A/N - So THIS chapter may very well be the longest one so far 😉

Disclaimer: violence - that's it, that's the tweet...
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"Okay, so I forgot to mention that my brother is sharing the room with me."

"Oh...okay." She frowned.

"Not to worry though because I can get him to leave but I need to speak with him first if that's okay?"

Elizabeth held onto his arm as she pressed a chaste kiss to his neck before whispering with a smitten grin, "Whatever it takes to get closer to you."

Gray looked down at her with a ravishing gaze, "Give me a moment."

And with that he entered room three-oh-nine, letting her wait outside.

A minute passed and the door opened again to reveal a grinning Grayson and Simon who raised his eyebrow at Elizabeth and then at his brother, shaking his head as he left.

"The things I do for you."

"Thanks, brother." Gray nodded, amused as he shamefully walked away from the room.

Elizabeth made her way in and took in the room. It was larger than hers and the Silvas room but it was kept neat and tidy. The beds were larger too and there were two en suites. She came to the conclusion that they must be in one of the more expensive cabins of the cruise ship.

"You okay, Miss Pine?"

Her head whipped back at Gray, positive she misheard him out of nervousness, "Sorry?"

"I asked if you were okay, Miss Smith?"

"I already said you can call me Eva." She breathed a little laugh as he walked closer to her.

"I know but..." His hand brushed her arm as he pulled her close and spoke in a gravelly, low voice, "By morning we'll both forget anyway."

Elizabeth shivered but smiled at him anyway as he walked her back to the bed. Focus on the mission though. She needed to sort out her knock out spray. Gray leaned down to capture her lips, the bristle again tickling her lips. She pulled away briefly, gazing up at him lustfully.

"I hate to kill the mood but do you mind if I use your bathroom quick?"

Gray smiled, "Go ahead."

She headed to the en suite, looking back at him with a grin, "I'll be back out soon."

The moment she had locked the door she realised her mistake. Her purse wasn't with her so where was it? She could have sworn she had had it a moment ago unless...unless she had left it in the bar. She let out a shaky breath. Not good. Very much not good. She cursed - she needed a weapon to knock him out with. She couldn't look for the drugs while he wasn't in dream land.

Searching around, she pulled back the shower curtain and gasped, backing away towards the sink hurriedly, eyes transfixed on who lay before her in the bath. Her legs were land and the nerves, tremors as she gazed at the now found and clearly deceased Olly who was set up in the bath, his baton placed carelessly across him. Olly's face carried cuts and bruises and his neck possessed a neat crimson necklace.

Elizabeth gripped the sink behind her, trying to hold back a sob. The Sandborns knew. They knew. Grayson knew. And that made her Goddamn terrified.

"Eva?" Gray knocked on the door, "Everything okay?"

"Ye - yes." She squeaked out, "I just - realised I lost my purse. Be out...now."

She gulped, gave out a shaky breath, turned away and rubbed her hands over her watering eyes. Rita couldn't see or hear her. The perfume was gone. Sherlock wouldn't know anything bad would happen unless he was right outside the room which she prayed he was. But other than that, she was truly on her own.

The door opened again, she forced a smile as she hurried out. Gray was sat on the bed and he patted the space beside him.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look upset."

"I - I - I'm fine. Where were we?" She sat a little way away from him.

He slid closer, "I believe we were getting to the good part.

"Then let's carry on getting there then." As frightened as she was, she placed a hand on his cheek.

"Fine by me Miss Pine."

She froze. She swallowed. She blinked. And she knew deep down that he already knew.

*  *  *  *  *  *

As Simon Sandborn turned the corner, away from room three-oh-nine, he ran into Sherlock. He paused, recognition clear as day in his deep blue eyes.

"You're the inspector, aren't you?"

Calm as ever, Sherlock nodded, "Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"I was hoping I'd catch you. I wanted to mention something suspicious I saw yesterday. Can we talk elsewhere?"

"I - " Sherlock's eyes gazed behind Simon at the his cabin door. Something in his gut turned. This didn't feel right, "Yes. Yes, we can."

"Perfect, come along then, I don't want to say it where just anyone can walk past."

"Yes, yes, of course." Sherlock nodded, following after the Sandborn as he began to head away.

Simon was calm. An air of arrogance surrounded him. That recognition his eyes didn’t sit well with Sherlock. It was like he recognised him more than the supposed Inspector Lestrade but as himself.

"You see," Simon began quietly as Sherlock joined him by his side, looking at him analytically, "A woman took a friend of mine, Daniel Silva, to their room last night. I haven't seen him around - is he okay? Because there are rumours that there were murders."

Aside from the fact that his information and question didn't match what had actually happened, as they stopped, just by the cleaner's cupboard, Sherlock observed the just-about visible imprint of a gun in Simon's inside blazer pocket. This wasn't a small discussion - this was an ambush.

"What do you think, Mr Holmes?" Simon tried to get his attention again.

Sherlock blinked. Processed. He wasn't called Lestrade but Holmes. Simon knew and if Simon knew then Grayson did too.

"I think we both know what happened to him, Mr Sandborn." There was no point in hiding it if he already knew but he could still disarm him.

