I should warn you all that I have never written a tipsy/drunk character before, so I'm really sorry if it's awful. If anyone has any tips on how I can improve this, they are most welcome and appreciated.
Which brings me nicely to my next point. WARNING! Emily is tipsy/drunk in this chapter. I know there will be people out there that don't appreciate that so this has been your warning.
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT A REVIEW! AND OF COURSE IF YOU HAVE FOLLOWED AND OR FAVORITED.
This chapter is a little late. I wanted it out weeks ago but I was a bit unwell and had no enthusiasm to do anything.
Sorry for any mistakes I've made and missed. I only own Emily.
Please do leave a review.
Merry Christmas my Little Elephant. xxxxx
She blinked at her phone screen to try to wake up a little more before opening the other waiting messages.
Merry Christmas Emily. xxx
Both messages had been sent not long after the clock had struck midnight. Had Jim and Irene both been awake anyway, or had they waited up specifically to send her the messages?
The third one made her smile.
Merry Xmas Miss Emily Cooper. Xx
This one from Raz. The two had been texting every now and then, checking up on one another and Emily found she rather enjoyed her conversations with him. Even if they weren't very frequent.
She sent him a reply, wishing him a lovely day before going back to Irene's. But before she could even think about what to write back, another message came through from the woman.
When you next return to your house, there will be a gift waiting for you. I hope you love them. Xxx
You didn't have to get me anything. Merry Christmas by the way. x
Emily wrote back, sitting up in bed and stretching, listening for any signs of life in the rest of the flat. She could just about hear someone moving around in the kitchen and wondered if it was John getting breakfast or Mrs Hudson making a start on the lunch.
But I wanted to. Something to remember me by. Xxxx
To remember you by? What's that supposed to mean? X
But no reply came back. Emily thought perhaps the woman had put her phone down to make a start of her own Christmas, but something told the blonde that wasn't the case.
Instead of dwelling on it, she opened up the message from Jim and decided that since it was Christmas, she could at least send him a reply.
Merry Christmas. X
The response was almost instant.
Ah, there she is. Finally writing back to me. Don't forget the present I left at home for you. Enjoy the party tonight even though I won't be there. Xxxxx
She rolled her eyes and decided that it was time to get up (the noise in the kitchen had increased and she wondered if it was on purpose to wake her up a little quicker) and get the day over with.
Emily was unsure of when it had started snowing. She had been too distracted having a fun time with their friends that had gathered in their living room to listen to Sherlock play his violin. Not to mention enjoying a few drinks. She only noticed it now as she spotted the flakes falling over his shoulder and wondered how long it had been falling for and if there would be enough to make a snowman. Probably not.
Sharing Sherlock's chair with Mrs Hudson and being careful not to spill her glass of champagne as she snuggled closer to the woman, Emily - along with everyone else she was sure - followed the Detective with her gaze as he maneuvered round the room, effortlessly playing 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' though she wasn't sure if he was actually feeling as festive as the rest of them were.
She took another gulp of her drink to try and hide the blush he created when he sent her a wink.
As the tune came to and end, she managed to applaud him by slapping her free hand against her thigh, taking another sip of her drink as she did so.
"Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs Hudson commented happily.
Greg, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen caught Emily's gaze again and for the third time, lifted his wine glass in a toast. One she happily reciprocated - a little too enthusiastically - almost spilling the beverage down her outfit.
She had been told (not only by Mrs Hudson, but by John as well) to dress nicely for the occasion. Emily, not having anything she actually considered to be nice, (She would have just kept her green blouse on, but had managed to get gravy down it whilst they'd eaten lunch) had decided on her pencil skirt which felt different on her bare legs as she was more used to wearing tights with it. A tank top that was actually more likely to be a pyjama top, covered with one of John's cardigans. John had simply smiled at her attire, telling her she looked lovely, especially with her hair down. But Mrs Hudson had tutted and asked her if she really had nothing else.
Emily had raced back up the stairs as an idea had struck her. Sherlock had gifted her a beautiful purple silk dressing gown, much like the ones he was always wearing around the flat and in an attempt to live up to their landlady's standards had slipped it on, along with some fluffy socks that had been part of Mike's gifts to her.
When she had next entered the living room, Mrs Hudson had sighed and with a roll of her eyes, mumbled something about wearing a dressing gown to a party (not that Emily considered this a party, more a small gathering of friends) and walked off into the kitchen to get herself a drink.
