speak.
"I don't care much for warm weather."
"Then you truly are one in a - oh my God!" She shut the fridge again hastily, traumatised, as she looked to Sherlock concerned, "There are two arms in the fridge."
"I know. I put them there." Sherlock nodded with a smug smirk at seeing her reaction.
"To do what with, Frankenstein?" Shaking her head she went over to the counter, "Do you want some *black* tea?"
"I'd prefer mine with milk." He grinned at her.
And she grinned sarcastically back, "Then you can fetch the milk yourself, detective, from the fridge you have claimed as your own with the amputated limbs you keep there."
They grinned back at each other. Elizabeth was slowly learning to disregard the idea that Sherlock and John only kept her for the information about Moriarty's network. While it was probably still the prominent reason why she was still at 221B, they had both been rather caring towards her after the whole ordeal - well, John more so than Sherlock but that was just because Sherlock was Sherlock.
Of course she missed stealing. It was probably the only thing she was good at apart from a bit of hacking. It was gradually becoming something like an itch she had to scratch, as though she was having withdrawal symptoms from her previous lifestyle. Maybe she was. She didn't like to acknowledge it though. In her mind, it was ridiculous to have a compulsion for stealing like it was an addiction. The point was she wasn't addicted to it though. It wasn't like it had been her whole life before John and Sherlock.
What had replaced that lifestyle though was what she was close to calling a friendship with the two men and Mrs Hudson. A real friendship unlike the people she had met in Jim's network. It wasn't a brief friendship or a particularly dangerous friendship in the respect that they weren't likely to kill her if she made a mistake or even a fake friendship. Just something real. Something different to what she had. Nicer, more welcoming.
"Good morning, Elizabeth, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson greeted them as she came into the kitchen with a tray of tea, "I heard your scream, dear. I'm afraid you'll be getting used to that for some time to come so I thought I would help by bringing you tea myself."
"You're a lifesaver, Mrs H." Elizabeth smiled gratefully at the old woman.
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."
"Just remember I'm not your house keeper." She warned him, pointing a spoon threateningly at him.
The detective just nodded and went back to him experiment.
John came downstairs next and greeted them all, "Morning."
"Morning." The three of them said back in unison.
"Any clients today?"
Elizabeth checked the calender hung up on the fridge, "None scheduled, John."
"No, none off my blog either."
"Does anyone actually read your blog?" Elizabeth posed the question to the detective.
Sherlock looked up quite offended, "Yes. Of course they do."
"Yeah but do they read it or pop on, realise they have no idea what's going on what with your tobacco thingy, and then leave again? See, I've read John's blog and - "
"And what?" Sherlock interrupted her with an critical look.
"And it's just more engaging. It doesn't frighten people away with useless information like how you can tell where people are from by analysing the dirt on their shoes."
"Thank you, Elizabeth." John smiled smugly.
"None of the information I retain and write about is useless."
"Maybe not to you but to the rest of the population who don't want to be detectives it is."
"We do get most of our clients from John's blog, Sherlock, dear."
"And how would you know, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock shot her a look, hurt by this betrayal from the two women.
"Well, sometimes I have a nice chat to the clients. It's all I get to do anyway. And they always talk about how great John's blog is." Mrs Hudson began making her way out of the flat, "Anyway, I have cleaning to do."
Sherlock just sat there and watched Mrs Hudson leave. His eyes looked over to John and Elizabeth who were snickering quietly and he glared at them. Immediately, they both tried to stifle their laughter but failed miserably at doing so.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm sure there is someone who likes to read about the tobacco ash and dirt analysis." John tried to reassure his friend, "I have to get to work now - don't kill her for attacking your blog."
The detective watched John leave too as though imagining that his stare was capable of warding them all away. His eyes then went back to Elizabeth who was clutching the stool she sat on, face red as she held back her laughter.
"You don't have to look so adorably hurt by it." She smiled at him, "You should be taking this as constructive criticism."
"Adorable?" His eyes narrowed, "In what way do I look adorable?"
Elizabeth shrugged, shaking her head, "You just do. Especially when you pouted."
"I didn't pout."
"Oh, yes, you did."
"Oh, no, I didn't."
"But oh, yes, you did."
"I didn't."
"You did though."
"I did not pout."
"Should I get my phone ready to snap a picture of you pouting next time?"
"No, because I don't pout."
"But you're denial says you do." She sang.
"Elizabeth, stop."
