Halfway home, it had started to rain. Gently at first and then more heavily as the icy drops pounded down on the concrete roads and pavements.

After Elizabeth had snuck past Mrs Hudson's apartment and back into 221B, she collapsed onto the sofa and cried. Partly out of relief, partly out of grief and partly out of guilt for feeling like she had abandoned Jim after he had done so much for her. Even at the end of it all, Jim still let her go.

Perhaps she would tell John and Sherlock about it when they finally came back, now that she had lived and survived through the ordeal that her decision had been made into? She hoped they were okay.

Sure enough, around three quarters of an hour later, the boys returned, drenched and muddy. When she heard their heavy steps coming up the stairs, she was quick to wipe the tears away from her eyes and stood to greet them.

She frowned at the sight of them.

Sherlock frowned at the sight of her, noticing the upset redness in her cheeks.

"What happened?" Elizabeth and Sherlock asked simultaneously.

"You first?" Elizabeth prompted, still unsure if she would tell them.

"Well, I can tell you that it's definitely blog material." John said, looking absolutely shattered.

"Sounds fun." Elizabeth stepped over to help Sherlock out of his coat, saddened by the sight of it, "This is going to need a wash - maybe two."

She held the drenched, dirty coat away from her and held out her other hand to take John's coat, kindly throwing them in the wash for the two men.

While she was out of the room, Sherlock mouthed to the doctor that something was wrong with her. John had agreed having also glimpsed her slightly pinkish face. She had stayed because she said she was sick but she didn't look hot and feverish - she looked more like she had been crying.

She returned to the lounge with two towels that she chucked at the two of them. They both started to try and dry themselves as best they could with the towels, but it was mainly their hair that they dried and only somewhat so. Deciding she wanted to avoid her conversation, she urged them to continue.

"Uh, the man thought there was someone else living in his house." John explained.

"Things had been going missing." Sherlock said, "In the night he heard strange noises. He had checked the loft, but no one was ever there. Naturally, he approached the police who also couldn't find anything wrong because they're stupid like that."

"Sometimes." John interjected.

"Yes. Fine. Sometimes. Turns out there was a large space under his staircase that someone was hiding in. He never realised you could get out from under and into it just by undoing a couple of screws."

"When we opened it, the man inside leapt out and started running. We ended up tackling him on the green outside, where it was quite slippery."

"Turns out the guy was a stalker. Never gave a reason why but I believe he had the intent to do him harm because of all the papers he had with scribbled down observations of our client. I believe he intended to take his place."

It must have been horrible not have felt safe in your own home. And for the crazy guy to have also been planning on replacing him? That made it even scarier. And yet scarier still was the fact that guy's motive was because Jim had supposedly organised. She wondered how.

"That's freaky."

"Ha, yeah. You can say that again." John stretched, "I have work in the morning so if you don't mind, I'll just head to bed."

"Goodnight, John." Elizabeth smiled at him as he left while Sherlock gave a little wave.

He turned back to Elizabeth, "Is everything alright?"

She knew deep down that she wouldn't get it past him. But she was scared. She had broken their trust and she was terrified she was going to lose it if she told him - lose him too. But if she didn't tell him buy could see something was bothering her, then he would still distrust her.

The stress spilled from her eyes again as she opened her mouth to speak but found she couldn't. She hadn't wanted to cry in front of him again but her emotions had had other plans.

Sherlock was confused. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? Was it something he had said?

"It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong?"

"You'll hate me." She croaked, as she wiped her hands over her eyes, frantically trying to get rid of the tears, "You will, you'll hate me for it."

"No. No, I could never hate you, Elizabeth." Sherlock shook his head quickly, "You have to speak to me though. I promise you, I won't hate you. Just tell me what's wrong?" He tried to reassure her.

"But you will. I broke your trust, I lied to you."

"How?" Concern practically drowned his expression as he led her to the couch and had her sit down.

"I wasn't sick, Sherlock. I went to see Jim."

"Moriarty?"

"Yes. He asked me to meet with him and I - I went."

"When? When did he ask you?" Sherlock's mind raced with questions, with confusion.

"Through Irene. She said that Jim would kill her if I didn't meet with him. I had go to him. She said if I went, that he would cut ties with her and let her live. I had to go, Sherlock. And I've already killed so many people, I couldn't let her be another."

"What? Who? You haven't killed anyone."

