A/N - Another hekkin long chapter in order to prevent there being a gazillion chapters in this book too 🤣

On the concept of children - what are your favourite boys/girls/unisex names?

Personal fave girls name = Elizabeth (aheh obvs) but I am also liking Branwen/Daphne/Kalla/Jean

Personal fave boys name = Hugo/Hugh

Fave unisex = Artemis/Jac/Will

Basically...I like too many names 🤣

WARNINGS: Distressing scenes, use of guns and threats towards the end.

________________________

When Elizabeth had come to, she found herself staring at tenebrosity, pierced by small holes of fluctuating light, sometimes bright, sometimes dimmer. Her warm breath condensated on her face and she cringed at the musty odour of the material. The uncomfiness of the position that her arms found themselves in dawned on her as she flexed her hand, feeling the ball of her fist in her lower back. Then that wave of pain from her head...God, she wished it felt like she had had one too many drinks but the pain wasn't that kind to her. No...what had happened? Trying to pierce through that veil of cluelessness, the memories gradually revealed themselves to her.

Sherlock was alive.

Hanna had been taken.

Sherlock came back to her home and they were about to leave for his home.

Sherlock had disappeared.

Then she...oh...she had been taken too.

Was she sitting or lying down? Flexing her legs, she found they were lying against a hardish surface. A makeshift bed? Faint squeaking could be heard working in tandem with the changes in light. She was on a trolley, she was moving.

"Hello?" Came her hoarse voice, "I know someone's there."

"Foreigner, be quiet."

"My arms and back hurt. I need to move."

"You need to wait."

"Where am I?"

She received no answer.

"I asked a - "

There was a shrill shriek - sounded like metal drawn harshly against metal. A clang. The trolley shook and suddenly she found a change in gradient as she sharply slid off the surface, tumbling to the floor with a grunt. The metal cried again, ending with another clank of metal as she tried to help herself up onto her knees. If she had to guess, she would say she was in a cell.

As she was trying to work the binds off her wrists, the bag was ripped off her head. Light blinded her, she squinted, making out another figure, draped in black, stood in the cell with her. As her eyesight adjusted, she noticed he was holding a rather large gun.

"I will ask once: where is the drive?"

"Where's my - " She paused, "Where's my daughter?"

His large hand swooped down to slap her, backhanded. Collapsing, she hissed as a fiery feeling burned it's way across the surface of her cheek.

"Where's my...friend?"

"You answer my question first."

"Are they okay?"

The man's fearsome eyes glared at her as she lay there on the floor.

"Look, I don't know where the drive is."

A harsh gasp flew out of her as a butal kick landed in the middle of her stomach. Oh, Christ, this felt familiar. Let's see...Scarlett's sadistic fun, the CIA's unwarranted attack, the Sandborn's unexpected retaliation, Cleo's savage first initiation and the through line? Sherlock fucking Holmes. Even with Jim she hadn't found herself in as many violent fights and harrowing situations as she did when she was in the detective's presence.

The terrorist crouched down by her, "We believed the girl after the third round - "

Instantly, Elizabeth jolted, manically trying to rip her hands out of the rope binds, "If you've fucking touched her, I swear to God, if anyone isn't making it out here today, it will be you!" She snarled loudly.

A deep, cruel chuckle resonated from the man, "Tell me what I want to know."

"I can't," She snapped, "Because I don't know where the drive is. Ask the man I was with."

"We did."

"And what did he say?"

"He also does not know. But one of you must. And if it is not the girl, then it is you or the man."

"Well, I'll say again," Elizabeth spoke defiantly, "I don't know where the drive is."

Gripping her throat, he forced her back onto the sandy cell floor. Again, the ball of her own fists dug into her back as she gave a pained, hard stare. Maliciously, he watched as her face became redder and redder.

"Do you...know...who...I am?" She struggled.

"I know what you are," Her interrogator spoke calmly, "Disposable."

"Wrong - "

"Am I?"

