It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

50 - Happy New Year

A/N - My apologies for not posting yesterday like I said I would! No excuse really, I just got caught up in the rest of the day 😊

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Later, after making sure Mrs Hudson was truly fine, the three left for upstairs. Sherlock was the first to head in, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of a chair.

"I need to take a look at your head, Elizabeth." John finally said when they walked back into their flat.

"Yeah, I thought you were going to say that."

"Go on, sit down on my chair and I'll be over in a moment."

After hovering by the table, Sherlock went over to look out of the window, searching for the words he was going to say - needed to say. He was nervous. How did one explain that they were sorry for practically ignoring you for a week out of grief even though it turned out the dead person was alive because they had faked their death? It was a lot to explain and one had to be sure to explain it correctly so the other wouldn't get the wrong idea. And yet he didn't feel ready enough yet to explain it either considering he was still trying to wrap his own head around the idea.

Elizabeth watched him, her eyes falling on the violin sheet music stand again. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from the stand to Sherlock. It irked her still. She had told herself that it was all part of his grief. But it still didn't sit right with her? Would it sit right with anyone in the same situation as her? Or was she overreacting?

John returned with cotton wool pads, antiseptic and surgical tape. He placed it on the table beside his chair and then knelt on the floor before getting to work on his new patient's wounds. Elizabeth hissed as the antiseptic doused cotton pad touched her cut.

"Sorry, it will hurt."

"I'm okay. Thanks, John." Elizabeth clenched her jaw.

"I'll keep an eye on you tonight."

"No, John, I'm fine. And besides you have work tomorrow."

"After a head injury like this you shouldn't be left alone. I'll need to monitor you in case you have a concussion. I'll just call in sick."

"I feel alright, if not a little tired and sore. Even my throat is getting a bit better."

"Elizabeth, symptoms of a concussion can still appear after a few days. And Sherlock she'll need to use your bedroom tonight - the sofa is hardly a comfy enough place to rest on."

"John - "

"I'll look after her tonight and tomorrow." Sherlock finally spoke looking at the two of them.

John looked between Elizabeth and Sherlock, "Are you sure? Because, you know, you'll actually have to stay with her. You can't be in another room doing whatever else you plan to do."

"You don't have to do that, Sherlock." Elizabeth said, "I'm fine."

"No. I'll look after you. We can - we can share my bed...?"

"What?" The thief and doctor spoke concurrently.

"It's a double-bed. And we're both adults." Sherlock pinched the ends of the sleeves of his blazer, "After today I'd also like to...rest - so why not share the bed?" His hand migrated to the back of his neck, "That way I can keep an eye on you also."

John looked at Elizabeth, awaiting her answer.

Whatever happened today had clearly given Sherlock an epiphany. You didn't just go from full on ignoring practically everyone to once again acknowledging their existence so quickly and even offering to sleep on the same room as them with no good reason. Being found tortured by Americans may have guilt-tripped him into said epiphany. Perhaps he was finally alerted to his absence through that. Elizabeth could tell that he was trying to find a way to make it up to her.