Emily couldn't see the problem. She had been told to dress nicely. Her new dressing gown was beautiful. Therefore, she had made an effort. No one else had batted an eyelid. Not even John's current girlfriend.
"Marvelous!" John added, as he walked through the room, a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. The jumper Emily had gifted him looked wonderful on him and she had not stopped smiling when he had put it on.
Sherlock took a small bow to his audience, Mrs Hudson giggled up at him and Emily wondered who had drunk more: herself, or her landlady.
"I wish you could have worn the antlers!" Now Emily giggled along with her at the mental image her statement had created.
"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock replied, though smirked at the laughing blonde.
John handed the cup and saucer to Mrs Hudson and Emily wondered if it was in an attempt to get her to sober up. "Mrs H. I think you'll need one of these in a minute Em." He observed as the blonde turned her head to face him slowly.
"Me? I'm fine." She raised her glass again to clink it against John's bottle.
"Hmm."
"Oh, leave her be John. It's Christmas."
"My first Christmas not on my own for a while." She swallowed the last bit of champagne and decided John's beer looked rather tempting. "Oh, thank you." She reached up to the tray Jeanette was carrying and took a mince pie, taking a bite as she watched the woman approach Sherlock.
"No thank you, Sarah." Sherlock politely told John's girlfriend when it was his turn to be offered the tray of treats.
"Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names." John informed her as her face fell at the mistake.
"No-no-no, I can get this." The Detective insisted. "No, Sarah was the doctor, the one that got on very well with Emily; and then there was the one with the spots;" Emily rolled her eyes, "and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?" Now she cringed at his choice of words.
"Nobody." The woman crossed her arms sounding fed up.
"Jeanette!" Emily wondered if he was grinning at her and how fake it was. "Ah, process of elimination." John awkwardly moved Jeanette away and the sound of footsteps were heard on the stairs. "Oh, dear Lord."
"Mollllly! You made it!" Emily cheered, though she didn't get up as she felt she may have fallen back down again.
"Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up."
"Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful!" Sherlock grumbled.
"Ignore him. We're trying to. Which outfit did you go for?" Emily questioned, knowing her friend had been having trouble on deciding what to wear to the gathering.
"Oh, I'll show you." Molly took her coat and scarf off.
"Let me, er ... holy Mary!" John, standing waiting patiently to take her things, exclaimed at the sight of her outfit.
Molly had chosen a little black dress that nicely clung to her curves and the silver border at the top across her chest and on the straps sparkled beautifully under all the lights.
"Good choice Mol."
"Do you think so?" She asked, sounding a little worried as her gaze kept flicking between Emily and Sherlock.
If Greg's response (his mouth gaping open around the word "wow!") was anything to go by, then yes. "Definitely." She nodded and went to take a sip of her drink before disappointingly registering there was none left.
"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?"
"Trying to." Emily mumbled back, wanting another one, but also not wanting to get up from the chair and the warmth of her landlady.
Sherlock took a seat at the table. "No stopping them, apparently."
"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!"
"What about me?" The blonde asked her landlady.
"You're always nice to me dear." Mrs Hudson wrapped her free arm around her and hugged her tightly.
"Have a seat." John had bought the newcomer a chair.
"John?"
"Mmm?" John went over to see what the Detective was looking at.
"Molly? Want a drink?" After Molly had nodded, Greg turned to look at Emily. "Em." She blinked over at him. "Would you like another drink?"
"Yes please."
"What do you fancy? More champagne?"
She shook her head. "Can I have a beer please?" He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
"The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."
"Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!" John responded in mock anger.
"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Emily smothered her giggles into her hand. "Perhaps Emily could have a coffee or water and not a beer, I think that would be best." He informed the room, making the blonde frown and her giggles immediately cease.
"People like the hat." John stood back up straight and moved away.
"No they don't. What people?"
"Emily for a start." John mumbled in answer.
"Hmm?" Emily blinked up at him.
"Nothing." He grinned at her. "Having a good night?"
"The best." She again, went to take a swig of her drink but was again upset to find the glass empty. "Oh." She shared a giggle with Jeanette.
"How's the hip?" Molly questioned Mrs Hudson.
"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."
"I've seen much worse," Molly commented, "but then I do postmortems." An awkward silence followed her comment though Emily, in her tipsy state finding it hilarious, was biting her lip in an attempt not to laugh. "Oh, God. Sorry."
"Don't make jokes, Molly." Sherlock stated, still sat at the table on the laptop. Emily wondered if he would be sat on it all evening now, being thoroughly un-festive.
