A/N - hahaha writing your own story into an episode is so annoying hence why this took me so long but IT IS HERE. IT IS DONE. WILL PROBABLY EDIT AT SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE because no doubt there are mistakes despite me checking it fifty times 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

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The thirteenth of March is what their calendars read, about a month after their case of The Missing Mother. Just another normal day in 221B. Well, normal until Sherlock returned to the flat from his morning errands.

John was sat in his chair, laptop open on his lap, typing up his next blog post, newspapers piled on top of the tables beside his chair like no one's business. Elizabeth was lounging on the sofa in Sherlock's dark purply-red gown with Sherlock's laptop resting on her lap. The thief honestly didn't know what she was searching for and had ended up travelling down one of those many Wikipedia wells of either true knowledge or faux facts - currently she was learning about the history of sowing.

The flat door opened suddenly, accompanied by two heavy steps and then a wooden thunk of something else on the floor.

Both thief and doctor looked up, both doing a double-take, faces mimicking the looks of cats with their ears flattened  in speechless alarm by the sight they saw.

There Sherlock stood, bloody harpoon in hand, covered in crimson splatters himself, breathing heavily.

"Well, that was tedious."

John and Elizabeth shared a look of confusion between each other.

"You went on the Tube like that?!" John questioned.

"None of the cabs would take me."

Elizabeth looked back down at her laptop screen with a bemused smile - she wondered why none of the cabs would take a man who looked as though he had just returned from a murder spree. Utterly rude of them, of course, for having refused such a renowned detective such as his self, who was utterly unrecognisable behind that intense, serial killer look in his eye and was mildly threatening with a unique weapon such as a harpoon in hand.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock anxiously paced the strip of floor in front of the couch, blue gown billowing like a smoky tail behind him, swishing every time he turned to walk the other way. He kept fiddling with the harpoon in hand which admittedly made both John and Elizabeth a little nervous themselves.

"Nothing?" The detective sounded desperate and changed his course to walk around the coffee table.

Elizabeth was sat cross-legged on the floor, besides John's chair as the two of them skimmed through the newspapers for something of interest to the detective.

"Military coup in Uganda?" John said.

"Hm..."

Both the doctor and thief could tell this was a hum of disinterest.

"Another photo of you with the, er..."

Sherlock groaned at the sight of his face on the front of the newspaper with that God forsaken hat. Why did they always like the hat? Why couldn't they take a normal picture of him?

"Everybody likes that hat, Sherlock." Elizabeth hummed, admiring the picture of him.

"I don't."

"I do." She smiled at him, "Suits you."

The detective rolled his eyes as the thief smirked playfully.

"Well, um, Cabinet reshuffle?" John suggested.

None of this pleased the detective, "Nothing of importance?" He let out a growling yell of vexation as he slammed the bottom of the harpoon on the wooden floor, "Oh God!"

Elizabeth looked up at the detective with a small frown at his behaviour. John waited for Sherlock's next statement showing his desire for some entertainment.

"John, I need some. Get me some."

Elizabeth frowned more at this request.

"No."

A fierce look crossed Sherlock's face as he demanded again, "Get me some."

John remained firm in his reply, "No. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what." He turned the page of his newspaper, "Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius’ll sell you any."

As John spoke, Elizabeth was moving papers from off her lap so that she could stand to approach the erratic detective.

"Stupid idea." Sherlock spat at John, "Whose idea was that?"

John merely cleared his throat, giving a pointed look to the Holmes resident. Sherlock sighed, clearly aggravated by the lack of something adrenalin-inducing. Elizabeth was stood in front of him by this point, giving him a sympathetic look as she ran her hands down his upper arms.

"C'mon, Sherlock, you promised me you would try."

He huffed, something changing in his eyes and he leaned in to whisper something into her ears. The heat rose in her cheeks as he pulled away. Elizabeth looked over at John who had resumed reading the newspapers and then back at the detective, shaking her head.

"I - not now."

"Please."

"Sherlock - "

"I need y - "

"I know you need something to do - "

"Like you." He spoke just loud enough for her to hear.