"Why are you so determined to have the last word?"
"Because I didn't pout."
"But why are you arguing your point when you could have just ignored me, knowing the truth yourself?
At this Sherlock fell silent and went back to his experiment.
"Oh, brilliant, I won!" She chuckled.
This drew Sherlock's attention away from his experiment once again and look at her, pouting, just in time for Elizabeth to snap a photo of him on her phone. She was chuckling as she got off of her stool and walked over to show him the evidence.
"See, photographic evidence that you pout. Do you think John might like to see it?" She teased him.
The detective made a swipe for the phone but missed as she pulled her hand back like lightning.
"Delete the photo."
"Why? It's just pouting - wait, you don't want people to see anything other than the cold, hard exterior of the highly functioning sociopath." She sang again.
This confused Sherlock as he knew he hadn't told her that line.
"John told me that story." She sensed his question.
"If you want the phone, you'll have to go through me."
"Is that a challenge?" The detective questioned, already standing up from his stool.
"Not really but - "
Sherlock made another attempt to grab the phone from her hands. Elizabeth immediately took two quick steps back with an amused look on her face. So they were to play a little game? Okay, she thought, but she wasn't going to make it easy.
"Calm down there, detective," She chuckled, "You really don't want me to have this photo do you?"
"Just delete the photo, Elizabeth, and we can go back to normality."
"No."
"Elizabeth - "
"You want the phone, you've got to catch me."
She immediately started backing away into the lounge area of the flat. Sherlock followed slowly, eyes narrowed and questioning whether she really thought she would get away with this or not.
"I'll win."
Elizabeth chuckled, "You won't. But you can certainly try."
She raced off down the stairs where Mrs Hudson was hoovering the hallway, Sherlock hot on her tail. She yelped as Elizabeth leapt over her hoover.
"What on earth are you two doing?" The landlady yelled over the noise of the hoover.
"Do you want to see an adorable picture of Sherlock, Mrs H?" Elizabeth chortled as she ran down the hallway.
"She's blackmailing me!" Sherlock argued.
Mrs Hudson tutted at the two of them. They were like two children fighting over a toy but never let it be said that it wasn't amusing. Elizabeth was cornered at the end of the hallway, or so Sherlock thought.
"You can't get past now. Give up." Sherlock stated, arms held out to prevent her from leaving.
Smiling, the thief shook her head, "Alright, you got me." She held her hands up in surrender.
Sherlock held his hand out for the phone but already knew he had made a mistake when Elizabeth ducked and dodged past him, leapt once again over Mrs Hudson's hoover and zoomed back up the stairs. Laughing, he went after her again. She went in through the kitchen door but Sherlock already knew where she would go. Elizabeth threw a look over her shoulder in search of the detective but didn't see him and instead ran straight into him.
The moment they collided, Elizabeth yelped and Sherlock oof-ed as she had run into him at full speed.
Having slipped on the rug when he was hit, Sherlock fell back but pulled Elizabeth with him. In no time at all were they both on the floor, giggling away like toddlers at their mischief. Elizabeth rolled off of Sherlock and lay beside him, still snickering.
"That wasn't fair. You weren't supposed to go through the main door."
"No rules were ever stated."
Elizabeth turned her head to give Sherlock a playful frown.
"God, I'm warm and I'm in shorts. Aren't you dying in your suit?"
"Judging by my steady pulse, no."
"Alright, smartarse." She elbowed him lightly.
Then she realised she didn't have her phone, "Wait - "
"Looking for this?" Continuing to stare up at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin, Sherlock held his arm up for her to see her phone.
Scoffing, she held out her hand, "I'll have that back now then."
"Oh, no, you won't."
"Oh, yes, I will."
"Not until I delete the photo."
"You need my passcode for that."
"It's twenty-zero-one."
Her mouth hung open, "I know I shouldn't be surprised but how did you know that?"
"We got you the phone remember. And it's the same password we gave you."
"How did you know I wouldn't change it?"
"Because it's your birth day and month. Easy to remember. Too lazy to change it. And you want us to trust you. If you changed it you knew we would immediately become suspicious." He said all this while deleting the photo before handing the phone back to her.
Elizabeth was fighting back a grin though as she sat up and locked her phone again.
"What?"
"I said nothing."
"No, but you're smiling."
"Am I not allowed to smile?"
"You already sent it to John and Mrs Hudson didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. When we were running."
Her phone buzzed, "John loves it."
"Of course he does."