It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

82 - We All Fall Down

And a buzz.

She looked at her phone beside her, picked it up and looked at the screen. One new message from Cleo. She didn't hesitate in opening it having waited so long for a response.

<Remember you have your first shift on Thursday. - C.B.>

Elizabeth frowned.

<Cleo, where is she? - E.P.>

<I'll see you at work on Thursday. It's okay, trust me. - C.B.>

Trust her? Trust her when she is effectively avoiding the subject? Trust her when she leads a gang (that Elizabeth herself was now technically part of)? She persisted in asking more questions but received no answer, she even tried to call but the phone hung up. The conversation was over and all she had to go on was trust.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The thief had watched it dance, the fire, watched the curves of each flame undulating like a gymnast's ribbons. She had sat there for hours, staring at it, until it died, until the glowing coals were reminiscent of hardening magma, for every dance had an end.

The clock read '2am'. She disappeared to put on pyjamas, considering the thought of sleep but returned to the living room and remained there until 3am.

She was in the kitchen when she heard it, the creak of the stair. Mrs Hudson most certainly wasn't awake and the creak came from down the stairs rather than from up the stairs so it couldn't be John either. She turned to face the kitchen door that opened out straight onto the landing.

There was another creak, then another and one more that told her that whoever it was, was at the top.

Then she whipped open the door to confront the not-so-quiet shadow. He stopped, looming in the darkness as she stared at him. Both were silent.

"You really need to work on your sneaking."

Sherlock stepped into the light that spilled from the kitchen, replying quietly, "They're old stairs."

"You have to skip the second, fifth and ninth steps - they creak the loudest. Otherwise, just keep as tightly to the sides of the steps as possible."

Sherlock nodded, pulling a face that told her that he was telling himself that he should have known, "Clearly every day is a learning day."

"Clearly."

A small smile lit up both of their faces. Elizabeth reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and pulled him into the kitchen so she could shut the door (with her foot). Sherlock returned the hug as he always did with her, his fond smile growing more as the embrace lasted. But something wasn't right.

The detective pulled away, "What's wrong?"

She didn't hesitate in briefing him on the recent events, "Rita's missing. John and I couldn't work out much. We believe she willingly left with three people." She paused, "Is Irene safe?"

"Doesn't surprise me," Sherlock muttered and shook his head, of course she would leave after he and Mycroft stated their distrust in her. He should have known better, "As for Irene, she's safe...and she's gay and likes you."

Elizabeth blinked, wondering if she was too fatigued to understand what he just said, "I - gay?"

"Yes."

"...Happy?"

"No - well, happy to be alive but also likes women."

"But she- "