"Moriarty..." Elizabeth felt as though her eyes would soon pop out of her pounding skull.

"Our ruthless investor. I know him. What do you have to do with him?"

"I'm...his...sister."

His grip loosened and his hand left her neck. Inhaling hungrily, she wheezed as she exhaled, coughing the nasty closed feeling out of her throat. The ex-thief never thought that would work but, thank God, it did. Look at that, Jim, still assisting from beyond the grave.

The terrorist's eyes narrowed as he studied her, "And what is Moriarty's sister doing here in Nava Siasa?"

"Business." She spoke hoarsely.

The frightening man stood, reaching down to hook his hand under her armpit and pulled her up onto her feet. Elizabeth wobbled but the terrorist held her steady, still looking at her as though she were telling a lie. A potential lie that he could neither prove or disprove. Luckily for her, that meant she would be kept alive and away from harm a bit longer.

"Forgive my inhospitability," He spoke gruffly, willing to play along for now, "We would not want any more...harm to come to you. At least not until we know for certain who you are."

"I am his sister." She repeated, wondering if they knew about Jim's fate, "And God help you if he finds out what you've done to me."

* * * * * * *

In another cell, Hanna tended to Sherlock who had been thrown in with her after his interrogation. Using a damp, suspiciously grey cloth, the young, frightened teen dabbed the cuts on his face with care.

"Honestly, Hanna, you don't have to - "

"I sense this is what Eliza would do for you."

Frowning thoughtfully, he asked, "Did she ever mention me?"

The girl shrugged, shaking her head as she continued to dab at his wounds, "You called her Elizabeth earlier..."

"And you call her Eliza."

"Yes. She said her name is Eliza Parton...is that not her real name?"

"No."

"What is it? Her real name?"

"Elizabeth Parrish."

"That is a nice name. Did she change it because she...died, like you say?"

"I assume so. It would be silly to continue using your name after you've been pronounced dead. I imagine she didn't want to be found - "

"By you? Why not?"

"Let us just say that...things were - are - complicated between us."

"Did you love her?"

"Do you always ask this many questions?"

Hanna gave him a stern look, pulling the cloth away from his face, "Because you gave Eliza those things, I had to experience the trauma of being abducted. The least you can do is distract me from this nightmare."

Remorse crept into his being as her accusatory gaze pierced right through him. He just nodded.

"Did you love Eliza?"

"Yes."

"Do you love her still?"

"...Yes. I didn't stop."

Hanna paused, letting the cloth rest in her lap as she fiddled with the dry skin around her fingernails, picking at the loose pieces of skin. Her Eliza had promised her life would be better, had said neither of them would have to worry about hunger or their safety or even just dry lips again. Eliza had said she would look after her no matter what, rain or shine, she had said.

In a quiet voice, without looking at the detective this time, she questioned, "Will you take her away from me?"

"I - no." He was able to see now, how much Elizabeth meant to this girl, "No, I won't take her from you."

"Do you promise? Because she is...Eliza is all I have."

Just as Sherlock was about to answer, the cell gate screamed, drawing their attention to it. Elizabeth was shoved into the cell, tripping over the gate as she went and landing in a heap upon the floor...again. Both the detective and the teen were at her side immediately helping her sit up. Sherlock worked on removing the rope around her wrists promptly.

"Liza, you're okay!" Hanna had already latched onto the ex-thief, wrapping both her arms around her shoulders.

Elizabeth sighed at the comfort, shutting her eyes and resting her now free hand upon her girl's arm and her head against her shoulder, "Hanna..."

Sherlock's hand hovered above Elizabeth's other shoulder. Tempted was a word that came to his mind - tempted to reconnect with her, to reestablish the bond they once had but seeing her with Hanna, the way she was with the girl, her love and care for her, made him see that his Elizabeth had moved on. The ex-thief had found a new focus in his life and it wasn't him, understandably so after the way he had treated her before, but something about seeing this moment between them, something about it broke him.

