It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

Epilogue

Elizabeth was stood in the kitchen area wearing a large, loose t-shirt and, apparently, only black underwear as they had seen when she had bent down to peek into the oven. She wore headphones too. Standing up straight again to resume her snazzy dancing and awful singing, she waited for whatever she was baking to finish.

"Oh, I was only twenty hours from Tulsa-a-a, only one day away from your arms!"

"Eliza?" The Woman called to her but was ignored.

"I hate to do this to you, but I love somebody new, what can I do? And I can never, never, never go home again..."

"Liza."

The Woman, with a pleasantly amused smile on her face, edged over to the kitchen, tapping her on the shoulder. The thief jumped, spinning around as a sharp gasp left her lips and she tore the headphones off her head. A red hue rose in her cheeks as she stared back at her flatmate and the guest she had brought into the flat with her.

"Um, how long were you stood there for?"

"Long enough." Grinned Ethan, moving further into the room now, moving closer to her to peck her on the cheek, "How're you doing, lovely Liza?"

"Mm, not too good now seeing as you have walked in on me dancing while very underdressed."

"Ah, you look beautiful in everything, even a long t-shirt and...your underwear."

"Ethan!" She flicked her arm at him.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, gorgeous." He pecked her on the lips this time, "So how long should I give you? An hour? Two?"

"Uh..."

"You forgot about dinner, didn't you?"

"Maybe...possibly...I'm so sorry."

"And here I was hoping you were going to say you were ready to go as you were."

At seeing his faux dejected and half-amused look, she brought a hand up to his stubbly face, "Awh, Ethan..."

"Dearest lovebirds," Irene called to them, "I have a suggestion - Ethan, leave Eliza with me for fifteen minutes - "

"Fifteen!" Simultaneously, they were shocked.

Irene smiled a simple smile, walking over to Ethan and taking him by his shoulders, directing him back towards the door of their flat, "I'll have her ready for you in fifteen minutes. Trust me. See you in a moment." She waved her fingers at him before shutting the door and rushed back over to Elizabeth and grabbing her hand to drag her to the closet, "With me. Now. My room."

"Woah!"

Having brought the thief into her room, she sat her down and shut the door, turning to her with a sympathetic look, "You're grieving two losses and you are busy dealing with a entire background change."

Elizabeth frowned, "And? I'm - I'm happy - "

"No." Irene shook her head, sitting down beside her on the bed, "You are using him as a distraction."

"I'm not! Irene, I would never - "

She spoke frankly, "You are using him to move on. You don't really love him."

"Irene - "

"You kissed after a day. You slept with him after a week."

"Please, none of that is any of your - "

"Compare him to - "

"Don't! Don't say his name." The thief shook her head, understanding where Irene was coming from but not really wanting to accept it.

"Elizabeth - "

"It's Eliza. Or Liza. Don't call me that. She's dead. I'm moving on."

"But you're not." Irene spoke kindly, "You're not dealing with it. You haven't given yourself a chance to deal with it so that you can move on. And it's been a month."

"I l - "

"You say you love him but it is empty. They are hollow words. When you look at Ethan, do you feel the same way with him as you did with...?"

Elizabeth looked away from Irene, instead choosing to look at the carpeted floor, following the white material up to the bedroom door. No, she didn't feel the same way. But she did feel content. Perhaps she was just happy to have a distraction. Selfishly though, she didn't want to let Ethan go.

"No." She said, "But maybe I can..."

* * * * * * * *

A month and two weeks after the faux suicide of his brother, Mycroft Holmes sat in his mansion, in his office, scanning over some important documents that needed signing. Rita wandered in, a soft smile on her face, her hand clutching a small item that she held behind her back.

"Rita, I've asked that you respect my work hours." The official drawled as he signed one form, "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing's...wrong." She shrugged, meandering her way over to him, walking past his desk and around to stand behind his chair, "Can't I check-in on my husband every once and a while?" Rita placed one hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"What do you wish to tell me?"

"Mm, how did you know I have something to say?"

"Well, you just confirmed you do."

She laughed through her nose, putting the item she had held in her other hand on the desk in front of him as he shuffled the papers. Mycroft froze when he acknowledged what the object was and that there was a small pink line on the tiny screen. He dropped the papers back on his desk and sat back in his chair, stunned.

"Finally, the great Mycroft Holmes is left speechless."

"We're...?"

"Yes." She whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"Really?"

She smiled wider, "Yes."

* * * * * * * *

It had been two months since the psychopath's suicide.

As she was marched down corridors, hands cuffed, scowl upon her face like always to ward away the other prisoners, her eyes scanned the dreary, white tile walls. Sometimes she came across a bloodstain that the cleaners hadn't been able to clear out of the grout. Sometimes she had been the cause of the immovable bloodstain.

As she got to the reception area, a guard called out names.

"Jones, Sophia?"

She stepped forwards.

"You have a visitor."

"I never have visitors."

"Now, you do. School friend."

A frown fought over her scowl. The guards marched her through to the meeting area and they called out another name.

"Sam Waters?"

A stranger sat at one of the tables waved them over.

"You have thirty minutes." The guard said, leaving them to it.

"I don't know you." She said as she sat down.

"No. You don't. But you knew my friend, Jim."

Sophia scoffed, "He's dead now. Why are you here? Who are you, Sam?"

"My name's Sebastian Moran, actually." He paused, fetching the letter from his pocket and sliding it over to her, "And Jim Moriarty says 'hi'."

* * * * * * *

It started with stealing;
Now it ends with us leaving.