Chapter 2 17-4-2010
John came downstairs and saw Emma putting away clothes from the cracked door of Sherlock's bedroom. Yesterday John had gone back to her flat with her to get the rest of her things. He rubbed his tired eyes; Sherlock had kept him up most of the night with his incessant playing of the violin. John walked into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee; his tired body needed it if he was going to work today.
He mechanically reached out for the empty pot but he brought his fingers back and yelped; the pot was hot. He saw that someone had already made coffee. And he smelled something…there was breakfast cooking. John walked back out into the main room. Somebody had straightened up and organized everything. Even Sherlock's desk was neat. Books were on the bookshelves, and even the floor had been vacuumed.
He walked over to the desk, amazed to see it looking so clean. There was a letter on the corner, addressed to 'Mr. Holmes'. He picked it up and flipped the paper open. The paper was snatched from his hands by Sherlock, on his way to the kitchen. John hadn't even gotten a line in, but he could tell it had been from Emma.
Sherlock perused the letter before smiling and putting it in the sink and setting a match to it.
"What are you doing?" John yelled, alarmed at the tiny flames.
Sherlock turned the tap on and extinguished the flame.
"It said 'burn after reading'. I was merely following instructions."
Sherlock grabbed a cup from the top pantry and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Those are always my favorite letters." Sherlock blew on the cup before taking a sip.
"What?" John asked, peering into the sink.
"Letters that tell me to burn them; those are the very best kind. Emmaline and I began writing them to each other after we got separate homes; it helped make our time apart more bearable."
John sighed and shook his head. Sherlock was a wonder.
"Oh look, English Breakfast." Sherlock looked at the stove and turned the stove-top off.
"What?" John asked.
"I think she used up everything in the refrigerator." Sherlock murmured to himself.
He grabbed himself a plate and filled it up with the offerings left out on the stove. Sherlock sniffed the air; he then bent over and looked in the oven.
"Bread. She's making…," he sniffed the air again, "banana, is that nut, banana nut bread?"
He shook his head and walked out to his arm chair to sit and eat. John stood in the kitchen, still amazed at his flat mate. He grabbed himself a cup and a plate and sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock to eat. The oven went off and Emma ran out from the bedroom to grab the bread.
"Thank you for breakfast." John called after her.
"Oh, I enjoy cooking!" Emma smiled from around the corner and put the bread on the counter to cool. "Sherlock don't touch it." Every time she baked bread at her flat he would try to cut it before it was ready and ruin it; he was impatient in all regards.
"She does a marvelous job at it too." Sherlock praised.
Emma smiled before disappearing into the bedroom once again.
"Anything new with the case?" John asked Sherlock, gathering egg on his fork for a bite.
"No; I'm hoping for a nice murder soon."
John coughed and beat his chest, forcing the egg down his throat.
"I really wish you'd stop talking like that."
"Like what John?"
"Like you want someone to get killed."
"Another murder is the only way we'll solve the case."
John sighed and gave up. That was the way Sherlock's brain worked; wishing for a murder so he could solve the crime; wishing for a murder so he'd stop being bored on weekends.
John finished his breakfast and took his plate to the sink to wash it.
"Do you work today?" He heard Sherlock ask from the front room. He was about to reply in the negative when he heard Emma say 'yes'.
John walked back into the front room where Emma kissed Sherlock's cheek. She walked over to John and shook his hand.
"I'll be back at 5:00 so no getting into trouble before then."
She waved before walking out the door. Right after she departed Sherlock's phone went off.
"Can you get that for me John?"
John sighed but followed the ringing to Sherlock's bedroom. He muffled a laugh when he saw Sherlock's clothes laid out for him on the bed like a child. He grabbed his phone and saw the text.
"It's Lestrade. He says the autopsy reports come back for Miss Greene."
"Well then! Hurry and get dressed John!" Sherlock yelled, bursting into the room.
John left the room as Sherlock threw off his robe and started to unbutton his pajamas. He raced upstairs and pulled clothes from his own closet. Dressed, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and again put his gun in the waistband of his pants.
Sherlock was tying his scarf when John got back downstairs. Throwing on his coat, Sherlock led the way downstairs and hailed a taxi. The first few moments were passed in silence, but John couldn't keep quiet.
"So…Emma."
"What about her?"
"I think the fact that there even is a her, at all, should be discussed."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You told me you were married to your work, that you weren't looking for anything."
"Well I wasn't looking for anything John." Sherlock looked at him like it should be obvious why.
"You could've told me you know. Why keep it a secret?"
"I have many enemies John. Enemies who would do anything to get at me; so far they've used strangers to get me to solve cases or to do other things. They know using my brother is useless; besides, he's in a position of such power. You're constantly with me and look what happened at the pool with Moriarty." Sherlock looked right at John as he said that.
"My enemies would of course use her to get to me if they could. That's why we don't live together, and I'm careful when I visit her."
"How long have you been married to her?"
"Oh goodness, six years." Sherlock said, leaning his head back against the seat in thought.
"Six years?" John did the math in his head. "She was only nineteen?" John couldn't imagine anyone getting married so young, especially to someone as difficult as Sherlock.
"Yes I suppose she was. She didn't make it clear that she fancied me though 'till she was what…seventeen? Yes, right before her eighteenth birthday." Sherlock smiled in remembrance.
"She was seventeen, when, when…"
"John calm down! We lived together so I suppose she thought the time was right to tell me." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "And that's all she did was tell me; your blushing gives everything away John. Do you really think I'm that deplorable? She was only seventeen."
"Lived together?" The more John learned about their story, the more strange it got. John knew the age of consent was sixteen in Europe, but to him it was still young, and the fact that Sherlock had fallen in love with what he considered a child…it made John look at his friend differently.
"After her grandparents died. She only lived with me for six months; I made her find somewhere else."
"Why?"
"Why all these questions John?" Sherlock asked, suddenly exasperated. "Why does it matter?"
"Because this is a big secret! If you can keep a wife from me, what other secrets have you been keeping Sherlock? Do I even know you?"
Sherlock stared at John for a moment before turning his head to stare out the window. As soon as the taxi stopped Sherlock exited the car and entered the building. John sighed and paid the cabbie. He hurried after Sherlock; sometimes he was a difficult man to live with.
"Ahh Sherlock, there you are."
Lestrade ushered the pair into his office.
"Here's the report." Lestrade handed it to Sherlock who sat down and began reading.
"Just like you thought John, butcher's knife. And…yes, she did bleed out. So someone who likes to inflict pain. I wonder if he stayed to watch…"
"We've notified Deborah's wife and she's confirmed the body's identity." Lestrade continued. "Coroner thinks Deborah Greene was dead maybe an hour-and-a-half before we arrived on the scene.
"Yes, how did you know about it so quickly?" John asked, looking at the detective inspector.
"We got an anonymous call about the body."
"What?" Sherlock shouted, standing up from his chair. "And you didn't think to mention this?"
"Well, no, it happens all the time. People that come across the body, but don't want their names in official reports, so they just call it in instead of reporting it to the office. It's pretty common Sherlock."
"Not with this one. I want a copy of that tape."
Lestrade left the office to get a copy of the 999 call that had led them to the body.
"You think something's up Sherlock?"
"Of course there is John! This killer wanted us to find the body quickly. Why else would he call 999? Why else would he leave that note for Emmaline, telling her to come to the scene of the crime? He's playing with us. He wants his work to be known."
Lestrade came in with a copy of the tape and inserted the disc into his computer. He turned the volume up and pushed 'play'.
"I've found a body. She's in Islington at 969 Aberdeen Lane. Did you get that? I found a body. She's…she's dead."
"That's it?" Sherlock asked.
"That's it." Lestrade confirmed.
"And you didn't think it was suspicious?" Sherlock asked.
"Why would we?"
"His voice didn't quiver." John said.
"What?" asked Lestrade.
"Most people, when they see a body, their voice quivers when they speak. His didn't; he was too calm."
"That's the kind of thinking I need!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing at John with a smirk. "I'll need a copy of this to take with me."
"Here take this one." Lestrade put the disc in a case and handed it to Sherlock.
"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Sherlock looked deep in thought as he left. John followed him and hailed a taxi. As soon as he closed the door his phone went off; John answered it. It was the hospital where he worked.
He told the driver the address; he had been called in to work.
"What's the meaning of this John?" Sherlock looked up when he noticed the new direction the cab was going in.
"I've been called in to work. Don't worry; he'll still take you home."
"Be good today." John said a little while later, from the curb.
He waved goodbye to the taxi as it drove off to the flat. John turned and walked into the hospital.
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"I've just got to pop in for a moment, OK?"
John got out of the cab and ran up to the flat. He entered and walked up the stairs to the front room. Sherlock was playing the violin and Emma was reading a book.
"Hey, Sarah is downstairs, and we were wondering if you'd like to join us out tonight?"
Sherlock and Emma answered at the same time.
"No thank you, I'm busy."
"Yes, we'd love to!"
Emma looked over at Sherlock.
"Why not?" She asked.
"I'm busy working. I'm making connections and thinking."
"You haven't got anything without another murder and you know it."
Sherlock sighed and put the violin down.
"There's a new jazz bar that's opened up a few streets over." John pointed at the door. "She's waiting."
Emma grabbed Sherlock's coat and held it out to him.
"Very well, this one time." He stood up and put his coat on before grabbing his scarf. John headed out before the two of them and got in the cab. Emma got in the back and Sherlock took the only vacant seat in the front of the taxi.
The cabbie dropped them off at a place called 'Jazz 101' that had a 'GRAND OPENING' sign in its front window. Sherlock tossed the cabbie a few bills as he got out and opened the door for Emmaline.
"What a gentlemen." She looped his arm through his and they went inside.
Sarah scooted over and got out, and John right after her.
"So who's that with your friend?"
"Apparently he's married," he took her arm and led her inside.
"You mean you didn't know?"
"Found out two days ago when she moved in."
"How long have they been together?"
"Married for six years."
"What?" Sarah was incredulous. "How can he have been married for that long and not have told you about it?"
John just shook his head, not wanting to get into it. Sarah rubbed his arm and offered him a soft smile.
"Over here!" Emma called and waved from a table in the back.
John and Sarah walked over. John took Sarah's coat and hung it on the back of her chair before pulling it out for her. He took the seat next to her.
John took a quick look around. It was dark in the club, but every table had a candle in a glass vase and there were what appeared to be gas lamps at intervals along the walls. Near where they were sitting was a stage with a jazz band and singer, and in front of the stage, a dance floor. John also noticed the way Sherlock's eyes flitted over the room, taking everything in quickly. He probably already knew three exits and how to kill the chef with the palm fronds. John smirked to himself. Sarah asked him what was so funny but he just held up his hand and shook his head.
Almost as soon as they were all settled a waiter came over and offered them menus.
"No thanks, I'm not hungry." Sherlock tried to wave his away.
"You haven't eaten since breakfast." John leaned across the table.
"I don't eat when I'm working." He replied coolly.
"Sherlock, have something, please." Emma chimed in from beside him.
Sherlock sighed and looked up at the waiter.
"A cup of tea then."
The waiter nodded and walked away, giving the others time to peruse their menus.
"Honestly, I have no idea why you dragged me out." Sherlock looked down at his nails.
"If you're going to be morose you can find a taxi to take you home, by yourself." Emma said without looking up from her menu.
John smiled at the brusque nature with which she handled him. He hadn't met anyone yet who handled Sherlock that way, not even Mrs. Hudson. The song switched over to a snazzy love song. The singer was quite talented. John noticed she was dressed as a flapper from the 20's. He pointed it out to Sarah who thought it was also interesting. The waiter came back with Sherlock's tea and took other drink orders. The group of friends wasn't hungry just yet, but ordered appetizers to share. They were planning to work up their hunger by dancing.
"Come on." Emma stood up and reached for Sherlock's hand. The song had changed to a slower melody; John noticed the small smile that played on Sherlock's lips before he stood up.
"Would you like to dance?" John asked, turning to Sarah.
"Yes."
John led Sarah out onto the dance floor and wrapped his arms around her, nestling his chin on her shoulder. She did the same and they swayed back and forth, comfortable in each other arms. John opened his eyes and saw Emma and Sherlock in a darkened corner, dancing. John was glad at least that Sherlock wasn't sitting home alone by himself while John went out. He closed his eyes again comfortable to be held by his girlfriend, who tonight, smelled deliciously of…wood and flowers. John inhaled the scent again and smiled against her neck.
The song ended and everyone clapped appreciatively, as it had certainly been the best of the night so far. John and Sarah went back to the table and started sipping on their drinks, talking. John glanced around and saw Emma and Sherlock still dancing, though more out in the open now. He noticed the protective way Sherlock had his arms around her waist and felt like he was intruding on something private, especially when she stood on her tip-toes to whisper something in his ear, and he leaned down to whisper back.
"Who has Freak got to dance with him?"
John looked up to see Sally and a man standing near their table. The man's hand was resting on her waist so John assumed they were on a date. Of all the people to chance meeting them there John hated that it had to be Sally. She was by far the worst about verbalizing her hate for Sherlock.
"Oh, that's, that's his, uh, wife." John finally got out after a long pause. It still felt strange to say since he was just getting used to it himself.
"Freak's married? There's no way." Sally's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise before her eyebrows shot up. "There's no way. You'd think he'd brag about it." She turned to look at her date for agreement and he just nodded his head.
Sally and her date waited for the song to end and for Sherlock and Emma to come back to the table so she could introduce herself.
"Hello. I'm Sally Donovan." She smiled and held her hand out.
"Oh, hello! Emmaline Holmes. Are you a friend of Sherlock's?"
Sally stifled a small laugh. "Sherlock? Sherlock doesn't have friends." She stopped smiling and looked at the younger woman. "I'm going to give you the same advice I gave him. Get out while you can." Having said her peace, Sally took her date and walked to her table, on the other side of the restaurant.
John watched her walk away before turning to look at Sherlock. He would always swear that her words left a sting in him. Sherlock looked after her and John thought he saw his eyes water, just a little bit, before he composed himself. Emma took his hand and held it tight.
John turned back to his drink. The couple resumed their seats and Emma laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. She whispered something in his ear and he looked down at his lap and smiled.
"No, thank you." He said, turning to look at her.
"What?" Sarah asked, looking between the two of them.
"She offered to have Sally killed." Sherlock said, serious.
"Oh." Sarah looked down and brought her drink to her lips.
Emma, Sherlock, and John laughed.
"But, I'm serious here, someone owes me a favor."
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"Hey, uh, I'm spending the night at Sarah's tonight OK?"
"Alright John; you don't have to ask permission." Sherlock looked over at his friend and winked. John blushed but sent up a silent prayer that Sherlock had deduced something in Sarah's manner that spelled good luck for him.
Sherlock and Emma got out of the cab at 221B Baker Street and waved.
"So, did you want to watch a film when we get there?" John turned to Sarah.
"I was hoping we could just go to bed; I'm exhausted John. I've got to work in the morning."
"Oh, yes, of course."
They got out of the cab and walked up to Sarah's flat. She unlocked the door and headed straight for the bathroom to wash up before bed. John walked into the bedroom where he kept pajamas, in case he slept over. He quickly changed and folded his clothes, setting them on the coffee table.
"I'm going to sleep now." He knocked on the bathroom door.
"OK." He heard the shower running. John sighed and settled into the couch.
A few minutes later Sarah came out of the bathroom and went into the bedroom. John lay on the couch silently debating in his head. He made up his mind and waited another five minutes before getting up. He walked silently over to the bedroom door and knocked, talking quietly to himself, the silent pep-talk.
"Sarah?"
"Yes?" He heard her voice call loudly, almost as if she had been expecting him.
"I was just, I was wondering, if I could sleep in here?"
There were a few moments of silence and then the door opened.
"Oh, good. I thought you would say no, and then wouldn't that be awkward."
His words were interrupted as Sarah grabbed him and pulled him into the room, her mouth already searching for his in the dark.
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"Sherlock, do you want something?"
Emmaline was in the kitchen getting a piece of bread.
"No, I'm fine."
Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf and walked over to the CD player. He shuffled through a few CD's before finding the one he had been looking for and put it on. Emmaline walked out of the kitchen, smoothing a stray line of butter from her lip.
"What's this?" She asked, surprised.
"You don't like it?"
"No, Van Morrison is good. What's the occasion?"
Sherlock walked closer and drew her in his arms and began dancing with her.
"It wasn't enough to dance earlier tonight?" She asked.
"I'll never get enough of holding you." He put his hands on either side of her hips and held onto her firmly.
Emmaline smiled and wound her arms up around his back and held onto his shoulders.
"About what that woman said at the jazz club,"
"Never mind her."
"She was rude, Sherlock. And wrong."
"Hmm?"
Sherlock ran his nose up and down the length of her soft cheek.
"You've got Greg, and John, and you've got me." Emmaline's breath faltered slightly at the sensation.
"Yes, so I do."
Emmaline pulled her head back to look at him. He stopped the swaying so he could look at her. God, she had wanted to say something. She lost her sentence as soon as she looked into his blue eyes and fumbled for a moment, trying to remember what she had been going to say.
"I'm being serious Sherlock."
"Shh. Shh my darling Emmaline."
He put a finger on her lips and smiled when color touched her cheeks. He kissed her forehead and resumed the dancing.
"Sherlock, what's gotten into you?" Emmaline whispered in his ear.
In answer he bent down and softly touched his lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss and lasted but a moment.
"You tease." Emmaline whispered against his mouth.
"All in good time dear."
This was the side of him reserved specifically for her; the side only she knew existed. She took in a deep breath when she felt his fingers brush her spine, running up and down its length. Reflexively she stood on her toes and brought her body closer to Sherlock's.
"We're a little jumpy tonight Emmaline." He whispered in her ear.
She didn't answer; just wound her arms around his neck. He bent down again but this time kissed the side of her neck. Up, up, until he reached her chin. She nudged his face with hers so that their lips met again. She wanted to taste his soul, the core of his being. She pressed all her fervent wishes and urges into her lips, imprinting her love on his mouth.
Emmaline brought her hands up to cup his face and tentatively traced his mouth with her tongue. Sherlock hitched in a breath before smiling against her cheek. He gently nipped her earlobe before kissing the underside of her jaw and her chin. Impatient, she grabbed his hips and held on while he slowly kissed the corners of her mouth.
"Sherlock…" He heard the impatience, the need, in her voice and it pleased him. Oh god he was glad that he was not above this human emotion. Other things the officers spoke about and he did not understand, but this, love, sex,he very much understood.
His hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt and she pressed herself more firmly against him. Her hot mouth teased a few centimeters above his before he broached the distance, circling his arms around her body, effectively trapping him to her.
"Emmaline." He whispered her name in her ear.
He had never felt a love like this and he wanted to trap it like he had Emmaline. Not stifle it, but make sure that it would always be his. He looked into her eyes before bending down to touch her soft, full lips once again. He would never get enough of this woman who had spent so much of her life with him.
He would never forget the first time they had made love, shortly after her eighteenth birthday. He could almost taste the chocolate cake that had been on her lips seven years ago. Now her lips tasted deliciously of bananas and butter. Her curves had become fuller since then as well; he knew she was self-conscious about them but he loved them. They in no way betrayed that she was deadly: a runner, a boxer, and a practitioner of Judo.
He buried his face in her curtain of brown hair, inhaling deeply. It smelled of oranges, the same as it always did. The delicious scent drove him crazy, just as it had the first time he had smelled it.