The girls pulled apart, smiling sweetly at each other. Raising her hand, she brought it to Hanna's face.

"They didn't hurt you?"

"No," She shook her head, then looked at the ground, "I did tell them where we lived though. I am afraid I am the reason you got hurt - both of you."

"You were scared. I would rather you tell them than hold back and get hurt."

"You don't need to be sorry, Hanna," Sherlock said frankly, "It's my fault. I put you both in danger."

When Elizabeth looked at him then, with an air of gratefulness for his ownership of the responsibility and warmth towards him again, he felt as though he had melted. It reminded him of before, of the looks and the moments they had once shared. And that's why it hurt, he thought, to see them together - it hurt because he wasn't a part of it, of her little family like he once was.

"You were also just trying to do the right thing." Elizabeth acknowledge, "I'm still...annoyed with you." She warned him, "But Hanna's okay. That's the main thing."

The corner of Sherlock's lips curved upwards, happy that she was reunited with her adopted child.

* * * * * *

An hour or two later, they weren't quite sure, they still waited for someone to come and get them or talk to them. By this point, they had also moved to the corner of the cell furthest away from the metal gate that kept them in. Didn't want them listening in to their conversations after all.

Elizabeth had wrapped her arm around a snoozing Hanna and, while playing with the girl's hair, she looked at Sherlock, who sat against the other wall that formed the corner, gazing at him curiously. Whenever he met her gaze, he would look away until he finally said, softly:

"You have questions too?"

"Took you long enough to work that out."

"Ah, I've been dead awhile. My deducing skills are rusty."

Elizabeth laughed softly, "Now that's a lie and a half."

"Ask me then."

"Same as you asked me: why here?"

"I'm tracking down the rest of Moriarty's network, dismantling it gradually."

"Right," The ex-thief nodded, now understanding why her familial connection really had prevented worse damage, "I told them I was Jim's sister. They stopped beating me because they said he had been their 'ruthless investor'."

"And he was their investor, in exchange for a favour that he had thankfully not yet taken them up on." The detective paused, "It...frightens me to think how one man was the catalyst for the chaos caused in this country."

"That's Jim: the master of wreaking havoc."

"Yeah, well..."

"So where else have you been then - Before you got here?"

"Everywhere." He chuckled, "At least it feels like it. Let's see, New Zealand, Japan, Vietnam, Tibet, India, Kyrgyzstan, Turkey, Saudi Arabia and now Nava Siasa."

"Wow...so you have been busy."

"Yes, quite."

"Jim didn't tell me much about the network but he did always boast that he was 'everywhere'."

"I'm really starting to understand that."

Elizabeth twirled a strand of Hanna's thick night around her fingers as she fiddled with the rope that her hands had been bound with in her lap with her other hand, considering her next question, "How did you survive the jump then? Even - why did you have to jump if Jim had already killed himself?"

"Moriarty had snipers on John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. I thought I could be clever, get him to call them off but he wanted me to have no choice so he killed himself. Once he was gone, the snipers would only stop if they knew I had jumped." Sherlock paused, recalling everything that had happened with John, "I had already created thirteen escape routes alongside Mycroft and unfortunately we had to use what we had codenamed 'Lazurus'. The whole street was cut off and knew what would happen - they were all actors or part of my homeless network. But I had to say goodbye to John. So I called him and when I did, I saw he was getting out of a taxi. I expected he would return once he saw Mrs Hudson was okay - "

"What happened to Mrs Hudson? Is she alright?"

"She was fine. But I had somebody call John to say she had been hurt and was dying."

"Sherlock..."

"I needed John to leave so I could face Moriarty alone." He sighed, "John almost came into the hospital but I told him not to, had him stand where he had been dropped off by the taxi. That way, his view would be blocked by the ambulance station."

Elizabeth was woefully enthralled by his tale.

"I said my goodbyes, gave him a suicide note that fell into Moriarty's narrative of the 'fake genius' then jumped. Below me was an airbag that broke my fall but then we needed to be quick. I got off and headed away with the airbag, and a corpse similar to myself was thrown out so John would have at least seen a body if he cleared the ambulance station. Then a well-timed cyclist hit him, keeping John out of action whilst I switched places with the body and doctors and nurses, all actors again, surrounded me, each possessing blood bags that they...well, they painted me with. Last touch was a squash ball under the armpit to temporarily cut off my pulse, should John wish to check and, being a doctor, of course he did. Then I was wheeled away on a stretcher to the morgue where Molly waited for me."

Elizabeth nodded, absorbing this, "So John knows you're still alive now, right?"

The detective didn't reply and thought about his friend. He truly did miss the doctor, even if the adrenaline of solving crimes and dismantling the network filled some part of him.

"Sherlock?"

"Uh...no."

"What?"

"John doesn't know I'm alive."

"Well...why?"

"I - why didn't you tell myself or John you were alive?"

Elizabeth scoffed, "Because you hated me and it would have been better for John in terms of closure if I was just gone for good because I didn't and don't plan on going back to London."

"And what makes you think I do plan to head back to London?"

"The fact that Moriarty's network will one day be eradicated thanks to you and you're a creature of habit so, of course, after you'll endeavour to head back."

Sherlock realised she had a point there - a well deduced one too.

"I just - John's your best friend - the trauma you put him through - "

"It had to be done to save them."

"But...there had to be another way - he lost two people on that day. It only had to be one because let's be honest, we weren't all that close - "

"Lie."

"What?"

"That was a lie and you know it. But you keep telling yourself that to make it easier."

"I'm not lying."

"So we weren't the first real family you ever had the pleasure of knowing?"

At this, she fell silent.

"Well?"

"You were the best and only family I really had until it fell apart." Elizabeth muttered honestly, "But I've started again. Third time lucky and I really do feel lucky."

"I do too." Hanna mumbled.

Elizabeth peered down at her, surprised at her reply, "Hey, I thought you were sleeping."

"I was," Hanna yawned, sitting up and looking at the two adults sleepily, "That story, how you pretended to be dead, is quite impressive."

Sherlock smiled at this.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Don't feed his ego."

"It was partly my brother's thinking too."

"Mm, I do think it is bad though," Hanna continued, "That you did not tell your friend. You told countless others it seems, and yet not your closest."

Guilt-tripped by a child. Sherlock sighed, trying to come up with a justification but even the worry of John saying something wasn't really a reason to keep this from him - mainly because he knew John would never say anything. Damn it, Mycroft, some of your ideas really are pointless, painful exercises, he thought.

"You're right. But I can't really contact him now."

"Then after we are out of here, that should be the first thing you do." Hanna suggested.

"If we get out of here." Elizabeth said, dejected, "I don't really know what they're waiting for."

"Neither do I. Not really much else to deduce without people."

"What does 'deduce' mean?" Hanna enquired.

"To arrive at a fact or a conclusion by reasoning or to draw a logical conclusion."

"How does that work?"

Sherlock shared a look with Elizabeth, a little smirk upon his lips. This could be the first bit of shared fun he'd had in a good few months. The ex-thief rolled her eyes and nodded at him to go for it.

"For example, Hanna, I can deduce that you are quite good with a needle just by looking at the sleeve of your dress. You tore your sleeve quite recently, I say recently because the stitching doesn't look as worn as the rest, and I can tell you and not the maker of the dress repaired your sleeve because you've used a slightly different shade of green. That also tells me you aren't necessarily a perfectionist seeing as you are comfortable using a different shade or that you are making do with whatever material you can get your hands on but because we both know that Elizabeth - or Eliza as you call her - has a bit more money than most, my guess is firmly on the idea that you aren't much of a perfectionist. Am I right?"

Hanna stared at the detective, gawping. She drew back, looking between her carer and the man with bewilderment.

"Liza, how - how did he do that?"

