78 - Little Seed Of Doubt

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A/N - So. This chapter would have been posted around 5pm according to my original plans.

However, my notes app had other plans and lost me 3000 words.

So this is rewritten as best as I can remember it. Some parts are better than I remember, other parts I want to cry about.

But editing is a friend that I will consult once this story is finished. I can't edit a blank page and if I edit now I will lose my mojo and I'm so excited to finish this book that I refuse to risk losing the mojo 😭

I hope it's okay, it's not the best chapter but I hope you find it okay ❤

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Sherlock was back at 221B, hands steepled under his chin as he paced backwards and forwards across the only clear space in the flat, wishing his blogger were with him to assist in finding Elizabeth. Why did she run off in a panic? What had triggered her so? When did she last have a panic attack? What were the causes of it then? He stopped his frantic walking, shutting his eyes. Think.

He was in a hallway, two dark oak doors either side of him. He pushed the one on his right open, revealing the long hallway of interview rooms at Scotland Yard. There, he saw himself holding her in his arms. That attack had been triggered by having her urges to steal called out and knowing she could never really subdue them. Once satisfied with this understanding, he turned to his left, opening that door too, revealing the warm, fiery glow of the flat at night. John had just left and she was breaking down about lying to him about her meeting with Moriarty. Could that second one even count as a panic attack though?

With so little to work with, he factored it into his thought process anyway. Whatever had triggered her had to be something to do Moriarty or stealing. Sherlock agreed that Rita hadn't lied about wanting to kill the criminal mastermind (who could blame her?) but that couldn't have been enough could it? How, then, could that last conversation between Rita and Elizabeth have linked back to stealing?

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the living room table. Stepping over, the detective picked up the phone, answering it immediately when he saw it was the inspector.

"Lestrade?"

"Yeah, listen Sherlock, you were right. That white mark was a symbol, one of an elephant in fact."

He repeated, "An elephant..."

"Yeah, could it be related to - "

"The Forty Elephants? Undoubtedly. How much do you know about them?"

"Honestly, Sherlock, just about as much as you do. Can't believe we've had another gang operating right under our noses for so long."

Sherlock's brow creased as he thought of their next steps, "Lestrade, I want you to find out how many robberies by females have happened in the last year and where. Also look for any females in your database that were arrested but released due to insufficient evidence. If we can start finding the areas they work in, provided it isn't totally random, we can try and work out where they operate from."

"Got it. You gonna be alright looking for Elizabeth on your own?"

"I'll be fine." He was about to hang up when the Inspector spoke again.

"And Sherlock, when you find her, call me. I'll send back-up."

"Yes. Thank you, Lestrade."

And then he hung up. He was about to place the phone back on the table top, face down, when it buzzed again with a text alert. Curiously, he looked at it before turning it so he could see the screen again. He had one new text message from an unknown number.

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