It was a crisp morning. The curtains were open and white light glowed through the window. Sherlock and Elizabeth sat, cross-legged on their bed, both dressed in their respective pyjamas (although Elizabeth had borrowed Sherlock's tan gown so she could ignore the bruises while he had opted for his blue gown), competitively scowling at each other. The thief sighed as she dared a look down and then back up to the detective, sweat practically leaking from her brow.
She finally moved her piece.
Sherlock smirked.
"What?" She interrogated, her beady blue eye peeking out from her still swollen left eye lid.
"You've opted to get one of your two pieces safe but my last piece is three spaces behind yours. You had the option of making your penultimate piece safer but chose not to. Do you know how high the probability is of rolling a three on a six-sided dice?"
"No?"
"Neither do I, but I'm feeling lucky."
And with that, he rolled the dice. Much to her epic disappointment and perplexed amazement, he rolled a three.
"You've got to be kidding me." She stared at him, mouth agape in fascination and annoyance as she watched him move her last orange piece back into her 'home', "Every bloody time! Every time we play Ludo you do this, how? How!? It can't be pure luck, it can't even be science or math because it's random!"
"Are you calling me a cheater?"
"You know what? Yes. Yes, I am. Sherlock Holmes is a cheater. You cheated on Ludo. How? I don't know, but you did." She folded her arms as she glared at him.
A coy smile crawled across his lips, "No need to be a sore loser, Elizabeth."
She scoffed, "Me!? Me, a sore loser? Ha! I'm - I'm speechless. In fact I - "
She took one look at the board and grabbed the last few pieces, packing them away into the box and then proceeding to drop the box on the floor, with a loud rattling smack as it hit the ground behind her. She folded her arms as she continued to glower at him.
"I'm not playing Ludo with you ever again."
"Because of your game rage?"
"Excuse me?"
"Kind of like road rage but without the car and with a game instead." That taunting smile didn't leave his lips.
"If I wasn't a rational being, your cheek would be red by now." Elizabeth blinked.
"I believe you." Sherlock chuckled, "But your game rage is - what's the word you use to describe me?" He squeezed his eyes closed, pretending to think but opened them instantly, "Ah, yes, adorable."
Elizabeth stared at him, simmering there on the other side of the bed. She inhaled slowly. He genuinely wondered if she would make a move to attack him in some way but she did refrain. Instead, she turned around, planting her legs on the floor and standing up from the bed, stretching. Sherlock watched, waiting for any indication that she would change her mind.
"Fetching another game then?"
"Ha!" Was all she said as she walked out of the room.
"Tea then?" He called after her.
She responded, "Not for cheaters like you!"
"I didn't cheat!"
* * * * * * *
John returned later that morning and had been startled by the fresh bruises on Elizabeth's person. All the same, she greeted him surprisingly cheerfully despite the achy, bruised pain and irritation of the game-cheating Sherlock Holmes that wracked her body. He left for three nights and two days to come back to this? What on earth had happened? Did they really need a babysitter twenty-four/seven?
Having settled slightly, John sat in his chair as Sherlock took his place in his own, Elizabeth pulling out the wooden seat from the living room table to pull it up next to Sherlock's too. They explained the harrowing events that had occurred in the army doctor's absence, gaining pained looks from him. John could only wish he had been here - perhaps then less would have happened.
"So are we or aren't we looking for the Forty Elephants now?" John inquired.
Sherlock said, "We are."
Simultaneously, Elizabeth had said, "We aren't."
The couple shared a look with each other, both confused with each other's answers. Sherlock's gut told him something was wrong, just as it had yesterday when he noticed that microexpression of her eyes indicating deception.
"They're dangerous." Elizabeth justified, "They were thinking about killing me and after what happened to you last time - "
"Danger hasn't stopped me before."
"It should've." John muttered.
Sharing a look with both his partner and best friend, he clarified, "The police are continuing the investigation for now. We will continue our own investigation but discreetly. We need to pinpoint their base of operations. Organised crime groups almost always have a base. For the Sandborns it was their club, The Sands. They have to have a cover or else how are women always ending up with a suitable alibi or insufficient evidence forcing the police to release them?"
