A/N - After another re-evaluation of my life and a writing course, I have the discovered the concept of 'the book before the book'.

I mentally cannot continue with my original piece until this one is finished because my mind is constantly on ISWS SCENARIOS. So good news, this book will be finished this year and not in five years 😂

It makes me so happy that I know what I am doing with my life after that course 😄✊

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The London streets were ridiculously full, even for midday, but cars slowly and occassionally quickly motored on down the narrow roads. Elizabeth shuddered as she waited under the grey cover that normally covered the sky. Honestly, what did one have to do for a little bit of sun?

Finally, a London taxi cab pulled up.

John exited the cab, thanking the driver briefly before approaching Elizabeth, who was waiting on the pavement, in front of the vast hospital. She gave a little wave when she saw him, a smile almost lighting her face but failing to do so properly as the serious matter weighed heavily in her mind.

"Everything alright? You pulled a Sherlock."

"Pulled a Sherlock in what sense?"

"Your text."

Elizabeth tilted her head, brow folding as she tried to understand, "No. Nope. Not getting it."

John sighed, pulling out his mobile to read the text out to her, "'Need help. Come to Bart's now if convenient, if inconvenient come anyway'. You sound just like him - vague and demanding. In fact, I almost thought it was Sherlock and that he was just using your phone."

"Your...point?"

John laughed and shook his head. He guessed there was no point other than the observation itself. How bizarre, he thought, how some partners take on certain traits or mannerisms of their significant others. How oddly sweet as well. His laugh died down into a fond smile.

"So...uh, what did you need me for? Managed to get out of the clinic by claiming my aunt was sick."

"Ooo, John, you little liar." She teased, "Uh, back to the point though, being...a case led my moi," She smiled, pointing at herself, "Requested by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Wait...you mean to say Voldemort has asked you to take a case?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and grinned, "He does bare a striking resemblance to him, no?"

The two chuckled like naughty schoolchildren at shaming the elder Holmes. This didn’t quash Elizabeth's own worry though, but it was nice to forget and just laugh when there had been so much hardship lately. At thinking this, the bright smile dissipated.

"Rita's gone, John."

"What?"

"I can't work out if she left herself or if she was taken and I need your help to find her."

"Well, what about Sherlock? We both know he - "

"He's busy. He's on another case. That's why I need your help."

John's brow furrowed, sensing some tension as he watched her stare at the moving traffic, "Did something happen between you two?"

"He doesn't like Rita." Elizabeth thought it was a well-thought-out lie but didn't realise it was actually true, "Doesn't trust her. A bit like how Mycroft doesn't trust me."

John nodded, an understanding gleam in his eyes. Wanting to spread a bit of a lighter note back onto the conversation, he smiled at the thought he spoke aloud.

"Together we, Watson and Parrish, will solve this mystery."

The light in her eyes lit up again and she quirked her right eyebrow, "You mean Parrish and Watson?"

"Mm, no. Watson and Parrish sounds better, you have to admit."

The thief shook her head, bemused by the army doctor, "Shut up. Let's go, Mycroft's waiting for us in the CCTV office."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

A short while later John and Elizabeth were sat in the CCTV office, Mycroft looming behind them somewhat sinisterly as the shadows cast on his face gave him an intimidating appearance. However, under the shadows, Mycroft stood, biting his thumb as he watched the footage with the two companions again.

"So the young girl's face is the only face we see?" John questioned, "And nobody has any record of her?"

"Doesn't attend a school." Came Mycroft's drearily stressed tone, "May be homeless and trying to earn some pennies but I rather think she's homeschooled. She doesn't look scruffy enough and homeschooling isn't policed as much as it should be."

"She looks familiar." Elizabeth noted, leaning forward in her chair to get a closer look, "Are you sure she isn't a missing person?"

"Positively. I had it triple-checked by five different people including myself."

Both John and Elizabeth just gave a little nod as they kept their gaze glued to the screen. They continued watching, acknowledging how the man who wheeled Rita away, never once looked up directly at a camera and how they were never able to see what car they had left in.

"Did the officers see the car?" John inquired.

"Navy blue SUV," Mycroft drawled, "They didn't see the number plate."

