A/N - So. This chapter would have been posted around 5pm according to my original plans.

However, my notes app had other plans and lost me 3000 words.

So this is rewritten as best as I can remember it. Some parts are better than I remember, other parts I want to cry about.

But editing is a friend that I will consult once this story is finished. I can't edit a blank page and if I edit now I will lose my mojo and I'm so excited to finish this book that I refuse to risk losing the mojo 😭

I hope it's okay, it's not the best chapter but I hope you find it okay ❤

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Sherlock was back at 221B, hands steepled under his chin as he paced backwards and forwards across the only clear space in the flat, wishing his blogger were with him to assist in finding Elizabeth. Why did she run off in a panic? What had triggered her so? When did she last have a panic attack? What were the causes of it then? He stopped his frantic walking, shutting his eyes. Think.

He was in a hallway, two dark oak doors either side of him. He pushed the one on his right open, revealing the long hallway of interview rooms at Scotland Yard. There, he saw himself holding her in his arms. That attack had been triggered by having her urges to steal called out and knowing she could never really subdue them. Once satisfied with this understanding, he turned to his left, opening that door too, revealing the warm, fiery glow of the flat at night. John had just left and she was breaking down about lying to him about her meeting with Moriarty. Could that second one even count as a panic attack though?

With so little to work with, he factored it into his thought process anyway. Whatever had triggered her had to be something to do Moriarty or stealing. Sherlock agreed that Rita hadn't lied about wanting to kill the criminal mastermind (who could blame her?) but that couldn't have been enough could it? How, then, could that last conversation between Rita and Elizabeth have linked back to stealing?

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the living room table. Stepping over, the detective picked up the phone, answering it immediately when he saw it was the inspector.

"Lestrade?"

"Yeah, listen Sherlock, you were right. That white mark was a symbol, one of an elephant in fact."

He repeated, "An elephant..."

"Yeah, could it be related to - "

"The Forty Elephants? Undoubtedly. How much do you know about them?"

"Honestly, Sherlock, just about as much as you do. Can't believe we've had another gang operating right under our noses for so long."

Sherlock's brow creased as he thought of their next steps, "Lestrade, I want you to find out how many robberies by females have happened in the last year and where. Also look for any females in your database that were arrested but released due to insufficient evidence. If we can start finding the areas they work in, provided it isn't totally random, we can try and work out where they operate from."

"Got it. You gonna be alright looking for Elizabeth on your own?"

"I'll be fine." He was about to hang up when the Inspector spoke again.

"And Sherlock, when you find her, call me. I'll send back-up."

"Yes. Thank you, Lestrade."

And then he hung up. He was about to place the phone back on the table top, face down, when it buzzed again with a text alert. Curiously, he looked at it before turning it so he could see the screen again. He had one new text message from an unknown number.

<Miss her yet?>

He glared at the message.

<Who is this? - S.H.>

<I'm sure you already know by now 🐘>

<Where is she? - S.H.>

<Check your doorstep.>

One would have thought that his eyes had barely registered the message before he darted downstairs, his feet thunderously guiding him to the front door quicker than The Flash himself.

He opened the front door, eyes searching straight ahead until a beaten and bruised Elizabeth (who had been seated on the top step and slumped against the elegant black door) fell back into the hallway of the apartment building. Sherlock crouched down next to her, brushing her hair out of her face and scowling when he saw the state of her.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, can you hear me?"

She merely groaned quietly in reply.

"Mrs Hudson!" He yelled in the direction of 221A as he lifted her body and gently dragged her into the hallway and out of the cold. He let her body rest against the wall, "Mrs Hud - "

"Yes, Sherlock? What's - oh my word!" The land lady exclaimed at the pitiful sight of the thief, "What's happened to her, Sherlock?"

"Just look after her for a moment."

And then he was back outside, stood on the doorstep, his cold analytical gaze starting from one end of the street as he panned around, scanning the environment. Perhaps someone waited behind or perhaps there was a clue. But in the hustle and bustle, no woman stood out to him, no one waited in the shadows of an alley, not even an idle piece of paper stood out as important information to him. They were gone without a trace. With a frustrated sigh, he headed back inside, closing the door behind him.

He approached Mrs Hudson and Elizabeth, carefully picking the thief up in his arms.

"People took her." He explained briefly, "People I'm going to find."

Mrs Hudson cooed at the sight of her in Sherlock's arms, placing her dangling arm in her lap prior to him carrying her considerately upstairs.

The detective wouldn't let them get away with this. The last person who had laid a hand on her had been pushed out of a window seven times. Over his dead body if he was going to let petty thieves get away with harming her too.

Once upstairs, he carefully laid her on the couch before fetching his phone. He dialled a number and pressed the device to his ear as he looked at her sorrowfully.