"No. Sorry."
Emily was about to voice how she thought Molly's jokes were some of the funniest she had ever heard purely to irritate the Detective a little more, but was cut off when Greg entered her line of vision and handed her a bottle of beer. "Drink it slowly." He cautioned her.
"Of coursse." She thought she did a very good job of hiding the fact she almost slurred her words. She clinked her fresh bottle against the glass in his other hand and took a sip, instantly pulling a face of disgust and wondering why she had asked for this as the taste was not something she enjoyed.
"Didn't think you'd like it." He tittered at the look on her face, moving back over to Molly to hand her the glass of red wine that Emily had just toasted.
"Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas." Molly stated, slightly puzzled at his presence.
"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together. It's all sorted." Emily smiled to herself at how pleased he looked at that fact.
"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Sherlock said, not even glancing away from the screen in front of him.
"Emily, are you thinking of going back home to see your Mum?"
"Oh God, no." She laughed hoping it didn't sound as awkward as she felt, though thanks to the alcohol she had consumed it sounded like a drawn out snort. "I don't think she would be too happy to sssee me."
"Not to mention you have no idea where she is." Sherlock supplied quietly.
Molly attempted to keep up the good spirits and turned to the Doctor, currently sitting on the arm of his chair. "And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"
"Yeah."
"Sherlock was complaining."
"Ha!" Emily didn't even try to hide that laugh.
" ... saying."
"Except we all know it wasss your first choice of wording." Emily pulled another face after another sip of the beer. If it wasn't for the look of exasperation that was now etched across his features after Sherlock's comment, she would have asked Greg for a different drink.
John continued as if the moment hadn't happened. "First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze."
"Nope."
"Shut up, Sherlock."
"Yes, please doooo."
But the Detective, either bored of the festivities or just plain wanting to be annoying, carried on. "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."
"What...Sorry, what?"
"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."
Emily found her cheerfulness had vanished and that she wanted to gulp down her beer. She didn't even attempt to restrain herself and downed at least half of the cool liquid, only just managing to not be revolted by its taste.
"Take a day off." John sounded exasperated. Emily could not blame him.
"Shut up and have a drink." Greg rested a glass on the table next to the laptop.
"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He stood and walked over towards Molly. Emily could only guess he was looking at the presents in the gift bag the woman had bought with her. "It's for someone special, then." Picking up the present he began to inspect it carefully. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all."
"Maybe you sshould jussst ssstop." Emily suggested as she noticed Molly squirming. She didn't need to guess who the gift was for.
"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." Emily refused to meet his gaze when he turned to - no doubt - send her a smug look or check that she was listening, turning over the gift tag attached to the present. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..." His voice trailed off as he finally looked down to read the words.
There was a moments silence as Sherlock took in his words and - Emily hoped - the awful thing he had just done.
"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." As Molly tried to fight back tears, Emily couldn't help the swell of pride she felt for her friend for saying that. She felt that anyone else would have gotten angry, but Molly managed to get her point across without even raising her voice.
It seemed Sherlock was very much regretting the things he had spoken, he turned to walk away before seemingly thinking better of it and turned back to her. "I am sorry. Forgive me."
Emily and John shared a startled look that their friend had given a human reaction, though they quickly (though in the blondes case, a lot more slower than John) turned back to watch what would unfold.
Sherlock stepped closer to Molly. His next words were spoken softly, and the detective couldn't help but wish it was someone else in the room he was saying them to. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He leaned forwards and gently pressed a kiss against her cheek. (Inwardly, Emily pushed down the jealousy she felt along with the irritation of knowing that this moment would be all Molly talked about for the next few weeks. Outwardly, she smiled at the sweet gesture.)
The moment was ruined however, when Sherlock's phone went off; a message from Irene.
Molly gasped, "No! That wasn't ... I – I didn't..."
"No, it was me." Sherlock informed her.
"My God, really?!" Greg joined in.
"What?!"
"My phone."
He reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the device and Emily watched John narrow his eyes. She knew what was coming. At first, the sound had amused them both greatly. They had managed to keep a rough count of how many times the noise had sounded. But as the count steadily increased, the humour seemed to have left the situation. The pair grew increasingly fed up with the alert going off at any given time; neither of them understanding why she even kept sending them. Or why had he not just blocked her number, or changed the tone? Emily had a lot of thoughts on it, though she didn't want to think about them with all the alcohol in her system. Did he even reply to them?
"Fifty-seven?" John queried.
