A/N - Honestly, it could have been another week or two before this chapter was finished without the conversation I had with mixxagonal today!

So, I'm dedicating this chapter to this wonderful fellow fanfic author! Thank you so much, my lovely!

Please do check out her Sherlock fanfic 'Perception Of The Mind' - it's hekkin awesome and you will adore her OC Ophelia Smith 😄❤

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On the morning of the sixteenth of March, Elizabeth was up at the crack of dawn, armed with a black bin bag that had been stuffed with her black catsuit and boots. She slunk down the stairs silently and left the flat to chuck the bag in the bins.

If she were to partake in any future heists, then she would ask Cleo for a suit she could change into at the Rob'n'Cat.

As the bin lid slammed shut again, she took a breath. The papers had said the guard had died, killed immediately by a bullet to the head. It wasn't her bullet but it certainly felt like it. She was responsible for his death, even if she didn't pull the trigger herself.

She just had to pretend for a little bit longer, just had to get some more information on the locations they frequented and the places they hid their loot. Just a little more and Elizabeth would reveal all to the detective. She just hoped he would listen and understand and that Mycroft would then see her for what she believed she was - a reformed thief, using her talents for good.

Elizabeth went straight back inside, nimbly hopping and softly landing on the steps as she climbed so as to not wake Mrs Hudson early.

*  *  *  *  *  *

"Morning, dear." Mrs Hudson greeted the thief a little later that day.

Elizabeth was sat on the sofa, newspaper tossed aside after seeing the headline was to do about the murdered guard and had instead found some solitude in a book, unlike the evening prior. She looked up with a smile at the landlady who always emanated a calm and content aura.

"Morning, Mrs Hudson."

"I thought you might like to join me for breakfast at the café downstairs?"

"I'd love to join you. Thank you for the invite." Elizabeth politely accepted, in need of a nicer distraction, "Aren't you and Mr Chatterjee on bad terms though?"

Mrs Hudson laughed, "He's hopped along now. Gone back to his wife in Doncaster, though, I phoned ahead to make sure she wouldn't let him in after a white lie or two about how terrible he had been to me."

Oh, how this woman turned out to be a dark horse every time, Elizabeth thought to herself, amused. The thief hoped she would be like Mrs Hudson when she was older as she placed her book on the coffee table before standing to stretch.

"Shall we pop down then?"

"Yes, come along, dear." She beckoned the thief to follow.

*  *  *  *  *  *

The two ladies had two plates of cooked breakfasts in front of them and were both contentedly munching away with a little bit of small talk in between. They spoke about small things like the state of chaos that Sherlock's flat was constantly in and how Mrs Hudson was considering changing the main hall's wallpaper to something a little brighter and to paint instead.

As they spoke, on the TV in the corner of the shop, the news silently talked about the heist at the Bank of England that had left a man murdered in cold blood.

"Elizabeth?"

"Hm?"

"You were off in your own world then." Mrs Hudson gave a small laugh which faded quite quickly. A more uncertain look crossed her face, "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something..."

"Oh?"

"The other night, when you came back so late - where on earth did you go?"

"I told you, I went for a walk. Well, a walk and run. It was a little chilly, hence the bodysuit."

"You looked so shaken up after you came back though...nothing happened to you, did it?"

No. Nothing happened to her. But a family did lose a father that night. Three kids never got to see their dad again. Parents had lost their son. A wife had been widowed...

"Just got spooked by some guy." She nodded, "I'm okay but in all fairness, I should have known better than to head out into London alone at night."

"Oh, well, I'm glad you're alright. I don't think Baker Street would be the same without you anymore."

Elizabeth smiled at this comment. The aim was to stay after all. But how could she now tell Sherlock that she had been involved in a heist, to gain evidence of the gang's activities, that had now ended up a murder-robbery because a guard had been killed? How could she possibly explain that the guard's death was her fault entirely?

*  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock and John drove back to London, a little later after Greg had left. The detective had intentionally delayed himself and his friend, dreading seeing Elizabeth again after what he had said. For the entire drive, Sherlock thought about this, about confronting her. Rationally, the best thing to do would be to apologise and just ask about the calls she had made before he jumped to any drastic conclusions.

But even as they were entering Greater London, Sherlock felt the intense need to procrastinate their meeting for a bit longer.

"John, text Lestrade. Tell him we'll meet him at the Yard. I want to see the CCTV footage of the heist."

"Don't you want to just head back first? Just to chill for an hour or so?"

"A man's dead, John."

"Half an hour?"