Elizabeth chuckled, "The man that sits before you was a very famous London detective for the reason that he has just demonstrated. He was even better than the police."

"So he is like...a one man police force?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." Sherlock answered arrogantly.

The ex-thief chuckled, nudging Hanna jokingly, "What did I say about feeding his ego?"

Hanna laughed a sweet, childish laugh, setting off Sherlock as well. The three giggled with each other and it hit Elizabeth then that this was the kind of family she had once envisioned she would have with Sherlock, during the time they had looked after baby Ava. As her laughter died, she gazed at Sherlock the way she used to - with eyes full of unconditional love, care and concern for him, full of amusement at his odd disposition, full of hope in their future together.

Similarly, the detective looked between the two girls, now feeling that he was more so a part of their little family, for however temporary his involvement would be. When his glistening gaze met with Elizabeth's, he could have sworn he fell in love with her all over again. It didn't matter how beaten, broken and bruised she was, nor did it matter that she had cut her hair shorter or that they hadn't seen each other for nearly nine months, what he saw was still his Elizabeth - the one he had fallen for in the first place, the version of her that he hoped she would become. And there she was sat, cheeks dusted with red, eyes crinkled like sweet wrappers, lips cracked but still perfect, and all this with a familial glow about her.

It was a moment where both ghosts realised that, whatever had happened in the past, that was the past. It was done and it was gone and it couldn't be changed. But perhaps that was for the best, for if the past hadn't happened, they wouldn't both be sat in the same foreign country together, having experienced different personal growths that led them both to who they were in that moment then. And without that break between them, perhaps this wouldn't have been the same.

It was a moment where both ghosts realised that they belonged together.

* * * * * *

The trio had fallen asleep. In the time they had been awake, Elizabeth had invited Sherlock to join them against their wall, in order to keep warm, and he did so, keenly so, sitting to the left of the ex-thief while Hanna remained on her right side. The girl's head rested against her Liza's shoulder, Elizabeth's head lay against the crook of Sherlock's neck and Sherlock's head rested upon the ex-thief's head. All were content even if they were the prisoners of terrorists. What mattered is that they had each other.

Even in the early hours of the morning they were left undisturbed but not for much longer.

Again, the gate cried loudly and three awoke abruptly, looking at the only means of their escape. Several veiled men strutted in, all adorned with hefty guns thrown over their shoulders like dainty accessories (Elizabeth was certain one of them was the one that interrogated her, given the familiar shape of his body), and were led by a burly man that towered over the other terrorists by two or three inches. The trio noticed that two of the five that had made their way into the room carried a folding table and a laptop. Promptly, the table was set down and then the device was placed on the surface.

The hulking block of a man that appeared to be this group's leader stepped over to the three.

"Get up, Parrish."

"Why? What do you want with her?" Sherlock questioned.

"You can be quiet, Holmes."

"The name's Anthony Ashby - "

"No. Your name is Sherlock Holmes. You were that detective in London."

The detective's eyes flared at the sound of his name. How did they know? He was meant to be a dead man, a ghost, and one from the UK no less so how could they have possibly known who he was?

The man laughed quietly, "Trust me. We were far more surprised that you lived."

"How do - "

"No more questions from you. Parrish, get up, now."

"Why?" She repeated the question.

"Do you wish for me to drag you up from the ground myself? Because I will."

Reluctantly, she untangled herself from Sherlock and Hanna and the three of them stood.

"You speak good English." The detective observed.

"I do."

"Better than most here."

"Your point?"

Cogs turned in his brain. Perhaps this man had spent time in London. Maybe it just was that simple an explanation.

"How do you know me?" Elizabeth enquired, "I know I told my guard I was Moriarty's sister but then most would assume I'm 'Miss Moriarty' - how do you know me as Parrish?"

"Someone was kind enough to inform us of Moriarty's successor."

Sherlock was about to ask who when Elizabeth responded rapidly.

"I'm not his successor. I'm nothing like my brother."