"Lestrade, I found her..."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Now that Mycroft had abandoned her, Rita was left to think in circles by herself. Had she never agreed to assist Mycroft with another mission, she wouldn't be here. Had she not fallen for the Ice Man, she wouldn't be here. Had she not been so careless with her own anger, she might not be alone, in here, in her little hospital room, that now had a security guard stationed outside.

Seeing the guard's taunting silhouette in the square door window only hurt her more - he was the sign that Mycroft had truly lost all of his trust in her.

There was a knock at the door that drew her from her thoughts. As she saw the guard move, that split second before the door opened, hope glimmered in her eyes, hope that it would be Mycroft willing to give her another chance. Rita knew him better than that though and seeing the nurse as she walked into the room, back to the injured doctor, only confirmed what she already knew.

Perhaps pain killers would be necessary.

Little taps and clunky shakes could be heard as the black-haired nurse organised the pills that she needed to take. But the longer Rita stared at the back of the nurse, the more she looked familiar.

Then, she turned, "What in the hell were you thinking when you told her that Moriarty was part of this?"

Rita scoffed, "I should've expected a visit from you."

"Damn right, you should have. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take that pillow there and suffocate you right now."

"Other than the fact that it would hurt like hell because my burns are still healing?" Rita looked away from her and out of the window, resigning herself to certain death, "I have no other reason."

Cleo stepped over to her bed side table, putting the little plastic container down with a sharp clack on the wooden unit before turning to pick up the spare white pillow off the chair where Mycroft once sat. The leader looked down at her gang's 'medic's' bandaged body. Damn Moriarty, Cleo thought. Damn herself for losing control over her gang so quickly. The Queen had been usurped by the so-called King of Crime and she despised him for it. How dare he manage to own her. How dare he begin to destroy everything she had built up.

Her hands squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning almost as white as the pillow case itself as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. A sharp exhale left Cleo's lips.

"If it were anyone else, you'd be dead."

Rita looked back up at her boss, "I believe you." She paused, her voice a whisper, "But the sad irony is that I was kind of hoping you would."

Cleo shook her head, "Not you. Not today. And certainly not by my hand. I owe you too much to get rid of you after such a stupid mistake."

Dr Rahat looked down at the pillow in her hands again and back up at Cleo, "Sherlock's on to me. So's Mycroft. I think you'd be doing yourself a favour if you got rid of me."

Cleo stared at her blankly and chucked the pillow behind her, back on the chair and approached the trolley again. The leader did consider it thoroughly but knew that having to explain Rita's mysterious death to Elizabeth and trying to deal with security would be too big a risk. She wasn't going to acknowledge nor accept this death wish of Rita's. Not after all the good she had done for the gang.

"When will they release you?"

"They want to monitor me so maybe four/five more days. Why?"

"Five days. Be ready then."

"Cleo, you'll be doing yourself a favor if you just - "

"Be. Ready. Then." She snapped, placing her hands on the bar of the pill trolley, signalling that their conversation was over.

It would be hard enough breaking her out of the hospital, killing her would simply be taking it too far.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lestrade arrived at the flat about an hour after Sherlock had called to announce the good news. He had still been trying to get the information that Sherlock had requested. Much to Sherlock's dismay, he had brought Donovan along with him, where it transpired that she had actually requested to join them. She still wanted Elizabeth's statement.

Greg and Sherlock stayed in the kitchen, a map of London spread out across the kitchen table, accompanied by a small plate of drawing pins.

Lestrade leant against the kitchen counter, his small notebook opened as he scanned over the information he had written down.

Sherlock stood in front of the table, blazer off and blue shirt sleeves rolled up as he stared down at the map. He meant business. The Forty Elephants wouldn't get away with this.

"Okay, so, there have been multiple robberies across the year by groups of three or more women in Twickenham and Wembley."

Sherlock nodded, grabbing too pins and placing them upon those two locations.

"There's been a report of a serial robbery in Romford about two weeks ago, also by women according to CCTV."

In went a pin, through the map and into the grain of the wood beneath.

"Last month, a civilian reported suspicious activity in Enfield at a storage facility. The Yard investigated and found hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of stolen goods. Looking back at CCTV, we confirmed it was also women who made use of it."

Another pin went in.

"We recently arrested a young woman in Croydon on suspicion of theft but didn't have enough to charge her with."

Pinned.

"Then there was repeated group robbery that you and John investigated at Agate's in Marylebone and Elizabeth and John catching that girl in Mayfair that we also had to release."

Guess what: pinned and pinned!

The two waited in silence for a moment until Sherlock realised that he wasn't getting anymore locations.

"Is that it?"

"You wanted more?" Lestrade scoffed, shaking his head, muttering, "What am I saying, course you wanted more." He shook his head though, "That’s all that's been reported and recorded in the last year."

Sherlock's eyes scanned over the map as he sighed. This might be harder than he thought.