"A case like this can't wait." Sherlock argued.

"Not like he'll be going anywhere..."

The detective just gave him a look.

John shrugged, understanding his friend's point although a little miffed that they couldn't take a break for at least half an hour. He slid his phone out of his pocket and sent the text.

*  *  *  *  *  *

"So, uh, there's no sound but the cameras were tampered with, just looped, except," Lestrade moved to select two looping video feeds, one in front of the safe and one on the top floor near to where their exit was, "These two, their loops broke. We think they experienced a tech issue on their part."

Sherlock and John sat in front of the screen, silently watching the events that unfolded.

They saw one woman lingering outside the safe, possibly peering around to see if she could spot any officers. The apparent leader of the group ushered three other women out of the safe but called to the last thief.

Lestrade paused the video, "You haven't mentioned it yet but - "

"They are wearing elephant masks and all five are noticeably women hence how you came to the obvious conclusion that it was the Forty Elephants behind the heist."

Lestrade met Sherlock's fed up gaze, "Just checking you didn't - "

"I never miss anything." The consulting detective responded and pressed play again.

The woman who had lingered outside removed her backpack and pulled out a gun, shoving it in the hands the woman who didn't appear to be equipped with one.

For a second, this thief looked at the gun as though it were a foreign entity to her.

Sherlock paused the video, pointing at the hesitant thief, "She's new to their gang. The others appear comfortable with the use of weapons but this one's either never used a gun before or just isn't keen on them."

Pressing play again, the leader appeared to usher the newbie onwards, chasing after the other girls that had already sprinted off. A few moments later they saw one, two women run past the last camera, then a third bolting after them, then the leader, and finally the newbie who began to slow her pace. Without the sound, it appeared she spun to aim the gun back down the way she came without a cause until the armed guard's flashlight peeked onto the floor and he eventually entered the frame.

"I don't think she's cocked the gun. Her finger isn't even on the trigger." Sherlock noted as he paused the footage.

"Why?" John enquired, believing his friend to have all the answers always.

"Maybe she's stressed and forgot, maybe - " Sherlock stopped when he noticed a familiar dark mark behind her ear.

His gaze never left the screen (according to John and Greg) but really his eyes were hyper focused on that one spot. It was a birthmark, he knew that for a fact. Or was it a fact? Maybe it was just a very particular trick of the light to look exactly like *her* birthmark? But lots of people had birthmarks behind their ears...but they were always a unique shape. No, he thought, it couldn't be her.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade nudged the consulting detective.

"Hm? What?" He looked between the inspector and doctor, "Sorry, just - "

"Mind palace?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, proceeding to let the footage continue.

Again, without any sound, her dropping to a crouch suddenly and then standing to check herself for any wounds looked bizarre, especially when the officer opposite her was on the floor with his blood pooling out under him. One of the other thieves, whose gun was in her belt, had rushed over to usher the woman who had lingered behind out of the building, snatching the gun off of her as she did, then proceeding to disappear off camera.

"So wait, who shot the guard?" John asked, "Because you said she hadn't prepped the gun. Is it possible she did so before hand, when they were running off camera?"

"She didn't shoot him." Sherlock spoke sternly although silently acknowledging his previous statement was one of uncertainty.

God, at least he prayed she didn't.

"One of the other women, I'm guessing the one that ushered her out, shot the guard."

"But they are all still responsible for murder." Lestrade spoke seriously, "One of them might have shot the guard but at the end of the day they all left him. The rest are accessories."

Sherlock nodded. Accessories to murder. The one thing she said she'd never do. He couldn't even be sure if it was or wasn't her. But there was a nagging doubt in his mind that told him it was.

"Out."

"What?" John and Greg both spoke in unison.

"I said 'out'." Sherlock stood, gently ushering Lestrade out of the office and then beckoning John to leave too, "I need some time to think. Head back to the flat so long, John. I might be a while."

"You sure you don't - "

"I'll be fine, John. Say hello to Elizabeth for me." He flashed a smile and then shut the door on the two men.

The inspector and doctor simply shared a look with each other. They knew how stubborn Sherlock was and didn't even decide to bother staying behind to wait for the detective - he wouldn't leave until he was ready.

*  *  *  *  *

Sherlock collapsed into the chair he had previously been sat in, playing the footage back to where he could see the mark behind her ear clearest and took a picture of it.

Surely it couldn't be her.

Everything that Mycroft had ever said, every little act that Elizabeth had put on, every event which elicited Elizabeth's upset, and his own suspicions and doubts, raced through his head:

The stealing of the ashtrays.