"Helpful." Elizabeth widened her eyes for emphasis but went quiet momentarily, "Rita didn't look threatened. She went with them willingly. That or she's good at putting on a brave face."

Mycroft's gaze rested on Elizabeth from behind. He wasn't sure what to make of her own simple deductions, "I agree."

"Why?" Elizabeth now turned to face Mycroft, "Why did she leave willingly?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I ran out on her and passed you and Sherlock on my way out. Sherlock came after me and I assume you went back to Rita. What did you say? What did she say? What did you talk about when I wasn't here?"

John looked between the two, somewhat surprised by Elizabeth's cold, accusatory tone.

The thief was fishing for information, hoping that Rita's bloodlust for Moriarty wasn't the only reason she left. Although, thinking about that point did make her wonder. The last thing Rita had said to her was 'when' she was out of hospital 'she would find and kill' Moriarty. Rita, being a doctor, had to have known she would have to stay in hospital for a certain amount of time to recover. She wouldn't leave prematurely, would she? Unless...she had been promised care elsewhere?

Mycroft countered her questions with an analytical gaze, "What did Dr Rahat say to you?"

Elizabeth knew, then, that at the very least, Mycroft was on to them. Maybe Rita left to prevent her involvement with the gang being found out. She wouldn't lie to him though.

"That she wanted Jim dead and," Elizabeth paused, the confused emotions being brought to the forefront of her mind again, "And she wanted me to do it. I said no. But she pushed and I couldn't take it because at the end of the day, criminal or not, Jim raised me. He's family. And Rita said that if I wouldn't do it then she would."

Mycroft's expression was emotionless as he glared into her soul. There was something more to this, he thought, but an answer for an answer, "Sherlock came back to tell us that you had been taken. He didn't trust Rita, thought there was something more to it too, that she was hiding something. I questioned her on my own and also came to the same conclusion. In fact, it was the same conclusion that I have always come to with you - that you are hiding something."

The thief was ready to defend herself but the other presence in the room defended her instead. And as she was being defended, she processed the fact that Mycroft had admitted that Sherlock did not trust Rita and was onto her too.

"No, wait." The doctor raised his hand to address Mycroft, "I believe, Elizabeth. I can't say the same for Rita but I know Elizabeth. Ever since she has joined us, she's been nothing but helpful and selfless. Sure, there are things Elizabeth should have told us the second they happened but she still came to us in the end. I see no reason why Elizabeth would hide anything from us."

Elizabeth looked at the army doctor, a small (guilty) smile crossing her face, "Thank you." She glared back at Mycroft, "At least someone present believes in me."

"This is irrelevant to the situation we find ourselves in." Mycroft snapped, "If you so desperately want to help, then do so and keep your focus on the task at hand."

"Hypocrite." She muttered.

Mycroft opened his mouth to scold her but John rose his hands again, preventing the speech from leaving the government official's mouth.

"Okay. Let's - let's just move on and establish what we know. We still don't know why Rita left but we suspect it was willingly?"

Both nodded.

"And we also know it was a navy blue SUV she left in. And there appears to be three people helping her - the driver, the escort and the kid."

"Which, when you put it together, sounds like a whole lot of nothing." Elizabeth stated bluntly, standing from her seat and approaching the door, "Come on, John, let's check her room." The thief then looked to Mycroft, "Let us know if the 'smartest Holmes' comes up with anything useful."

Mycroft glowered at her as she left, followed by a John who swiftly wished to avoid the frequent conflict between them.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Nothing...nothing...nothing, Elizabeth, there's nothing." John said as he placed the visitor's chair back down with an echoing clack as the legs hit the floor, "The room's exactly as they left it but she's taken her phone."

"And probably discarded it somewhere too." Elizabeth spoke sullenly as she gazed down at Rita's unmade hospital bed, where a mere couple of days ago the surgeon had been lain in, bloodied, burning and bandaged - and it was all her own fault, "Mycroft would have told us if they tracked her phone."

Noticing her quiet demeanor, John approached, standing on the opposite side of the bed, facing her, "You okay?"

