Chapter 1 21-5-10
John looked up as Emmaline entered the main room; she had been resting in Sherlock's bedroom. Her bandage was gone – as it well should have been a month after the incident – but she still had a faint red scar on her forehead.
"Where's Sherlock?" She asked John, rubbing her eyes.
"I imagine he's gone to ask Lestrade if there are any '7' cases; or really if there's anything for him to do." He replied.
John went back to reading his paper but then looked up again. "Do you know how his rating scale works, anyway?"
"No one knows how Sherlock works." She trudged into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.
John still remembered when they had all come home that night and the day following:
Sherlock walked out to the living room; he had just put Emmaline to bed after John had told him it was OK for her to go to sleep. He huffed and sat on the couch with a flourish.
"She can only stay a few days John, and then she has to go home."
"Sherlock, you're not going to make her go home like this. Are you?"
"It's dangerous for her to be here John."
"Sherlock, we're not sending her home. She needs to be taken care of; she's just had a seriously traumatic experience and a head wound: she's staying." He made a noise of indignation before sitting in his armchair. "Besides, Moriarty knows who she is now. Do you really think she's safer on her own, rather than in a group?"
Sherlock sipped on a mug of hot tea.
"Yes I suppose." He looked over at John. "If you weren't here I would've sent her home to care for herself. I've done that before…" Sherlock trailed off. "Moriarty doesn't play fair though, you're right."
"It's OK; no one is blaming you. You thought you were doing the right thing."
"What must she have thought of me though John?" Sherlock stared sadly into his mug, as though it held all the answers.
"I'm sure she thought you were just being you."
John knew that Emma had actually felt abandoned for months. It had been an awful thing for Sherlock to do: not calling, visiting, or answering her texts, especially after initiating a romantic relationship. However, John did not want Sherlock to feel bad, so he said nothing about it.
"You can make it up to her this time though Sherlock; be there to take care of her."
Sherlock sighed; there were apparently still a great many things he had to learn about the human condition.
"She can't stay forever John. Her living on her own is still the best plan I have."
John wondered if his friend's insistence had less to do with her safety, and more to do with Sherlock being uncomfortable sharing his living space with his wife.
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The first day Emma had woken up and felt well enough to do much of anything John had sat her down to talk to her. He was intensely curious, naturally, and had questions for her. First and foremost, he wanted to know what had happened after she had left.
"I got in my car, started it, and pulled out onto the street; then there was the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of my head. He told me to drive to my flat. About halfway there we crossed over a bridge and I tried to swerve and drive off it but he knocked me in the head with the gun; when I woke up I was tied to a chair in my flat."
"What happened after that?"
"He wanted me to call Sherlock, to let him know I was gone. He wanted to lure Sherlock there much sooner but I would not call him; he threatened me but I didn't relent. Finally he gave up and sliced my forehead open; he said 'a note written in blood would intrigue him more anyway'."
"What about the bruise on your cheek?"
Emma touched it and winced; it still hurt.
"I don't know; he must have done it while I was unconscious."
"Emma, is Mycroft really letting you take on case work for him?"
Here Emma sighed and took a sip of her orange juice; neither Sherlock nor John would let her drink coffee.
"I met Mycroft the first time Sherlock overdosed after I knew him. He's the one who called to let me know it had happened."
"Sherlock and I…had a period a few years ago where we weren't together. In that time, I took up running and boxing; at Mycroft's suggestion I began practicing Judo as well." She took another sip of her drink, before setting it down.
"Why would he want you to put more on your plate?" John asked, curious.
"Mycroft was aware that Sherlock thought something dangerous was brewing in London, and he was confident that the separate flats would do nothing to protect me. At the time, it was for my benefit."
Emma turned her head to look at Sherlock, who was in the kitchen getting breakfast.
