A/N: OK so I saw Iron Man 3 Friday and it was so amazing and fantastic, and then Doctor Who was on last night so I didn't update. But here it is, so enjoy.

Chapter 25: Trick-or-Treat

Sherlock adjusted his blonde wig in the bathroom mirror. He checked his white sweater, and orange ascot, before stepping into the living room.

"Almost ready?" He called.

"Just a second." Emmaline said hurriedly, walking over to the window, with a candle and a lighter.

"It's been a month." He said gently.

"I know, but I want to pray for them."

Emma put the candle on the window-ledge and lit it, saying a silent prayer for those who had died last month. Sherlock sighed but joined her, bowing his head. Every day since September 11th, Emmaline had lit a candle and prayed. The disaster had rocked her home country, and the rest of the world felt for America. Being away from home, it was the least Emma could do, to pray for the families of those who had lost someone.

She crossed herself and stood up. "Alright, I'm ready now."

"Get the buckets." Sherlock reminded her.

Emma smiled softly and grabbed the Halloween buckets that would carry their candy.

"You know, you don't look bad blond."

"You make an awful red-head."

"Hey!" Emma laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

Sherlock smiled and led Emma out of the apartment and down to the first floor, where kids were already gathered. It had been Emma's idea last year to take Sherlock trick-or-treating, since he had never done so as a child. She also got to pick out the costumes, since Sherlock had done so last year.

Halloween of 2000 he had picked out Spock and Uhura. For Halloween 2001, Emma had dressed them up as Fred and Daphne. Sherlock had not complained, and worn the costume. He had been surprised when Emmaline had come out of the bathroom in her costume. The purple dress was short, and tight, and he had found his gaze lingering a little too long. Every now and again he found his glances wondering to his friend and he quickly looked away, hoping she had not noticed.

She herself had been admiring his costume. The white sweater and blue jeans were just tight enough to accent what he had, and Emma could not keep her eyes off him. She mentally cursed and berated herself, because this was her best friend. Looking at him, she thought she did not feel any differently. After all, this was Sherlock. So she brushed the thoughts away and looped her arm in his, walking outside.

Sherlock was practically jumping up and down with the joy of going trick-or-treating. If Mycroft could see him now, the elder brother would surely giggle about his little brother's childishness. For once, Sherlock did not care. He was dressed up, with his best friend, and getting free candy. Not to mention this was a childhood experience he was sorely lacking in memories of.

So at 7.00, Emma and Sherlock began to ring on the doorbells of neighboring flats and get candy. Many a time adults looked at them suspiciously, especially Sherlock. Emma would secretly sign 'crazy' and point at him, which then triggered sympathetic looks on the faces of the adults, and extra candy for Sherlock.

They walked around the neighboring blocks, filling their buckets with the free sugar-filled goodness.

"My feet are killing me." Emma said, stopping Sherlock with a hand on his arm.

She deftly took off her two-inch purple heels and Sherlock took them, holding them in the crook of his fingers.

"Thanks." Emma smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"Emma?" A familiar voice called from behind them.

She turned at the sound of her name, and saw Henry and Amelia behind them on the sidewalk. A cursory glance at their costumes told Sherlock that they were homemade, quite well, and that the girl had sewing talent. She had clearly made the costumes because of the needle pricks on her fingers. All Emma saw was that they were dressed up as Jack and Rose from Titanic.

"Henry." She smiled, forcing herself to sound pleasant. "And Amelia."

Amy smiled snootily and threw her hair over her shoulder. Sherlock decided immediately that he disliked her, and that anyone willing to leave Emmaline for her, was the dumbest person on the planet.

"How have you been?" Henry asked. "Haven't really talked much, you know?"

"Yeah well…you broke up with me." Emmaline pointed out.

"So, this is Henry, the ex?" Sherlock asked, feigning no knowledge of the boy.

"And who are you?" Henry asked, looking him up and down. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to Emma, not expecting a reply.

Sherlock smiled languidly. "I'm Fred." He snaked an arm around Emmaline's waist and stared pointedly at Henry. "I think Daphne and I should be going."