"Good. That's good. Glad we understand what's about to happen then, Mr Holmes." Simon nodded.

"Yes..."

There was brief grace period. Both men stared each other down but neither moved yet. Sherlock was in half a mind to run rather than to disarm but then he couldn't get to Elizabeth. He had to stay close by so disarm and incapacitate would have to be his plan.

Simon started, moved his hand swiftly into his blazer, revealing the gun he carried without a silencer. Didn't he mind people hearing a gunshot?

Sherlock's hand was already on its way to block the gun, directing it towards the wall behind him. What the detective failed to notice in this adrenaline-fueled moment was that Simon, in his other hand, had readied a knife so that when his gun was pushed away, he could swing back the blade into Sherlock.

The detective felt a sharp (what he thought was a) punch to his abdomen as his body was shoved against the wall effortlessly out of the shock that was just sent through it. The adrenaline pumped around in his blood as he struggled against Simon who sent another throbbing punch to Sherlock's stomach.

While the hormone could mask pain, it couldn't do so for long and soon the detective's strain faltered as it dawned on him that his stomach stung.

Daring a look down between them, he saw red on the one side of his shirt while Simon's hand held the knife in the other side of his stomach. Sherlock breathed out, the pain receptors in his body kicking into action, shock imminent.

"Sorry, detective. You didn't think I'd really shoot you, did you? That," He chuckled triumphantly, "Would have only brought more unwanted attention upon us."

It made sense too. If Lucetta had a slit throat and Daniel had a slit throat, then of course they would stick to knives. Again, Simon Sandborn removed the blade, backing away from the punctured blood-bag that the detective was.

Sherlock grasped at his abdomen, sending a dark look towards the syndicate member as he tried to keep pressure on his wounds, as agonising as it was. He slid down the wall, the corner of his eyes bunching up at the immense  waves of spasms that shattered the stability of his body.

The detective shamefully watched Simon stroll away from his writhing body.

"Sto - come - ah." He could barely get the words out.

Only low groans of affliction were permitted to leave his mouth.

Where was John when you needed him?

*  *  *  *  *  *

"It's - Miss Smith." Elizabeth insisted as she continued to look at Gray with a desperately playful and wanton look.

"Sorry. Yeah, you just look a lot like another person I know of. Ever heard of a Catherine Pine?"

"I - "

"You look just like her." The hungry look in his eyes was now more easily identified as a murderous one.

"My name is Eva Smith and Gray you are scaring me."

"Are you sure?"

Elizabeth moved to stand but Gray moved faster and pushed her back on the bed, crawling on top of her, staring her down in her two big, blue, petrified eyes.

"Maybe I am wrong." He said, capturing her lips in dangerous dance.

Gray paused, kissing down the her cheek, moving closer to her ear.

He whispered, "But the club CCTV says I'm not." He pulled away, a sadistic glint in his eye as he drew his joy from her shaken demeanor, "Forgot about the office CCTV didn’t you?"

She inhaled, "My name is Ev - "

His hands bolted for her neck and within seconds she was scratching, grabbing, pulling, pushing and flinging herself around to fight for air as his hands squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter.

"I'm not here to play a game." He strained, gritting his teeth as he felt his arm sting from the wild scratches, "Where are the weapons? I know you must have them." He loosened his grip on her throat, "Where are they? Tell me."

She coughed and wheezed and pleaded, "Please Gray, I can't - you don't need - "

His hands continued crushing her throat again and she struggled desperately, tears streaming from her now bloodshot eyes. She squeaked and yelped but only as loud as mice may have done as her legs flailed, hoping to knock her attacker of her.

Grayson let go willingly once again, his breathing heavy with the weight of his fury and frustration.

He got off of her and paced, confident she would be too weak to do anything - little did he know that, if and when given the chance, the willpower to survive could be a very powerful thing.

"I just need you to tell me where you've put the weapons. Then we can put this situation to bed."

"You'll - kill me." Her voice was hoarse

"I can kill you even if you don't say - don't think I won't."

"Then do - it." She challenged him, trying to sit up, but she gave out a strangled scoff, "But I - know you - won't."

He paused looking her dead in the eyes and her arrogant look vanished like breath on glass. Gray started towards her again and she rolled over, clawing at the duvet to get herself over and across the bed to put some distance between them. Grabbing her ankles, he tried to pull her back but she kicked and kicked at him, distraught with the fear of death. Elizabeth protested, albeit in rasps as she finally got free of his grip.

Once on the floor, she hurriedly crawled over to the corner of the room, huddling there as Gray approached her once again. At least from the corner, she could see the whole room and try to form a plan. She wasn't going to die, she couldn't die, she wouldn't. Not today. Not any time soon, that she was determined of.

Gray stalked around the bed, a formidable lion going after his trembling gazelle.

"Stay the hell away from me." She croaked, lip quivering as her widened eyes searched the room for hope, "Stay away. Please, just stay away."

"I might have done that had you not gotten involved. So really this is all your fault."

"Fuck you! Stay away, stay the fuck away!"

