A/N: Thank you for almost 600 reads ^-^ much appreciated - hope you are all enjoying the story!

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"Sherlock? Elizabeth?" John called as he walked into the flat, curious as to their whereabouts.

"In here, John." Sherlock called from the kitchen.

When he walked in, John would have seen all of Sherlock's science equipment laid out on the kitchen table - as expected - and him operating on what appeared to be a person's heart. Mildly disturbed - as always - by what he was seeing, his eyes begged the question and Sherlock answered as if he could sense it.

"Testing how long it takes a heart to stop after different amounts of a neuromuscular blocking agent."

John just gave a small nod, "And Elizabeth?"

Sherlock looked up from his small experiment, "In the fridge."

"What!?"

"Kidding." Sherlock said with a small smile.

This earned a small glare from his friend. John couldn't help it - Sherlock was always so serious when saying some things.

"She is in my room. Where she has always been."

"Well...is she okay? Are we all okay? Is everything good?" John prompted.

"As well as it can be, John. She is still grieving as anyone can imagine."

"And are you - okay?"

The detective gave a small nod before returning to his experiment. John just inhaled before heading over to the kitchen counter to make some tea. Elizabeth walked in at this point, which John was relieved to see (proof of life, you know), and sat down opposite Sherlock, grimacing when she realised he had a beating heart on the table.

"You really do have some weird pastime activities."

"It's interesting." Sherlock defended.

"It's weird." She countered.

"Interesting."

"Weird."

"I second that." John interjected with a small smile, "How are you, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth shrugged. Her eyes were noticeably a bit swollen and red from crying earlier. After her conversation with Sherlock and essential breakdown, she retired to his room and just slept mainly. Emerging a few times, she was offered tea from Sherlock or Sherlock would occasionally knock on his door to find out if she wanted anything. She had noticed that he just generally cared for her and maybe that was just so he could rebuild the bridge for more information about the network but either way, she appreciated it. He was giving her time to mourn. Time that was needed.

"Alright. What's not alright is a certain detective forgetting to tell you about the bullet wound on his upper arm." She tilted her head at Sherlock.

The detective merely went straight back to his experiment but it was right at the point that the heart stopped.

"Even the heart thought your wellbeing is more important," She gave a small smile, "But seriously, I suggest you take a look, John."

"Snitch." Sherlock muttered.

"Oh, please."

"Sherlock, let me see." John instructed his friend.

With a sigh, Sherlock removed his blazer and - very carefully, very slowly - rolled his shirt sleeve up so John could see the simple bandage that Elizabeth had fashioned for the injury. The doctor removed the bandage and gently prodded at the area around it. Sherlock notably gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply.

"It's infected." John frowned at his friend.

He knew this, of course. Giving John a pained smile, he simply said, "There were more important things going on."

"You can't solve cases if you're hospital-bound." John gave him a stern look, "You're lucky it only looks like a mild infection at the moment. I'll get ointment for you." He sighed and looked to Elizabeth, "Can you deal with him alone for another short while."

She shrugged, "He seems pretty content playing with his heart so I guess so."

"Right, well, I'll be back soon then."

"Bye, John."

"Goodbye." Sherlock grumbled under his breath like a child had been told that they couldn't play outside until they had finished their dinner.

Elizabeth tapped her fingers on the table, watching Sherlock work to remove the heart from the tubes that were ensuring the organ would beat. He was so precise. Then she grimaced at the sight and got up, ready to head back to bed.

"You didn't have to tell him." Sherlock called after her, in the hopes that she would stay and talk.

She called back, "It only would have gotten worse!"

But she didn't stay to chat. Then, Sherlock simply wondered why he had hoped that she would stay and talk when usually he was comfortable on his own. Perhaps he was growing fond of her perplexing presence.

* * * * *

"Oi! Come back here! Stop those women!" Yelled a jeweller as he chased after a trio of ladies who promptly sprinted away from his shop.

One of them collided with John as he walked out of the convenience store, dropping their bag of stolen goods as they did.

