A/N - The above picture is of Alex Kingston who is the face claim for Cleo Black 😊
Disclaimer: mentions of physical abuse towards the end of the chapter.
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Cleo Black sat at a table amidst the inky black shadows of the painfully early morning in the café. Only a single light above her illuminated the table she was working on. Bank statements and orders were splayed across the table she was sitting at. A notepad rested under her right hand which held her pen, making notes as she scanned over all the information.
The bell above the door jingled as a girl in army green cargo pants and a black turtle neck entered.
"You know work doesn't start until eight thirty, right?" As Cleo finished writing in her notebook, she glanced at her watch, "I'm all for punctuality but you're about two hours too early."
The other woman pulled out a chair opposite with a shrill shriek and positioned it so she could sit with her chest resting on the back of the chair. She watched Cleo continue writing for a moment.
"Don’t trust her."
"Amber - "
"Reet doesn't seem very dedicated is all I'm saying, Cleo." She rose her hands in defence, "I'm afraid she could jeopardise what we've built up."
"Please, we could say the same for the new recruit."
"No. If Jim Moriarty's moulded her into the girl she came across as, the girl who just can't stop stealing, then I'm inclined to trust her more than Reet."
"Rita has been working with us for years - "
"And now Rita has bonded with Liz. She's too close. Cares too much now." Amber paused, meeting with Cleo's gaze, "We all agree."
"All?" Cleo scoffed, "Are you performing a silly mutiny now?"
"If you and 'im want this plan to work out, you need to be able to trust the gang one-hundred percent."
"I do trust the gang one-hundred percent. I trust Rita one-hundred percent."
"We. Don't. Abs saw her and that other Mr Holmes together too. They look like they're getting close - "
"All the better for us, Amber. The more fingers we have in the pies, the easier it will be to access valuable information that can benefit us on our heists and operations. And she's a doctor and surgeon. Imagine if one of you gets seriously injured when we're out - you don't want to go to hospital. Now, I can provide an alibi but there are some things that simply make it too difficult to explain - "
"Cleo - "
"No, Amber. You listen to me: do you trust me?"
"I - "
"Yes or no? That's all I need. Do you trust me?"
Amber sighed, "Yes."
"Then trust me. Trust that I know what I am doing."
Begrudgingly, Amber nodded, standing up and placing the chair back under the table before walking towards the serving counter in the café. Amber looked over her shoulder at Cleo whose back faced her. She looked at the counter again and slid her hand over to grab something as she spoke up:
"Need any help with anything then?"
"No. Go for a walk," Cleo muttered and waited to listen for Amber approaching the door, "And while you're out you can get some money to pay for the brownie you just took."
Amber paused by the door and threw a mischevious look back at Cleo who stared her down with a smirk. The thief by the door laughed at being caught out.
"Every time."
"Stop eating the stock."
"Tell Jenn and Ivy to stop making the stock taste so good."
Cleo shook her head at Amber's antics but let her go all the same.
The gang wasn't just about committing crimes for the hell of it but a way of life, a tight-knit community, a family - and that's how Cleo hoped it would stay. The new-age Forty Elephants had been formed by her blood, sweat and tears. This plan couldn't fail. If it did, then it wouldn't just be herself she was letting down but under a hundred girls, all from countless different backgrounds with a plethora of different stories as to why they had turned to crime. They had to stick together.
If there was any sense of doubt it was Cleo's job to quash it or else the gang would cease to function.
* * * * * * * *
Across the five days of his hospital stay, the 221B gang visited Sherlock frequently in the hopes of preventing him from experiencing cabin fever - not that their mere presence alone would ever succeed in that. Sherlock had even willingly convinced Elizabeth to head home to get some proper sleep for two of the four nights when John had offered to take her back. When he was being discharged though, late in the morning, Sherlock was met with some disappointment.
"But no vigorous activities and no heavy lifting, Mr Holmes." Cheerfully said the doctor who was signing him out.
"What about my cases?"
"As long as you can complete them online, there shouldn't be a problem. But you still need lots of rest. You're also booked in for a follow-up next week."
"So...no running?"
"Not unless you want to lose blood again, Mr Holmes. No vigorous activities for four weeks at least."
Sherlock sighed sharply. What would he do now? All the boring cases could always be completed online and he wanted exciting ones. He could already picture himself using the gun relentlessly on Mrs Hudson's innocent wall.
"Hey, cheer up, you'll have me to keep you company." Elizabeth smiled at him.
Sherlock's disdain melted away when he looked at her. While limited in what he could do, he was going to make sure that today would be a good day at the very least. John had helped him plan the evening's activities when they were given an hour or two to themselves without Elizabeth's prying ears and eyes.