The thief nodded then stopped, bit her lip and swallowed, shook her head and looked down at her hands, again messing with the little silver ring on her finger.

"She was my friend and I let her down." Elizabeth croaked, "And I have so few of them, John, so few and I cherish you all...and knowing that I let Rita down..." She looked up at the army doctor, an emotional shine polishing her eyes, "I just - I feel so guilty. I keep wondering if I could have done more, if I could have stopped it, or prevented it. I keep wondering what would have happened if I opened the door - "

"Don’t." He spoke softly, "Don’t keep wondering. Because it will hurt you. As horrible as it is, you can't change what happened. I can't change it, neither can Sherlock or Mycroft. But if you keep wondering, you will spiral. You don't want that."

"No, you're right, I don't." Tearfully, the words left her lips.

"And as far as friends go, you still have me, you have Mrs Hudson and Sherlock - "

She interrupted, wiping away her tears, "And Molly."

"And Molly too." John repeated, "We're all here for you too. And we're not going anywhere." The hedgehog-like man walked around the bed to stand in front of her and opened his arms to offer her a hug (which she could never refuse), "We'll find Rita. I can't promise you'll be able to make things right with her because I don't know her but we can try and make things right - together."

Elizabeth buried her head into John's shoulder. Of all the places she could have ended up after being caught, where she was now, regardless of the drama, was the place she had always longed to be. John pulled away, smiling reassuringly at her.

"Come on, maybe the guards remember something more."

John began to back away, heading for the door when, just as she drew her hands across her face again to wipe away the tears, Elizabeth glimpsed a hair at the end of the bed. Now if it was long and black, it wouldn't have been a problem, she would have assumed it to have been Rita's. But this strand of hair was curled and blonde - much like her new boss's untamed lion mane locks.

"Elizabeth? Are you coming?" John asked, lingering by the door.

She looked at him, nodding quickly, croaking, "Uh, yeah, I just need a moment - don't want Mycroft grilling me for looking like a mess."

John nodded, respectfully leaving the room, and the second he did, she moved to grab the strand of hair. If she wasn't looking for Rita, the pride she felt in herself might have shone through. It was such a minute detail, something she was sure only Sherlock could have spotted (so thank God he wasn't here) and yet she had been the one to see it.

What did this mean for Rita though? Had Cleo extracted her, somehow knowing Mycroft and Sherlock had grown distrusting of the surgeon? Her mind couldn't come to any other logical conclusion.

Pocketing the strand of hair, she headed out after her fellow amateur detective.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Meanwhile in the winter of Karachi, Pakistan, Sherlock had successfully infiltrated the terrorist cell where he had located The Woman, Irene Adler, to be.

They had chosen the execution site to be within a warehouse (typical, he thought). It was pitch black save for the ochre headlights of their vehicles all forming a spotlight on a woman kneeling in the centre.

One of the men gave her the phone that had originally caused them all so much trouble. She tearfully sent a text.

And that was his cue.

Sherlock walked out, dressed in black, looking like the image of death himself, except he had a sword instead of a sickle. He raised the sharp silver behind her head - had to keep in character after all or they would never stand a chance.

Then that familiar erotic sigh filled the dreaded silence. Probably should have put the phone on silent first...

She looked up at him, two glimmering mist-blue eyes full of emotional hope as she stared into his mesmerising, unforgettable irises.

"When I say run, run!" He hissed at her, drawing back his sword, continuing with this act of his.

And then he spun, swiping the executioner's instrument at the terrorist behind him, surprising the man totally by this sudden act of violence against himself instead of their prisoner. There were shouts and yells in Urdu as Sherlock wounded the terrorist, swapping the sword for his (typically) black submachine gun.

Briefly, the detective wondered why guns weren't ever made in blue, red or yellow.

But there was no time for wondering, only acting and acting swiftly enough to prevent injury (and potential death). He pointed the gun at the other five individuals, backing away beside the car, but he had little time to think before they started shooting. Why get close when you have a weapon that can reach your target faster? Sherlock ducked behind the back of the large car.

While the terrorists were focused on the one side of the car, where they could see the hand of the original executioner peeking out from behind the car, Sherlock merged with the shadows.

