A/N - Helluuuu again!

Apologies for the delayed update, work has been horribly draining but I am enjoying it!

Above you can see a picture of Liam Neeson (specifically from Batman Begins) who I believe is a good faceclaim for Alistair Sandborn :)

This chapter has already been delayed enough so please enjoy!

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The three were stood around the kitchen table as Elizabeth kitted herself out with the equipment Mycroft had sent for her to use.

Sherlock said nothing. He had learned over the duration of yesterday and through the rest of the day that she wouldn't respond anyway. At this point he just wanted to compliment her. The detective couldn't deny that she looked good - really good - in her catsuit.

"Okay so," She grabbed the black backpack that had been provided for her, "Lockpicks, belt. Taser, belt..." Elizabeth listed off the items she had been sent and whether they would be placed on either her belt or in her backpack, "Earpiece," Popping the small device into her ear, she nodded, "On. So..."

She looked between the two men, but paid more attention to John. Sherlock was stood, seemingly deep in thought, arms crossed but one hand propped up under his chin. John offered Elizabeth a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure you'll be alright on your own."

"I'll definitely be better," She sent a subtle glare towards Sherlock, "On my own."

As she said this, her phone buzzed:

<Awaiting you outside, Miss Parrish. - M.H.>

"Okay, wish me luck. Hope that I haven't lost all sense of my 'criminal' being otherwise this mission will become significantly harder." She forced a smile as she grabbed her backpack and headed towards the stairs, "See you later!"

"Bye! Good luck." John called after her and then looked to Sherlock.

The detective had watched her leave with a longing glance. Even his mouth was slightly agape as though he were ready to wish her well too but his eyes said differently. His eyes said they were plotting. Why wish her well when he could go with her?

The doctor recognised that look in his friend's eyes, "Sherlock, you know you can't follow her."

He just looked at John defeatedly, "Yes, John, I know."

"She'll be fine."

"Of course. Of course she will..."

But what wasn't fine were the countless, imagined scenarios in which Sherlock was unable to help her, simply because he wasn't there.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Are you content with your gear?"

"Yes. I'm...pleasantly surprised."

"Well, we weren't going to send you in with nothing." Mycroft rolled his eyes as she put her seat belt on. He took out a laptop from his briefcase and started it up, "I'll be directing you. Your com will be activated when we arrive. You know what you're doing?"

"Retrieving a USB drive with important scientific research and placing covert cameras and listening devices around the club too."

"Exactly. Good to know you read the file again."

Elizabeth offered Mycroft a tight smile. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"So...the situation with my brother and yourself...?"

"I don't even want to talk about it and least of all to you, Mr Holmes."

Judging by the use of his last name, it was still a sensitive subject as one could imagine, "I'm just glad that things didn't work out, Miss Parrish. You knew my sentiments towards the start of your...relationship."

"And now I know your brother's sentiments too so we can stop discussing it now. Thank you."

Mycroft nodded, "Miss Parrish...provided you maintain your 'good behaviour', I'm willing to offer you your promised clean slate after the mission on the cruise."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Is this just because of what happened between myself and your brother?"

"It does factor into my decision. But only a small part of it, rest assured. I do still owe you for saving my life at the Armistead mansion. I wish to honour that act also."

"Jeez, when did you get a change of heart?" Elizabeth sat there in disbelief.

Mycroft merely gave his Forced Smile™ in reply.

Her freedom sounded so close.

But could she trust it?

What if it were a setup? Mycroft had always been right against her from the start, and regardless of saving him, he had never really shown any interest in letting her go any time soon. That said, maybe he wanted to let her go as soon as possible while her relationship with Sherlock was on the rocks. Not that it was a relationship any more. In Elizabeth's eyes, that had been stopped the moment Sherlock said all of those awful, hurtful things.

"We're here, Miss Parrish."

The car had stopped a little way down the road from where The Sands (the club owned by the Syndicate) was situated. Thankfully it was a relatively quiet street.

"Okay. I plan to just get in and out. I don't want to mess with the security he has inside. I'll try to avoid them."

"Fine by me. Just remember, you'll have to enter from the top. There’s a - "

"Fire escape on building next to it. I know, Mr Holmes, I read the file." Elizabeth nodded as she adjusted her ear piece, "'Kay, be back soon."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Back at the flat, Sherlock had practically paced grooves into the wooden floor.

John was trying to finish a blog post but would send a glance to Sherlock every now and again. He was worried for his friend. It wasn't like him to be so outwardly anxious. That only told him one thing: he genuinely cared for Elizabeth and had truly regretted his words. This was both good and bad. Good because it meant he wasn't a machine and he had genuinely wanted himself and Elizabeth to work out. Bad because Elizabeth seemed understandably upset still and unlikely to open up to him again any time soon.

