There was a gentle knock at Sherlock's door the next morning with the detective stood outside as he waited for the thief to answer. A quiet 'yeah' emerged from behind the door and he opened it a small bit.

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Clothes. It's my room remember."

"Well, I'm not the one who chose to sleep in your room."

He had to admit that she had a point but he didn't reply with any smart arse comment - that's what John had instructed him not to do.

*Flashback*

Sherlock was up early that morning but he was actually being quiet about everything for once. John had appeared rather early as his shift at the GP Centre was for a little later that morning. John was surprised to even find the detective in the room, sat quietly in his chair with his hands steepled under his chin but had his eyes open. He wasn't in his Mind Palace at that time although a part of John expected him to be.

"What are - "

"Shush," Sherlock hissed, "She's still sleeping."

Frowning with disbelief and curiosity, John took his seat opposite the detective so he wouldn't have to speak as loud. Then, he just watched Sherlock for a moment.

"Since when were you so considerate about not waking people up?"

"Since I killed her friend." He replied monotonously.

John was taken aback by his statement. In some ways, yes, it was their fault - for getting Shaun involved - but actually killing him? John wouldn't go that far. Yes, it was a great tragedy but they hadn't pulled the trigger - Lord, they didn't even know that there was going to be a sniper on the roof opposite - so how Sherlock blamed himself really perplexed John. He was a man of logic but maybe Elizabeth's words had really got to him.

"How do you know you killed him? You specifically?"

Sherlock sort of shrugged, then looked to John, "I could have pushed them both to the ground but I didn't."

"It was a stressful moment, Sherlock. If you saw the sight on Elizabeth's back, what presumption were you to make? You gave everyone a decent warning to get down - if the sight was trained on Shaun then I'm sure you would have pushed him to the ground instead. At that moment, you saw there was more danger to Elizabeth than anyone else. What you did was logical."

"She still blames me though - "

"Sherlock, she was upset! Who else was there to blame - "

"Moriarty - "

"That was also in the room? That she could verbally accuse?"

It was human nature to blame someone, Sherlock thought, often the people in the room where the event took place. Even he knew that but her words really got to him. It didn't matter who got hurt so long as it wasn't anyone he cared about.

"How do I - apologise?"

Even if John said he shouldn't think himself responsible for Shaun's death, he still wanted to make amends - otherwise, she'd never work with them properly again. That and he genuinely felt bad for what happened.

"Just don't be a smart-arse about it."

With that, John got up from his chair and headed over to the coat-rack. It wouldn't fix it but perhaps it would begin building back that bridge.

"And maybe bring her tea too."

Sherlock nodded and gave a small smile to the army doctor as he left.

*Flashback End*

So that's what he had done. He had waited until he heard her stirring and went to make her tea - and toast.

He took her last line as an invite to come in, that and the way she beckoned him impatiently to come into the room. Then she saw the tray he was holding and frowned as he put it next to her on the bedside table. Sherlock stood there, hands behind his back, as he looked at her somewhat unsure of what to say.

"What's this?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Breakfast." He replied rather obviously.

"No, I know that but what's - this?" She gestured around, "Didn't realise I was in a B'n'B and I thought you said you wanted clothes."

"I - uh - I also wanted to - apologise."

Now, it was Elizabeth's turn to share a look of uncertainty and woe. Silence fell across them both as he stood there, waiting for some tell that told him it was time to go. Part of her knew she was harsh on them last night - Sherlock had saved her after all - but this was becoming a frustrating back and forth. They make a mistake, she has a go at them, they apologise, repeat. She said 'they' - more so she meant 'him'. But this was a hard mistake to forgive. The first step was acknowledging it wasn't their fault but Jim's. It was difficult to do so though.

"Tea and toast won't bring Shaun back." Elizabeth replied sullenly.

"I know. I'm sorry."

She could tell he meant it sincerely. That and I wasn't like her to hold a grudge for so long.

"Thank you." She broke the silence between them.

Another part of her mind told her this happened anyway, that no one's life as a criminal guaranteed you would live, regardless of what crime you committed. She took the tea off the tray, taking a small sip. Sherlock nodded to her and turned to leave.

"What about your clothes?" She called after him.