In her mind, she called for Sherlock. She didn't need help at the club but now? God, now she really needed help and where was he? He had followed her, hadn't he? He knew where the room was, so where was he?

Shakily, she stood as he neared her, pressing herself into the wall as much as humanely possible, wishing the wall would just engulf her and make her disappear from this situation. This was by far the most she had ever feared the consequence of her actions.

Then she remembered.

In the bath that poor Olly had been lain to rest in, was his baton.

With a weapon, Elizabeth thought that she might stand a chance against someone as dangerous as Gray.

The closer he got, the more she readied herself, the fight kicking in more than the flight now. Another step closer and another, she breathed out, summoning all the strength and courage she had in her.

She stepped briefly to the right to trick Grayson before darting to the left, back over the bed again. The thief dragged herself into the bathroom, shutting the door with a loud bang and locked it.

"C'mon Cath, come out - otherwise I'm coming in!" Gray yelled as he banged on the door.

She wanted to stop, to just sit down on the floor and sob as she waited for him to fight his way in but she couldn't give up like that. Not when her actual freedom from this was so close. Not when she still had Sherlock to make-up with.

The thief grabbed the baton, muttering an apology to Olly as she hurriedly gave him the dignity of closing his deadened eyes. The black baton was sticky with blood but she couldn't think about that now.

"Cathy, come on out. You know you're not getting out of this any time soon."

"O - okay. But please, Gray, just - give me a - chance." She cried out as she clutched the baton, moving to hold it behind her back so he wouldn't immediately notice it.

"Come on out then, Cath, I'm not gonna wait forever."

When Elizabeth cracked open the bathroom door to see Gray stood there, an evil and wild look in his eye she faltered.

"I'll take you out of there myself if you don't hurry up."

"Okay - okay. I'm coming." Her tone was still hoarse from his strangling.

The door swung open wider and she stepped out. Gray respectfully took a step back.

"It'll be quick." He showed her a knife, "Almost instant. You won't feel a thing."

She nodded, her chest rising and falling ever so fast as he approached her.

The second he was close enough she swung.

The end of the baton just caught his nose and now that her weapon was out in the open, she gripped it tighter, her knuckles turning whiter out of desperation and anger, and she swung again, bringing it down on his shoulder while he still processed the first hit. He yelled as she hit him in the arm, then head, the torso, again on the shoulder, he kept stumbling back, shouting when he had the chance. Gray had dropped the knife, she didn't know when, but it meant she had a chance. She growled and shrieked incoherently as he finally tripped over the leg of their cabin table but even then she didn't stop, manically she hit him again with the baton while he was on the floor, beat him with the weapon again and again and again.

Taking a breath she stopped, viewing her destruction. He wasn't moving. He hadn't moved for a minute. His nose bled, and blood trickled out of his mouth.

The baton was dropped with a quiet thump and she fell to her knees, nausea washing over her. Elizabeth let out a strangled sob as salt water fell from her eyes.

"Fuck..." She looked at the broken and battered Grayson again and shakily reached out to check his pulse.

Thank God, he was still alive.

"Okay. You're okay. It's okay." She breathed out to herself as she unsteadily rose up once again.

She had to find the drugs. That's what she had to focus her mind on now. She approached the cupboard, then the chest of drawers. As she was searching through each drawer she had failed to hear the door open.

Elizabeth sniffled. All she had to do was find the damn package and then she could leave. She leave and she could forget, she could -

A hand wrapped itself around her mouth and nose and her eyes broadened at the sudden lack of air once again as she was dragged away from the drawers. Whoever had her, tripped back and fell, he groaned but held onto her still. The deprivation of air was starting to get to her once again and she whimpered, her hands and feet searching for anything that could help her.

Her fingers brushed smooth metal and without the time to think she grabbed it and jabbed it into the person under her.

They cried out, released her as she jabbed at him again before rolling off and dragging herself away, hungrily inhaling air but coughing and spluttering too.

She looked back at who had tried to kill her this time and saw that it was Simon who now writhed on the floor, his side punctured and leaking red too.

The thief stood once again, taking the knife with her as she took tremulous steps over to Simon who was gritting his teeth as he held his bleeding side.

"Where - " She strained, "Are the - drugs?"

"I - "

"If - you lie - if you don't tell me - I swear to God," She swallowed, one hand holding her neck while the other held and pointed the bloody knife at him, "I will bring this knife down - into - your chest next and - will gleefully watch you suffocate - as your lungs - fill - with your own -  fucking - blood."

"Bitch." He hissed.

"I know. Tell. Me. Where."

"Vent. In my bathroom."

"Thanks." She glared at him before she turned, taking the knife with her and went to his en suite.

Simon hadn't lied. In the corner of the room was a small vent and using the bloodied knife, she prized it open. Inside was a decently sized cuboid of a creamy-white powdered substance that she only prayed were the actual drugs she had been sent on this damn mission for.

She paused in the door way of the bathroom, glaring at the two men who were now responsible for the trauma she had endured.

Simon was still grasping at his side and Grayson was still unconscious.

"Take this a big fuck you and your damn gang." She croaked before heading to the cabin door.