"I'm so sorry." He apologised, moving to pick up the bag.

"No worries, my fault, thank you for being such a gentleman." She smiled genuinely as she hurriedly took the bag from him again, "I'm in a bit of a hurry." She threw a look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the jeweller who was making his way towards her.

"Stop her! You there, stop her - she's a thief!"

Looking back to John she gave a charming smile, "Thief of his heart, haha - exes, am I right? Anyway, catch you later."

And with that she raced off, leaving a rather perplexed John behind.

The jeweller slowed down by John, panting, red in the face, not just from exhaustion, but from frustration too, "Why would you let her go like that? She stole from my store again!"

"I - I'm sorry - I was caught off guard for a moment." John frowned, "Sorry, did you say again?"

"Those women and some young girls keep stealing from my shop. I'm convinced they all work together but it's a different girl or woman each time!" The man fussed, "They always mess with the CCTV somehow too."

"Right, uh - and you've told the police this?"

"Of course I have - but there's nothing they can do. All these people around but no one pays attention and without CCTV or any evidence left behind," Exasperated he let his arms fall by his sides, "There's just nothing they can do."

Rather hooked by the idea, John wondered if Sherlock would be equally as interested as he was in the case, "I think I can help or, well, at least know someone who can." He said to the jeweller, "Least I can do."

True, Sherlock mainly solved murders but thieves that were never the same as the last, all targeting one poor jeweller with no trace of any identifiable evidence? That had to interest Sherlock surely. That and John had gotten quite a good look at the young woman who had run into him. With a hopeless nod, seeing as he thought that this would just end up being one of those impossible-to-solve cases, the jeweller took down an address from John and organised to meet with him at 221B a little later that day.

* * * * *

While the operation to eliminate Moriarty's network was temporarily paused, Sherlock sat in front of his desk, trying to work out how to prove Seamus Kelly innocent of murder.

His brother killed Mr Kelly's wife.

But who killed his brother?

Frowning as he stared at the desk, he mentally mapped things out, but everything pointed in one direction - Mr Kelly's brother's wife. But what motive would she have? He didn't like to admit it but, in all fairness, his brother had given him a rather good case to chew on. He needed to see the crime scenes. And the bodies. Time for a trip to the morgue. As he broke his trance and stood up, John entered the flat again. And then he remembered his arm - which he really didn't want to do anything about just yet. John was happy, he could tell.

"And where do you think you're off to?" John enquired first.

Damn, no time to distract him, "To the morgue." He flashed a hopeful smile as though a child were begging a parent for money to get sweets.

"Not just yet, you're not. Ointment first - "

"Yes, mother." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he paced over and collapsed into his armchair instead of heading for the door.

Frowning at his friend's childish behaviour, he dismissed the comment as he handed the ointment to Sherlock, "I have good news too."

"I know."

"Of course you know." John sighed, "I got a case. One I think you'll like actually."

"Oh?" His curiosity had been sparked.

"I'll tell you after you've put the ointment on." John stated bluntly though.

Sherlock glanced to the small bottle being idly held in his hands and sighed. At the end of the day it came down to hospital or cases and everyone and their aunt knew which one Sherlock Holmes would prefer. Without a remark, he carefully removed his blazer and slowly rolled the arm of his shirt up again. Five minutes and he was done.

"There, happy?" Sherlock grumbled more so from the stinging sensation.

"Much."

"So what's this case then?" Sherlock then asked.

"I would tell you but best you hear it from the client. I just needed you to put the ointment on. Client will be here in a couple of hours."

Sherlock frowned. He had been played by his own friend and in such a cruel way too - he just wanted to know about the case, "So then, I won't be going to the morgue anymore." He slumped into the armchair more with a huff.

"I said a couple of hours - that's surely enough time to go to the morgue and back."

"John, it's London, I still have to get there and back too."

Widening his eyes dramatically and throwing his hands up in defence, John apologised with an amused smile. Ever the child, he thought of his friend, ever the child.

"It better be a good case."

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A/N: Apologies for any typos :)