"Not. Now."

Sherlock pursed his lips as he met her gaze. He really wanted to keep trying but this intense need for something could not be calmed or contained. And if he couldn't have his partner then at least a little smoke would give him some kind of a rush. Huffing again, he broke her gaze and looked straight towards the stairs.

"Mrs Hudson!"

It was Elizabeth's turn to huff now, releasing his shoulders and folding her arms across her chest as she continued to frown at him. Having been dismissed by the detective, she leant against the desk by the window. De-stressing the other way Sherlock had suggested just was not possible while John was around.

However, Elizabeth wasn't leaning against the table for long as Sherlock bumped her out of the way so that he could throw the desk papers on the floor in search of his cigarettes.

"Hey!" She had snapped at him when he did that but got no reply out of him as he continued his frantic (and ridiculous) chaotic search.

Instead, Elizabeth begrudgingly followed after his trail of mess, tidying it up as he kept on turning up the flat.

"Look, Sherlock," John began, "You’re doing really well. Don’t give up now."

"Tell me where they are. Please." Came the detective's tone of desperation, "Tell me."

He stopped trashing the apartment and turned to look at his partner and doctor friend again, a calmer, sweeter look on his face as he looked between them. Elizabeth's heart melted slightly at this front, but she was determined not to let him get back into smoking.

She spoke softly, "Sherlock..."

"Please." He practically pouted.

"We can’t help, sorry." John answered for the both of them.

"I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers."

John just laughed at this as Elizabeth shook her head, looking away.

"Oh, it was worth a try."

He sharply looked around the room again, deciding to barge past Elizabeth and dive towards the fire place to search through the things there. Grumpy was possibly the kindest way to describe how pissed Elizabeth was at being pushed and shoved out of the way by her partner.

"Yoo-hoo!" Came Mrs Hudson's little announcement call as she walked into the flat.

"My secret supply." Sherlock's voice echoed in the fire place, "What have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?"

"Cigarettes!" He demanded, hands still opening and throwing whatever they could find, "What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things!" Mrs Hudson took one look at the warzone of a flat and shook her head, "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing."

He stood, "I thought you weren’t my housekeeper."

"I’m not."

Sherlock dismissed it with another shout of frustration, heading straight for his harpoon again. The three residents shared a look and John motioned with his hand to suggest tea would be a good offer around about now.

"How about a nice cuppa," Mrs Hudson nodded, "And perhaps you could put away your harpoon."

He turned around as though he were a madman, a kind of feral look in his eyes that even made Elizabeth question who she was living with all of a sudden. Again he looked away, muttering to himself as though considering what else he could find.

"I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger..."

When he looked over his shoulder at them again, for a second Elizabeth wondered if he had made the split second decision to become a murderer given the unnerving look he gave them while holding a harpoon.

Sherlock aimed the harpoon at Mrs Hudson.

"Dear God! Sherlock, put the harpoon down!" Elizabeth instructed but to no avail.

"You’ve been to see Mr Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?"

"Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking."

John warned, "Sherlock..."

"Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we?" He intensely sniffed the air, "Mmm: ‘Kasbah Nights.’ Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website – you should look it up."

"Please." Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes.

Sherlock moved to the window, laying the harpoon to rest against the wall, "I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He’s got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about."

John and Elizabeth both protested at his bluntness, both knowing he could rarely be wrong, but it still wasn't right to say, "Sherlock!"

"Well, nobody except me." The detective shrugged.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t."

"Mrs Hudson - "

Elizabeth turned to try and reassure their lovely landlady at nothing the upset in her voice but Mrs Hudson was having none of it and left, slamming the door behind her. Sherlock leapt over the  back of his chair, sitting on the backrest and leaving his feet on the seat of the chair as he wrapped his arms and hugged his knees to his chest.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" John scolded him.

"You don’t understand."

"Sherlock," Elizabeth disapproving look burned holes in him, "This isn't you. Go after her and apologise."

"Apologise?"

"Mm-hm." John agreed.