"Right, so I'll need you to sign here then, Mr Holmes, and then you'll be free to go." The doctor offered him the board.
Signing the paper quickly, he handed back the board and thanked the doctor before moving to stand. He paused sighing painfully.
Elizabeth gently squeezed his arm, "You good?"
"Fine."
Elizabeth raised her brow. This got a more honest answer out of him.
"Still a little sore."
"To be expected. Did you get painkillers prescribed?"
"No. Drugs were a deal breaker remember?"
She appreciated this comment but felt somewhat guilty, "But these are painkillers, Sherlock. I don't want you to be in constant pain, I'm not a sadist."
"Aren't you? The state of Neilson and Grayson made me wonder..."
"Wow." She shook her head, amusement gleaming in her eyes, "One - you helped with Neilson, two - because you helped with Neilson, are you sure you're not a sadist too?"
"Touché."
"But seriously though, joking aside, are you sure?"
"Paracetamol still exists doesn't it?"
"Well, yes." But this didn't wipe the concern off her face.
"I don't want to risk it." He said quietly, genuinely. As he took a step towards the door, he winced, "Let's - head back to the flat - before I am tempted."
Elizabeth opened the door for him and carefully walked him out of the hospital, their sights set on returning to 221B.
* * * * * * * *
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson greeted when Elizabeth walked the detective through the door, "Oh, I'm so glad you're back here, it's been so quiet without you. John and Elizabeth haven't exactly come back with their engines on high every day so it makes for a very dull atmosphere."
"Oof, John and I are dull now?"
"No offence to you, dear." The elderly landlady waved off the topic.
"It appears I've created a monster." Sherlock mumbled to Elizabeth (earning a little smile) before Mrs Hudson began speaking again.
"While you've been away, I had a little tidy - well, a big tidy."
"Thought you weren't our housekeeper?" Sherlock queried.
"Tut, this is the only exception. And don't you go milking it, Sherlock Holmes." Mrs H wagged a finger at him before heading back into her own flat as she said, "Anyway, I'll let you two head upstairs - John and Mycroft are already there."
"All she's wanted to do since you've been away is to do something." Elizabeth muttered quietly, "I don't know where she gets her energy from."
"Like I said, 'monster'."
"Yeah, I guess you can be a bad influence."
"Bad? She has more life in her than she did twenty years ago, surely that can't be bad."
Elizabeth chuckled as she followed behind him, who set their pace at slow as he made his way up the stairs. Once they reached 221B, Sherlock sighed triumphantly - never before had stairs been harder to climb.
"Welcome back, mate." John greeted as they walked through the door.
Mycroft was stood by the fire place, admiring the skull on the mantle, "Finally. I have an arrangement for this afternoon so I won't be staying for long." The taller Holmes approached Elizabeth, taking a rectangular envelope out of his inner blazer pocket and handed it to her, "I keep my promises."
She opened the envelope for them all to see a new, official passport and a written declaration by Mycroft that any offences that had been recorded were erased. Her eyes smiled at him, regardless of their differences.
"Happy birthday, Miss Parrish. I present you with your freedom - don't make me regret it."
"Thank you, Mycroft."
He nodded before looking to Sherlock, "Brother, stay out of trouble if you can."
"No promises." Sherlock nodded appreciatively.
Rolling his eyes, Mycroft headed for the door and out of the building. The thief kept her eyes on the new maroon passport, stunned that it had actually, really happened - she had her clean slate. John and Sherlock shared a brief smile with each other at seeing the content look upon her face.
She laughed, "I - can I go on a walk?"
"You don't need to ask." John smiled, "You can do whatever a law-abiding citizen can do."
"So no stealing?" She joked although realised that it was going to be quite true once she got in with the Forty Elephants.
"No. No stealing." Sherlock shook his head as he placed an arm around her shoulders, "If I can't have the drugs, you can't be stealing. And if we both give in then who knows what chaos will ensue."
"True..." She sighed, delighted with the freedom she had finally been gifted, "I think I'm gonna go on a walk."
* * * * * * * *
The men couldn't wait to get her out of the flat. If she had never thought of going on a walk, then the two would have had their work cut out for them trying to find a way to get rid of her. Birthdays only happened once a year and without knowing how she had celebrated them before, Sherlock knew he had to make this one special. The first birthday of the rest of her life.
"Sherlock." John called to him from across the living room. When he looked up, John held up a small white jewellery gift bag, "I got it!"
Making his way over slower than he would have liked, Sherlock took the bag from him with a thanks before opening it to check that everything was in order. When he opened the white box inside the bag, a smile lit up his face.
"Perfect, John...she will like it, won't she?"
"Of course she will, mate. Don't stress."
Don't stress was a very good point. One so simple to say but ten times harder to do.
