The Sheriff tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk. Gisbourne was late, again. Finally a rapping sound occurred and the Sheriff sighed as the door creaked open. Maybe he shouldn't have killed the official carpenter, the new one was hopeless. He'd have to dispose of him too now. Life really wasn't fair.

"Enter, and about time too. What took you so long?" He asked Gisbourne as he wandered in, covered in head to toe in the usual assortments of leather.

"It's that hoodie." Gisbourne growled, "He raided my supply of hair grease, again. Oh, and he stole some priceless artefacts."

The Sheriff shook his head. Today was going from bad to worse; the hoodie was a menace and had to be crushed, but all previous attempts meant the mauling of his men, which was quite a shame since good men were hard to come by, not that he had any good men, but he could never get over the amount of angry villagers joining the hoodie in his rebellious actions and trying to overthrow him. He groaned and looked at Gisbourne. After the hoodie took maid Marion away from Gisbourne he'd have thought he'd have left him alone. But no, he had just stolen his supply of hair grease.

"Listen, Gizzy." The Sheriff said. Gisbourne flinched. The Sheriff only called him Gizzy either when he was very drunk or about to send him off on another life threatening mission and wanted to soften the blow.

"You agree the hoodie is a menace, right?" The Sheriff asked.

"Yes, my Lord." Gisbourne said carefully, unsure where this conversation was going.

"Well, I thought you could set a trap for him. Lie in wait, so to speak."

"After last time?" Gisbourne asked.

The Sheriff paused. "Ah, yes, last time."

'Last time' Gisbourne has lain in wait for the hoodie and his gang of rebels who would destroy law and order. Unfortunately the Hood had a leak somewhere in Nottingham so they were the ones who ended up being ambushed. Of course, the hoodie had stolen all of their money and even taken Gisbourne's favourite leather shoe. After which he had to throw the other from the pair away, which angered him even more. The hoodie and his revelry were a menace and had to be crushed.

"May I suggest something, sir?" Asked Gisbourne, carefully placing his words.

"What is it, Guy, spit it out!" The Sheriff huffed, after just having his plan ruined.

"What if I was to enter the camp and offer to join the hoodie?" Gisbourne asked.

"But they'd suspect you from the start! It'd be a stupid thing to do." The Sheriff ranted.

"Precisly." Said Gisbourne, straightening his jacket, his pride and joy, but the Sheriff seemed puzzled.

"It's so stupid that the hoodie wouldn't suspect me. Then when I find the location of his base then I can tell you!" The Sheriff cocked his head. It wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe it could work.

"Yes, Gisbourne. Do what you need to do." The Sheriff huffs.

So the next day Gisbourne crept outside. He needed to attract the hoodie, and what better way than to do some lawful task such as collecting taxes – the hoodie was bound to show up with his mob to break peace and tranquillity. So Gisbourne rounded up a few guards and they mounted their horses and trot off to the village where hoodie was last seen.

Gisbourne trod carefully and stepped over the odd peasant. See what the hoodie had done to them? He had broken law and order so now they were collapsing along with the hierarchy. Gisbourne tutted and reached a peasant's house. He politely knocked on the door, but he couldn't help it if his knuckled rapped a bit too loud, and had just called out 'taxes' loud enough so they would hear him when he saw an arrow fly and land in between two of his fingers.

"Bad luck." Gisbourne called politely towards where the arrow came from, "You missed."

As if on cue the hoodie slouched out of the forest followed by some of his gang. Of course the hoodie's hood was slunk over his face in a disrespectful manner so Gisbourne couldn't see his face, just like he always likes it. He deliberately likes to be rude and obnoxious..

"I wasn't aiming to hit you." Whines the hoodie, being both disrespectful and not admitting he's useless at archery.

"I've come to joi-" But before Gisbourne could finish his sentence the hood interrupted in a rude manner.

"Tough luck, freak." The hoodie snarled impertinently and Gisbourne felt a massive stick whack him on the head. Assaulting a law abiding citizen, Gisbourne noted, adding to the list of the hoodie's offences as he fell in a crumpled heap on the floor, unconscious.

When Gisbourne woke up he was lying in the ditch on the side of the road. The hoodie and his gang had evidently dropped him there, leaving him heartlessly in the gutter. This was both humiliating and highly illegal. He really had to catch that hoodie. Then suddenly Gisbourne yelped out loud as he realized what the hoodie had done. He had stolen something of Gisbourne's. He had stolen Gisbourne's jacket! His prize possession – his love and joy, the thing he had closest to a family. That jacket had been given to him by his father before he died. That jacket meant so much to him and now that dratted hoodie had stolen it! He felt anger well up inside him but he suppressed it. He sighed but felt he needed to suppress his anger by doing something so he bellowed at the top of his voice.

"That hoodie!"

Thanks for reading! Please review. This is a one-shot but if you want me to continue please tell me so! Thanks!