A/N: Minor warning - literally one bit of mild language used towards the end of the chapter.
As always, my lovelies, enjoy ^-^ ❤

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The next morning, John had organised to do the shopping (which was rarely ever done but considering they had an extra person they desperately needed to stock up on some things) whilst Sherlock accompanied Elizabeth to her apartment building to collect some clothes. Embarrassingly, she had to walk around in her catsuit and boots which always gained odd looks from people. It was even worse considering it was a relatively posh building to be wearing that kind of attire in.

"If I'm on house arrest, how come I'm allowed out?" She inquired as they walked along the pavement.

"Because I'm still with you."

She gave a single nod of understanding as they continued.

Before even walking in, she spotted Mrs Kaye at the desk and abruptly stopped, moving away from the view of the glass door. Sherlock turned to her with a questioning look.

"I can't walk in there dressed like this."

"You know the receptionist well, don't you?"

Elizabeth nodded.

Sherlock shrugged, "This is really your own fault. Had you not chosen to go down the route..."

She just gave the detective an utterly 'done' look. It was only 10am and she had already had this lecture the night before and several other times this morning. What Sherlock said rang true but he wouldn't understand. People like him never understood why people like her turned to stealing.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go." She stopped him.

Elizabeth headed through the glass door. The sound of the opening entrance drew Mrs Kaye's attention away from her computer and she half-smiled when she saw Elizabeth but at the same time frowned. She smiled back to the receptionist as Sherlock appeared behind her.

"Good morning, Mrs Kaye."

"Elizabeth, love, I didn't even realise you left last night."

"Oh, I had to hurry out."

Mrs Kaye wasn't even supposed to know she had been gone. She was supposed to sneak back in, unknowingly to anyone else, had she not been caught by the Holmes Brothers and their friend.

"Walk of shame then?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened at the words that left the receptionist's mouth and a pinkish hue rose in her cheeks. Never, ever would she have expected her to say that. Even Sherlock shuffled a bit under the curious gaze of Mrs Kaye.

"Uh - n - no - "

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. You wouldn't believe how many others return at odd times with - different clothing." Shrugging, Mrs Kaye smiled.

"No - "

"Don't bother." Sherlock muttered, grabbing her arm to pull her to the elevator.

"Have fun, love!" Mrs Kaye called after them.

The detective and the thief stood in the elevator silently, as far away from each other as possible. There was an uncomfortable atmosphere between them given the comments of the receptionist.

"You're not my type," Elizabeth blurted out, breaking the soundless ambience, "Just to highlight."

"You're not mine either." Came Sherlock's reply.

"You have a type?"

Sherlock looked to her with a somewhat emotionless look but the offence he felt was clear in his eyes, "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged, "You just seem like the 'lone-wolf' type. Excepting John, of course."

"He's not - "

"So you are?"

"What? No - "

"So you're against it?"

"No - "

"But - "

"Elizabeth."

"Yes?"

"Stop."

"Touchy subject?"

"Stop it."

The lift doors opened and she raced out, Sherlock striding after her, straight to her apartment door. Her brow creased when she saw that the wood by her card scanner was splintered. Putting her hand against the door, it swung open gradually, revealing her completely trashed room. Shit, she thought, Jim must've flipped when he heard she was taken - someone else must have been watching her break into Mycroft's mansion; it was the only way he could have known.

"Do you normally live in such a tip?" Sherlock enquired, peering over her shoulder.

She shook her head, "I didn't do this. Jim must know."

Elizabeth wandered inside, looking at all the books that had been thrown off of her bookshelves, noticing how her glass coffee table had been smashed and seeing how one of the paintings she had had been taken off of the wall and ripped. Sherlock glanced around her once clean apartment and already guessed who had done this. There was a note on the kitchen counter that Elizabeth picked up to read.

"Brilliant." She sighed as her eyes scanned the words.

"What is it?"

"'It's disappointing that you failed me once. Don't fail me again. Say anything and you'll be worse than dead. - Jim.'" She flashed the note to him with a sarcastic smile, "Being with you is already causing me problems."