Sherlock just prayed that tonight would be perfect.
* * * * * * * *
On her walk, Elizabeth had gotten a text from Rita:
<Happy Birthday! Congrats on your freedom X - R.R.>
She smiled knowingly and responded.
<Thank you. How's Mycroft? - E.P.>
<Why do you ask? - R.R.>
<He mentioned that he had an arrangement and I was wondering if you were perhaps part of it? - E.P.>
<Well, my business isn't really to do with you now, is it? - R.R.>
<I'll take that as a yes then :) - E.P.>
<Have you decided whether you're in or not yet? - R.R.>
At this, Elizabeth frowned. No stealing, Sherlock had said. And yet she was about to join a gang who stole on the daily. She knew she could take them down, all on her own, she knew she could. But would she risk everything she had built up? Elizabeth knew she would have to tell them at some point but she didn't have enough information yet. Why risk the people around her when nothing sufficient could be offered to them? She resolved that she would tell them, but just not yet.
<I want in. - E.P.>
<Head to the Rob'n'Cat. Google directions. Ask for the manager and say you're looking for work. - R.R.>
<Thanks. Enjoy your time with Mycroft :) - E.P.>
To this last message, Elizabeth gained no response but she smiled, feeling pretty confident with her assumptions. Across Sherlock's hospital stay the two appeared together three times. Even Sherlock had a conversation with her about his further suspicions judging by their body language together.
As she walked through the streets, she found herself walking fast. Elizabeth had become too accustomed to following Sherlock around outside and he was always in a hurry. Slowing her pace, she took a breath. No one was with her to dictate her speed. She could take the walk as gentle as she wanted.
Her hair tickled her cheek as the bitter breeze ran it's chilling touch over her face. She relished in the feeling more than she had ever done so before.
Elizabeth was free.
* * * * * * *
There were many more people than she had expected in the café. It was full to the brim with customers. The lighting was low but warm, the atmosphere rustic, there were lush plants hanging on the walls, intertwined with framed photos.
The thief found herself drawn to these pictures.
Taking a closer look at one, she saw the ring leader of the gang, with a smile that could light up a whole room, surrounded by six others, two of which were particular young. Were the two youngest her children, Elizabeth wondered as she glanced around at the other photos which happened to be of cats or staff or events that had occurred here.
"Can I help you, love?" A voice asked from behind her.
Elizabeth turned, looking at her with the corners of her lips upturned at the sides, "I'd like to speak with your manager. I'm looking for a job."
The waitress looked her up and down, sharing her grin, "Right this way, Elizabeth."
* * * * * * * *
Elizabeth had been lead into a backroom with a dimmer light than that of the seating area in the café. In the middle of the smallish room was a dark wooden table - not desk - on top of which lay a ginger cat that was curled up in wicker basket. The thief cooed as she ran her hand across the fur of the peaceful and unbothered creature.
The leader of the gang threw the door to the room open, startling both cat and thief.
"Finally you grace us with your presence and not a moment too soon!"
She sighed the sudden fear out of her, "I've had to deal with some things."
"Yes, Rita mentioned that." Motherly concern shone in her eyes as she made her way around the table to a chair on her side, "Are you and Mr Holmes alright?"
"Uh, yeah. Sherlock's still recovering. The bruises on my neck are...going too."
She nodded, "I've had my fair share of bruises. When I was in prison, I shared a room with a woman who said: 'treat 'em like face paint.' Of course, it does depend on the context of the situation as to how one takes that comment. But I always say that bruises are battle scars that are never physically permanent. The memory will stick with you but after a battle the experience will either break you or strengthen you. I opt for the latter."
Elizabeth was intrigued, "Why did your cell mate compare them to face paint?"
"I asked her the exact same question. She said face paint because it changes you however slight it may be. Paint the face of a tiger onto a child and they act wild until it fades - or it's washed off. Paint someone black and blue and they submit - or they fight back."
Elizabeth felt some comfort in those words knowing she had been the latter yet an eerie sense of melancholy draped its shawl around her shoulders when considering the situations where one didn't or wasn't able to fight back. Sensing the sadness in the room, the leader cleared her throat and stood up again.
"I suppose I should introduce myself properly then." She offered Elizabeth her hand with that toothy grin she had seen in the photo, eyes sparkling with hope and ambition, "Cleo Black, great niece of the infamous Alice Diamond, better known as the Queen of the Forty Elephants - welcome to the gang."
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A/N -
Ngl but I feel like this is one of my weaker written chapters but I've been working on it for days to finally get it to an acceptable point and honestly I just want to move on with the story.
I'll probably come back and edit it at some point but for now this is how it shall stay and I hope it is okay 😭