Meanwhile, in the living room sat Donovan, going over a case file as she watched over the resting Elizabeth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the thief shift, silently stirring as her blue eyes cracked open. She watched as Elizabeth processed that she was no longer wherever she had been previously.

"You alright?" Sally asked softly.

While she could be a cow, Donovan never wanted anyone to get hurt. That went against wanting to be a police officer. An officer protected civilians. You weren't a true police officer if you wished for terrible things to happen to others. Not in her mind. That was partly where her dislike of Sherlock came from - how could anyone be happy when someone was murdered or kidnapped?

Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully when she saw Donovan sat there, "What are - "

"Need that statement you promised me, remember?"

Sally knew this was terrible way to go about things, especially when Elizabeth was out of it and Sherlock and Greg were just in the next room. Her statement didn't matter too much when they had Sherlock's statement - or at least, that's what Lestrade would argue. But she needed to know.

"I just have one question: what was Sherlock like on the case?"

Elizabeth tilted her head, trying to think through the haze, "He was...Sherlock. Cold, calculating, predictive, detached. It was like he knew what would happen before we even got there. He knew how I would react to the choice. He got frustrated with me..."

"Why?"

"Because I ungagged them. He got frustrated because he found it harder to detach with them talking."

Sally took this in with a frown. Elizabeth groaned slightly as she ran her hands over her face, feeling her eye begin to swell.

"Want some water?"

"Please. And where's Sherlock?"

Donovan didn't answer her last question as she would see him soon enough. She approached the kitchen, lingering in the door way.

"Stop it." Sherlock commanded.

"Stop what?"

"Scowling." He looked at her seriously, "It's loud and distracting."

"Guess I won't tell you Parrish is awake then."

This statement made him leave the kitchen faster than one could say 'lover of mine'. Greg shared a look with Sally as he approached her.

"Gotten anywhere?"

"Not really." Lestrade answered honestly as he followed after Sherlock.

The detective knelt by Elizabeth, a soft expression on his brow as he looked as her, brushing her hair out of her face again.

"How do you feel?"

"In pain." She stated the obvious, "It was the Forty Elephants."

"I know. How many?"

"Two. One of them was the leader."

Donovan brought back a glass of water for Elizabeth, handing it to Sherlock to hold as the thief tried to sit up.

"Did you see - "

"No." She winced as her achy body throbbed, "They wore balaclavas like the ones who took me."

"Did they say why they were doing this?"

"No. But they beat me with a chair and then the pieces of the chair when my back broke their chair." Her eyes shined slightly as she 'remembered', "They were going to drown me. I heard them discussing it. They wanted to kill me."

For split second, Sherlock's trust in her faltered as her eyes blinked and darted to look to her right when she said this. Why would she lie? No, of course, she wouldn't lie. She was just blinking back tears. Surely.

"What made them change their mind?"

"I think knowing that you wouldn't give up trying to take them down."

"So this was warning."

"Yeah..." Her voice faltered, "These women are dangerous, Sherlock. Not as dangerous as Jim but they are willing to do anything and everything to stop police or yourself from shutting them down."

"We took down the Sandborn Syndicate."

"But at what cost? Sherlock, you almost died."

Sherlock looked at her apologetically. If If he could *not* die, he would do that, he would try. But having people threaten those around him made him nervous. When other people were brought into the equation, moral compass or not, he would feel inclined to back off until he had a suitable plan of attack.

Greg spoke up, clearing his throat as a suggestion came to mind, "We can organise a pending investigation on them. If The Yard organise it, they won't put any blame on you, will they?"

As much as Sherlock didn't like leaving the police to investigate things like this, he gave in. He needed more time to research them before he made any drastic moves. The consulting detective nodded.

"That would be helpful. Thank you, Lestrade."

Greg nodded, "Right, well, we'll leave you both to it then. Give us a call if you do find out anything more. And I do hope you feel better soon, Elizabeth." He then headed down the stairs.

Donovan lingered though, staring at Sherlock as all her doubts accumulated in her head, little whispers of subconscious disbelief surfacing. How did anyone know what to do in a situation such as the one he had encountered the previous evening? How could anyone have worked it out so quickly? How could anyone be so clever?

Sherlock shifted under her gaze, "Something wrong, Donovan?"

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Lestrade shouting up the stairs.

"Sal! Come on, let's go! We still have work to do."

Her concerned, curious, doubtful gaze never left him as she said, "Get well soon, Elizabeth."

And then she left.

The detective had been gravely unnerved by her look.

"You okay?" Elizabeth asked.

Sherlock looked at her, scoffing, "That's a question I should be asking you."

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A/N - It’s Christmas soon - what are you all wishing to get for Christmas? Material or otherwise? 😊

I think this Christmas I'll be more than happy cherishing time with my family after the year we've had! ❤

If you are wondering what the Forty Elephants symbol looks like then I has done a lil sketchy sketch: