A/N: Hello Sherlock fandom! This is my first ever published fanfiction, and i do hope you enjoy it. This is NOT an OC/Sherlock fic. It's More like heavily implied JohnLock tbh. Contructive critisism is much appreciated. Story is currently unbeta'd. Author is American also, sorry.

Emmalyn Southers isn't in North Carolina Anymore

Prologue

The first word that runs into her mind is wet, and then a phrase itself is produced from that on word. The ground I'm lying on is wet. Another thought is soon placed into her thoughts. My head is throbbing. Painful. Head wound? Could explain my troubles in remembering the events that lead me to lying on this cold, wet, unforgiving ground. Carefully, and without opening her eyes, she begins to shift through her memories.

My name is Emmalyn Trinity Southers. My friends call me Emma. Who are my friends again? A thought to look back at again later. I live in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I've lived there for twelve years, when we moved from London when I was six. Why did we move? She hears voices speaking above her, panicked and loud in her fragile ears. I'm a senior at Cumberland County High School. I have perfect grades and lead in every single one of my classes.

"Lestrade! I think the poor girl's alive!" Lestrade? The name is familiar. Why is it familiar? A t.v show? Doctor Who? Supernatural? Smallville? Law and order? Sherlock? Sherlock. Lestrade is the D.I inspector for Scotland yard in BBC's Sherlock. He is a fictional character. Marilou loves him. Marilou is one of the above mentioned friends that call me Emma. I last saw her before I wake up here. The air is so cold that it's biting against her skin. She takes in a quick deep breath. This alerts the people that stand around her like she's a museum attraction.

"Bloody hell John, get her an ambulance! Quick!" John Watson? This is getting down right ridiculous. This has to be a dream, it has to. Not even Marilou could pull off a prank like this.

"Do we even know how she got here? Sherlock believes she was pushed off a building. It's not entirely impossible. Then again, she should be dead if that was the case."

"Well I would say It was a murder that took place on ground level," Pipes up another extremely british and posh voice. I swear to god this keeps getting weirder. Lestrade, John , and Sherlock. "But there is no evidence supporting that either." Sherlock's voice actually sounds joyful at the thought of this being a potential attempted murder. Asshole, this is a delicate situation. John seems to agree with her inner thoughts.

She still refuses to open her eyes.

"Sherlock-" John's voice is drowned out by a sudden flood of thought. That's right, Marilou wanted me to re-watch Sherlock with her. Naturally I do, and we make plans for the Friday after midterms. We stay at her house for the marathon. But why am I here? Shouldn't I be on the cot her dad had out for me? My sleep was calm, the dream being that I was falling gracefully through the air. I have these dreams quite often. Why are there fictional characters hovering above me and shouting frantically. A dream, this must be a dream. I can't be hallucinating all this. I stopped smoking weed ages ago. I'm quite positive Marilou didn't share her stash. The fumes must be getting to me.

Fear grips tight inside her, twisting around in her stomach. Without thinking really, her hazel eyes fly open in a state of extreme panic. Without really noticing she was lifted from the uncomfortably hard ground to a gurny, which is now in a moving vehicle. No wonder she stopped hearing John and Sherlock bicker back and forth. An I.V bag swings above her head as the vehicle hits a particular rough bumb in the road. There's two paramedics, male and female. The female notices her first.

"Mam? Can you hear me?" Urgency is pronounced in her voice, but all she can see is her pale lips moving . Emma notices the sweet smell of her perfume, the cleanness of her long blond hair twisted in a bun at the top of her head, the wrinkles that engrave itself into her face. There are lots of laugh lines on her. Must be a happy person, she thinks even as she's panicked. Her pale blue eyes show much kindness and wisdom. Older woman. Past adult hood and moving into being a senior. Any age between 50-60. These deductions calm her mind.

Deductions are a thing she learned to do after reading the original Sherlock series. They made her quite curious, and she wanted to see the world the way Sherlock Holmes does. The Science of Deduction doesn't seem so complex once you practice it and apply it to your daily life. She tried to teach the little trick to Marilou, but she just never got the hang of it.

"Joey, patient is conscious! She appears to be panicked." Emma Turns to look at this 'Joey' character. African-America. Brown eyes. Clean shoved hair. Posture is tense. Appears to be relatively short. 5'7 at most. Younger than the woman, looks to be in his mid-thirties. A ring on his hand suggests marriage. Ring from her position looks clean and cherished. A happy relationship. Good for him.

Emma suddenly loses the energy keeping her eyes opening, and her lids grow heavier with each passing second. Frantic heartbeat echoes in her ears, slowing down at a rather quick rate.

Why is this happening to me?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

I'm scared, so very, very scared.

"Mam! Stay awake! We're losing you!" It's Joey's voice this time. It's low and baritone. Surprisingly soothing. "Lyndi, get the-" Emma loses her grip on the real world and her eyes wordlessly slip closed again.

Oh god, please don't let me die.

Ba-dump, ba-dump….

Someone please save me.

A loud beeping noise feels the moving ambulance as Joey and Lyndi attempt to bring her back. It takes multiple jolts on the defibrillator to bring her jolts are bound to leave very painful sores on her chest when she wakes up once more. Later, when Emma is in the hospital she flatlines once more. They save her again after almost losing her.