Chapter Seven – Knowing

A/N: This is a slight flashback chapter, basically a filler of what happened in the four years Emily was in New York. The story will pick up again next chapter when Sherlock takes Emily to see Mycroft, and later in this chapter and the next you will find out how much they know about it all.

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xx

"All I know is I'm lost without you, I'm not going to lie." – Delta Goodrem

Mycroft had been absolutely and somewhat disgustingly heartbroken when Emily Jackson fled London to 'pursue' her 'dream' of attending Julliard. Although it was no surprise to Mycroft or Sherlock for that Emily was still neck-deep in her love for music, especially that of the classical kind, it had just had been utterly bewildering to be suddenly rid of her without an explanation or farewell of any kind, for she had been such an integral part of their lives for a very long time. Immediately it was suspicious – and it did not take very long for the mind of Mycroft Holmes to work overtime to find an answer for her departure, even if it killed him. Her safety was worth

Sherlock on the other hand had been downright and scarily detached.

The younger Holmes had fled Baker Street and buried himself in a monstrous and dangerous cocktail of drugs to escape the reality of Emily leaving without so much as a goodbye – let alone contact details. Although even Emily knew that it would be easy for Mycroft and the enigmatic team she had been a vital part of herself to track her, she knew the way she had left would leave warning bells tolling in Mycroft's head at least. He'd know soon enough – he'd simply realize something was wrong and investigate it from afar.

Sherlock, aided by a high that was almost constant, blamed himself. He figured Emily had finally reacted the way every other person in the world reacted to him and found an easy way out of her life with the Holmes brothers. He replayed an almost constant stream of memories with the girl, especially when he was coming down, trying to locate where he'd gone wrong, for she'd never reacted negatively to anything he'd ever done, except perhaps when he had been to snippy towards his parents. In fact, she had always been there, right by his side, even through his often-nasty drug-induced, criminal-fueled escapades. Sherlock outwardly and inwardly thought very highly of himself as a human, but he even he knew he was not good enough to have her friendship, for she was always bubbly and caring – always the opposite of everything he was. His parents often said she was the missing part of his humanity and he had never truly known how the true that was until he lost her.

After six months of virtually drowning in toxicity, he found himself unable to even work anymore – he was simply laying in his bed in Baker Street, not eating, existing on a disturbing combination of pharmaceuticals and illicit drugs. It didn't take much long after that for Mycroft to intervene and the only reason it took him that long this particular time was because he was focused on unearthing every miniscule detail in regards to Emily's departure.

Mycroft Holmes had worked his team to their skin and bones digging evidence up on Emily Jackson's educational vacation to Julliard and it didn't take them all that long to find out almost everything. By the time Mycroft found Sherlock basically unconscious after six months, Mycroft and his team had detained a man by the name of James Moriarty and they were ready to begin the often-torturous task of questioning. While Sherlock was recovering and rehabilitating, Mycroft and his team were finally being given the answers they had been searching for.

James Moriarty was a manipulative man – there was simply no other way to put it. He was scary, but all-in-all, he was just playing a game with who most considered one of Britain's most dangerous operatives. All he had ever hoped to achieve was exactly what he got – the attention of Mycroft Holmes and he had done so by pulling the strings of his favourite puppet – little Emily Jackson. He told Mycroft he had simply wanted Emily to change career paths for his own criminal benefit and offered her a chance to try something she had always wanted to. The implication being that of course he had threatened her, but you'd never hear him say it – Mycroft could see it dancing excitedly in the man's eyes – "I took her from you," they screamed. Moriarty had then played it as information he had simply let slip as an accident, for Moriarty had done the damage already – Mycroft was miserable, he could see it in the Ice Man's ice-cold irises and his younger brother was barely alive and full liquid death. At the time, Mycroft and his team had heard whispers of James Moriarty and his criminal network, but the whispers all lead to dead ends, so when Moriarty refused to speak to anyone but Mycroft, and only about Miss Jackson and his younger brother, he obliged, hoping it would eventually lead to his walls being broken down, his proper arrest and Emily's return. A whole six months they detained Moriarty in his division's secret base in the north, until they simply couldn't keep him without any legal evidence. He was let go, with Sherlock and Emily's life story in his head – Emily wasn't safe in London and she may not be for a very long time.