Lying about how she found the listening device on her laptop.

In that case I understand it was an emotional error on Sherlock's part...

Did you ever think that perhaps she lied to you?

I see a self-centred kleptomaniac who likes to side with the person with the best offer and isn't afraid of lying through her teeth.

A leopard cannot change its spots, Brother Mine.

Ignorance is bliss.

The uncalled for stealing of Donovan's purse.

You've got that magpie glint in your eye.

Some people rarely touch it, but it touches them often.

You always have to get a fix, Elizabeth.

The urge is always, always there.

The convincing act she put on as Verity Ashby.

Don't let it bother you, it meant nothing.

Lying about meeting with Irene and then proceeding to lie about meeting with Moriarty.

Disappearing randomly at Lestrade's Halloween party and failing to explain where she had gone.

Recalling her convincing act as Eva Smith.

Seeing her potential to brutally attack not one but two men, one after the other and so violently too, leaving them practically half-dead.

Was her abduction by the Forty elephants planned? Was the beating intended as an initiation of sorts?

He remembered how he sensed she was lying as she recounted that dreadful ordeal...

He thought about how she had said that they were not going after the Forty Elephants with a sense of ease and then proceeded to try and talk him down from trying to find them.

Knowing that she had two numbers saved for her café boss.

Sometimes people who love each other, lie to protect the other.

Discovering that Rita, whom Elizabeth had been close with, had also been involved with the Forty Elephants...

And I want to go and steal something! But sometimes we choose not to do things, not just for others, but for ourselves, for our own good.

I need this job.

...Something that keeps my mind off stealing.

The mysterious call late at night when they had stopped at a hotel on the way to Devon.

That call the day after, after they had arrived at Grimpen Village.

I just wanted to check up on you -

That was before and I recall you saying you didn't care about my past.

...Sounds like you don't trust me?

And with every passing incident, suspicious event and comment that passed through his mind, he was finding it harder and harder to trust her.

*  *  *  *  *  *

"Hi John."

"Elizabeth." The doctor greeted as he shuffled into the flat, setting his travel bag on the floor by the door, "How've you been?"

She shrugged. Not like she could say traumatised by a heist she had done because a guard had been murdered on her watch. Elizabeth closed the book she was reading and placed it on the small table beside Sherlock's chair that she happened to be sat in.

"I've...been."

"Sounds exciting." John chuckled.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe." She said a little more flatly than intended, "What happened with the hound in the end?"

"An experimental deliriant drug made by Bob Frankland intoxicated us all at the Hollow." He headed over to his own chair but didn't take a seat, "Aerosol dispersal. Bob also killed Henry's dad."

"I thought he seemed a bit off...the hound wasn't real then? I was just...high?"

"Yes and no. It was just a rabid dog that belonged to the pub owners running free on the moors and visually manipulated by our intoxication."

"Right." Elizabeth nodded, processing this, "So Bob's gone?"

"Bob is more than gone." John gave a nervous laugh, "He ran away from us and into a mine field of which he blew himself up in."

"Jesus. Are you okay?"

"Well...it is what it is. I'm upset we didn't get proper justice but at the same time, one less homicidal scientist in the world."

Elizabeth nodded, taking this all in, "Gonna be a good story for the blog though."

"Ooh, I'm planning on it." John smiled, nodding too.

"Sherlock here?"

"Uh..."

"Is Sherlock avoiding me?"

John looked over this shoulder, acknowledging the detective's absence and then looked back at her, "Um..."

"He is, isn't he?"

The doctor just sighed quietly in response, a look of sympathy radiating from his warm eyes.

Although, she didn't mind Sherlock avoiding her. It saved her from avoiding him after all.

"He's at Scotland Yard." John said, "Lestrade had a case he wanted us to have a look at."

"Anything interesting?"

"Forty Elephants related, or so we presume. It was that heist at the Bank of England - you should have seen it on the news?"

"Oh right, yes. A guard was killed, wasn't  he?" She spoke her question quietly, ashamed but not panicked as she knew the cameras had been messed with.

"Yeah. It was terrible..." John nodded heading back over to the door to pick up his travel bag, "Anyway, I'm going to take this upstairs to unpack."

"Sure. See you later."

"In a bit." And with that John had left for his room upstairs.

*  *  *  *  *  *

When Sherlock eventually returned to the flat, in the late afternoon, looking whiter than he usually was (if that was even possible), he immediately noticed her missing presence. Where was she? What would he do if he saw her when he doubted all of the evidence put before him, even when he knew he shouldn't doubt it, especially when his gut-feeling was so sickeningly strong.