"No, yeah, you have a point." John nodded, "But Elizabeth has a point too. How are you going to investigate discreetly when clearly they have made it known that they know you are looking into them?"
"By not investigating."
"What?" Both John and Elizabeth spoke together.
"My homeless network. They'll investigate. I've already told them to keep an eye out in the areas Lestrade and I discussed yesterday. I'll still get information needed to investigate without going out to investigate myself."
It took everything in her power for Elizabeth not to break. The thief knew the detective wasn't stupid and knew that he would find out sooner or later...perhaps she should just tell him? But this little voice in her head insisted that if she told him, he would reassure her that she didn't need to prove herself anymore when she knew very well that it wasn't okay and she truly did. People still doubted her, still judged her on her past and those people had the power to make her disappear.
Unknowingly to her, Sherlock analysed her reaction as she stared at the floor. Seeing the little worry in her expression made him question her loyalties but he knew, deep down, that that worry was for him, of the risk of losing him. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself.
"Just...make sure your network are careful then, yeah?" John nodded.
"They do good work. They'll be fine. They're just thieves."
"That don't mind killing." Elizabeth added, meeting his gaze.
Sherlock looked at her intently, attentively, his gaze boring into her soul, searching. And that's when she saw that little glimmer of doubt in his eyes.
Nausea dangerously built up in her, bile hitting the back of her throat, her mouth hypersalivating as that uncomfortable pit sat in her stomach. That look crushed her.
Why didn't she just tell him?
Because she knew Sherlock would want to interfere and we all knew how well that worked out last time. Resolving herself, she silently decided that it was for the best, best for Sherlock to not know her plans. All the best to keep him safe was the new reasoning for her decision to not spill her hidden truth.
But he would find out eventually.
* * * * * * * *
A couple of days passed and the year of 2011 was slowly nearing the end of January. They had been surprisingly quiet in terms of cases. January always had been a bit of a slow month for business - who knew killers found it too cold to kill? Of course, Sherlock wasn't ignoring the trauma of the last week but he did get bored awfully quickly - especially after Elizabeth vowed not to play Ludo with him ever again. He found he struggled to get her to play any other board game with him. He couldn't work out why.
What he had been able to work out in the mean time though, with all his spare time given he was still 'recovering' from two stab wounds and had still been meaning to be taking it easy (at least for another week after this one too) was where Irene was. Of course he couldn't let The Woman go like that, not when she had been an almost worthy opponent and not when she had impressed him with her intelligence. It would be criminal to lose such a fascinating mind as hers and lose her head she was very close to doing according to his sources.
Sherlock had to save her. It was the least he could do.
But first he had to explain it to Elizabeth. He couldn't lie to her. Everybody else, sure, they didn't need to know, but knowing how the situation went last time, Sherlock understood that the thief would prefer to be informed of this before he just up and left to save Ms Adler.
Elizabeth was sat on their bed in their bedroom, sat against the white, slightly uncomfy headboard, staring at her phone. From the doorway, he watched the thief carefully, gauging her reactions to whatever she was reading. Then, she got a call, answering it immediately.
"Hello?"
Sherlock noted that her voice was plain, almost accusatory, as if she were holding a grudge. He frowned, eavesdropping on her side of the conversation.
"Yeah...okay...so next week, Thursday?...okay...six a.m?...so I'll meet some of the others?...I mean, I hope it will be mostly gone by then, don't wanna scare the customers...oh, I'll be potwashing?...no, no, that's fine...morning shifts only first?...okay...no, I don't have any questions...okay, I'll save this number too then...great, thanks...bye."
Interesting thing about adverbs. Sometimes they told you an awful lot. But sometimes one could read too much into them. I'll save this number too, she had said. Too - an adverb in this context being used to mean 'in addition' or 'also'. Meaning she had already saved a number. Why would her boss have two numbers?