"But you are a criminal - a thief and hacker so I'm told."

Hanna frowned at the mention of Elizabeth having been a criminal. The betrayal or at least the omission of these details made her wonder if she truly knew who her carer was.

"I was a criminal. I've started afresh."

"With his money."

"My money."

The man nodded, his frightfully calm eyes lighting with amusement at this back and forth. But now he was bored and he wished to get to the point.

"I need you to do something for us, Miss Parrish."

She scoffed, "You're terrorists - "

"We are freedom fighters."

"You're murderers and cowards."

"Agree to disagree," The leader shrugged, "We would like to make use of your hacking capabilities."

Elizabeth looked from the intimidating men to Hanna and Sherlock. Her girl's mouse-like terror was conveyed to her through her entire body language. Maybe this could work out. Just maybe.

"I'll help on one condition."

Sherlock was stunned by her keeness, "Elizabeth - "

The thief raised her hand to silence the detective and Hanna continued to watch and listen on, disturbed by Eliza's sudden willingness to help.

"If I help you, you let Hanna and Sherlock go. You let them go otherwise you can dream on if you think I'm helping you do anything."

The leader appeared to contemplate this, looking between the girl and the man that stood either side of her.

He gave a nod, "You don't even know what you're doing yet."

"I'll do anything as long as they're safe."

"Anything?"

Elizabeth's confidence faltered and she gulped as she thought of Hanna's parents and how the girl had been orphaned. Could she really do anything? Even if it meant orphaning or even killing more children?

Sherlock took her by the arm, pulling her away from the terrorists and hushed his voice, "What are you thinking?"

"That if they want me, then you're Hanna's best shot at - at becoming an astronomer. You can take her away from here and do much better than - than me."

"I do not want to leave without you, Eliza." Hanna interjected quietly from behind them.

Elizabeth turned around to face Hanna, placing her hands on the tops of her shoulders before gently running them down to her upper arms, giving her a reassuring squeeze. She opened her mouth, willing the words to be there straight away, but they weren't. Taking a breath, she tried again.

"I want you to have a good life. If these people need me and my skills, then the compromise I can make is that they keep me and let you two go. I - I trust Sherlock and I trust he will look after you and will give you that good life - "

"But Eliza - "

"No. Don't argue, Hanna. I've made worse decisions before but this one gurantees you'll be okay, like I promised you would be."

Sherlock placed a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, drawing her attention back to him for a moment, "Don't."

"Look after her."

"Just don't."

"If I get caught, I get caught and then I get arrested."

"We both know you won't get caught if you do what they ask." There was a rising anxiousness in his tone.

Knowing full well what the detective was implying, she simply gave a tiny smile and whispered, "One life for two."

Approaching the leader within their cell again, she stood before him, hands shaking like sails in heavy wind.

"Will you do as we ask?"

"Will you let them go?"

The leader motioned with his head and the four remaining guards split themselves between taking a hold of Sherlock and Hanna, who both accepted being drawn nearer to the cell gate. Bit instead of leaving with them, the guards merely stopped by the exit.

"If you show us you mean well, then we will let them leave."

"But - "

The leader motioned with his hand and that dreadful clack resonated from the four gunmen holding onto her former lover and adopted child. As she looked at them, panic-stricken, she noticed that two of the men each held a revolver to their heads. Tears silently fell from Hanna's eyes. Sherlock had shut his eyes briefly, just processing the situation he had put them all in.

"Okay," Elizabeth nodded, "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

The great tower of a man pointed to the table and the laptop and she approached, regretfully. The laptop had been placed so that it faced away from Sherlock and Hanna, meaning that she would be made to view the threatened duo as she worked. Added pressure, a scare tactic and one that unfortunately worked bloody well.

"We want access to a missile."

Scoffing, she shook her head. God, what was she doing?

"And where do you think I'm getting that from?"

"We have been informed that there is an Iranian submarine passing through the Gulf of Aden. It carries missiles."