"Mycroft and I have always been close; he would visit my flat, and sometimes I would go to the Diogenes club just to sit with him, to have something to do. Eventually he noticed how bored I was becoming, between school, and work. I cut everyone but him from my life and he saw the toll no social life was having on me. He offered to let me try out a job for him." Emma shrugged.
"After that I was given MI6 credentials, and I am allowed to do the occasional job for him, but only him. My file is very specific about that."
"Why? And why would you agree?"
"Because I was bored; I missed seeing Sherlock working his cases, and this was similar." Emma shrugged. "And the government cannot be trusted. Once you've proved your usefulness, they send you on missions that will prove fatal."
"And Mycroft wouldn't?" John asked skeptically. From what he knew of the man, he seemed to value his position in the government above all else.
Emmaline shook her head. "Mycroft protects his family."
John thought about this; he did not know very much about the man, and it appeared as if Emma did. He would have to trust her word, until it was no longer good to go on.
She quickly steered the subject away from the topic of her and Mycroft's occasional working relationship.
"I had an escape plan worked out, just in case." She mentioned. "Thankfully you and Sherlock came; I was woozier than I had thought, but I suppose head wounds do that."
John put his hand on Emma's knee.
"He'll always come for you."
She had given him a shy smile before Sherlock had sat down with them, changing the point of conversation once again.
The ringing of Sherlock's phone broke John from his reverie. John looked up; he had not even noticed Sherlock had arrived home from his meeting with Lestrade. He looked around for Emma and saw her in the bedroom, packing. Sherlock had declared this the day she moved back into her own flat.
John folded his paper and put it down on the coffee table.
"Do you want any help?" He asked Emma from the door of the bedroom.
"That would be lovely, thanks."
John took a handle of her case and she the other, and they walked downstairs. He thought she was worried about moving back into her flat, because she did not feel safe. However, when he had asked her about it, she had simply said that she 'would miss seeing the two of you every day.'
He and Sherlock had already been by her flat a few times last month; once the police had cleared the scene the two had returned to clean it. There had been glass and blood everywhere; not fit for Emma to return to.
John closed the trunk of her car and held his hand out for a shake. She smiled and shook her head.
"Really John?" She held her arms out for a hug.
He gladly obeyed; he would miss her once she was no longer living at 221B Baker Street, but he would make it a habit of visiting her as often as he could manage. He had grown accustomed to her cooking and her cleaning habits, as well as the protective circle he had extended from Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, to include her.
"Wait, wait!" Sherlock came running down the stairs, out of breath.
"Have you come to properly say goodbye?" John asked, stepping aside.
"Goodbye? No, I was going to say get in the car. Lestrade has just called from Scotland Yard about a mysterious death." Sherlock's eyes lit up and his mood was infectious.
They piled into the car and Emma pulled out onto the street.
"What does this mean for my moving out?" She deftly asked.
"Oh, well, that will wait obviously. I can't have you leaving in the middle of a case."
Emma smiled and pressed her foot against the gas just a litter harder; she too was excited to see what Lestrade had called about. Maybe they are more perfect for each other than I thought, John mused quietly to himself.
They finally arrived at Scotland Yard; Emma parked the car and they all walked into the giant building, instantly being ushered into Lestrade's office.
"Now the body I'm going to show you is of a man who died three days ago; Jonathan Morgan. He was thirty-six, in peak physical condition. His landlady discovered the body the afternoon after he died."
Lestrade picked a file off his desk and tucked it under his arm. He led Sherlock, John, and Emma down the hall to the morgue. Molly was there as an attendant to oversee their viewing of the body.
"Here Sherlock," she scampered up to the body bag and unzipped it for him, eager to assist in any way she could.
"Why have I been called in?" Sherlock asked, examining the body. There seemed to be nothing amiss about it to him, at a cursory glance.
"Poison." Lestrade replied, still looking through the file.
"Ahh," Sherlock's eyes suddenly gleamed.
He noticed Molly standing near him still, looking down at him expectantly. He sighed and shot a look at Emmaline, from the corner of his eye. She did not seem concerned about Molly's proximity and he was glad; a fight was the last thing he needed.