Emma felt the heat rise in her cheeks at Sherlock's touch; he turned them and they walked away down the block, back towards his flat. His arm stayed on her waist the whole time, and Emma could feel her cheeks turning redder. Her stomach was dancing, and her knees felt weak.

When they got to the flat, she walked shakily over to the couch while Sherlock was in the kitchen, putting his candy into a bowl. Emma pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks and felt how hot they were. What the hell? She yelled at herself. She did not have time to think on it however, as Sherlock came into the living room with his bowl, and an empty one. His blond wig was off, probably in the kitchen, so she took her red wig off and set it next to her on the couch.

"Would you like to conduct a trade mission?" He asked, sitting on the floor by her feet.

"Are you asking if I want to trade Halloween candy?"

"Yes; it sounds much more childish if you say it that way."

Emma laughed and dumped her bucket into the bowl.

"Alright, let's trade."

She sank onto the floor next to Sherlock and they began to set aside the candy they hated, and would trade with.

"So, you really didn't go trick-or-treating as a kid?" Emma asked, setting aside Snickers.

"No; mum and dad were always too busy fighting to take us, and Mycroft didn't want to by the time I was old enough to know what it was. Sometimes mum bought us candy to make up for it, but not every year." Sherlock shrugged as if it was not a big deal, pulling the Butterfingers out of his bowl.

"What else didn't you celebrate?" Emma asked, curious. Even knowing Sherlock for a year, not all his secrets had been divulged.

"Sometimes we would not celebrate birthdays. It depended on what was going on. Dad was usually too drunk to remember and mum was too depressed. She got better after dad died though, and always remembered."

"What about Mycroft?"

Sherlock smiled softly. "Mycroft would sneak out of the house, take his pocket money, and buy me a cupcake whenever they forgot. We would sit in our room and pretend there was a candle in it, and he still let me make a wish."

"He sounds sweet, your brother."

"He was." Sherlock said harshly.

Emma reached over and put her hand on top of Sherlock's. "Did you do that for him?"

"Not until I was seven – before then I couldn't climb the fence, though I tried. He would always catch me and bring me back inside. He would tell me he did not mind not having cake or presents. After dad died, mum got better. She took medicine, and she remembered our birthdays."

"So you took care of each other." Emma stated.

"Yeah; he took care of me." Too bad he couldn't when I was grown-up.

"So why do you hate him now?" Emma asked earnestly.

Sherlock sighed. "Lestrade probably told you I did harder drugs – cocaine, while I was at University. Mycroft knew about it, but he did not stop me. Did not visit to talk about it, did not really visit at all. I thought I had done something wrong. But the first time I overdosed, he called the police and had me taken to the hospital. So I knew he was watching, but that he didn't want to see me. So now I don't want to see him."

"Sherlock, your brother does care about you. Maybe he just doesn't know how to tell you that he does."

"Why not? It was easy when we were children." Sherlock said, sounding like a lost and injured little boy.

"Because you were children. Everything is open and easy to say. But you grew up, and he didn't know what you needed. And judging from what I've seen of you, he's got to be a normal Holmes."

"Better, actually." Sherlock admitted.

"What?" Emmaline asked, surprised.

"Mycroft's smarter, and his powers of deduction better. But he's lazy, and he guesses. He doesn't investigate."

"Well those are some fantastic genetics." Emmaline whispered to herself. Sherlock heard and smiled.

"Here, take this." Sherlock tossed a Three Musketeers into her bowl.

"Not without giving you something." Emma said, rifling through her pile.

"I hate them, just take it; besides, I have more candy than you. How did that happen?"

Emma smiled knowingly, but steered the conversation elsewhere.

"So what was University like?"

"I got into Cambridge; scholarship, though I did not need it. Never decided what to study, and left after two years without a degree."

"Well, what did you do there? Did you like it?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, lifting his head to look into her eyes. "It was Hell."

Emma stared at him sadly, her eyes asking the question 'why?'

