It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

50 - Happy New Year

"Okay." She said.

Sherlock nodded, "Okay. Good."

John stood up, feeling the need to do something other than be present in their moment, "Who wants tea?"

"That would be nice. Thank you, John." Sherlock nodded again, shifting under Elizabeth's gaze.

He turned away from her again, looking out of the window instead. Sherlock had never shared a bed with anyone in his life. He personally thought he wasn't a wild sleeper - didn't think he tossed and turned much in his sleep. But what if he did? What if he ended up turning and whacking Elizabeth off the bed? She already had one head injury - she didn't need another. Perhaps this had been a bad idea? Perhaps he would pretend to sleep so he wouldn't risk accidentally harming her?

John returned with tea for the three of them and a question, "Where is it now? Irene's phone?"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John, "Where no-one will look."

The detective picked up his violin from off his chair, tuning it slightly as he kept his gaze out of the room.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures."

"Yes, it is."

Elizabeth and John watched him for a moment.

"What else do you think is on there?" She asked.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

She was surprised that he asked her, "Knowing she also takes information and considering our run in with the Americans, my guess would be something to do with the government - but not just our government. Something bigger. International."

Sherlock contemplated her thoughts as he tinkered with his violin. He agreed, impressed with her work. Perhaps his deductions skills were subconsciously rubbing off on her. This filled him almost with a sort of pride.

Silence fell across the room again save for the small twang of the violin string.

"So, she's alive then."

Elizabeth looked to John, her brow knotted together as a frustrated confusion gleamed in her eyes. Even Sherlock looked round to John, an equally peeved expression on his face but for a completely different reason.

Elizabeth asked, "What do you mean she's alive?"

"Why would you say that now?" Sherlock asked at the same time.

John looked between the two of them as they looked at each other, each with their own irked expression as they spoke over each other:

"Why do you sound angry that she's alive?"

"Were you not planning on telling me?"

"No, of course I was going to tell you."

"I'm not angry she's alive. I'm angry that you sounded like you were trying to hide it from me."

"I wasn't trying to hide it."

"Then when were you going to tell me?"

"I - " Sherlock failed to come up with an answer.

John watched this exchange with bated breath. He hadn't realised that his statement would cause this much of an issue. Guilt tore it's way through him. Of course Elizabeth was cut up over this - he was mourning for a woman that A - Sherlock barely knew and B - had been flirting with him ever since she had met him.

"No. No. I get it. So you weren't going to tell me. Fair enough. I shouldn't even be as annoyed as I am but maybe it has something to do with all the texts she's sent you, the fact that you've written a piece of music for her - "