Lost And Found

It's Not What You Think

Elizabeth's POV

I feel my face go white as the police drag me away and out of the courtroom. They sit me down at the table and talk between themselves at the back of the room.

This is bad, this is really bad. It's not like I'll have a quick death either, it'll be slow and painful.

Quebec will go and tell them that I said something about the camp, he will, and then they'll come for me and kill me.  Now I don't know what to do. The outskirts of London aren't safe now, not even the inside of London is safe. Maybe I could hide somewhere or something? This is if the jury decide not guilty which is highly unlikely since I said myself I am guilty.

The door opens, stopping my thought process but starting a new one when people start asking questions. John, Sherlock and Greg have just entered.

"Why did you say guilty?" John questions, exasperated.

"I had to. There was someone I know in there."

"Who?" Sherlock asks, suddenly becoming extremely intrigued.

"Someone I used to know. Someone from...there."

Greg frowns and look down at me, "you look white as a sheet, you alright?"

A shiver makes its way down my spine like a snake before I answer, "can I have a minute? With you three?"

"Peterson, Clarke, can you give us some space please." Greg decides. The officers exit and close the door behind them, still chatting.

"Since 'Anderson' blurted all of that out I may as well tell you. The man, he's from the camp."

"Camp?" John asks.

"Yeah, rebel camp. That's where I'm from. Stealing that vase was a 'mission' sort of thing if you like. I didn't succeed so I went back and they...this," I say, pointing at the cut on my face. "They sent me back to get that damn thing and said if I didn't get it and was caught again I could never come back. This is why I had to lie to you about everything. If I tell someone about them they will know. That guy, code name Quebec, was sitting at the back to see if anything was said about them. But now, they know it was me so they'll come. At some point they're going to take me away when nobody knows and kill me. It's the policy. Kill or be killed. So, I can only tell you all of this now because they will already know I've said too much." I finish, looking down at my shoes.

Their faces are a picture, unfortunately a real one.

"So you're from a rebel camp?" Greg asks, sounding surprised.

"Yes. I never liked it there. I had no family and I was used as bait for things if you like. Although that doesn't matter anymore. I thought if I could find my family they would know what to do, but I'm just caught up in this criminal act I didn't even want to partake in."

"Will he still be in there, this 'Quebec' you speak of?" Questions Sherlock looking really focussed.

"No, probably not. He got what they wanted.  A leak. If you want to go after him I can tell you co-ordinates but I wouldn't suggest you take them. He probably has back up." I don't even acknowledge the fact that my hand is shaking. My face must still be white I suppose too. Well anyone's would be if they just got a mental note form the grim reaper saying 'you're next'.

John leans down and speaks to me, "you're saying they're going to kill you?"

"Yeah. I told people about them so in return I have to die. It's crude but it's the rules. I thought I'd confess considering there's nothing more I can do."

"Don't worry, we won't let you die, you'll be alright."

"I won't though. You don't know the sort of people they are. They will never give up."