A/N: Here is la update - I hope you all enjoy :)

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It was verging on 9pm.

Sherlock, Elizabeth and John sat silently in the back of the taxi. John tapped his fingers on the door, Sherlock stared out of the window and Elizabeth sat in the middle, fiddling with a ring on her index finger. Not even the taxi driver made an attempt to speak but then again, not all drivers were up for a conversation. Thank God, Sherlock thought, prefering the quiet. John and Elizabeth, however, wouldn't have minded a little conversation. She had spoken first.

"I could have sat by the door. I know you two are close."

Sherlock looked to her with a questionable look as his eyes narrowed. She met his gaze with an innocent smile.

John gave a sigh, rubbing his hands over his eyes. For the love of God, he thought, when would people stop assuming he was gay? There was nothing wrong with it but he was not gay. At this point he just gave up correcting people though. They wouldn't stop until he had a wife.

"I think it's best you sat in the middle." Sherlock gave the logical answer.

"Why?"

"Because you probably would have tried to jump out."

Elizabeth exhaled defeatedly. There was no getting past him, was there?

"I'd also still like an apology." John felt the need to speak up.

"For?"

"For using a taser on me."

"Well, I didn't kill you." She shrugged coolly.

Sherlock interjected, "Have you killed before?"

"No."

"How do we know you're not lying?" John asked, concerned with everyone's well-being at 221B.

Elizabeth didn't answer and instead went back to fiddling with her simple, sentimental, silver ring. It would be highly unlikely that they would believe everything she said. They would have to work it out themselves, whether she was lying or telling the truth. Elizabeth refused to start an argument for no reason, especially if there was the chance of being locked in a cell for life. She shuffled under their watchful gazes but still didn't speak. Sherlock analysed her but nothing really alerted him of anything alarming.

"She's not lying." He answered for her, looking back out of the window, uninterested.

John was still unsure about the entire situation but he believed Sherlock. He was right with most things. There was still a part of him that was nervous though. There were a multitude of things that could go wrong. She hadn't killed yet but she still could.

The taxi pulled up just outside Mrs. Hudson's apartment building on Baker Street.

Sherlock opened his door to get out but turned back, "Let Elizabeth pay, I'm sure she has enough money."

"It doesn't grow on trees." Came her moody response as she handed over some money to the taxi driver, "Some of us need to work for it."

John was the only one to thank the driver as Elizabeth got out on Sherlock's side, onto the pavement. For a moment she considered running as the taxi sped off, leaving the three of them stood in front of the door. But where would she go?

"It's forecast to rain tonight, so I wouldn't recommend running unless you prefer damp clothing." Sherlock spoke up as if he had read her mind.

She didn't answer and instead scowled at him childishly as John unlocked the door. The army doctor walked in and Elizabeth made a motion with her hand for Sherlock to enter first.

"Neither one of us is that stupid," Came his blunt response, "After you."

Worth a try. Clenching her jaw, she made her way into the building. A woman hurried out of one of the doors from the passage with a sweet smile on her face.

"Oh, hello, Sherlock, John," Her eyes fell on Elizabeth, "And who's this?"

Sherlock replied, "Another lodger."

"Oh, but 221C isn't ready yet - "

"No need. She'll be staying with me in 221B. She's here under Mycroft's order."

As he had spoken, he had removed his coat, placing it on the coat rack. Mrs Hudson looked perplexed as to why Mycroft had sent her with the boys. In fact, she was just confused as to why Sherlock was involved at all and before she could ask, Sherlock spoke again.

"She's under house arrest but she doesn't have a home."

"Oh, I see."

"I do have an apartment actually." She muttered, "I doubt you'll let me back there though."

Sherlock didn't feel the need to explain everything in depth. He knew that she posed no harm to Mrs Hudson. John made his way upstairs to the apartment. Tea was on his mind after everything that had ensued that evening. Sherlock paused at the bottom of the stairs as Elizabeth hung back by the coat rack, looking like moody teenager. Mrs Hudson made her way over to her with a sympathetic look.