"Oh, John, Elizabeth, I envy you both so much."

"You envy me?" John was in disbelief

"Your minds: they're so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad." He yelled, "I NEED A CASE!"

"AND I WANT TO GO AND STEAL SOMETHING!" Elizabeth yelled back at him, earning a look of surprise from both men by her outburst, "But sometimes we choose not to do things, not just for others, but for ourselves, for our own good."

That said, the thief felt terribly guilty and hypocritical after saying that as, according to their plans, she and the Forty Elelphants were meant to go through with a bank heist tomorrow evening. She should never have said what she did.

"But Elizabeth - I need. A CASE!"

"For the love of God!" She cried at the same time as John, retreating to the kitchen for a breather.

"YOU'VE JUST SOLVED ONE!" John threw his shaking hands in the air as he yelled this too, "By harpooning a dead pig, apparently! 

The detective jumped in his spot, moving his legs out so he could land on the seat, "That was this morning!" His hands and fingers were all jittery, "When’s the next one?"

"Nothing on the website?"

Sherlock glared at the doctor but stood to grab the laptop, only to roughly hand it to his friend. John had a quick scan of the website and, out of curiosity, Elizabeth decided to return, resting her arms on the back of John's chair as she read the case too.

"Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes." The detective began in mockery, "I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?"

"Bluebell?"

"A rabbit, John!"

"Oh..."

"Ah, but there’s more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous," His hand gestures were crazed as he mimicked a little girl's voice, "'Like a fairy' according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry...Ah!" He paused, looking at the both of them as though he had had an epiphany, "What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit."

"What?" Elizabeth looked at him like he had truly lost it.

Even John was taken aback, "Are you serious?"

"It’s this...or Cluedo."

"Absolutely not!" Elizabeth scoffed as John simultaneously spoke.

"Ah, no!" John's eyes had widened in horror at the thought as he stood, shutting the laptop and returning it to the desk, "We are never playing that again!"

"Why not?"

"Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why."

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It’s not in the rules." Elizabeth elaborated on John's point.

"Then the rules are wrong!" He yelled.

All was quiet for a single second as she glared at her partner, irked by his rudeness on this day. This was normal though, Elizabeth kept reminding herself, sometimes partners got on each other's nerves, and that was merely a fact of life.

The doorbell rang and the three shared a hopeful look with each other. Finally, this Sherlockian madness for the day could end. Please God, Elizabeth thought, let it be a good case, let it be a case that is better than a missing rabbit.

"Single ring." John noted.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second."

Together they all chimed in with the answer all wanted, "Client."

*  *  *  *  *  *

Their client, whose name happened to be Henry Knight, sat in John's chair opposite Sherlock. John and Elizabeth sat at the desk, the doctor with his notebook open and the thief lounging lazily in the wooden chair. She felt achey and would have moved to the couch but then she wouldn't be able to see the TV on which they were currently playing a documentary that related to Henry's case.

Just as it was getting to the really spine-chilling part of Henry's interview, Sherlock sighed, picking up the remote and turned off the TV.

"What did you see?"

"Oh." Henry spoke in this sweet, nervously delicate voice, "I...I was just about to say."

"Yes, in a TV interview." Sherlock responded steepling his hands to rest under his chin as he so often did, "I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course." The client fetched a napkin from out of his pocket to blow his nose, "'Scuse me."

John spoke politely, "In your own time."

"But quite quickly."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the detective's curt behaviour as she sat up in the chair, now leaning forwards to rest her arms on her knees, hands clasped together and ready to soak up the impending story. She had to say to herself silently that she already didn't believe in monster stories. The thief highly doubted there was a beast.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr Holmes?"

"No."

"It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else. It’s sort of...bleak but beautiful."

"Mmm, not interested." Sherlock's eyes widened, sass emanating from his pupils and hand gestures, "Moving on."

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we’d go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

John and Elizabeth shared a wordless look with each other that conveyed each other's disappointment in Sherlock's lack of empathy. They weren't surprised but they did think he would start trying a little bit more.