Sherlock changed his actions unexpectedly and went to check his phone. It had only been half an hour since she had left. He could still catch up.

But he knew he shouldn't.

Yet, the thought of leaving her alone to fend for herself continued to beat him with anxiety. He had to go. If nothing happened it would be okay. But if something happened then at least he would be there to help.

God knows his brother would do little if she were in danger.

So he turned, making a bee line to his coat a scarf before changing paths to the door.

"Sherlock?" John piped up, "Where are you going?"

"I'm...meeting Molly at the morgue."

"At half past midnight?" John quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes..."

"Sherlock."

"They've just brought a body in. Molly wants me to have a look."

"But Sherlock - "

"Goodbye John."

And with that, the detective slammed the door shut behind him.

John wanted to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt. Although, the likelihood was that he was off to check on Elizabeth and knew there would have been nothing he could have done to stop him.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"And...that one's up. One more to go - office next, right?"

"Yes, Miss Parrish. You'll want to head straight down the corridor, turn left and then left again - you'll know the door when you see it."

"Okay, will do."

With a nod to no one but herself, she tread carefully, soundlessly down the corridors, only pausing to let some security guards pass, until she reached the door Mycroft had mentioned.

"Oh, he really doesn't get the whole secrecy thing, does he?" She frowned at the large sign spelling out 'office' in big, black, bold letters.

"Apparently not. You'll ne - "

"Need my lock pick kit, I know. I have eyes."

"And a gun against the back of your head."

She froze at the sound of the click, tensing more at the feel of chillingly, fatal metal against the back of her neck once again. Raising her hands, she shut her eyes in despair. How many times had she had a gun pointed at her now within the space of a few months?

"Stand up slowly and back away from the door."

She did as she was told, getting a look at the man as she did. He was slightly taller than Sherlock - thus much taller than herself - and his wispy and yet wiry beard was styled, she thought, to look as menacing as humanely possible.

"Give me one good reason to not shoot you now."

"Keep calm, Miss Parrish. You're talking to Alistair Sands." Mycroft informed her.

Great. So the big boss-man was the one to catch her. Wonderful. Brilliant. Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

"I've installed cameras and listening devices in your club. If you kill me there'll be plenty of evidence." She countered.

His jaw flexed but he lowered the gun and reached inside his blazer pocket, "Then allow me," He said, taking out the key to his office as he glared at her.

He unlocked and opened the fire door, letting it swing open and allowing her to enter first.

"If you can get him to confess, Miss Parrish," Mycroft said through her ear piece as she entered the room, "And secure the leaked information then we'll have more than enough evidence to convict him."

Scanning the room, her eyes fell upon a painting hung on the back wall of the room. The thief in her said that his safe would be behind it - it had to be. Classic spot for a safe, even Irene had proven that (except hers was hidden by a mirror) and the Sandborn that she was faced with didn't come across as one that would bow out of such an unspoken norm.

"So I don't believe we've met, Miss..."

"Pine. Catherine Pine."

Alistair Sandborn held a tight-lipped smile, "I gathered you wouldn't tell me your real name. Not to worry..."

What was it with people not accepting her fake name? Did her face not suit 'Catherine'? Or did her face not suit 'Miss Pine'?

Alistair stepped over to the desk in the centre of the room, positioned directly in front of the painting, and leant against the desk, gun still in hand, "Care to tell me why, Miss Pine, you have installed so called cameras and listening devices in my club?"

"Care to tell me why, Mr Sandborn, you're still here when your club is supposed to be being renovated this week?"

The very brief hint of a bemused smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, "Touché. So you know my name. I thought as much...I'm still awaiting an answer to my question."

"As am I."

"You see, Miss Pine, I may not even need you to answer."

"Why?"

"Well, I already have a couple of guesses as to why you're here."

"Go on then, enlighten me."

"One - you want money. But that wouldn't explain the cameras. So that leads me to two - you want to blackmail me and yet that still doesn't sit quite right with me which...leads me to three," He stood and walked around to the back of the desk to access the drawers and pulled a small, red USB out, letting it make a resounding clack as it fell on the top of the desk, "You want this. And my confession."

Elizabeth didn't speak. Not only because she was stunned he got the USB out so quickly but also because it didn't appear to be in a safe. It had just been hidden in plain sight. Her eyes rested on the drive that she so desperately needed. How would she get out of this situation?

"You're wondering how I know this, Miss Pine. I hate to say that it's a very simple answer - but I knew it wouldn’t be long until somebody came looking for the missing information."

"You killed a man even after he betrayed his country for you. Why?"

Alistair smiled, "Now Miss Pine, why would I say anything more incriminating when you've already said that you've planted listening devices around the club. You could be carrying one for all I know."

"He's shown you the drive for he reason. Ask him why." Mycroft's voice rang in her ear.