Out of the corner of his anxious eye he saw that his bedroom door was shut.

With only one way to confirm her whereabouts, he walked over to the door, knocked, heard the hum of confirmation and entered.

Elizabeth was sat on the far side of the bed - her side - facing away from him and rightfully so after the way he had treated her in Devon. She was reading a book and had heard him come into the room but did not decide to respond. This was mainly because Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure what to say. To his dismay, her hair was down so he couldn't see the birthmark behind her ear. He couldn't confirm nor deny it was the same mark as the thief in the CCTV had and that made his stomach turn with uncertainty and a will for it not to be so.

"Hello." He greeted.

She replied with, "Hi."

The detective stood there for a moment wonering about what to do. To confront her or not to confront her, that was the question.

Don't leap to conclusions. That can be just as damaging as distrust.

Those words of Irene echoed in his head. If he was wrong, if he was and he confronted her, she would break. His lack of trust would snap her in two. He knew it. He saw it when he accused her of eyeing up Henry's belongings.

...Sounds like you don't trust me?

"Sherlock, you okay?"

He blinked. Elizabeth was stood right in front of him now, her deep blue eyes gazing into his, filled with worry but also radiating a kind of fear. He found her apprehensive gaze paired with his own doubting thoughts and questions of her loyalty and honesty didn't bode well for the truth.

"I - uh - " He swallowed, "I missed you. Why did you...go?"

Elizabeth scoffed, moving away from him so that she could place her book on his bedside table, "Why do you think I left, Sherlock?" She paused, answering before he could, pacing away from him to shut the bedroom door in case it got too loud and proceeded to address him, facing out of the bedroom window, "I felt - untrusted to begin with. How could you possibly think that I would ever steal from a client? And the fact that you brought up everything you hypocritically said you didn't care about to justify your thoughts? Then I felt unwanted - what did you mean by 'you don't have partners like me'?"

The thief just couldn't look at him while she lied through her teeth for the benefit of justice - or so she kept telling herself.

Already uncomfortable with her reaction, Sherlock's expression contorted into one of distress. He didn't want to argue. He didn't want to doubt her. He just wanted to be with her, to trust her, to hold her.

But first, the detective needed to see her birthmark again.

"I wasn't...I wasn't myself. That night after the hollow," He decided he would try to avoid his acknowledgement of doubt prior to their first joint hound experience, "I was...afraid. I felt doubt for the first time and I...I was projecting my own upset onto both you and John and I was unkind. There's no excuse for my behaviour but I am," Sherlock spoke gently, approaching her by the window, close enough so that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, "I am sorry. And I miss you."

Sherlock shut his eyes as he leant forwards, begging to be wrong for once. Please God, if you even exist, he though to himself, not her, not his Elizabeth.

Elizabeth felt Sherlock rest his forehead on the back of her head, his warm breath tickling her loose hair. What she also felt was regret. Masking her own worries of the heist with her upset over what happened in Devon felt so terribly manipulative of her. She could tell him the truth. She could do it now.

The thief could turn around and tell him, say it to his face and yet, she couldn't bring herself to. Shame stopped the truth from leaving, as did the fear of his reaction to the greatest secret she had kept from him.

All she wanted now was to be with him, in his arms again.

Elizabeth turned to look at him, eyes a little watery, a little red, and she looked up at him longingly.

Sherlock brought his left hand up to her cheek, caressing her skin but also slowly attempting to move her hair so he could check the birthmark. He dreaded every second of it but barely got the chance to even see when she moved to kiss him. The detective could never refuse and especially not in this moment, when all he wanted to do was love her.

She pulled away to take a breath, a quiet desire in her eyes as her one hand played with his bouncy curls at the back of his head and the other played with his shirt buttons.

The message between them required no words, just a particular gaze and a little pulling on each other's clothes.

*  *  *  *  *  *

A few of hours later, Sherlock awoke to find himself and Elizabeth tangled together with their bedsheets, clothesless, her brown hair tickling his chest as her head rested on him. Sadly, their love hadn't quashed his worries. He hated himself for thinking this but, actually, seeing as she was still sleeping, it had provided the perfect moment for him to check her birthmark.

He hadn't looked once during their intimacy, afraid of the outcome. But now, while she was unaware, he could take the chance to look. His hand moved up her back to her messy hair and played with it for a moment.

"Please." He whispered to himself, swallowing anxiously, "Tell me you didn't..."

