Amber, with me. And bring a gun." Cleo commanded the next morning when one of her girls had told her the news about Rita's sustained injuries.
The Forty Elephants leader and her right hand woman steamed down to the London docks, heading straight for Moriarty's current residence: his houseboat, Capers. Cleo's free fist hammered on the door before she charged in, gun raised with Amber tailing behind, her gun readied too.
"Moriarty!" Cleo shouted, "We need to talk!"
From the room at the end of the houseboat, peeked out the head of a very amused Jim, "Well, isn't this a nice unexpected visit?"
Both women raised their guns, training the barrels on him. Fury was in the leader's eyes as she stared him down; Amber was barely phased having doubted Rita previously, but she would follow her boss into battle all the same. Jim raised his hands, a faux, over-the-top look of shock upon his face.
He raised his hands, still peeking out from behind the door, "Ladies, ladies - "
"Get out of there." She commanded sharply.
"Yes ma'am!" Jim grinned as he stepped out, merely wearing a pair shorts.
"You think this is funny?" Cleo roared, her tone shaking with ferocity, "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?!"
"Now, I can understand you're upset - "
"Upset? Do you know how long it has taken me to build up my network? And then you just swooped in, taking out one of my key girls."
"In all fairness, I didn't take her out. She's still alive to my knowledge." Jim shrugged, "And it was just one - "
"You idiot! She was the only doctor we had!"
"Cleo," He laughed, "There are more doctors in the - "
By the time he got to 'the' she had stepped forwards, shoving the barrel of the gun against his head.
She hissed at him, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now, damn it."
Jim laughed maniacally at this action. How pointless, how stupid, how emotional of her. If he wasn't laughing so hard, he would have rolled his eyes. She thought him scared of dying - how wrong she was. His chuckling died down and all that was left was a scarily calm grin.
"Cleo, Cleo, Cleo," He drew out her name, "Why shouldn't you kill me? For a number of reasons." He paused as though mentally gathering them all, "Reason one - how's Jacob?"
Ms Black's head tilted as he said that name, recognition of her fear quaked through her. He couldn't -
"And reason two - how's Christopher? Oh, that's right. You don't get to know. Only I do. Reason three - "
His eyes took to looking just behind the right-hand woman. Amber turned like lighting to see an equally shirtless Seb holding two handguns, one pointed at herself and the other at Cleo. Amber trained her gun on Seb, still not wasting her breath on either of the men. When Cleo saw this, she glared back at Jim.
"Any bullets fly from you two, my man puts a bullet in your right-hand's head and then yours too. And, Amber is it? He can take a few before he goes down, trust me. So you see, I also have the power to kill you right now." Jim sniffed, "Feeling powerless yet, Queen Cleo?"
"You bastard - "
"Ah. Probably not best to insult the man who has another man pointing guns at you both. Now," Jim's hand slinked up, taking hold of Cleo's weaponised hand and though she resisted, thinking of her family that had been mentioned, she gave up, and slowly he brought her arm down, "That's better. Tell Amber to lower her weapon."
"Lower your weapon." She commanded.
"But Cleo - "
"Lower your weapon."
Scowling at Seb, Amber did this reluctantly. How could her leader give in so easily? Seb backed the right-hand woman into a small corner of the houseboat. Moriarty stalked towards Cleo too, also pushing her back into the same corner. Jim held out his hands to accept both their weapons off of them before tossing them carelessly behind him.
"Let's get something straight: you made a deal with the devil. That means I own you and your little gang. You thought you were in charge still?" More laughter left his lips, "That's cute, Cleo, but no. You can still benefit from this deal but, allow me to elaborate on some terms that weren't explained clearly enough: you are not in charge of the decisions anymore; you *do not* have the privilege of being able to call the deal off; I own you so I decide when I am done with you and your little gang; and finally, you cannot simply barge into my current residence and start accusing me in such a threatening manner without expecting a consequence after."
"What are you going to do?" She asked, more afraid that he would hurt her family more than anything else.
Jim turned his head to look at Amber who was glowering at Seb. He asked, "Shoulder or knee?"
Amber didn't respond.
"She doesn't talk to men." Cleo explained.
Jim formed an intrigued 'o' with his lips, "Don’t blame her to be honest." Came his playful response, "But if she's not going to choose, then I will."
"Don’t." Cleo said, somewhat meekly given her previously used commanding tone of voice.
Jim looked at her with a macabre delight glinting in his two beady eyes, "Remember, I make the decisions now." He gave his full attention to Amber again, "Amber are you ambidextrous? Ambidextrous Amber has a ring to it. For your sake I hope you are or you're going to find a few things difficult in future." He looked to Seb quick, "Shoot her hand."
Dropping a gun on the floor behind him, Seb grabbed Amber's right arm, pinning it against the wall. Amber lashed out scratching at his bare shoulder as she struggled in his grip. Cleo raised a second smaller gun at Jim, her look filled with intent to end him there and then.
"A second gun, smart, very smart but," Jim leaned in close, letting the barrel of her gun make contact with his chest as he whispered, "Don't forget Christopher. And Jacob, particularly Jacob. It would be such a shame to cut his life short."