"You wouldn't have - "

"'These problems if I didn't go down this path' - I know, and you never fail to remind me but you don't understand." Elizabeth snapped, turning away from him and chucking the note back on the counter, "I'll get my things."

With that, she walked away to her bedroom. Sherlock watched her go, noticing the slight change in her gait to accompany her frustration. She got her suitcase out of the cupboard and placed it on the bed, not really caring how she threw her clothes into the case. The detective got the strange feeling that she was upset and wandered over to her bedroom. Zipping up the case, she put it on the floor, then retrieved her thankfully unbroken laptop from underneath the bed.

"Did he threaten you to work for him?"

"No."

"Did he threaten your family?"

Elizabeth chuckled, "No."

Sherlock frowned, "Then what?"

The thief turned to him, "He saved me from my family - well, my step-father."

The detective looked even more perplexed, "He saved you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Fiddling with her ring again, she looked down to the floor, seemingly ashamed of what he had saved her from. Sherlock could take a guess at this point but there was a twinge of him that regretted bringing it up.

"He - abused you? Your step-father?"

"Yeah..."

Silence fell across the room again. Elizabeth just sat down on her bed, her eyes never leaving the sight of the ring as it was the only thing that seemed to comfort her.

"I was young, only seven or eight at the time. The memory is a bit foggy but I remember him shouting - my step-dad - he was yelling at me. I can't remember why. But then Jim came along and he hit him over the head. Jim must have been around fifteen or sixteen. He started out as criminal young...as did I. He took me away to some other place - pulled a Fagin and taught me how to pickpocket. I enjoyed it, it was challenging and fun. As he got older he started developing his network, a kind of any-crime-for-hire kind of thing. When I was sixteen, he asked me if I would like to stick with him permanently. Why would I say no? Jim had been like a big brother to me - he was family."

"What about your mother?"

She shrugged, "She left before that happened. I don't blame her."

Sherlock wandered over and took a seat beside Elizabeth, a decent gap between them but the heart in him feeling some compassion towards her now. She was just victim to an unfortunate circumstance.

"I don't agree with everything Jim's done over the years but he is family."

"Family that wants you dead." Sherlock stated bluntly.

Elizabeth looked to him with a frown, "Only if I speak to you."

"Well, if you don't speak to us, you go to prison for life."

She looked away, torn between the two sides. Elizabeth wondered if Jim would find some way to get her, so long as she didn't speak. What were the chances of that happening though? Every other person that had double-crossed Jim, close or not, often ended up dead within the next week. Maybe switching sides would be for the best? She didn't want to be locked up forever. Maybe she could go into some sort of witness protection? The money she got from thieving and stealing was nice but some of the things she had stolen over the years had led to others' demise.

"A couple of weeks ago, Jim blew up an apartment building opposite 221B, blew up an elderly woman in a block of flats, bringing more deaths, strapped bombs to an innocent woman, man and child and strapped a bomb to John." There was a grave look in Sherlock's eyes, "You said you don't kill people but, the longer you work to keep his secrets, that's essentially what you're doing."

"No - "

"The longer you keep quiet, the more people you enable him to kill." He paused, "Help us find him."

"There will be a price on my head if he finds out that I've told you anything."

"We can protect you."

"And when I'm no longer useful?" Elizabeth looked to him with worry, "What then? Jokes on me, I get thrown into a cell anyway?"

"That wasn't the deal."

"How do I know that you're telling me the truth?"

"Elizabeth, I - " He sighed, "Please." There was an authentic shine in his eyes.

Of course, Sherlock enjoyed 'the game' but he didn't enjoy watching and letting people die. He worked to prevent that and to provide closure (okay, yes, often mainly for his own entertainment as well but it's the minor thoughts that count too). Elizabeth looked away, closing her eyes, just picturing all the outcomes of this situation and most of them ended with her head on a stick.

"Promise me."

"Promise what?"

"That I won't go to prison and that - you won't let him kill me."

"I try not to let him kill anyone."

"Sherlock." She met his gaze with a serious one.

The detective held his stare with her for a moment then gave a nod, "I promise."

"Okay then," She nodded, pausing briefly, "I'll help you track Jim Moriarty down."