"I'm going out," Elizabeth announced as she passed the living room on her way out the door.
"Hold on," John looked up from his laptop. "Where are you going at this hour?" It was nearly midnight.
"Midnight concert in Regent's," Elizabeth leaned on the doorway. "Yes, I will be back before two. Yes, I am going with a friend. Reid, actually."
"Good girl," John waved her on. "Now don't let me keep you."
"Who's Reid?" John had almost forgotten Sherlock was even there. He had been silent, just brooding on the sofa for the past two hours.
"Her best friend," John answered. "He's a nice boy. I don't know why she doesn't date him. But apparently, it's complicated or some other teenage drama."
"Who's playing in Regent's?" Sherlock asked.
"I have no idea," John went back to typing his next blog entry.
Five minutes later, Sherlock asked again, "Do you know if this Reid likes jazz?"
"What?" John wasn't sure why Sherlock was asking him this. "I don't know. Why does it matter?"
"It matters because Elizabeth dislikes jazz music with a passion. There is no way she would willingly go to this concert. Maybe she and this boy really are dating."
"They're not," John insisted. "Elizabeth told me so this morning. She was quite adamant about it. Apparantly it annoys them both that everyone constantly ships them."
"Ships them?" Sherlock was giving John the weirdest look.
"When you ship two people, you're saying that you think they're perfect for each other. It's a teen thing, I think." John explained. "Don't look at me like that. I can't help it, she rubs off on me. I caught myself referring to a woman as a 'chic' the other day?"
"Did you actually call this woman a 'chic'?"
"Thankfully, no," John chuckled. "It was only in my head."
"For the record, I have no idea where she gets that stuff from." Sherlock said. "But back to the point: jazz music."
"Sherlock, let it go," John advised. "Maybe her musical tastes are changing."
Sherlock frowned but he sank back into his Mind Palace.
The next night, Elizabeth went out again. This time she was going to a midnight Teen Rally.
"What is a Teen Rally?" Sherlock asked John. In an unspoken agreement, they were both waiting up for Elizabeth. They almost always did.
"I don't know, Sherlock," John didn't look up from his newspaper.
"Do you think it's a rally for drugs or alcohol?" Sherlock sounded a little worried.
John sighed, flipping down the top of his paper, "Think logically. Would Elizabeth go anywhere near drugs or alcohol?"
"Not knowingly," Sherlock allowed. "But I also didn't think she'd ever go to a jazz concert."
"Not this again!" John exclaimed. "If you're so bloody curious, why don't you just ask her?"
"She isn't here!" Sherlock argued.
"Then ask her when she gets back!" John was annoyed now. He ignored the rest of Sherlock's comments, concentrating solely on the rugby scores.
Three nights later, John had to admit it was getting a little suspicious.
In the span of four days, Elizabeth had gone to a rally, two concerts, and a skating contest. John couldn't wait to see what she was doing tonight.
Ah, tonight was the midnight showing of Lights Out. Great, have fun.
As soon as Elizabeth left, Sherlock leapt to the window, watching her walk down the street.
"Come on, John," Sherlock threw John's coat at him, and then slid his own on.
"What? Where are we going?"
"We are going to follow Elizabeth," Sherlock led the way down the stairs.
"Wait, Sherlock," John followed him out the door. "Why can't you just ask Mycroft if she's been where she says?"
"I did," Sherlock whispered, staying close to the buildings as they tailed Elizabeth.
"And?" John asked just as quietly.
"He said that she had been to a rally, two concerts, and a skating contest."
"Then why are we following her?" John cried under his breath.
"Because he didn't provide proof."
"But he said-" John started.
"Yes, he said. Mycroft always provides unrefutable proof. He didn't provide video feeds or anything."
John didn't see why that meant anything.
"Trust me, John," Sherlock breathed. "Something's going on. Elizabeth is keeping something from me, and Mycroft is helping her. I have to find out what's going on. Will you help me?"
John glanced up at Sherlock. He almost couldn't see the detective's face in the dark and shadows. What he could see told him that Sherlock was very worried. He was convinced that Elizabeth was in some sort of trouble. And what made it worse for him was that Elizabeth was apparently confiding in Mycroft and not him. His brilliant mind was running through the worst possible scenarios at the moment.
It was these moments when John saw his friend as he truly was, not as he pretended to be.
Sherlock claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath. He was adamant that emotions were not his area.
But here he was.
Sherlock was scared. He was worried for the wellbeing of another person.
"Of course, Sherlock. I'll help you."