A/N - Apologies for the low quality pic 😂

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Safe to say everyone in Sherlock's life was stunned or shocked to some extent when they had heard about Sherlock's run-in with the gang.

They were even more so worried when his surgery had taken longer than the doctor's had said it would take.

Elizabeth, who now had a white cotton blanket drapped around her, was sat on one of the hospital waiting room chairs, arms resting on her knees and head resting on her clasped hands. In her head she just kept repeating he'll get through this, he has to. The world wouldn't be the same without Sherlock Holmes. She wouldn't be the same without him.

And neither would John who was stood, biting his thumb nail, staring off into space, guilty for not being honest with Mycroft who may have been able to prevent this from even happening. Of course, the one time he had trusted Sherlock he had to go and get hurt didn’t he?

Rita and Mycroft were stood together talking in hushed voices. If one listened closely, they may have heard the rare, grateful thanks from Mycroft to Rita who had near enough saved his brother's life and the lives of the Sandborns single-handedly.

Lestrade burst in when he had heard the news, drawing John back into the world of the aware. Elizabeth didn't react to the sound of the doors wildly flinging open. Rita and Mycroft looked away from each other and at the detective.

"What the bloody hell's happened then? I've got three bodies sat in the morgue here and two men with security keeping an eye on them in hospital beds."

"Inspector." Lestrade was beckoned over by Mycroft who quietly explained the situation.

Rita left the two men and went to sit down beside Elizabeth.

"How are you doing?"

"I can't lose him." The thief muttered without looking up.

Rita had no response. As a doctor she knew one couldn’t make promises in this profession. Everyone's conditions were temperamental; some were just lucky. Dr Rahat placed an arm around her new-found friend, and gently hugged her.

John spoke up with a pained sigh, "This wouldn't have happened if I had just stopped him."

"No one could have stopped him." Mycroft replied swiftly as he and a solemn Lestrade joined the three, "My brother has a mind of his own. Attempting to tame it has proven to be futile. Sherlock makes his own choices."

John couldn't argue with that.

Lestrade noticed the ragged, dark bruising around Elizabeth's throat and opened his mouth to speak up. Rita caught this though and gently shook her head. It wasn't the time to remind the thief of that trauma.

A surgeon finally exited the operating theatre drawing all their attention to him.

"Is he okay?" Elizabeth was the first to question.

The doctor nodded, "We almost lost him but he's stable now. Without your work Dr Rahat, he would have been dead by the time we got him on the table. Good job."

Rita smiled softly, glad she had done something sufficient enough.

"Can we see him?" John asked.

"He won't be awake yet and visiting times - "

"Can continue for us and you will find you and your team will be paid extra by morning." Mycroft interrupted, "We'd like to see him now."

"I - okay. I'll get a nurse to take you to him." The surgeon nodded and left.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lestrade had left, promising he'd be back by morning to check on the consulting detective.

The other four remained.

John and Elizabeth sat on either side of the bed. The army doctor had leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other with his hand lazily placed across his eyes as he slept. Elizabeth had pulled her chair close to Sherlock's hospital bed, her head lying on the stiff mattress as she held his hand in her exhausted sleep.

Mycroft and Rita were sipping vile hospital coffee as they stood outside the room to talk. They didn't want to wake them. The dim white light above them flickered momentarily.

"Do you think this will convince Sherlock that love is dangerous?"

"Don’t be like that, Myc." Rita tutted, "They're sweet together."

"Yes, sweet." Mycroft grimaced, unbothered by the nickname, "Leopards are sweet too until they pounce on you."

Rita rolled your eyes, "You're always so dramatic. What do you really think will happen?"

"She'll corrupt him, Rita."

"Love corrupts everyone but not necessarily in a bad way. That girl in there has suffered more in her lifetime than anyone else I've known. Elizabeth's trying to make a difference in her life. Sherlock has been her rock. If he never ever believed in her, you may very well have had her thrown in a cell by now but just because he showed her that he trusted her, she felt that and she changed. Just as he changed when he saw she could tolerate him and forgave him for his overly cold-shouldered self because she saw more in him."

"Please, Rita - "

"You're all about logic and cold, hard facts, Mycroft so I'll give you one. One of the definitions of 'to corrupt' is: to change or debase by making errors or unintentional alterations. Note the first word in that definition is 'change'. Change doesn't have to be negative."

"Note how your definition also mentions 'debase', 'errors' and 'unintentional alterations'. All love is, is a hormonal error."

"And without the 'hormonal error' of your parents, Myc, you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, without it the UK would be in anarchy. I can't imagine who would ever take over my role." He scoffed, "Rita, I do acknowledge it has its primitive and humanely progressive feature of reproduction but even then - look at where that has taken the world. A surplus population is difficult to control."

"I used to see a lot in you, Mycroft Holmes."