"What's your name, dear?" She spoke gently.

"Elizabeth." The corners of her mouth turned up at the edges only slightly.

"Well, Elizabeth, I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Nice to meet you."

"I don't know what trouble you've gotten yourself into but I know that these two," She motioned to Sherlock and upstairs in general, "Can help you. They're often very good at doing that. If you ever need anything, just call. Us ladies have always got to stick together, you know." She gave a little chuckle and a smile before heading back into her apartment.

Elizabeth looked to Sherlock with a more relaxed look.

"She's lovely."

"I know." He stepped down from the step and motioned for her to go first.

"Neither one of us is that stupid," She mimicked, "After you."

"Nice try."

She was just checking. One never knew the silly, fortunate events that could happen unless one exhausted all of the opportunities. With a final sigh, she headed upstairs.

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"Right, if you don't mind, I'll be going to bed now." John said, standing up from his chair to stretch before heading out of the flat.

It was late, after all. It had been an hour and a half since they had come back but John was no machine like Sherlock. He operated on a decent amount of sleep.

"Goodnight." Sherlock called after his friend.

The detective was sat in his chair, hands under his chin in their classic steeple position as he looked at Elizabeth, who was sat on the couch, staring at the cup of tea in her hands, of which was still half-full and probably cold by then. She hadn't spoken much at all after they had came up to the flat. He couldn't blame her. It wasn't the outcome anyone had wanted or expected. But c'est la vie - in Sherlock's case anyway.

The fire gave the room a warm glow as the wood crackled calmly in fire place. Elizabeth had considered other ways of escape but quickly abandoned them. She came to the realisation that Jim would probably come and get her. Probably. She just needed to sit tight. At least, that's what she hoped. But she had failed him. She had failed the one job she had and now he might see her as an undesirable, compromising contact. She prayed that he wouldn't see her as that. Sensing a gaze, her eyes dared a glance up to see Sherlock giving her his full attention.

"If you take a picture, it will last longer." Came her sullen remark.

"I don't want a picture."

Elizabeth's head raised up then, her frown holding with his look. She didn't know whether to be offended or not.

"I don't often sleep so you can stay in my room unless you would prefer the couch."

He stood up, turned towards the fire and grabbed the poker in order to stoke the source of light and heat. Elizabeth watched him for a moment.

"No more interrogation?"

"Not unless you want me to interrogate you further."

"Not really."

"So then you have the choice of a bed or a couch."

"What do you mean by you don't sleep often?"

"Sleeping slows me down and there are far more exciting things to do than to sleep." Sherlock turned to face her again, "So which is it: couch or bed?"

"Well - "

"Bed it is; I need my workspace. Goodnight now."

"I don't have any of my - "

"We can pick them up tomorrow, I'm sure. You don't mind sleeping in your burglar attire tonight, do you? That said, if you didn't steal, you wouldn't even be here. Goodnight." Sherlock urged her to go.

He needed to get to work is all. There was still a case he needed to work on. In fact, there were several cases that he was certain he could finish tonight, so long as he had the peace and quiet to solve them. Elizabeth stood up and walked into the kitchen to put her cup in the sink. She wasn't one to be too petty as to leave it there.

She muttered under her breath, "Night."

Sherlock's room was pretty minimalist. There wasn't much in the way of anything. One could almost mistake it for a hotel room, had there been the little sachets of tea and coffee on the table opposite the bed. As Sherlock said, he didn't sleep often and so the room was hardly used. It was always left in a pristine condition unlike the kitchen or the living room.

She sat on the side of the bed, again, fiddling with the ring on her index finger. Elizabeth could never remember where she had got it from. All she knew was that she had always had it and seeing it comforted her. She didn't have her phone; Mycroft had confiscated it. They wouldn't find anything incriminating on there though. The chats she had with Jim were always in person. He found her. Perhaps he would do the same now. All she had was what she was wearing currently.

No use in thinking about it though. Elizabeth would just have to wait until it happened and she would have to remain awfully quiet until it did.