"There’s a place – it’s...it’s a sort of local landmark called Dewer’s Hollow...That’s an ancient name for the Devil."

The three of them were intrigued by this apparent spooky story but it still wasn't grabbing them just yet.

"So?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Did you see the Devil that night?" John asked in all seriousness.

"Yes. It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart."

Henry's traumatised eyes met with Elizabeth's curious gaze and she shivered as he said the last part. The guy sure was good at setting an eerie atmosphere with this description.

"I can’t remember anything else." Henry's voice broke slightly, "They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad’s body was never found."

"Hm." John contemplated this before looking between the thief and the detective, "Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous...dog? Wolf?"

"Maybe even a bear?" Added Elizabeth, "Escaped zoo animal?"

"Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock finished, looking away as though the world couldn't offer him anything more pathetic.

Henry looked at Sherlock, clearly offended, "Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?"

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism." Stoic as ever came Sherlock's remark.

"Yeah...Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago." John stated, "Why come to us now?"

"I’m not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes, since you find it all so funny." Henry's delicate voice took a slight hiss of frustration in the end and he stood up from the chair, moving to the door.

"Henry - " Elizabeth softly called, willing to apologise on behalf of Sherlock but was interrupted.

Rolling his eyes, the detective replied, "Because of what happened last night."

"Why?"

"What happened last night?" Elizabeth questioned after John.

Henry had stopped in front of the open doorway, "How - how do you know?"

"I didn’t know; I noticed."

John looked down at his notepad. Here we go again, he thought. On the contrary, this was Elizabeth's favourite part. The way her detective deduced was...possibly one of the reasons that made him ever so slightly more attractive than the average man. The entire time he spoke, Elizabeth's eyes were on Sherlock whereas John awaited Henry's reaction.

Sherlock reeled off his thoughts, "You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted."

At the mention of Sherlock being delighted by the fact that his client was desperate to smoke, Elizabeth's allured expression faltered and she pursed her lips, annoyed with him. A really good deduction that led back to a flipping cigarette.

Henry took a seat again in slight shock, "How on earth did you notice all that?!"

John tried to interject, "It’s not important - "

"Punched-out holes where your ticket’s been checked - "

"Not now, Sherlock."

"Oh please." Sherlock whined, "I’ve been cooped up in here for ages."

"You’re just showing off."

Elizabeth smirked at this comment.

"Of course. I am a show-off. That’s what we do."

Elizabeth's smirk stayed on her face because of this retort as she shared a look with John, "Just let him. Mr Knight did ask after all."

John sighed having felt he had lost Elizabeth to the dark side. But Henry listened, fascinated by what came next (as was Elizabeth). Sherlock shared a quick look with Elizabeth that may have been taken as a 'we-can-discuss-more-deductions-later-elsewhere-if-you-would-like' kind of look before continuing with the matter at hand.

"The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

Henry gave a nervous laugh, "How did you know it was disappointing?"

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting’s quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers...your shaking fingers. I know the signs." 

Again, the thief sent a sharp look to the detective for bringing the conversation back around to smoking.

"No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here." Sherlock checked his watch, "It’s just after nine fifteen. You’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?" He widened his eyes to emphasise his point.

Mr Knight took a moment, staring at the detective in awe before taking a breath, "No."

Sherlock smirked, pleased with having amazed another person and John simply took a sip of his tea. The thief just sat back up straight again, stretching her arms as she did.

"You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It’s my job." Sherlock sat forwards quite suddenly, "Now shut up and smoke."

Both John and Elizabeth's brows folded at this demand, mildly disturbed by such a request. But he was a desperate man and desperate men do tend to commit to odd actions and words. Henry nervously retrieved his pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket, promptly lighting one.

"Um, Henry," John began, shuffling in his seat, "Your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

Sherlock stood, stalking towards Henry and John and Elizabeth watched this, again their brows both forming little lines, the detective's behaviour aging them both.

"I know that." The client replied.

Henry blew out the cigarette smoke, only for Sherlock to get in his face in order to inhale the smoke, rendering the client speechless as he casually sat back down.