"That old woman and people in the flat. Shaun and Scarlett and - and the man the phone. I've killed them," She mumbled, rubbing her eyes vigorously, desperately trying to block the tears, "I've killed them."

"No. No, you haven't. Elizabeth, we've talked about this. Moriarty killed the people in the flat. Moriarty did that. He killed Shaun too. Scarlett was killed by someone else."

"No, Sherlock, Jim killed her. He told me."

"See, if he admitted it. You didn't kill anyone." He was still confused but he had to question further, "Who was the man on the phone?"

"When we were at the Palace, Jim called, but he used another man to talk to me. He told me not to speak but I did and he - he shot him but it was my fault. I heard him die, Sherlock, and it was my fault."

"No. It wasn't. None of those were ever, ever your fault. Moriarty killed them. Period. But Elizabeth, I need to know, what did he say to you? Look at me, Elizabeth?"

"He wanted me back but I said no. I said I wanted to stay with you."

"And what did he say to that?"

"He just told me to go. He said he would never kill me and if he had ever wanted to, I would already be dead."

Sherlock's brow furrowed at this. Jim really was close to Elizabeth if he wasn't planning on killing her. But he didn't trust it. Something wasn't right about it.

"You hate me for lying, don't you?"

"No. No, Elizabeth, God, no. I just wish you had told me sooner."

Elizabeth took a shaky breath of relief, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

He wrapped his arms around her again as he so often did in their moments alone, letting her cry into his shoulder as he sat there with her. He rocked her slightly, in an effort to calm her. He wasn't angry with her, just hurt she didn't say something sooner. But then again, clearly with the amount of stress she was under, he didn't blame her. And the fact she had worried about him hating her only broke him more. How could he possibly hate her for trying to keep everyone safe?

"I know, I know." He muttered, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head as he gently carressed her hair, "It's okay, Elizabeth, you're okay."

She was comforted by the fact he didn't hate her but she still felt horribly guilty for lying. But at least he seemed to understand why. She couldn't have risked lives just to prove her point.

* * * * * * * *

After Elizabeth had left, Jim went to sit back at the table where his half-eaten and her full plate of spaghetti lay. He just stared straight ahead of him, as if entranced by the invisible air itself.

He didn't want this.

She was supposed to come back to him.

She was supposed to be his.

But no. The detective had made quite sure of that having turned Elizabeth against him. How would Sherlock feel if he turned John on him? How would he feel? Perhaps he would do the same?

No.

He felt the quiet anger simmer in him as he sat there thinking, staring, plotting.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Dearest Lizzie." He mumbled to himself, picking at the pure white table cloth.

The woman who had stolen his heart. The woman who had been his only family. The woman who had betrayed him.

Jim just had to send one text. One text and she would rue the day she rejected him.

He snapped, ripping the table cloth off the table and onto the floor. The candle clattered onto the carpet and the flame leapt up. Jim didn't stop the tongue of heat from spreading. He simply moved back and watched the chaos ensue.

Elizabeth did this. Elizabeth started this fire. Elizabeth would pay.

He heard footsteps running down the hall and Seb rushed into the apartment. The sniper saw his friend stood there, still as stone, eyes fixed on the growing flames as they crawled and slithered across the apartment.

"Jim. Jim!" Seb put a hand on his shoulder, "We need to go."

Moriarty just turned and smiled at him.

"Turns out you were right all along, Sebastian. She's left me."

"I'm sorry about that but we need to go, the fire is spreading and the alarm - "

Just as he said that, the shrill ringing triggered by the smoke rung out in the apartment.

"Jim, we have to go."

"Turns out I should listen to you more often."

"Okay, Jim, so listen to me now: We. Need. To. Go."

He chuckled, "Yes, Sir, Mr Moran."

Seb rolled his eyes and took Jim by his arm, dragging him down the hallway and smashing the main fire alarm as he went, hopefully waking more people. They made their way down the stairwell and out into the pelting rain. Jim stopped by the fire door, feeling the rain on his face, opening his mouth wide, sticking his tongue out to catch the rain, almost hoping it would drown him. He knew it wasn't enough though. And he wasn't going to leave Sherlock without a 'big, bad guy' just like that.

Not yet anyway.

He gave a child-like chuckle before looking at Seb again, "I'm gonna be a free man, Seb. Like you said, she's a weakness. My weakness. And when she's gone, I'll be free."

Jim opened his arms wide, tilting his head back to catch raindrops again. Once he was done with this display, he whipped out his phone and sent a text:

<Recruit her. - M>