"Sherlock?"
The detective blinked at her, forgetting that he had been present in the moment with her.
"You okay?" She smiled at him curiously, "You look like you've seen a ghost."
He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Should he bring it up or not? Should he jump into his news or not? He shook his head, too many thoughts; not enough decision.
"Phone call?"
"Yes? What about it?"
Defensive. Hiding something. He shut his eyes again, dismissing the impulsive thoughts. It was just a phone call to her boss because she had a waitressing job now. She was going to be a waitress. Normal job. Nothing sinister or criminal about it. There wouldn't be. Especially after she had promised not to turn back to crime.
Seeing this odd behaviour from Sherlock, Elizabeth stood and approached him.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Elizabeth's concern warmed him but his gut instinct refused to be warmed. He could just ask her about it.
"What...was it about?"
She breathed a small laugh, "Work. I start next week, Thursday, six a.m. Might have to rely on you waking me up!"
No lie was detected. That said, he hadn't asked about the other, more suspicious points of her call. And he couldn't bring himself to despite the nagging feeling of doubt. He had accused Mycroft of being blinded by love but it would be foolish of himself to end up in the same place as his brother - even more frustrating when it was what Mycroft had warned him about from the start.
"Yes." Sherlock gave a single nod, "I can do that but don't you - have an alarm?"
"I do but I might miss it. You don't miss things like that though. I remember a couple of days ago when you woke up to a dog barking outside. It wasn't even that loud."
No. He didn't miss things. How clever and tormenting of his mind to do so.
"Fair enough. I'll wake you."
"Perfect then."
She smiled, hoping to get past the detective who stood in the doorway, still staring down at her blankly. Elizabeth tilted her head as she looked at him, waving her hand in front of his eyes to make sure he hadn't spaced out.
"Something wrong?"
He inhaled, still looking at the her, unblinking, "I - uh - nothing wrong as such."
"Meaning?"
"I found Irene."
Elizabeth stopped, processing this, remembering their last conversation with her that ended in tears for both women, "She okay?"
"Not really." Sherlock grimaced at the thought, "She's been captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi. They plan to...behead her."
"Oh my God." Distress crossed her expression. While she disliked Irene for the pain she had caused, she still never wished death upon her. After all, at one point Elizabeth quite liked her as an ally, "Can't we - do anything?"
"I can. That's what I came to tell you. I'm leaving for Karachi tonight."
"Well then, me too - "
"No. Mycroft can't know, neither can John."
"Why?"
"Because it's best if they don't, particularly best if Mycroft doesn't know. John will barely be here, he won't notice that I'm gone. Mycroft shouldn't notice either but in case he calls or comes 'round I need you to cover for me."
Elizabeth was nervous letting Sherlock go on his own as she remembered that look of desire to devour the detective that had been on Irene's face almost the entire time she had been here. She was afraid he would be tempted by her. Sherlock knew this. He brought his hands to her shoulders, running them down her arms to reassuringly squeeze her upper arms in his vast, delicate hands. He looked at her sincerely.
"I don't love her, Elizabeth, not in the way I love you." Sherlock reassured her, "I can't let a mind like hers be barbarically silenced when I know I can help. I'll be in and out and back early morning on February first. I promise."
"I trust you, I just - "
Could he trust her though? He was irritated by these thoughts now. They needed to stop. She wasn't a liar. She wasn't. Not her. His thought process was halted by her lips on his. Sherlock blinked at her as she pulled away.
"Go. Save her. Save Irene Adler because I can't forgive myself if you don't go."
_________________________
A/N - Some exciting things I want to share with you all!!
Some art appreciation coming up:
JordanDefratis made some EPIC alternate covers for ISWS - look at how talented they are! ❤❤❤
How cool!!! This was also a first for me to receive any kind of art related to any of my books - past and present - so thank you so much again JordanDefratis! I love your work! 😄❤
If you keep an eye on the cover of 'I Am Ironheart' you'll see that I'll also be experimenting with a few alternate covers designed by them as well!