"We weren't sure how he had died so we ran everything through the system on his autopsy; found trace amounts of poison in his system: a potassium chloride mixture, not unlike those used for death sentences." Molly explained.
Sherlock leaned back and signaled to Molly that he was done; she zipped the bag up and stood back, suddenly aware of the other woman in the room. Molly noticed the easy manner with which she and John spoke and assumed they were together. Sherlock was not the type, as far as she knew, to date; John definitely was.
However, John knew that Sherlock would just let the matter sit in the air so he took it upon himself to break the news to Molly. He excused himself from Emma and went to talk to the mousy pathologist.
"Sherlock?" Emmaline walked up to her husband and threaded her fingers in his.
"Hmm?" He asked, staring into space, not aware of all that was going on around him. She could see that he would be a lost case for her query.
"Greg?" She turned her attention to the detective inspector instead.
"Yes?" He asked, looking up from Mr. Morgan's autopsy file.
"Has the flat been touched since Mr. Morgan's death?" She asked, knowing that Sherlock would want to inspect it.
"No, it hasn't." He replied, closing the file.
Sherlock heard this detail and perked up. "I would request we go there immediately," he said in the general direction of Lestrade.
Sherlock strode out of the room, dragging Emmaline with him, not waiting for a reply.
"Come on John!" He yelled before leaving the morgue.
"Sorry, Molly, I have to go." John hurried after Sherlock, Emma, and Lestrade.
"What do you mean he's married?" Molly asked the empty room, confusion sprinkling her features. She was left behind to ponder how one of her friends could have hidden a wife for so many years.
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Emma, Sherlock, and John followed Lestrade's car to Jonathon Morgan's flat. They all rode the elevator up together to the sixth floor. It was a posh building and Greg told them Morgan had worked at a bank.
The group immediately put on gloves; however, they all hung back and watched Sherlock walk around the flat. He disappeared into the bathroom and examined the shower, deducing that Morgan had taken a shower the morning he was killed, though it wasn't relevant as to how.
He walked back out into the main room and shared this piece of information before walking over to the window. Everything in the apartment was well kept and clean. Except…Sherlock noticed a small tear in one of the curtains. If Mr. Morgan had noticed that, he would have replaced them. Sherlock peeked outside and saw that Morgan's window had a fire escape down to street level.
Sherlock walked into the kitchen, John following him now. The only thing out was a glass of scotch and an empty plate with crumbs.
"Lestrade, send the scotch to the lab; you'll find the poison."
The DI did not even bother to ask how Sherlock knew it was there; he just called the lab to have them send someone out to Morgan's flat.
"What kind of a man drinks a scotch in the morning?" John asked, staring at the glass with disdain.
"The kind of man who thinks he's powerful," he answered John's question, tearing off the latex gloves.
"He had a scotch every morning with his breakfast." Sherlock looked up at the scotch bottle; to him, it was clearly the most frequently used object in the kitchen.
Sherlock took pictures of the glass of scotch and the window curtain, and fire escape outside.
"Fax me copies of the reports and crime-scene photos." Sherlock spoke, striding past Lestrade and out the door.
"Thank you for showing us the flat!" John yelled, running out after him.
"Thanks, Greg." Emma put her hand on his shoulder before walking out after the two men.
Lestrade shook his head, muttering under his breath.
The three of them drove back to 221B Baker Street and walked upstairs. Waiting in Sherlock's fax machine were the requested papers. He busied himself reading them, effectively shutting out Emmaline and John.
The doorbell downstairs rang but the group made nothing of it; they heard Mrs. Hudson downstairs exclaim and then footsteps coming upstairs.
"Sherlock, John, Emmaline." Mycroft said in greeting, letting himself in. He seemed exhausted just by the sentence, having to say so many names at once.
Mycroft walked in carrying his usual cane, and a box all wrapped up in shiny silver paper.