Cleo's nose flared, her face reddening at all the pent up rage she was carrying. This wasn't normal for her to lose control like this. How could she be so powerless? How had he done this so effortlessly?
"Cleo?" Amber spoke her name, eyes pleading as she stared at the woman she trusted most.
"Amber, I'm sorry...They're my family."
Jim smiled at his morbid success, "And the king always reigns."
Her right-hand woman looked up at Seb who pressed the barrel of the gun into the centre of her right hand. She spat at him, eyes giving him a crazed look as she tried to resist but he was too strong and too unphased by her strugling to really care. This, of course, didn't help her situation in the slightest.
Seb simply pulled the trigger.
Amber howled in agony.
* * * * * * * *
Mid-day rolled around at St Bart's.
Mycroft had dozed off waiting for Rita to awaken - not intentionally, but having been awake the entire night had exhausted him. His one arm rested on the chair and his head listlessly balanced on his knuckle.
When Rita awoke, her head facing the ceiling, she tried to recall her last thoughts and actions. Her skin itched. Trying to move her one arm, she paused, hissing at the feeling of her skin being stretched slightly. It was then that she became aware of some light pressure on her face just under her lips and down her left cheek.
"Hello." She called weakly, her moving throat alerting her to slight heaviness she felt around her neck, "Hello?"
Mycroft stirred ever so slightly, not jolting awake like the last time in the fear that he would be dreaming this time regardless. But when he saw her blinking he stood.
"Rita? Rita, are you awake?" He couldn't quite believe his eyes.
Dr Rahat was still trying to collect her thoughts, "Mycroft? What - where...?"
"You're in hospital." He explained slowly, "Do you remember what happened?"
Rita took a quiet moment to travel back in her mind. She remembered dinner. They had gone out to celebrate Sherlock's birthday. She recalled that something had happened that made Elizabeth leave. When she went after Elizabeth -
She gasped, "Oh God. No, no..." The painful memory crept into her mind eliciting fresh tears from her eyes even though she had pressed them shut wishing her surroundings away, wishing it was a dream, but her heart stammered as that sickening wave of terror was sent through her like a wave crashing onto a shore, "No, Mycroft, tell me no..."
"Rita, Rita, you're going to be okay, I'll fetch a nurse, just hush, you'll be alright." He tried to calm her before racing off.
And as Mycroft did, he couldn't help but feel the guilt settle in his gut again, weighing him down, giving him nausea as he recalled that this had been all his fault. Her God-awful screaming was his fault. Her horrid wounds were his fault. Her panic just now was his fault.
* * * * * * * * *
It had been a quiet morning in 221B.
By the afternoon, Sherlock was sat in his chair, eyes closed, hands steepled under his chin as they so often were. All he could hear was screaming in his mind palace: Rita's screaming and Ruth's shrieking. It truly had shaken him. Had Ruth been gagged perhaps the trauma would be less. Had Sherlock been the one to go after Elizabeth, then maybe Rita would be fine. Moriarty didn't want the detective hurt either.
Elizabeth strolled into the living room, also trying to work past the grief of the previous evening. When she saw Sherlock, her brow crinkled gently at noticing the distress in his reaction.
"Sherlock?" She called to him softly.
When he didn't respond, she approached, stepping behind his chair to rest her hands on his shoulders, before bending down to kiss him upon his curls as she squeezed his shoulders.
"Sherlock?"
He jolted suddenly at the pressure as though awoken from sleep. He looked around and up to then see Elizabeth looking down at him.
"Sorry, sorry, you caught me off guard." He said, justifying his frantic awakening.
But she didn't buy it, "What were you doing in your mind palace?"
"Noth - "
"Don’t lie to me." She said sternly, feeling a tad bit hypocritical but massaged his shoulders at feeling how tense he was.
"I was thinking about last night."
"About the...you know?"
"Yes. And about what I could have done to prevent it."
"I was thinking about it too." She paused, "But then I have to keep reminding myself of something."
"What?"
Elizabeth stopped rubbing his shoulders and instead made her way around to the front of his chair, kneeling before him so she could meet his gaze. Her hands took his free right hand, kneading the back of it. Oddly, he found this action relaxing.
She whispered, "You're not superhuman. And neither am I. In fact, we are both terribly human. But it's not so terrible when we're together because together we can work through it. Together, we can be okay."
His gaze filled with loving admiration for her. Between Elizabeth and John, they always knew the right thing to say. Sherlock found he was jealous of that ability of theirs, acknowledging his own lack of emotional ability. If only he could be as great as the both of them. They would argue that he could be, but he knew he couldn't. But that was okay. Each had their own role in life, and the role of the empathetic advice-giver simply wasn't his. He understood that he balanced them both out with his cold logic too. And he was content with that.
Leaning forwards in his chair, he removed his hand from her soothing grip and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before resting his hand on her cheek. His thumb gently stroked her soft skin as he stared into her beautiful, enchanting blue eyes.
"Parrish, have I ever told you I love you?"
A smile brushed her lips, "I can't remember, have you?"