"Right. And where would I be sending this missile?"

"You would use it to eliminate the Siasan army base."

Elizabeth exhaled, terrified. If she did this, she would actually be considered a terrorist but at least Hanna would be safe with Sherlock. And if she didn't, she wouldn't be a terrorist but she would be dead, they would be dead. Killing wasn't her. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she acknowledged her choices were limited.

"I'll need the hull number and the name of it."

"IRIS sixteen, number eight-four-eight-two."

Another thought hit her: she hoped her hacking skills weren't too rusty. It had been a long while since she had used them. Her gaze moved from the computer to Sherlock and Hanna, the two of them also conveying defeat through their sullen and terror-stricken looks. The detective mouthed an apology to her, knowing full well she was going against her own strict moral code just for their safety.

She hesitated, "How do I know you'll let them go?"

"You do not. You will just have to trust us. And we will have to trust that you will do as we ask."

"I need your word that you'll let them go if I do this."

"We are not irrational people, Miss Moriarty," He replied in a relaxed tone, "You have my word."

Elizabeth took a breath. Right, she really would just have to trust them.

"What else do you need to know?" The leader questioned.

"Nothing..."

"Then get on with it." He instructed, "Quick."

Stepping towards the table and laptop, she raised her hands and placed them upon the keyboard.

"I - um - what's their government's online security like?"

"Strong enough to require a hacker."

"Okay, well, if you're not going to be helpful - "

"You said you did not need anymore information."

Sharply, she exhaled. Guess she would find out then, she thought. Having found Iran's government database promptly, she used an algorithm that had been made by an acquaintance of hers and Jim's long ago. He was now long dead. Jim ended him when he discovered he was willing to trade information about his network for money. In that old business, a materialistic, fickle mindset could often get you in trouble.

It was a full proof, neat, little worm of an algorithm that she had used often to crack passwords, the most recent time before now having been on the night of her first kiss with Sherlock at Charles's fortieth birthday party. No particular hard work was involved, simply patience (and often lots of coffee or some sort of energy boost but she assumed she wouldn't be getting either this time around). Instead, the weight of her deed hung around her, giving her whole demeanor the look of someone being dragged down to hell. That would be what she would deserve if she went through with this.

And Sherlock couldn't argue against it. He had already gotten the three of them in trouble and now Elizabeth was getting them out. If only his skillset lay in technology too. Then he would be in Elizabeth's place. But the cards had been played so that the cost was great - the cost was his fear coming true all over again: being unable to protect and to save his Elizabeth and being unable to fix things with a ghost.

After a short while of painful silence, she watched the screen load once the right pass code had been discovered. She searched for the submarine and was offered its location and logistics. Gulping, she clicked on the page regarding the missiles it was carrying and was offered the opportunity to select and launch a missile to a location of her choosing.

"What are the coordinates of the base?"

The large leader chuckled, "You really are that quick, eh?"

"Just tell me the coordinates."

He approached her, viewing the laptop screen intensely, a strange giddiness promiment in his dark eyes as he saw his plans in action. Soon, Nava Siasa would be controlled by them and the country would be returned to order. No more interference from other countries. Soon, it would just be them, safe within their own borders.

As she typed in each letter, each digit, a growing sense of sickness at her actions grew in the pit of her stomach. A nauseating feeling crossed her as she entered the location but then her heart rose to her throat as the screen glitched. Frozen on the location entered, the screen flashed to black, then to white and back again.

"No, no, no..." She breathed, the anxiety hanging on to every warm particle that left her lungs.

Typing frantically, she tried to block the hack back. There always was a risk with these things, but she had been careful. Or had she? Was her terror enough to dislodge her focus for a fatal second?

"What is happening?" Came the leader's gruff question.

"It - it's fine, I can fix it - I can, just let them go."

Her gaze flickered upward, meeting with Hanna's tearful eyes as her own began to brim with liquid horror at her mistake. For Hanna, she couldn't fail - she wouldn't. Sherlock and Hanna - they would both get out of this, even if it was at the cost of her life.

