It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

96 - The Ambassador's Children

"I just wish you told us sooner."

Elizabeth nodded, "Cleo said I would meet a contact of hers on the cruise which happened to be Rita who asked if I truly wished to join. Matters then got worse when Rita had chemicals thrown over her by one of Jim's goons. In hospital, she explained that Moriarty had approached Cleo to get her to coax me back into crime and away from you, away from Sherlock. He succeeded in that."

John set the orchids down on the table as he listened.

"Then, Cleo's goons kidnapped me. And while I was away, Sherlock and Mycroft started to blame Rita. Cleo essentially accepted that situation but then to draw any potential attention away from me, she beat me, made it look like the Elephants wouldn't want anything to do with me. I should have told Sherlock then."

"I'm sorry you went through that."

She shrugged, "I was stubborn. I should have asked for help. But I kept on. When we went to Devon and Sherlock had his break down, when I got back, I needed a distraction then too. And what better way to distract myself than to assist with a heist at the Bank of England?"

The cogs turned, "Elizabeth, there was CCTV footage that Sherlock and I saw. Did you...?"

She shook her head, "I don't kill. I made that promise to myself. I might have raised my gun but I couldn't take a life - Amber shot the guard." She sighed, moving on quickly, "After that there were the odd jobs. Stealing from shops, from other gangs, sometimes in groups or alone. There was one job I hated most - an ambush, an organised beating. It wasn't me, it felt like I wasn't in control of my own actions, but...you should have seen the state we - I - left him in. I still hate myself for it and you," Her eyes watered again, "John, I'm so sorry for hurting you, I didn't want to, I never wanted to. The stealing I couldn't help but enjoy but the violence, the beatings, the killings, that's not me. It was never me. But now Sherlock thinks that it is and he hates me for it, and don't say he doesn't because he does." She sniffled.

John reached his hand out to hold hers, "I believe you, Elizabeth, I do."

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," He reassured the joked again, "Like I said, you're a crap shot. Just a flesh wound, no lasting damage."

She smiled a bit at hearing this again.

"But thank God you're a stellar actress." John smirked a little at this, "You chilled me with the psycho speech."

A little laugh left her lips, "Well, what else do you learn when you're raised with a bloody psychopath?"

John smiled, "Thank you for saving me and thank you for finally telling me."

Elizabeth nodded sincerely. Better late than never, she thought.

"I'll talk to Sherlock."

"He won't listen to you." She shook her head hopelessly, "You didn't see the way he looked me."

"I'll still talk to him."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

John arrived back at Baker Street a while later, his intentions clear in his head: he would talk to Sherlock about Elizabeth's true intentions behind joining the gang. The challenge was getting him to listen.

He paused by the open door to the flat, noticing a beige envelope with a red wax seal leaning against the wall. His brow hooded over his eyes as he looked at it, picking it up to look for any writing but found none. Opening it, he felt fluffy white bread crumbs fall out into his hand. How bizarre.