Twelve Months Before
This was it, the moment Emma had been waiting for. As she sat at a dinner table in her favourite restaurant, staring at the empty seat before her, she wondered about the man she was about to meet. Irene Adler and Molly Hooper had been trying to get her a date for a few weeks now. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. She decided to take her mind off things, by looking over the wine list for the seventh time. She wondered if this mysterious man, Jim, would ever show up.
As time went on, Emma began to doubt if she would meet the unknown stranger. She glanced at her watch, yet again, and became more discouraged. Twenty minutes past, and just as Emma was standing up to leave, a tall, well-dressed man strolled into the restaurant. Oblivious to the fact that he was late, Jim sat down next to Emma at their table. The candle used as a centrepiece grew dim, due to the time the brunette had been sitting there alone.
"So you're the young, clever, stylish woman Irene has been blabbing on about for days?" Jim asked. "Apparently I am" was the reply he acquired. "That must mean you're the tall, dark and handsome genius?" Jim smirked at her reply. They ordered dinner.
Present Day
Emma awoke to the sun shining in her tired eyes, through the gap between the curtains in her bedroom. Jim had already left the room to go to God knows where. This happened every morning, so She was used to it by now. They had been living together for three weeks now, and it was the same every morning. The woman rolled out of the bed lazily and put on her dressing gown. After eating another boring breakfast, she walked to her car, then drove to her local supermarket and started her weekly grocery shopping. Behind her, she could hear the shouting of man who's voice she recognised. The short brunette turned around to see the angry face of John Watson, who was in the middle of a heated argument with what appeared to be the self-service checkout. She smiled to herself and turned back around.
While driving home in her shiny, black Volvo, Emma's mind turned to the face of John Watson and his best friend who was much taller. Emma had to smile as she thought of the skinny man, who was perfect from head to toe. His name was rather unusual, but she was willing to ignore that on account of his unbelievably sharp features, such as cheekbones that made him look as if his face had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. No! She had to shake her head to remove the thoughts of Sherlock Holmes. She was happy with Jim. Wasn't she?