"Tell me now. What have you done?"

"It - it's not what I've done. Please, you have to - let them both go. I can fix this."

"Fix what?"

"I - "

She felt the barrel of a pistol at the back of her neck but persevered with trying to counterattack the hack back even though she was failing miserably.

"Step away from the computer."

"I can't! If I do then - "

"Step! Away!" He barked.

A limpid tear streamed down her face as the screen went black, rebooting only to say error, followed by a note in Persian. Raising her hands away from the keyboard, she looked at Hanna again, choking on her breath. She was dead. She had killed Hanna. She had killed the three of them. Stepping away from the laptop, she kept her shaking hands raised as the leader peered at the screen, frowning.

"What have you done?"

"I - something I can fix if you just let me and if you let them go."

"Bring Holmes to me." The leader demanded, distrusting of Elizabeth now.

He grabbed the ex-thief'a arm and shoved her towards the wall, pressing the barrel of the gun against her forehead.

Elizabeth was too immobilised by her panic to fight back.

"You don't need hurt anyone." Sherlock said as he was marched over to the computer.

"Perhaps, I do not." The leader shrugged, "Tell me, Holmes, if you are as clever as they say, tell me what that means. What has she done?"

Sherlock peered at the screen. His Persian was rusty but he knew enough to understand Elizabeth's consternation. Oh, Elizabeth, what have you done? He wondered this woefully. The attack didn't work, they had found her snooping on the server and had successfully performed a hack back. They knew where these insurgents were located and would soon be sending a force out to investigate.

He answered calmly, "It says that the computer needs to be rebooted before the action can be carried out."

But this answer earned him a exquisite punch to the gut. Elizabeth and Hanna unanimously cried in protest as he doubled over, holding his breath as he waited for the intense wave pass. Carefully, he stood up straight again, glaring at the leader.

"Please, I'm sorry," Elizabeth choked, "Please just let me fix it."

"You tell me what you are fixing first."

"I - there was - there was a hack back."

Scowling at her, he pressed the barrel against her forehead harder and she whimpered.

"It kicked me out of the server but please, I can fix it."

"I have heard of these 'hack backs'. Did they get any information from us?"

She couldn't answer although it was highly likely.

"Did they get information?!" He barked, causing her to flinch.

"Yes, yes!" Elizabeth yelled back, "I'm sorry, please - please, let me try to fix this - let them go, I'll stay - "

The leader's eyes flared with fury at her mishap. One that could cost him and his team everything. If there plans failed, it was because of her.

He cocked the gun.

A cacophony of voices began at hearing the alarming click: Hanna's distraught wailing and begging for Elizabeth not to be taken from her, Sherlock's desperate protests and attempts at a compromise for his ex-lover to be kept alive, and Elizabeth's resigned reassurance to Hanna that it would be okay as well as her continued pleading for both her girl and Sherlock to be released in exchange for her own life. No one was quiet. All clamoured and shrieked, each for a different reason. Even the guards that were grappling with Sherlock and Hanna to keep them still vociferated vehemently.

The loudness irritated the burly man greatly. He couldn't think straight, couldn't process, couldn't even hear himself consider his options out loud but he stared intensely at the woman in front of him.

Elizabeth's body had pressed itself up against the wall so much so that even the tips of her fingers were beginning to turn a shade of blood red because of how hard she had her hands pushed against the rough sandstone; her hair was scruffy and dusty; her skin grimy; the side of her eye was now turning a more notable shade of indigo and her eyes were squeezed shut, so much so that in place of her eyes were intimidating, shadowy crinkles.

Even amongst the harsh discordant mixture of cries, the leader came to the conclusion that she was ready to die.

And, as that wrath built up in him again, as he paid more attention to the unkind raucousness, he gritted his teeth.

Elizabeth felt an ease in pressure from the barrel of the gun against her head; a shot resounded across the room...