"Mycroft," Sherlock sneered at his brother, never taking his eyes off the board.
"Mycroft!" Emma's reception was much warmer; she wrapped her arms around the elder Holmes brother and kissed his cheek.
He reciprocated the warmth, lending truth to what Emma had said of him, and handed her the package. John was surprised by it all; to see either Holmes express any form of warmth or sentiment was a rarity. The fact that both brothers genuinely liked the same woman, John surmised that she must have been very special indeed.
"I'm afraid I won't be in town for your birthday, so here's your present a little early." The elder Holmes explained.
"Oh Mycroft you didn't have to!" Emmaline hugged him again before setting the package down on Sherlock's desk.
"Well you are so kind to send me Christmas and birthday presents from Sherlock, and yourself, I thought I should return the kindness." He paused a moment, looking around the now more organized flat. "Is that not what normal people do?"
"You knew?" Emmaline sounded disappointed.
"The handwriting wasn't quite right." He told her, a small shadow of a smile visible on his lips.
John looked at Sherlock to gauge his reaction; he did not appear surprised that she had been sending gifts to his brother.
"Sherlock, you OK?" He whispered to his friend.
"Hmm? Oh yes; I assumed Mycroft knew about her from the beginning; he's smarter than I like to give him credit for." Sherlock shrugged. "Besides someone had to let her know when I was in the hospital. She was not my emergency contact."
Sherlock turned back to his board. Mycroft stayed for only a few more minutes to chat with Emmaline before heading for the door. When he got into the hallway, Emmaline told him to wait. John saw something small exchange hands before Mycroft tipped his head, smiled, and walked down the stairs.
John was going to question her when she walked in the room.
"Don't." Sherlock warned. "Confidential business."
John nodded, understanding. It seemed anything between Emma and Mycroft would have to stay secret.
"Are you going to open your present?" Sherlock asked, turning his head from the board.
"No, I think I'll wait until my birthday."
Emma picked up the package and put it away at the top of the hall closet.
"Out of sight, out of mind. Now I won't try and open it early."
Sherlock smiled at John's still startled expression. He patted his friend's shoulder before walking into his bedroom. Emma looked down at her watch and made a noise.
"I've got an appointment. Bye John, Sherlock."
She raced out the door with her coat and bag in hand.
"Bye Emma!" John called after her. She waved to him before the door closed.
John gathered himself up and took a deep breath before knocking on Sherlock's door.
"Come in."
Sherlock was standing at his closet, trying to re-arrange it by color. Often when working on one task, Sherlock would start another to help him think.
"Oh hello John." Sherlock said over his shoulder.
"Hey Sherlock," John tried to keep his tone casual. By the way Sherlock sighed John knew he had failed.
"What do you want now?"
"I umm…guess I just wanted to ask why you've been so…distant this month. I mean you're usually distant, but this is just strange."
Sherlock knew it would be easier to tell him what he wanted to hear, rather than telling John to shove it. The doctor was persistent. "She's been hurt again John; three scars because of me now. I won't make it four." He replied, picking up his purple shirts. "After this case is over, she's moving back into her flat."
"But she loves you." John was confused by Sherlock's wanting to stay away; he had seen the way Sherlock looked at Emma. John knew little about the time they had been apart, or why, but he did know they had come back to each other. Clearly, they loved each other, and Sherlock's protection policy seemed ridiculous. In his opinion, his friend was lucky Emma had agreed to it, and stayed married to him.
"That's exactly why I'm keeping my distance." Sherlock turned back to his closet; John took this as a sign that the conversation was over.
John shook his head but backed out of the room and shut the door. "I'm going out with Sarah, OK Sherlock?"
He heard a muffled reply through the door.
"I'll be back later tonight alright?"
John grabbed his coat and keys, leaving the flat, and leaving Sherlock alone once again.
"I'm a dangerous man to love," he said to no-one in particular, hanging the shirt he was holding.