The morning after the party was awkward. Period. No other way to describe it.

After the thrill of the previous evening had settled, both thief and detective recalled their kiss. The kiss that Elizabeth had initiated. The kiss that Sherlock had very willingly gone along with. The kiss that left them both confused as hell.

John observed their morning encounters. He was sat at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of tea. Sherlock was making more tea for himself. Elizabeth made her way out of Sherlock's room, stretching from her sleep. As she turned the corner, she waved at John, who reciprocated the gesture. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at her approaching and quickly moved out of the way - however she moved the same way.

And so he moved to the other side.

But so did she.

They did this dance for a few moments, muttering incoherent things to each other before both stopped.

"We having a more upbeat version of our dance last night?" She asked, heat rising in her cheeks.

"Um, it would appear so..."

They stood in silence.

John was perplexed at their seemingly sudden change from rather friendly behaviour to cringeworthy demeanours. What on earth happened last night? A dance didn't sound bad so what else had happened? If he didn't get the story from either of them, John thought he may have been willing to approach Mycroft for the details.

"So."

"So." Sherlock repeated.

They stared at each other. Unfortunately, John blinked at the exact moment both the thief's and detective's eyes darted down to each others lips.

"Is everything alright with you two?" John had to ask this aloud.

They looked at him simultaneously.

"Yes! Fine!" Was the unanimous answer.

They both looked back to each other, mildly freaked out that they had said the same thing at the same time. John frowned. It definitely wasn't fine.

"I just want tea."

"You can have tea." Sherlock nodded, still not moving.

"To get tea, I need to get to the counter, Sherlock." Elizabeth said this with eyes that pleaded for mercy from the universe.

"Right! Of course. Yes. Sorry, I'll move."

But they both walked into each other at the same time, stumbling back slightly from the sudden contact with a resounding 'oof'.

"I'll just get tea later." Elizabeth resolved and walked back out of the kitchen and into Sherlock's room again, shutting the door a little too loudly.

John looked to Sherlock, confusion plastered across his face, "What was that?"

"What was what?" Sherlock asked innocently.

John scoffed, "You know what I'm talking about. That moment. Just now. What even was that?"

"It was a normal moment, John. Absolutely fine."

"What happened at the party last night? You danced? Was that bad? And don't lie to me, Sherlock. Something happened. I can tell."

"Nothing happened." Sherlock shook his head quickly, "How was work, John?"

"Ha! Now, I definitely know something's up because you have never, ever, ever, asked how my work has been."

Sherlock internally facepalmed at his failure to change the conversation. He clenched his jaw for a moment then sighed, taking a seat opposite his friend. John was good with these situations after all - perhaps he could advise?

"We kissed."

"YOU WHAT???"

"John, keep your voice down!" Sherlock hissed, "We kissed."

"Oh. My. God." John was stunned by this reveal, "Sherlock Holmes kissed a girl?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "She kissed me."

"She kissed you?"

"To distract a guard. We hid in plain sight. Elizabeth decided to kiss me so we would come across as the couple looking for 'extra fun'."

"Okay...did you kiss back?"

There was a beat.

"Yes."

"Good. Great. That's - " John was grinning like the Cheshire cat, "That's brilliant mate. Did you - like it?"

"I - I don't know."

"Why?"

"She said it meant nothing."

"Ooh..."

"I can understand why. It was a distraction, not a confession but..."

"But?"

"But, I don't know, John. I don't understand it. The kiss - it was - "

Sherlock was at a loss for words. He could hardly describe how he felt. He wasn't good with this 'emotions' thing. John had the perfect question in mind though - at least in his opinion. One that he believed the answer to would clarify the detective's feelings.

"Would you kiss her again?"

This question made Sherlock stop. He thought back to their kiss; the passion, the pull, the thrill. It didn't feel like just a distraction. But how was he to know? Sherlock found he missed the velvety feeling of her lips. Longed for it, even. With a nervous, quiet affirmation, the detective replied:

"Yes."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elizabeth was curled up in Sherlock's bed, hiding under the covers from embarrassment. While Sherlock had someone to confide in, she didn't. This only made her thought process all the more confusing without someone to help clarify her thoughts for her.

She kept asking herself why?

Why had she kissed Sherlock?

Every time her mind kept leading her back to the idea that she had developed feelings for the detective - against Mycroft's wishes. But how did she know this?

If she thought about it, she guessed that she had known - or more so her brain chemistry had known - since near enough the beginning. The fact that she could have left him to die and yet she hadn't. She had always been fond of Sherlock. Even her short desire for Victor had made her realise that she truly liked Sherlock.

Victor's kiss had never sat as well with her as she would have liked. Especially when she had imagined him to be Sherlock instead. She wondered if that's why Sherlock left the room? Because he, too, had wished Victor to be himself?

It was confusing, conflicting even, now that Mycroft had stuck his nose in.

What had he meant by 'he knew she would hurt him'?

She didn't know if she would hurt Sherlock. She sure as hell didn't want to. Never would she willingly do that. So why? Why had Mycroft felt the need to say it?

True, she had been a thief. True, she had stolen minor things while with the two men. True, she was currently hiding things from them, but that was so they wouldn't get hurt.

Elizabeth thought back to the kiss: how perfectly their lips had fit together, how their hands had held each other, how Sherlock had kissed back. He had kissed back, that much was true. So perhaps he did feel the same?

But John had told her the story of when they first met. He had mentioned Sherlock being 'married to his work' and being a 'high-functioning sociopath' in passing. Could a man such as Sherlock Holmes really like, even love, a woman like Elizabeth? Imperfect but trying to be better? Not above the law but not totally against it either?

She failed to come up with an answer.

Instead, the guilt of having called the kiss 'nothing' found her again. It had been such a cruel thing to say. Perhaps that had messed up her chances? Chances? She thought she had chances now! But at the time, she had nothing else to say. She was embarrassed, afraid of the rejection. So she had rejected him first - and how wrong it was of her to do so.

It wasn't true.

It meant something.

At least to her, it did. It meant she had given in.

Did him kissing back mean that Sherlock had given in too?

At the end of all the overthinking, she could only think of one thing: if she had the choice, she would kiss him again.

Elizabeth Parrish would kiss Sherlock Holmes again.