It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

22 - You Have One New Message

"How would you know?"

"Sorry, can I go to the loo?" Elizabeth interrupted their conversation.

All four men promptly looked at her with questionable gazes.

"What? Did I say the wrong word?"

"No. But why leave when the story is just getting interesting? Sherlock has informed me about your excursions with him and Mr Watson because you too are supposedly equally as bored at the flat as when Sherlock doesn't have a case. Surely, you'd understand it's only natural to be curious about your... intentions." Mycroft said this pointedly, his eyebrows falling ever so slightly.

Her eyes narrowed, "Well, maybe, I'm just getting a bit sick of all the testosterone in here," She paused, "Or maybe there are other *monthly* matters one must attend to, Mycroft."

The elder's face went pinkish in the cheeks as she said this but he said nothing back. There was a smug look on Sherlock's face, amused at seeing Mycroft's immature response to something that was simply a natural biological occurrence for a woman.

"Mycroft, timetable." Harry stated both  urgently and bluntly before looking to Elizabeth, "Apologies, Miss Parrish, of course you can go. I'll take you."

"Thank you. At least someone is gentlemanly around here." Elizabeth sarcastically smiled at Mycroft before leaving to follow the equerry.

Stopping outside the door to the bathroom, Harry nodded for her to go in, "You can remember the way back?"

"Yes. You can trust me to come back alone?"

Harry smiled, "I trust that you won't disappoint your friends."

Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully at this but nodded, "Thank you."

There was the word again: friends. But were they all really friends? She certainly wouldn't mind it if they were. After all, they were the only people who (somewhat) willingly took her in  without wanting to kill her after what had happened. Clearly Mycroft viewed her as an employee. She still didn't understand for what purpose. But John and Sherlock's opinion of her was harder to discern.

She entered the rather grand bathroom. Lord knew you didn't need a room so big for a sink and a toilet. Impressed by the scale, she headed over to the far side of the room to the sink. Obviously (to herself anyway) it wasn't really that time of the month. She'd be writhing in pain on the couch at 221B if it was but they didn't need to know that. She just needed to get away for a moment.

She looked at her weary eyes in the mirror and dishevelled hair and somewhat clear skin. Of course, they hadn't brought her brush but she would make do. Couldn't spend too long in here though. Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from the breast pocket in her shirt. What did Sherlock want? Or John. Or Mycroft even. They were the only three contacts in her phone but she hadn't been gone that long.

The lock screen simply read: you have a 1 new message.

Unlocking it, she saw that it wasn't any of the men she knew at all. Instead, a message from an unidentified number saying:

<Answer, don't speak.>

"Answer what?" She questioned quietly aloud.

But then her phone rang with the same unidentified number. Was it Jim? It was probably Jim. But why? And why now? Nervously, she answered the phone and held it up to her ear.

A male Scottish voice spoke at her, slightly shaky, "Don't - don't let on you know her. Don't let on - that you've had a call. The Woman will give - give you a message from - from me. Lo - love Jim."