"Sorry, what?" The Detective asked, not sounding all that interested.
"Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I've heard." He glanced over at Emily, who seemed to be waiting for his unspoken question.
"I've counted ssixty-three." Emily informed him.
"Hmm."
Sherlock read the message before walking over to the mantelpiece. "Thrilling that you've both been counting."
"It passessss the time." Emily stated, sending him a fake grin when he looked at her.
With some help from her landlady, Emily managed to stand, albeit slowly and only at her full height did she wish she hadn't bothered. "That beer was grrross, I don't know how you - how you can drink that stuff." She muttered to the other two men in the room, not noticing both of them were too focused on Sherlock.
"'Scuse me." Sherlock uttered to the room before moving off to the kitchen.
"What – what's up, Sherlock?" John asked.
"I said excuse me." Sherlock replied, not bothering to stop.
"D'you ever reply?" John called after him, though he received no answer. "Em." The Doctor turned back to her and spoke to her as she walked over to Molly. "Do you know if he ever replies?"
She shrugged a little as she grasped Molly's free hand in her own (though whether to show support to Molly, or to steady herself she wasn't sure.) "I'm not sure. I don't think so, he usually putsss - putss the phone away after reading it and then talks to me for a bit." Which was a little irritating when she was trying to watch the telly.
"About her?"
"No...pretty much anything but her." She turned away to talk to Molly. "Are you - are you alright?" Molly nodded, though took another gulp of her wine. "Sit down." Emily encouraged, pulling the chair John had retrieved closer to them. Molly did as she was told and sent a grateful look up at her. "Your hair looksss lovely. I like your bow."
"Thank you. I bought you one as well. Has he been festive at all?" She asked, handing her glass over and reaching down into one of her gift bags and tugging Emily down with her.
"That's so kind of you." Emily felt a little teary and allowed her friend to place the bow in her hair for her, giving the glass back when she'd finished. "Molly Hooper, you are sssso kind. Nope. You did miss him playing a Christmas song on the violin though. Finished literally before you - before you came up- up the ssstairs." John left the room, presumably to go and see if Sherlock was alright. The blonde stood up slowly so as not to fall onto Molly's lap. "That was about it though. It was nice though, wasn't it Mrs H? Oh, do you want another drink?" She asked Molly when she noticed her friend had finished off her wine.
"Oh, yes please. I think I'd better."
"I'll be right back." Emily squeezed the hand she still held in her own before releasing it and taking the glass from her friend again.
"No more for you." Greg pointed at her sternly.
"Ok, Dad." She giggled to him, pulling down her skirt she had not realised had risen slightly when she had been sat down. Checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she unscrewed a tiny bottle of gin and threw it back into her mouth, swallowing it quickly in one go when she heard Sherlock's door close and John entering the kitchen seconds later looking dejected. "What's wrong?" She discreetly put the empty bottle in the rubbish bag with the other empty glasses and got on with pouring her friend the glass of red she had wanted.
"I think she's dead."
"Who is? You'll have to be a liiittle more pacific."
"Irene Adler." But that couldn't be right, because Emily had just been messaging her that morning. "Will you go and see if he's alright? He just shut the door in my face."
"Me? What makes you think he won't shut the door in - in my face?" She hissed at him, taking a tiny gulp of Molly's drink.
"Because it's you." He swiped the glass out of her hand. "No more for you."
"Oh, it's not mine. It's Molly's."
John sighed, his eyes closing tightly. Emily felt as if he had many things he wanted to say to her at that moment in time but could not since he had just asked her to do something. "Go and check on him, please." He moved into the living room, plastering on a semi fake smile and began apologising for the behavior of his flatmate. The blonde briefly wondered if he was actually talking about the Detective or her.
One more small bottle of gin wouldn't hurt.
She knocked on the bedroom door and waited. Though she felt as if she had every right to just waltz in as he had done with her so many times before. But even in her tipsy state she wasn't feeling particularly petty.
The door finally opened but Sherlock moved away as soon as it was wide enough for her to come in. She did so and closed it behind her, taking a seat on the bed to watch him shrug his coat on.
"Off out somewhere?"
"Obviously."
"'ve been sent to see if you - if you're alright."
"I know."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?" He finally looked at her.
"Are you alright? John's - he's told - he's told me."
Sherlock sat down beside her, close enough so their legs were touching, but with enough distance between them that he could turn to look at her. "I'm fine."
"Hmmm I don't think you're being entirely honesssst."
"Oh?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What makes you say that?"