In that time, Sherlock, progressively more sober and stable, began to notice the changes in his older brother – he simply was not the same behind his steely eyes as he had been when she'd been around. He was rarely home, as Sherlock's homeless network relayed and he was very often out of London itself. As a whole year without Emily approached, Sherlock observed his brother become quite skittish, he assumed in concern for Emily's continuing absence, which he himself desperately tried to ignore. Many times he had gone to inform her of a new discovery in a case for Scotland Yard on his own private studies and found himself dejectedly roaming the rooms of Baker Street, anxiety even evident in his features. He knew of his brother's observational skills, for they often rivaled his own, and so it was no surprise when out of the blue, Mycroft informed him that they had indeed found Emily in New York.

It was exceptionally difficult for Mycroft to stop his brother, as he felt the same when Sherlock declared he was flying there to drag her back to London immediately. Mycroft knew Sherlock would need some form of explanation, but he simply could not tell him about Moriarty – for he was the type of person Sherlock would die to take down, even without his involvement in Emily's departure. Mycroft convinced Sherlock it was for the best, for it was what she wanted after all. It took weeks and weeks of assurances about her safety and happiness until Sherlock convinced Mycroft that he would leave her alone. He didn't want to – he sure as hell wanted to give her a swift, verbal, kick up the arse for her stunt, and the inability to do this, thanks to Mycroft breathing down his neck, rendered him frustrated at himself, and Emily, once more.

Mycroft found himself thinking of the girl more and more as each day went by. He had sent operatives to keep an eye on her and had increased the details after Moriarty's release from his custody. It was easier for him to pretend that she was simply undercover and it was certainly easier to protect her this way. There were many times where he found himself booking a jet to New York, especially around both their birthday's, for Emily had always been the one to emphasize the importance of celebration – Mycroft would do anything for her, and oh, how he'd reluctantly blown out too many birthday candles and donned too many cracker hats at Christmas for that girl. Times like that were hard over the four years she was gone.

Of a nighttime, Mycroft would work as late as possible at the office before returning to his residence. As if work wasn't empty enough without Emily, his nights at home without so much as a text message or email were torturous, for Emily was often an almost-permanent fixture by his side when she wasn't away on assignment. She was more a part of his life, of himself, than anyone else had or ever would be, but her absence was truly killing him. He'd always considered himself to be a fit man, but eventually, after much teasing on Sherlock's part, he too noticed his expanding waistline – and his stress eating was to blame.

In the March of her third year of living in New York, as her birthday neared, Mycroft was notified of Sherlock's departure to America. Sherlock had never been fond of the country and so there was only one reason why he'd suddenly leave – Emily. Mycroft followed his brother and caught him before any damage could be done – for Mycroft had deduced that the lack of contact had something to do with them – she'd be breaking a rule set forth by Moriarty – a rule only confirmed by her actions, not the man himself.

"Why?" was all Sherlock screamed, as they observed the girl from the building directly overlooking Julliard – Emily clearly visible through the window, nose buried in sheet music, her right hand tapping out a no-doubt beautiful melody. Sherlock was seething, shaking – the whole left side of his face twitched as anger pooled in the detective's being.

"She's been threatened," Mycroft had no choice. He had seen how much Emily's silence had affected him over the last few years. He had to tell him something – maybe he'd see something Mycroft hadn't. "We're assuming it has something to do with me, with her job. My entire sector worked for twelve months, but we were unsuccessful at making it safe for her to return."

Sherlock flinched at the notion that Emily had been threatened to stay away from them, for obviously it wasn't only to do with Mycroft – for she would have kept him in her contact if it had not been specified – it was simply who she was, she found loopholes where she could. Whoever had done this her, they were truly good, for they had quite obviously scared the girl. "Who did this to her?" Sherlock finally asked, with a sharp intake of breath to steady himself.

Mycroft sighed – he had wanted to avoid breaking Sherlock further than her departure already had. His younger brother had been decisively better over the last few months, immersing himself again in his own field of work, with less of the depressive violin playing. He couldn't tell him – he'd set himself on a war path that Mycroft couldn't be sure the danger of. "We don't know. We've interviewed many, and all have lead to nothing."

The brothers spent twenty-four hours in total in New York and Mycroft could visibly see the difference in his brother, for he no longer believed it to be anything he had done, at least not directly. They both returned to London – Mycroft to his internal heartbreak, but constant surveillance and Sherlock to his sleuthing.

It wasn't too long later that Sherlock found John Watson and they became fast friends, despite the personality flaws in both persons. Sherlock was calmer with John Watson than he had been since Emily left, and he could even feel himself returning to stability.

But he never forgot what had happened to his Emily – not when she was young and definitely not what happened before she left his life for good.

And then one day there was a knock at the door, and what was behind that door, was awfully confusing for the emotions of the detective.