"That must be a - "

The sound of the song 'You Don't Own Me' played in the room and a red hue rose in Elizabeth's cheeks as she gained questioning looks from all of the men. While Henry was merely confused by the disruption, John and Sherlock both appeared bemused by her choice of ring tone. The thief slid her phone out of her pocket and, at seeing the caller ID belonged to Cleo, stood from her seat.

"Sorry. I need to take this, it's work."  Carry on, won't be long."

As she left the room, she shut the door behind her, merely moving to sit on the stairs that led up to John's room before she answered it.

"Yep?"

"I need you to come in this afternoon."

"This afternoon? Why?"

"Yes. We have a...staff meeting. Talks about 'employee of the month' and all sorts of other important things to go over. I can trust I'll see you there as it will be your first staff meeting?"

"I - " She sighed, "Yeah. What time?"

"Three p.m."

"Three it is. Kay, see you then."

"Thank you."

Elizabeth hung up the phone and ran her hands through her hair. She forgot how much work it was when you weren't operating on your own. You had to have everyone absolutely clued up on the plan or else it would go wrong and if it went wrong well, behind bars for them all. The Bank of England was going to be no easy hit so a final 'staff meeting' was incredibly necessary for the success of their heist.

With a sigh, she stood, hopping down the stairs and heading back into the flat through the open kitchen door where she almost walked into Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

She heard Henry say this, prompting Sherlock to pause suddenly, his hand just brushing her upper arm as he stared past her.

"You okay, Sher - ?"

He raised his free hand to quieten her. Elizabeth looked between Sherlock and Henry before the detective pivoted, taking a few steps back into the lounge.  The thief followed, her intrigue driven by Sherlock's bizarre behaviour.

"Say that again."

"I found the footprints; they were - "

"No, no, no," Sherlock raised his hand to silence the client, "Your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

Henry looked away, thinking for a moment before quietly repeating, "Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound."

"I’ll take the case."

"Sorry, what?" John did a double-take.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" Elizabeth asked.

"You and I both." John added as the two 221B residents stared at Sherlock.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention." The detective brought his hands in a prayer position to his mouth as he approached the sofa, "It’s very promising."

"No. No-no, sorry, what?" John asked again in desperate need of clarification, "A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they’re very promising?"

"It’s nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren’t listening. At least I can forgive Elizabeth because she was out of the room."

But John didn'tagree with this as she had still heard the same sentence as he, "Ah, hang on a second - !"

Sherlock wasn't looking for an argument though and so promptly moved on, "Baskerville: ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely." John huffed, sitting back in the wooden chair, "It’s very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Ah! You’ll come down, then?" Henry enquired as he watched Sherlock approach the doctor.

"No, I can’t leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don’t worry – putting my best man and best woman onto it." Sherlock gave a simple smile as he patted John on the shoulder and turned to beam at Elizabeth, "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself. And Elizabeth has many a useful skill that I won't doubt will come in handy."

"Uh, agree on useful skills but," She blinked at her partner, "Did you just volunteer John and I on a case without you? The case expert?"

"Told you, busy." He shrugged.

"What are you talking about, you’re busy?" You don’t have a case!" John argued, "A minute ago you were complaining - "
 
"Bluebell, John!" He interrupted, "I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" Sherlock worked an eyebrow at Henry, "NATO’s in uproar."

"I..." Elizabeth shook her head, unsure of what was happening, "Is it too late to be confused?"

"Never." Sherlock smiled at her warmly, cheekily, "You, John and everyone else in the world are in a constant state of confusion. You never leave it."

Elizabeth's brow hooded over her eyes as she playfully scowled at her lover. What an arse, she thought, but realised it still didn't stop her loving him, not for a second.

"Oh, sorry, no, you’re not coming, then?" Even Henry was struggling to make sense of the situation.

Sherlock pulled the most adorable pout he had ever pulled as he shook his head at John. Elizabeth stepped closer, nearing the middle of the place where Henry was sat and where Sherlock was stood.