"I lived on campus, like most of the other students. My flat mate was a closeted gay athlete, and I deduced he was gay. He was convinced I had spied on him and he threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone.

"The first few weeks at University, we had seminars and orientation and that was how I introduced myself – deducing people around me. My mother and Mycroft had always encouraged the talent – Mycroft especially – so I thought it was OK.

"I got called 'Freak' and everyone hated me. Sometimes I got invited to dorm parties so everyone could talk about me behind my back. Girls would make fun of the way I looked, and would laugh whenever I tried to talk to them.

"A few times a pretty girl would ask me out, but it was only because her friends had dared her to. Or because the other boys wanted to humiliate me." Sherlock looked down, trying to avoid Emmaline's gaze.

"My last year there I was so scared and embarrassed I couldn't concentrate on my studies, and I got into cocaine. I thought it would make others like me, and that it would take away all my problems, but it did not. And I got addicted; no one was there to help me so I quit school. I was scared there, and I hated myself." Sherlock laughed shakily. "I've hated myself for a long time, actually."

Emma had sat there silently during Sherlock's sad testimonial, just listening. She could not understand how people could be so cruel, especially to someone as special as Sherlock. He was a fantastic friend, and everyone at University had missed out on knowing him. In fact, they had turned him to a shell of himself.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm sorry." Emma drew the man into a hug and stroked his curls. "Those people were idiots because you are wonderful."

Sherlock choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Emmaline, burying his face in her neck and crying. In the year-and-a-half that Emma had known him, Sherlock had never cried in front of her. She had always figured that he was damaged, but never to what extent.

She let him cry as long as he needed to, just as he had always done for her. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to help calm him as his tears soaked through the shoulder of her dress.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sobbed into her shoulder.

"What for?" Emma whispered gently.

"I'm ruining your costume." He said lamely, sitting up straight.

He wiped his eyes and his nose on his shirtsleeve. Emma smiled sadly and took off her green scarf, wiping the rest of the tears from his face.

"Everybody cries; it is good for you." She told him.

Sherlock caught her hand in his and rested them in his lap; her heart picked up at the action, even though it was something they had done a million times before, holding hands.

"Don't go, please." He whispered, pleading.

"OK." She traced her thumb across his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock nodded his head gratefully, and yawned.

"Come on; let's get you ready for bed."

She ushered Sherlock into his room and closed the door so he could change. He poked his head out a minute later.

"Here – I thought you might want some pajama's." He handed her a pair of fleece bottoms and his Coldplay shirt.

"Thanks."

She took the clothes from him and their fingers brushed. It was a thing that had happened a hundred times before but Emma pulled back quickly, as though she had been burned. Sherlock had not noticed but Emma's stomach curled as she walked away into the bathroom.

She changed quickly, ignoring whatever it was she was feeling and settled down onto the couch. Sherlock came out of the kitchen with a glass of water and locked the front door. He walked sheepishly in front of her and stood, shuffling his feet.

"Emmaline…uh, would you mind – umm…sleeping in my room?" Sherlock asked, embarrassed. "I'm scared."

"Of those kids? They're long gone Sherlock." Emma shook her head.

"No; that I might leave the flat and find him."

Emma immediately understood that he meant his dealer. This talk tonight had brought up his old feelings, and he was afraid he would try to find his dealer so he could use again. But if he knew Emmaline was there, and that he would disturb her by getting up, he could sleep.

"OK Sherlock." Emma nodded her head uncertainly.

"Thank you."

She walked quietly behind him and got into bed, the long day finally hitting her as she sank into the soft pillows. Emma turned her back to Sherlock, and he to her, and they both fell asleep rather quickly.

At some point during the night, Sherlock turned over and threw an arm over Emmaline, curling it around her waist and pulling her closer. She snuggled in closer, inhaling the tobacco scent that she had come to associate with him, but the vanilla was gone. It had been replaced by a leather smell that suited him more, she thought. She inhaled deeper and wondered if he wore cologne that made him smell like that. The fringes of her consciousness wondered this, and something else: What the hell is going on?

A/N: Please review with your thoughts, I enjoy reading the comments!