God, it had been too long since their last time together. Long enough for her to cut her hair shorter, and to get a promotion at work. He broke from his reverie, feeling Emma's mouth on his collarbone.
"Are you trying to give me a love-bite?" He asked, voice sultry.
"Not trying." She replied with a hint of glee.
Sure enough, there was a red mark on his collarbone.
"Just you wait." He whispered in her ear, reaching out with his tongue to flick her earlobe.
She reached for the first button on his shirt and didn't stop until it was discarded on the floor. He picked her up and she circled her legs around his waist. His hands came to rest on the nice curve of her bottom and she moaned against his jaw at his touch.
He carried her into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. For a moment he just stood above her, staring down at her form. Her rumpled hair, wrinkled red blouse, black skirt hitched up to her thighs. Her lips were fuller, swollen from the kissing, and beautifully red.
"Sherlock."
She grabbed his hand and drew him down onto the bed with her where their lips quickly met again, in quick short kisses that betrayed their passion. She pressed her hands flat against his back and he arched lower against her. She wrapped a leg around one of his and ran her foot up and down the length of his calf.
"Damn woman." Sherlock ground out between his teeth.
"Those all the words you have?" She breathed out heavily.
Instead of responding he unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt; he then grabbed the bottom of her blouse and worked it off over her head. She tossed it off the bed; Emmaline rolled over onto him and started planting feather-light kisses down his neck, his chest, his abdomen. She traced the planes of his chest and lightly scratched at his hips, her mouth hovering inches above his stomach.
"Who's a tease?" He asked, gently taking her chin in his hand and bringing her lips back to his.
These were no longer the gentle kisses of only a few minutes ago; they were fever-ridden, passion-inducing kisses that trilled and made their mouths hum with pleasure even after they had moved apart.
He rolled back over onto her and laid on her the same careful ministrations she had just performed. Kissing up and down her abdomen, he placed his hands right under her breasts and traced his thumbs along her ribs. She ran her hands through his wild mane of hair, curling her fingers against his scalp. He brought his mouth to the soft flesh under her collarbone and left his own love-bite.
"Try hiding that at work."
Sherlock moved to sit at the foot of the bed and kissed her ankle up to her calf. Light, feathery kisses, just long enough to tease. He teased his fingers along her thigh before gently tracing his lips from the inside curve of her knee to the hem of her skirt. Emmaline started to touch his face and his shoulders, indicating it was her turn, so he moved up the bed once again, this time lying next to her.
She ran her fingers down his arms, feeling the hard muscle underneath; she intertwined their fingers and kissed each one. She wound her hands over his shoulders again and brought herself up against him to kiss his neck, and the underline of his jaw. She tangled their legs together, and in the sheets. She brushed her lips lightly over his but moved on to kiss his nose, his forehead, his eyelids. Every shuddering breath he took made her quiver with pleasure.
He reached out and kissed her cheek, lightly brushing his lips over until they reached her lips. She slid her hand down until it rested on his hip and she pulled it against her so they were flush together. More urgently than before he pushed her back against the pillows and rolled on top of her. He placed his hands on either side of her, and trapped her between his arms.
He whispered her name in between hot kisses and she smiled against his lips. She pulled herself up to kiss his cheek, but her lips were soon back on his with the hot need that only a fevered passion such as theirs could ignite. She felt like his hands were on fire as they gripped her thighs and inched ever higher.
At the same time, she ran her hands down his abdomen and reached his belt, and he reached a hand around to the zipper on her skirt. Their lips almost touching, both were breathing heavily. Sherlock brought his lips back to Emmaline's and laid her back against the pillows.
She undid his belt with sure movements and soon his trousers were on the floor with her skirt. Sherlock reached down to whisper in his lover's ear.
"Remember when I said I'd get you back for the love bite? I hope you're in for a long night darling Emmaline." Sherlock smiled viciously but instead of the response he had expected, Emmaline took hold of him, her lips teasingly wetting her mouth.
"I'm all yours." She replied seductively.
A/N: Here is chapter 2, edited! As always, if you guys see mistakes please let me know, I do not have a beta for these. Please review!