"Oh..." John sighed, disappointed as it clicked, "Okay," He stood, "Okay."

The army doctor cleared his throat as he rigidly approached the fireplace. Regretfully, he lifted the skull they were all so fond of, revealing a pack of cigarettes and shaking them in the air as though they were treats to coax the detective along. Elizabeth's entire body slumped for a moment as she looked between Sherlock and the box of cigarettes.

Intercepting the throw and catching them herself, she spoke sternly as she looked over her shoulder to Sherlock, "Uh, no. No."

"Do you want the case solved or do you want to mull about Dartmoor like a lost cause with John?"

Elizabeth scowled at the detective who continued to hold his hands out for the box. With a bitter sigh, she chucked them to him only to watch him chuck the box of toxic sticks over his own shoulder.

"I don’t need those any more. I’m going to Dartmoor." Sherlock was content, he had caused them to reveal a hiding spot, "You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow later."

"Er, sorry, so you are coming?" Mr Knight stood looking at each of the three in turn, utterly puzzled.

"Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!"

*  *  *  *  *  *

Once Henry had gone on his way, ahead of the detective and his partners in crime solving, Sherlock wanted to get straight on with packing. However, he was not ready for the news that Elizabeth would deliver to him.

"John, start packing!" Sherlock called after his friend who was already on his way upstairs.

"Yes, Sherlock, I know."

Elizabeth was in the kitchen, just packing away some of the already dried crockery and cutlery that lay on the drying stand beside the sink. Gracefully, Sherlock steamed into the kitchen, grabbing Elizabeth's hand to pull her with him as he went.

"Woah - !"

"Packing, let's go!"

"Wait-wait! Sherlock, hang on a second."

The detective paused in the small hallway that ran to their bedroom and turned to face her, the cogs already turning in his head as he looked her up and down. Distress wove its way into his features.

"You don't want to come - why?"

"I - it's not that I don't want to - "

"Work call from earlier today. You're not scheduled for any shifts today - is someone sick? Tell them to find someone else, you're busy - "

"Sherlock - "

"Elizabeth." He looked at her softly, sympathetically, "I recall you telling me today that you still felt the urge to steal earlier. I need the high and you could do with the high of a case too."

"But the café - "

"Do you get an adrenaline rush from waitressing?"

"I - no - "

"Did you feel a rush when you were stealing?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel the same rush when you go on a case - with me?"

She inhaled, "Yes. But Sherlock, I need this job. I need it - I need it to - " Elizabeth knew she had to choose her words carefully here, "To feel...normal."

Something in Sherlock's eyes changed, the green of his eyes became duller, the melancholic duck-egg-blue brighter as he frowned at her. Why on earth would she ever want to be normal? It was overrated and...certainly not what he ever expected of her. His heart hurt - he couldn't figure out why.

"Stealing, Mycroft's missions, the cases - I can't rely on them, certainly not the former anymore, to keep me...content. Yeah, I have enough money to not work a day for a number of years but I need something that grounds me. The café job does that."

"I...don't want you to be...normal."

Her eyes searched his for some sort of elaboration.

"I just want you...to be you. To be...Elizabeth."

"Why?"

"Normal people...boring, uninteresting," He could see he was losing her and decided to bring his honesty back, "And...don't understand...me. You do. As yourself, as someone abnormal - in the best way."

Her expression was full of love for him; pure, unadulterated love; gentle, loving love; guilty love - in more ways than one.

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes, I love you and I won't ever change for you if you're happy to have me this way."

"I'll always love you just as you are - as you."

She pressed a kiss to his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck as she let her head move to rest on his shoulder. He hugged her back, possibly even tighter than she hugged him, afraid that, if she kept this waitressing job, he would inevitably lose her to the normal people.

"I still need to stay though." She whispered, "They can't find anyone on such short notice to take over. There's a staff meeting that Cleo wants me there for at three p.m today too." She pulled out of the hug, letting her hand rest on his face that emanated the look of gentle  upset, "Have fun in Dartmoor. I'll still be here when you get back."