The edges of his lips turned up at the sides, forming an almost smirk, "I love you."
"I love you too."
And just as they were about to kiss, Elizabeth's phone rang.
She breathed a short laugh, "Nothing like a phone call to ruin the moment."
The detective hummed in agreement as he sat back in his chair, awaiting whatever news there was to be had. She pulled it out of her trouser pocket and saw it was Mycroft. Pulling a face, she showed the caller ID to Sherlock before answering:
"Mycroft?"
"Good afternoon, Elizabeth," Came the elder Holmes' formal drawl, "I thought you might like to know that Rita is awake."
"She is?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.
"Yes."
"How - how is she?"
Mycroft remained silent for a moment before answering, "In need of a friend."
Elizabeth's brow creased as she looked at Sherlock who mirrored her expression, "I'll be there. Sherlock and I will come right away."
There was more silence from the brother before he let slip a quiet, "Thank you."
He hung up.
"Rita's awake then?" Sherlock checked.
"Yeah, but it doesn't sound like she's doing...well."
At seeing the anxiousness in her expression, Sherlock stood from his chair, offering the thief a hand up from the floor to which she obliged gratefully. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms until he could take both her hands in his again.
"I'm sure she's alright." He said, rubbing the backs of her hands now, "Let's go."
* * * * * * * *
Having arrived at St Bart's, the couple headed straight for Rita's hospital room. On the way they had bought flowers - well, Elizabeth had bought flowers. Sherlock argued that there was no point in the gesture as eighty percent of the population did nothing with them and seeing as they wilted so quickly in the hospital atmosphere, the entire concept of 'brightening the room' didn't last as long as the giver would ever intend.
Elizabeth had argued that the flowers were pretty and regardless of how long they lasted, they should at least bring some joy. Nothing was permanent after all: joy, sorrow, anger, jealousy, pain, flowers - none of it lasted. If it did, it would be perfect. And life simply wasn't like that. With the good came the bad and with the bad came the good, such was life in all it's oxymoronic glory.
Gingerly, the thief knocked on the door before opening it, Sherlock following close behind him. Mycroft was sat in his chair, silent, unsure of what words to say as she dozed.
The couple stood near Mycroft, Elizabeth still holding the flowers.
"How is she?" The thief asked, nervous at seeing all her bandages still.
"Emotionally and physically exhausted. More than I can cope with." Responded the government official quietly.
"You mean more than you know how to deal with." Corrected Sherlock.
Mycroft didn't respond. Elizabeth looked at Sherlock and simply shook her head.
The three waited a moment, together in silence, all staring at Rita, at her bandages, all imagining with morbid curiosity as to how much her appearance would have changed by the time the burns had healed. As the human body was a funny and intelligent contraption, the dozing doctor sensed this change in presence. Her eyes cracked open. She looked to the side where she just expected Mycroft to be but saw two extra guests now too.
"Hi, Reet." Elizabeth muttered, holding up the colourful bunch with a little smile, "Brought you flowers."
Rita's face remained expressionless (out of fatigue), "Did you get him?"
The thief shook her head, "We did save people though."
Rita said nothing, just stared at her long and hard for a moment before looking away. She was focusing on trying to wake up a bit more.
Sherlock took the initiative this time, "Come on, bro, want a coffee? On me."
The detective began heading out and for a moment Mycroft was confused. Once it clicked though, he looked back at Rita and then stood.
"Do you want anything?" The elder Holmes asked.
There was still no response from her.
Knowing she wouldn't respond, Mycroft left after Sherlock, leaving the two deceptive women alone.
"Rita - "
"I want him dead."
"What?"
Rita looked at Elizabeth, her eyes ablaze with anger, "You heard me: I want him dead. And you're his faux sister, you can get clo - " Her voice broke but she continued, "You can get close to him. You can end this."
"Rita, I can't do that - "
She yelled suddenly, "But you can watch one of his men burn me!?"
Elizabeth had no words. Her eyes were round, glistening at her friend's raging, accusatory tone.
"I'm a doctor, Elizabeth. I know what he’s done - my hands - " She stammered, squeezing her eyes shut, knowing that her future as a doctor would now be limited, "My body, my face, I want him dead for this. And if you don't do this for us then I can't help you."
"For us?"
"Yes!" She hissed, "For us - Elizabeth - the gang - Moriarty wants you in the gang to coax you away from Sherlock. He wants you away from them. If he can't have you back then he wants you in a place where he knows he can access you at any time. But if he's gone, if he's dead, then you can still be with the gang and with Sherlock."
"Rita, please, I can't." Elizabeth shook her head, "I can't do that to him."
"Not even after this?" She rose her arms slightly, "Not even after the countless people he's killed?"
"No." Elizabeth shook her head, "I don't kill, Reet, it's the one thing I can't do - "
"You near enough killed the Sandborns."
"That was an accident." Elizabeth defended, "That was in self-defense."
"Then make what happens to Moriarty an accident too. Kill him. For me."
"I'm sorry, Rita." Elizabeth refused, "I can't."
"Then know that he won't get away with this. Know that when I am out of here," Rita growled, "I will find him and I will kill him."