Disclaimer: distressing scenes.

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The moment the cabin door shut behind her, her throat tightened and she inhaled sharply, shakily, before letting out an onslaught of sobs and tears. She dropped the drug package and wiped her hands over her face and across her aching neck. Her dress was bloodstained but she had survived.

She had done it.

"Good evening Ladies and Gentleman, this is your Captain speaking." The ship's com echoed, "The ship will be docking in approximately two hours. Thank you."

Elizabeth crouched to pick up the package again before heading away from their room and down the corridor however as she neared the corner, she saw a hand on the floor.

Again she froze.

Where was Sherlock? In all the stress she had almost forgotten about him but the sight of this hand made her stomach turn. She edged towards the end of the corridor and peeked around the corner.

What she saw made her cry out.

"No, no, no..." She muttered as she knelt beside Sherlock's body, "Sherlock?" Elizabeth whimpered softly as she pulled him to lay him on his back.

At seeing the two stab wounds on his stomach, her eyes produced fresh tears and she shook her head. It couldn't be real, it couldn't. She looked down the corridor and saw that the red carpet had a darker trail across it. He had dragged himself.

"Help! Help please, I need help!" Elizabeth cried louder down the hallway before looking back down at him, "Sherlock? Sherlock, please."

She put her fingers against his paler than normal neck and checked for his pulse. It was there but barely and he felt so, so cold. The thief placed her hands over each stab wound.

"Please, Sherlock I can't - I can't lose you too." She sobbed and yelled again for help.

"Eva! Eva where - oh, thank God - " Rita spoke hurriedly, out of breath and then she saw absorbed the situation, "No, no, wait - what - what happened?"

"Rita, Rita, please help me, help him, please."

"Jesus..." Dr Rahat muttered as she crouched next to Elizabeth, "Let me see him. Don't take your hands off for even a second..." She frowned, "He's in hypovolemic shock - pulse is thready, breathing's shallow. We don't have much time."

"Please help him, fix him please, Rita."

"I will try but we need to get him into a room - did he say what room he was in?"

"Um, uh, two-six-two. I'm sure he said two-six-two."

"It's definitely closer than ours so that's where we're headed but we need to pack the wound because he is at high risk of dying from bleeding out right now if no major organs have been injured."

"Please, just save him."

Rita stood and hurried off back down the corridor. She had seen at linen cupboard on the way here. She grabbed two pristine pillow cases, a duvet cover and a bedsheet before rapidly running back to them. Rita laid the bed sheet down first.

"We need to get this under him - keep pressure on his wounds, I will lift him and get this under him, okay."

She nodded, doing as she was told as Rita did her job. Dr Rahat then took the pillow cases and scrunched them up.

"Okay, in a moment you are going to remove your hands and I'm going to pack these into his wound. The aim is to keep him from losing any more blood. Okay, three, two, one - " The second Elizabeth's hands were gone, the pillow cases were being held on by Rita, "Okay, you need to tie the bedsheet tightly across both of the pillowcases. This is what is going to hold them in place. Then we're going to get him on the duvet."

Elizabeth nodded, tying the bedsheet because his life did depend on it.

"Okay, okay, help me get him on the duvet cover. We're not going to be able to carry him otherwise."

And the two women got to work, Rita swiftly, Elizabeth tearfully but determined she was not going to lose her Sherlock to some gang idiot.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock had been laid on his bed as carefully as possible by the two women. Elizabeth was sat on the bed to the right of him, caressing his hand. Rita was sat on the left, never breaking her focus for a moment as she tried her best to repair the damage that had been done with the doctor's kit she had rushed to fetch from their room after they had gotten Sherlock in his cabin.

She croaked, "Will he be o - "

"I can't promise, Elizabeth." Rita replied sharply, "We need to get him to a hospital the second this ship docks."

All Rita had been able to do was clean, cauterize and close the wound. She had neither the resources nor the circumstances to commit to a full operation which meant risking more internal bleeding or organ failure. She snipped the spare piece of surgical thread off.

"I can't promise that will help him but I've done what I can, Elizabeth." Rita said as she packed away her instruments. She paused when she was done, acknowledging the horrific bruising around the thief's neck, "Are you okay?"

"Olly's dead."

"What?"

"I found Olly, I found his body in the bath. They slit his throat."

Rita remained silent.

"And then Gray tried to kill me. He tried to strangle me and said that he recognised me from the club CCTV. I forgot about the office CCTV so he recognised me and he tried to kill me. I fought back and so I got Olly's baton and I hit him 'til he didn't move. I hit him still after he stopped moving."

Rita tried to reassure her, "You were defending yourself."

"I know." She swallowed, "But when I was looking for the drugs, I didn't hear him come in. I didn’t hear Simon come in and he tried to kill me too, tried suffocating me but he fell back. And there was a knife on the floor that Gray had dropped and just when I thought I was gone I reached it and stabbed him - twice."

Rita stood and walked around the bed, taking a seat beside Elizabeth.

"You were defending yourself." Rita repeated.

"I know." Elizabeth said again, "But it doesn't change how God damned terrified I was. Three people are dead because of this mission - maybe, oh God, maybe more if Simon dies."