His fingers moved closer to the thick locks of hair that were obscuring his view of her birthmark and he hesitated. God, he hesitated because of the most awful churn in his stomach, because deep down he already knew the truth. Sherlock Holmes rarely missed an important detail and now he hated himself for it.

Pulling the strands of hair away from her face, away from her ear, away from where he knew her birthmark was, he kept silently praying and didn't look the entire time he completed this action.

The detective just stared up at the ceiling.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tighter than he ever could as though the shifting darkness he saw in the back of his eyelids could transport him to a reality where he wasn't even needing to contemplate her disloyalty.

Then Sherlock dared to look down.

His heart didn't just stop or even break for that matter but the confirmation hurt him deeply. The organ still pumped but it felt harder to do so, as though something were trapped in the valves.

Sherlock looked away. Swallowed. Ran his free hand over his face as he felt liquid heartbreak prick at his eyes.

Your love is making you blind.

The detective's own words echoed in his head. He trusted her. He trusted Elizabeth so much. She was supposed to be good, he saw that she could be good so why? Why her? Did he do this with his hurtful words? Or did somebody else coax her back into the criminal world? Or - and this broke him the most to think about - had she really been lying this entire time?

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

...It meant nothing.

A leopard cannot change its spots, Brother Mine.

Sherlock couldn't even look at her but still got up with all the care in the world so as to not wake her. He quietly grabbed a set of pyjamas from his drawer and slipped them on, not once looking at the bed. Creeping over to the bedroom door he grabbed his blue gown, the one Elizabeth often wore and put his hand on the door handle.

Then, he took one last look at her in his bed and for first time saw her for what she really was.

A beautiful lie.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Sherlock had sat in his black chair, his gaze totally absent as it rested on John's seat. His hands gripped the ends of the arm rests tightly as he sat there, letting his eyes flicker shut in an attempt to get lost in his mind palace for a while to search for answers. All he kept finding was questions though.

In his mind, he was in the wing of the 'palace' that he had dedicated to Elizabeth. Every door was a moment he had cherished or a moment that had raised suspicion and there were many of them. Eight months had led to them creating many, many memories together be they good or bad.

"Sounds like you don't trust me anymore." Came her voice from behind him in the hallway of her wing.

Sherlock turned to look at her, all kitted out in her thief attire bar the mask she had worn in the CCTV.

"No. I don't think I do." He replied, despondent of her even in his head now.

"But you still love me. That's what hurts you most, isn't it?"

To this, he had no comment.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know."

"You know what you should do."

"Yes."

"But you can't do it."

"No."

"So what will you do instead?"

He grew more and more irritated as mind-palace-Elizabeth kept talking to him. Sherlock was...angry with her for breaking her promise and angry with himself for not seeing it sooner, for being blinded by his love her only for her to go and break his trust. Was he not enough to keep her from crime? Was she more like Moriarty than he thought?

"Do you really love me?" He found himself asking her.

She shrugged, "Whatever answer I give you, you won't believe at this point."

Elizabeth was right of course.

"So what will you do?"

He turned away from her, heading down the hallway, only for her to follow.

"What are you going to do, Sherlock?" She sang, almost eerily similar to Jim, "Have I rendered the detective clueless?"

Sherlock sharply stopped and turned to her, "Leave."

"You know I can't." She smirked, "Not unless you try to 'delete' me which we both know you won't do."

Again, she was right.

And again, he turned away from her to approach one door: the day when Elizabeth had been left on the doorstep after being abducted and beaten by the gang - the first day those little doubts began. He entered the flat to find it in a frozen state: Elizabeth was on the couch, watched over by Donovan and, as he entered the kitchen, he saw himself stood looking down at the map on the table with Lestrade and all remained still in their positions.

Sherlock was there for that map.

He stepped into the shoes of himself from this memory, connecting all the pinned spots with mentally drawn chalk lines. The place where the lines crossed over most now thanks to the most recent heist was the Elephant & Castle district - this, of course, was where the Rob'n'Cat that Elizabeth worked at was located.

Scoffing, he scowled at the map.

How hadn't he connected the dots sooner? How could he have been so stupid? This was happening under his nose the entire time.

"Your love really did blind you didn't it?" Mind-palace-Elizabeth commented.

Sherlock's eyes opened quickly, dismissing that taunting, playful version of her - there was one more thing he needed to do to confirm everything and that was to check her phone.

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A/N - I know she isn't really in this chapter, but what do we think about Cleo Black?

Do we like or dislike her? Understand or can't stand her?

Curious to know your thoughts! 😄