"Disappointed you, have I?"

"Greatly so."

They remained quiet for a moment, watching the sleeping three through the room window.

"You'll give Elizabeth her clean slate though, won't you?"

"I won't break my word. I now just wish I had done it sooner. Then perhaps they wouldn't have gotten so...attached. Perhaps my brother would have been unharmed." His features softened at the thought, "Sherlock will be fine."

The hint of humanity in him didn't go unnoticed by Rita, "There's your hormonal error."

"Hm?"

"You love your brother. You love your family. You pretend you want nothing to do with them and yet look at how you care."

"I've always cared."

"I know." She paused, looking at him, searching, "I just hate when you hide it."

Rita took the last sip of her coffee and grimaced at the taste. She shook her head as she held out her hand to take Mycroft's cardboard cup from him.

"You're not planning on getting anymore of that ghastly stuff, are you?"

"God no." Rita shook her head, "All hospital drinks taste like dishwater. There's a restaurant still open across the street from here. I'll see if they make takeaways. You'll be fine?"

"I'm always fine."

"I know." Rita nodded as she walked down the hospital corridor, binning the cardboard cups as she went.

Mycroft watched her go but it wasn't long until his gaze was back on his brother. His chest moved steadily. The heart monitor beeped fine. Both of which were good. Sherlock would pull through. He had to. The Holmes family wouldn't be the same without him.

His gaze then fell on the sleeping beauty that was Elizabeth. The Holmes family wouldn't be the same if she stayed with Sherlock. He had a gut feeling that this - she - wouldn't be good for his brother. Mycroft had sensed it the second he had sent her off with John and Sherlock.

The elder Holmes rolled his eyes at himself.

All this overthinking wouldn't solve anything but if these intrusive thoughts would persist then it was going to be a very long night.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Flourescent pearls patterned the pitch black shroud that had surrounded London in a bitter night. The odd couple of lights twinkled in the sea of skyscrapers that London had historically grown into.

"Cold night." Came the rich voice of Ms Black the second Rita exited the hospital.

She sighed, the breath a visible cloud in front of her, "You don't say."

The leader of the Forty Elephants had been smoking, awaiting Rita's presence. She approached her, dropping the cigarette to step on as she did, "How are they?"

"Him, stable. Elizabeth, traumatised but - she'll get through it. As long as he pulls through."

"And will he, do you think?"

Rita considered this, "If he's as strong as he comes across, yes."

"Did she ever say if she was definitely in or not?"

"No. Nothing confirmed. And I don't fancy pressuring her now. Not after this."

"We'll give her some more time. Did you get close?"

"Yes. I like her. I think she likes me too."

"Good. Stick close to her. She doesn't have anyone else apart from Mr Holmes, Dr Watson and the landlady. I'm sure she'll be keen to grow what she does have."

Rita was quiet for a moment, "Why are you - we - doing this for Moriarty, Cleo?"

"Rita," Ms Black drew out the 'a' in her name, "You almost sound like you don't want to go through with his plan."

"I don't. I don't trust him, Cleo. And she has no one when she should have the world. Surely, surely you can't agree with this, not when it's going to go against everything that the gang stands for."

Cleo smiled but there was no humour in her eyes, "The gang does what it must to thrive. He is supplying us with a lot, quite frankly. I have to honour the deal I made."

Rita shook her head, her inner conflict reflecting in her eyes. She turned on the spot, prepared to leave the conversation but she waited. She was obligated to wait for whatever wise words Cleo had for her.

"Rita: get close but don't get attached." Were the parting words that Cleo Black left her with before turning to walk in the opposite direction.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

In his Mind Palace, Sherlock was peacefully sat at the table in his faux flat kitchen. No one came and no one went. It was just him. Waiting. He wanted to go but he found the flat doors locked. The detective had tried every way known to man to try and get out but to no avail.

And so he sat.

And waited.

It was quiet in his head. He needed something to do. Someone to talk to or to see. But every time he thought of someone now, nothing happened, as if his brain was out of order and shut down.

Anderson appeared in the kitchen.

"No. Anyone but you."

"You're the one who put me here." The man whined, "I'm you, remember."

Mortified by the thought Sherlock announced, "You are far from me."

"I go back to: you thought me up and brought me here."

"Then I can unthink you too."

And with that he was gone. Sherlock sighed. What an incredibly lovely world it would be if he could just unthink people at will. Particularly people with names beginning with 'A' and ending in 'Nderson'.

He felt someone take his hand and looked next to him to see Elizabeth once again, sat there, smiling softly at him. Sherlock felt his lips smile back.

"You'll stay?" She asked.

He nodded.

Leaning forward, Elizabeth placed her hand gently on the side of his face and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. She pulled back, her face still close to his as she whispered:

"Time to wake up."