"He won't die."

"How do you know?"

"Because I am going to check on them now."

"But - "

"You need to stay here and monitor Sherlock. Check his pulse regularly. If he stops breathing or if his pulse gets worse come find me, okay?"

Elizabeth nodded. Her eyes glistened under the light but she accepted. The Sandborns would need to be kept alive.

Rita stood, grabbing her doctor's bag before looking back at Elizabeth, "Look at it this way, Elizabeth - karma is a bitch. Simon stabbed Sherlock twice, so you stabbed him twice. You restored order to world."

Elizabeth kept quiet but appreciated the thought, "Be careful."

"I will." Rita nodded before leaving the two together.

The second the door shut, Elizabeth looked back down to Sherlock again. They had had to remove his shirt and blazer so Rita could sort out the stab wounds but his ghastly blond wig remained.

She removed it from his head, watching as some of his curls bounced back to life while most remained matted to his scalp. Looking down at the wig, she softly scoffed before chucking it in the bin.

"That's better." She mumbled, "But you're an idiot, you know." She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He was a little warmer than before, "If you didn't come along this might not have happened. You could have been back at the flat absolutely fine."

Elizabeth took his hand in hers again, as she observed him lying there. He looked sick, better than before but still sick.

"I just - I need you to not - go. You said it before - I can't fix things with a ghost and you - you are the best person that's happened to me, you are all I have. My step-dad was a waste of space, mum left before I could get to know her, I know nothing about my real dad, Jim's done with me as I am with him, Shaun's dead - I - I have no one else." She swallowed back a sob again, "So please, Sherlock. For me, don't go. Please, don't go..."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock was tucked away in his brain, deep inside his mind palace, mostly unaware of the world outside but his will was crystal clear - survive. He had to.

Before he had passed out, he had managed to get himself more out into the open. He was confident Elizabeth would find him - provided she, too, was okay. Although, he never did manage to roll himself back onto his back. That wasn't smart. That might have cost him his life.

How did he know he wasn't dead already?

In his mind, he was in the morgue - no wounds, standing, skin a normal, relatively healthy colour.

"Sherlock, we've just had a body brought in if you want to use it." Molly announced, appearing out of nowhere, "Twenty-eight year old, six foot male. Two stab wounds to the abdomen."

On the table in front of him appeared his own body, gaunt and dead as a door nail.

"His own fault really." Molly added meekly, "Did exactly what he was told not to do."

The scene in front of him melted away to black. A painfully bright spotlight lit up his brother, a frown upon his face as usual. He circled him, a vulture preparing to feast on it's prey.

"I told you, Sherlock." Came Mycroft's taunting tone, "I told you not to treat this as another pointless high and what did you do?"

"I love her." Sherlock replied weakly.

"They do say love's a drug, brother, and we know how well you deal with *that*."

Sherlock shut his eyes and took to his knees. Mycroft was not the person he needed right now. Who did he need? Think. Sherlock looked up again, found himself at his old childhood house, in the garden.

"I can't help you anymore."

He turned around, saw a girl - dark wavy blond hair pulled back into a pony tail, tan skin but the most striking thing about her was the fact that she had no face. His brow contorted.

"Who?"

"Forget me, Will. You won't see me again."

Will? It had been so long since someone had called him by his first name and not his middle name. Who was she? The girl turned and walked away but Sherlock felt an odd pull to her.

"Wait. Wait!" He called after her.

The detective even tried to follow but tripped and fell into another scene. The flat, he was back at the flat. Home. That was better. Think of home. Think of -

"C'mon, mate." John offered him a hand, "You promised me you'd be alright."

Sherlock took it, "I am - "

"You're dying, Sherlock. You've lost a lot of blood."

"So - what do I do then? You're the doctor. What do I do?"

John shrugged.

"You have to know otherwise - otherwise - "

"You're an idiot, you know." Elizabeth spoke softly to him.

Elizabeth. His Elizabeth. The woman he fought for. The woman he was still fighting for. Sherlock knew what he had to do. The answer was simple, wasn't it? Well, certainly in theory.

"If you didn't come along this might not have happened. You could have been fine. I can't fix things with a ghost. You are all I have. I have no one else."

Her face grew redder, eyes puffier as two clear streams fell from her eyes. God, he hated seeing her like that. Sherlock had made her look like that once - he didn't want to do it again.

"So please, Sherlock. For me, don't go. Please, don't go."

The answer was simple.

Sherlock Holmes had to fight.

He had to fight for her.

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A/N: Q&A -
1) Did I cry writing this?
A) Yes. Just yes. ;-;

2) Why did I do this?
A) Because twas necessary to the story line 😉 Rest assured - I genuinely don't plan on using the dramatics of death and injury unless I believe it will have some purpose. So if someone dies or is very badly injured pls know thought has gone into the decision ❤

3) Who the frick is the blonde-haired girl in his mind palace?
A) Idk you tell me ;)

Even though this was a kinda sad chapter I hopes you enjoyed it - thank you, love you all, apologies for being evil ❤