Hiya, Authors note!
Thank you so much for reading and also for reviewing!

Quirkykeyboard thank you so much for your continued support, I feel flattered *.*

From this chapter on there will be a lot more Sherlock because Emily.. yea well...

When Emily got home from her shopping day she met Ian in the entrance hall of the building.

"Please stop stalking me, Emily", he said annoyed.

"I am not stalking you", Emily replied, frustrated to be always in a position where she had to defend her doing.

"Yes, of course", Ian said in a very ironical tone. "Darling, I am so sorry, but I'm really not into you. Please forget about me"

"I . Am. Not. Stalking. You." Emily repeated, enhancing every word.

"I am so sorry that it would never work out between us, but quite frankly, that's the truth. I could never be with someone as boring as you are"

"Whatever", Emily replied, intending to walk past him, but he caught her and held her on her shoulders.

Ian came very close to her, so close that she could feel him breathing. "You are boring", he whispered.

"Please, just let me go, okay?", Emily said, her voice still strong.

"And your body", Ian just let go of her shoulders, still having grip of her arm tough. With his free hand he now moved towards her breasts and his index finger stoke over the outline of her blouse, opening the push-buttons and exposing her bra.

"You don't even have a good body, Emily"; he said in a bored voice, his index finger slipping from her collarbone towards her breasts and just very shortly over them , going further down and making a halt at her trousers. He now had a grip on the outline of her panties and pulled her even closer.

Finally Emily recognised the smell. Alcohol.

"Please, let me go", she repeated, but Ian didn't answer.

"I do so much better than you", he continued. "And you weren't even good, you little whore"

"Let me go." Emily insisted now, but he put his hand over her mouth.

"I decide when you go"

But then, suddenly he came to his senses and pushed her away. "Run, you little slut", he slurred.

And Emily ran.

When she reached her room the first thing she noticed was her bed, full of ketchup and a sword, sticking out of the middle.

And then she saw the stabbed doll. She was shocked, but after a while she realised it wasn't just any doll the intruder had stabbed, it was her doll. Her childhood doll. She had named it Su-Su, since she couldn't pronounce Susanna at that time and her doll had looked like a Susanna. She had carried it around and loved it so much! And now Su-Su was ruined, stabbed in a pine of ketchup, ruined.

Quickly Emily pulled the bed-sheets off, after removing the sword. The fact that somebody had been in, had opened her drawers, had messed with her stuff, it was too painful to think about so she was distracting herself with the task to wash the ketchup out.

Rinsing it under the water didn't help much and the small sink was no use to her. Tears stung in her eyes at the thought of her poor doll. Whoever had entered her room here must have also broken into her flat at home. It gave her goose-bumps to even think about it.

The ketchup didn't vanish and suddenly Emily realised why. The slow way how it dissolved from a dark red, nearly brown-ish colour into a lighter red but never quite leaving the sheets, the way the stain remained – it wasn't ketchup. Emily remembered how she had once cut herself pretty badly wearing a white shirt. She knew how blood looked like when she was rinsing it from a shirt and now she was rinsing blood from bedsheets. This was not ketchup. The intruder had used real blood.

At the very instant Emily turned the water off.

When Sherlock arrived at the penthouse all he could see was the room Emily left. The girl was gone.