"Yeah," she answers, quickly buckling her seatbelt before pulling out of the spot, slowly, like she was just heading out for a jug of milk, not running from the cops. She slowly goes through the lot, heading for the exit on the other side of the hotel from the sirens. She turns onto the road and accelerates smoothly, glancing at the rearview mirror to see faint flashing lights arriving at the parking lot they just left. They got away. Good.

She directs her attention forward again, staying calm and collected despite the deep, black ache inside her. Gregson had been her friend, someone she respected and admired, who had done so much for both of them, and now she'd never see him again.

But what she said to Sherlock is true. Right now, the only thing they can do is get away. Stay alive. Nothing else helps.