At this point Irene was still waiting for her signal to go. She watched the men begin to crowd the vehicle and her brow contorted out of worry. Would he really sacrifice himself for her? The Woman felt distress in her heart for her saviour's wellbeing - she wanted to assisst, to ensure he would be okay. Irene stood, her limbs shaking, uncertain of the actions to take but having placed one foot in front of her, the actions were decided for her.

The hand that slipped into hers made her gasp, but she was shushed. A familiar whisper that came next stunned her:

"Run!"

And they were off, Holmes and Adler together, escaping through the darkened warehouse of death (or not death on this case).

"Clever."

Breathlessly, he asked, "What?"

"How you got to me."

Sherlock gave a laugh, "Like a shadow in the night."

"I'm surprised they left me unattended."

"Well, you're just a woman."

"A woman? Surely by now, Mr Holmes, you should know I'm The Woman."

Sherlock's smirked, Irene grinned - she was saved, she would live to see the light of another day.

But as they got outside, her eyes grew when she saw a larger group of men waiting. Ripping her hand away from the detective's, she froze on the spot, taking in each person's features - who would be her next executioner? But Sherlock noted this reaction and looked back at her, calm as ever.

He removed the black hood, revealing his face and dishevelled curls in full. He held out his hand for her to take again.

"They won't go in until they know we are on our way, far away from here. We need to go now."

"They're - "

"Help. Yes." He nodded, impatient, but offered his hand to her, "Now let's go."

Hearing urgent shouts from within the warehouse behind her, Irene was swiftly prompted to take his hand again.

"Keep yourself and the lady safe, Mr Holmes." The commanding officer commented as they hurried past him to a vehicle.

"And keep yourself and your squad safe too, Sergeant. There's five of them." Sherlock took a quick look at the twelve men before smiling at the squad's leader, "You should have more than enough men to get through it."

The sergeant smiled back before patting Sherlock on shoulder, motioning for him to go as he barked at his squad. The detective directed The Woman to the passenger seat of the vehicle before hopping in the driver's seat, affixing his belt across him as he started the army car.

Irene had been awfully silent, not because she didn't want to talk or didn't have anything to say but she was still in a state of shock. Having accepted a death that never came was jarring, especially when one had resolved that there would be no rescue. How wrong she was and how lucky to have met Mr Sherlock Holmes.

What was not so happy about this little reunion was remembering why she was there in the first place.

"Is everything alright?" Sherlock finally asked as they drove.

"Yes...no."

"No?"

"If you were not driving I would slap you."

Sherlock looked at her with incredulity at hearing her statement, "I've just saved your life."

"After having condemned it first."

"It was nothing personal - "

"Nothing personal? You're a sore loser!" Irene huffed, looking out of the window,  "Had it not been for your huge ego and silly deductions, I would have never needed to be saved in the first place."

"No, instead the British economy would have needed to be saved from your ridiculous, extensive, thorough list of demands."

"It wasn't going to hurt their pockets...much."

Sherlock looked over at Irene, fighting back a smile before returning his gaze to the road. He knew she couldn't hold a grudge, not against him, especially knowing her feelings for him. He didn't reciprocate them in the same way though - his heart was already reserved for a young woman waiting for him at home.

"Why did you save me, Mr Holmes?"

"Couldn't let a mind like yours go to waste. Especially when there is so much...potential."

"Potential to do what?"

"Potential to use your exceptional manipulative espionage methods for good rather than greedy exploitation."

Irene smiled at this, flattered, and remained thoughtful for a moment before speaking again, "Do you want me, Mr Holmes?"

His brow crinkled in alarm at this question but he didn't meet her gaze, although he could feel it crawling up his arm, up his neck, before resting on his face. Sherlock would play dumb, playing dumb with her always seemed to work. If brainy was the new sexy then cluelessness had to ward her away...not that it did last time.

"Want...you?"

"Yes."

Perhaps being blunt would work better, "No."

"Oh...I must be getting mixed signals then because all the men who have wanted me have flattered me in some way...and then I own them in the bedroom." She paused, "Is there a desk where we're going?"

"Most definitely not." He spoke, his tone reflecting his inner alarm.