"Why are you showing me the drive then? What do you want?"

"To make a deal. Take all your little cameras and devices and go and I'll give you the drive."

"How do I know you won't kill me the moment I've done so?"

"Well, I assume you haven't come alone. It would have been very stupid if you did but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"You've threatened to kill me."

"And yet you're the one who broke into my club. If you were to die...then it would be  because I fought against an intruder in self-defense. You see how this works both ways? I could call the police on you right now. I'm sure whoever else is listening wouldn't want that either. So my deal is, take your cameras and devices and I will let you go with the drive. Very simple."

Elizabeth sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment. They wouldn’t get any extra evidence if she took back the cameras and listening devices. But they would get the information back.

"Miss Parrish...I need you to get that drive no matter what - but I still need you to leave the cameras there." Mycroft stressed to her, "Right now, they are the only thing keeping you safe. What we are doing is illegal - Mr Sandborn doesn't know that but I have no doubt he will try to get rid of you permanently if you remove the cameras."

For once it almost sounded like Mycroft cared for her wellbeing. Who was she kidding though? He was more stressed about getting his precious government information back.

"Mr Sandborn. I believe we can come to an agreement." Elizabeth walked over to his desk and leant on the table, ready to snatch up the drive.

But before she could, Alistair picked it up, "Get the cameras down first. This drive is my insurance."

"And so the cameras are mine." Her hand inched closer to the lamp on his desk, "One of us is going to have to give trust to get it."

"And that will have to be you as we are in my club."

"You're not willing to be lenient?"

"Not to a thief like - "

And the lamp was brought across the side of his head, the shock of the hit sending both the gun and drive flying from Alistair's hands. As Mr Sandborn stumbled, Elizabeth dived to the right to snatch up the drive and then turned to race out of his office.

Even in his slightly dazed state, Alistair Sandborn was still able to press the red button underneath his desk; extra help would soon be on its way. And this help wouldn't be lenient in the slightest. Just to make sure, Alistair pulled a radio out of his desk too.

"A young woman has stolen a USB drive belonging to me. Find her and bring her and the drive back to me, alive or dead, I don't care."

"Miss Parrish get out of that building now. Security are coming from both down and upstairs towards your location."

"That’s what I'm trying to do!" She hissed at Mycroft.

As Elizabeth ran up the stairs to the next floor, she turned into restaurant area of the club, darting past seating as she went. As she left that room, speeding into the corridor, she slowed her sprint as she saw two lights just beyond the set of double doors towards the end of the corridor. Changing her mind, she attempted to head back into the restaurant area but before she could even open the door, she through the window, a few security guards enter that room too.

She panicked and backed away from the door. There were no vents above her. Where would she go? What would she do? How would she get out alive?

Before she could question herself further, a hand wrapped itself around her mouth and and torso, dragging her back. She struggled but a familiar voice shushed her. It was only when this person had brought her into a caretaker's claustrophobically small cupboard that she was released.

Elizabeth turned to see Sherlock stood there.

"What are you doing here?" She panted.

The detective's brow folded, surely it was obvious?

"Helping you."

"I don't need help Sherlock, least of all yours! I was doing fine!"

"You were on the verge of panicking. You weren't prepared for any of this."

"Screw you! Who are you to tell me that?"

He paused, realising that might not have been the best statement to make, "Look, I know things aren't the best - "

"Aren't the best? Fucking understatement, Sherlock. You hurt me and you can't see it. You hurt me so I chose to distance myself but you won't accept it. You hurt me and - "

The detective heard footsteps getting closer. She needed to be quiet or else they would both be in grave trouble.

Without a proper thought, Sherlock had pressed his lips to hers. The thief's eyes widened but in their abrupt silence she, too, heard the heavy footsteps stomping past and briefly didn't object.

This kiss was different for the both of them. Sherlock felt her stumble back slightly and so held her by the waist in the fear that if she did fall back, it would only cause more unwanted noise. He thought the kiss was fine. On the other hand, Elizabeth just didn't kiss back and when she felt his hands around her waist, she held onto his shirt tighter - only out of annoyance.

Once the men had passed though, she roughly shoved him as far back as possible in the cupboard space.

"You weren't keeping qui - "

She slapped him. Hard.

The detective froze as he was, his face slightly turned away from her, eyes meeting the floor as he felt his cheek throb with the bristley pain.

"Fuck you, Sherlock. That wasn't - it wasn't needed." Her voice broke, "I don't need you or your help. Make your own way out."

Sherlock could have sworn he had seen the beginnings of tears in her eyes as he glanced at her before she slipped out of the cupboard. He just wanted to be there for her as she had wanted to be there for him.

How could Sherlock fix this?

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A/N - There may be some typos but I'll try and find them as time goes on 😊