The detective strolled back in again without looking at Elizabeth as he searched his drawers and wardrobe for that day's outfit. Her mouth curved up at the edges a small bit as he had pretended like he hadn't forgotten at all. Then he faltered slightly as he got his shirt off of the hangar and she frowned.

"How's your arm?"

"Fine."

She could tell he said the line with gritted teeth.

"Didn't John look at it?"

"No."

"Why not?" Elizabeth was already getting out of the bed to see.

Sherlock turned away from the wardrobe, shutting it as he saw Elizabeth approaching him, "Because it's fine." He gave a pained look, "Eat your breakfast." He then instructed.

Quirking her eyebrows at the detective, she said, "One - I'm not a little girl you can just order around, two - you and I aren't stupid enough to not realise that it could get infected. The bullet went - straight through, yes?"

Of course yes, because the bullet ended up in Shaun.

Sherlock gave a small, reluctant nod, realising now that she wasn't going to let this go.

"Let me see."

"You're not a doctor." He raised an eyebrow.

"And you're in no position to protest, especially if the wound is infected. Wardrobe behind you, upset thief that knows martial arts in front of you. Where are you planning to escape to? Narnia?" She gave him a knowing look.

"You don't know martial arts." Sherlock looked at her in disbelief.

"I'd let you find out but I know you're injured."

Sherlock still made no move, "Go and enjoy your breakfast." He smiled politely, knowing last night John said to give her space.

But Elizabeth didn't want any, she just wanted something to take her mind off of it, off of what Shaun had said, "I'm not asking."

She could be bloody insistent when she wanted to be. With a sigh, Sherlock nodded and directed her to the first aid box in the kitchen. He wasn't getting out of this one, the whole world knew it. Removing his gown slowly, he went sit on the couch and she followed. Sherlock had done his own patch job last night, putting a dressing over the entrance and exit wound but hadn't cleaned it. After seeing the wound, Elizabeth went to fetch a bowl of water and cotton pads. The entire time, she remained quiet cleaning the wound, save for the quiet wincing of Sherlock when it stung. He kept looking at her every now and again, trying to study her, trying to deduce what she was thinking.

"What?" She questioned without looking away from the wound.

"Your tea and toast are getting cold." Well, he didn't lie about that.

"Enjoy tea and toast while the person who is responsible for me gets an infection and dies or treat said person's infection because I literally have nowhere else to go?" Her gaze met his for a brief moment, "I wonder which I would choose." She spoke sarcastically.

This earned a small smile from Sherlock.

"What are you really thinking?" She wasn't an idiot.

"About what you're thinking." He answered a little more honestly.

"Why?"

"Well, if I were you, I know I'd pick the former choice. Looks like you were lucky and you just left."

"Forgetting the 'nowhere to go' part. Nowhere safe anyway."

"You could just not work with us."

"I could - but then I'd be in prison."

"We really didn't give you much choice did - ah! Ow!"

Elizabeth had gently pressed his wound as she looked at him with a blank look, "You think?" She removed her finger.

Noted: a little bit touchy about what happened still. Sherlock looked to her with a pained frown.

"Did that hurt?"

"Yes."

"Good."

His brow knotted in the middle. Well, that was rude.

"What I'm thinking is that because I don't have any real choice, I might as well make the most of this one because if I don't, I won't have any choice anyway."

He nodded. Fair enough.

As she put the dressings back on the wound, she said, "What I'm also thinking is that you saved my life - thank you," She gave him a grateful look, "But I did lose a friend in the process of you doing so."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." She gulped, "But I also know that the risk of death comes with the job and if we hadn't seen Shaun last night, who's to say he wouldn't have been killed on the next job he went on."

Sherlock was silent.

"And I know that you only did what you thought was best. I know that I'm entitled to be upset but I know I was harsh last night." Elizabeth looked away as a tear rolled down her cheek when she finished putting on the dressing, "I'm sorry too," She choked.

"It's okay." Was all Sherlock said, an air of understanding around him.

And then he did something that neither of them expected him to do, he gently, slowly, wrapped his arm around her, despite the pain, in a friendly embrace, which she didn't refuse. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes as she cried quietly and Sherlock just held her, and reassured her it would be okay.