"Pity."

Irene's intense gaze finally left Sherlock and he suddenly felt like he could breathe. The Woman looked out of the window and began chuckling quietly to herself. His brow folded, eagle-like eyebrows lowering, eyes twinkling with puzzlement.

"What - what's funny?"

Grinning, Irene replied, "You, of course." She chuckled, "Mr Holmes, I am aware of where your true feelings lie and while you might have taken my pulse, you got one thing wrong in your deductions."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did." She nodded, "I am fond of you, I can't deny that - you're the detective in the funny hat who, I found, I strongly disliked manipulating - in the end. But I don't love you - what I said that evening was true: I couldn't believe you thought I loved you - but no, I'm gay and...actually quite fancy your girlfriend."

"You're - "

"Gay. Yes."

He nodded, blinking at the road, "Oh..."

"Clearly your ego mistook my fondness for love."

He looked from the road, to her and back at the road again, confused by how he had messed up this deduction, "Really?"

"Yes."

"So...what was that just now?"

"I was messing with you, if you will."

"Messing with me?"

She messes with me too, Sherlock thought to himself, his heart weirdly aching for Elizabeth.

"Yes. I was on the brink of certain death a few minutes ago - I think a girl deserves a bit of a laugh, don't you?"

He nodded, fair enough. Elizabeth came to mind again.

"She liked you."

"Who?"

"Elizabeth."

The Woman scoffed, "And I like her...a lot. But I don't think she liked me by the end of it, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock's brow raised, "Elizabeth insisted that I come help you."

"Really?" This caught The Woman off-guard.

He nodded, "She...isn't over it but she understands why," He spoke a little softer, "She always understands."

A softer, warmer smile crossed The Woman's lips, "My God, the tin man really does have a heart."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you talk about her - I can actually tell you love her this time."

And he did, Sherlock really did love Elizabeth, well and truly, that had been established a while ago now. Yet, there were doubts brought about as of recently. Something didn't sit well with him, something was going to happen, something bad. He could feel it in his gut and the worst part was he knew he should never ignore his intuition.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Hm?"

"Is everything alright with you and Elizabeth?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Maybe you're brooding, but I thought you looked rather worried by the thought of her."

Sherlock sighed, "I think she's hiding something from me. I want to trust her but - microexpressions and odd phone calls are insinuating I should think otherwise."

"Don’t leap to conclusions." Irene advised, "That can be just as damaging as distrust."

"I'm trying not to but - I know that something isn't right. Something more is going on."

"She loves you though."

"I know. That feeling is mutual. But you can still love someone and lie to them, can't you?"

Irene went quiet, her expression sympathetic with the detective. If Jim had gotten to her after Irene had left, there was no telling what might be planned for Sherlock or for Elizabeth.

"Sometimes, people who love each other, lie to protect the other." After her suggestion, she paused, "But you have no concrete evidence to suggest that she is in fact deceiving or being disloyal to you. If you keep spending time with the doubt, it will only get worse and a lack of trust between the two of you could end things for good."

"I don't want that."

"I know you don't. And having spoken to her previously, it's also the last thing she wants too. Keep trusting her until there is something concrete to suggest otherwise."

Sherlock didn't respond but mulled this over in his mind. Irene was right, his lack of belief in Elizabeth when they had first fallen out didn't help the situation any more. He reminded himself that his Elizabeth wouldn't ever do something to spite him or hurt him purposefully and that he could tell that she truly loved him - all the signs were there. The thief had even admitted to him that he was the best relationship she had ever had, regardless of their arguments. His heart was warmed by acknowledging these thoughts.

But then why did his gut continue to remain suspicious?

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A/N - Contrary to that one interview where Benedict Cumberbatch said Sherlock and Irene definitely had a 'fun night' after Karachi, in this story that no happen because that would be CHEATING 🙃

And we no like cheating because dat iz bads :)))

So I just followed that one line of Irene's in ASIB where she said she is gay which is fair because yAs My QuEeN - go pride! 😄🏳️‍🌈

And shun Sherlock and his stupid ego for 'MiSiNtErPrEtInG' 😂