"I know what you're like." Her words, so similar to Irene's, but so different. "I know when you're lyyyyying." She whispered.
"How are you feeling?"
"'bout Irene?"
"With all that alcohol in your system?"
She grinned brightly at him. "Merry."
"Hmm, I'm not surprised." He watched her cover a burp with her hand and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Do you like your present?" He indicated down to the dressing gown.
"You know I do. I'd sstand up and give you a twirl but between you and me," She leaned closer to him as if she were about to tell him a secret. "I'm a little bit tipsssy and I don't think I'd stay standing."
"I'd say more than a little bit tipsy."
"Don't tell John." She placed a finger on her lips.
"Is this what your Mother's like when she's drunk?"
"Oh, no, she was much worse." She reached a hand up and smoothed down the front of his coat, enjoying how it felt beneath her palm. "She would do all sortssss and I would just - just let her because she didn't care about what I had to sssay. She - she didn't really care at all." She sighed, wanting to change the subject. "Do you like my bow?" She patted it gently so it wouldn't fall out. "Molly gave it to me. She's sooooo kind isn't she?"
"I care. John too."
"About my bow? I should think so, it's beautiful."
"About you." He slowly, almost uncertainly, let his arm travel down so he could wrap it around her waist. Should anyone come in unannounced he would simply tell them he was keeping her upright.
"That's sooo kind." She rested her head against his shoulder and hoped no one walked in. "Everyone is so, so kind."
"Mmm, perhaps not everyone."
"Everyone here is. Especially you when you aren't being unkind." She wasn't sure but she thought he may have chuckled. "Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted to go - go out." She stood, though wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Sherlock's coat and perhaps the man himself if he would allow it, but decided it would be better not to. "I'm thirsty."
He stood too, his hand still at her waist, other hand reaching for his scarf. "How about I get you a drink, hmm?"
"Oh, yesss please. I'll take a gin and tonic." He opened the door and allowed her to go first, though directing her into the kitchen.
"John." He eased her down into a chair and took a fresh glass, running it under the tap and filling it almost to the top.
The Doctor appeared in the doorway just as Sherlock was wrapping her hand around the glass and encouraging her to drink it. "Oh, John. Chinny chin chin." She toasted.
"Cheers, Em. What's going on?" He stopped beside her chair and placed his arm around her shoulder.
"I'm going off to Bart's. I'm sure it won't take them long to find her." He mumbled that last part to himself. "Make sure Emily drinks plenty of water."
"This doesn't taste like gin and tonic." She complained.
"New flavour." John supplied.
"Oh."
"Do you know how long you'll be?"
"No idea."
"This definitely isn't gin and tonic." She looked up at John. "This isn't what I ordered." Her disappointment was almost palpable.
"No, but it's what I'm ordering for you and I am your Doctor. Drink up."
"I think I need to go." Greg announced as he entered the kitchen, looking almost as fed up as Sherlock.
"Yes, I think it's best." Sherlock uttered.
"Let me see you to the door." Emily tried to get up but was held in place by John.
"No offence Emily, but I don't think you'd make it down the stairs." Greg chuckled to her, disappearing to grab his coat and in the time it took for him to put it on, Sherlock informed his flatmates that he would be back soon. He didn't even glance at Greg as he left.
"Well, thanks for coming. I'm sorry about...you know." John moved his hand to stroke Emily's hair as she rested against him.
"I guess it's to be expected. It is Sherlock after all. Emily," He crouched down to place a kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas."
"Merrrry Christmaaas." She blew him a kiss as it was too late to actually put one on his cheek.
Greg sent the Doctor a concerned look at her slurred words. "Don't worry. It's just water from now on." The policeman nodded and with a final wave to everyone vanished down the stairs.
"Come and sit in the living room again Em, I'll get you another drink." He helped her from the chair only to put her back down in Sherlock's alongside Mrs Hudson.
"Since no one thinks I can walk by myself, can you take me to the loo please, I need a wee. It's really importang than I go now. Because - Because, my bladder feels a bit full."
John sighed, and wondered just how bad her hangover would be in the morning. "Don't you have work tomorrow?" He asked curiously as he walked beside her, arm hovering around her waist as she slung hers over his shoulder, or at least tried to.
"Only for a few hours in the afternoon."
"Do you want me to wait outside?"
"Of work?"
"The bathroom."
"I think I'm capable of getting back to the living room by myself, thank you." She left John's grasp (but immediately proved herself wrong by stumbling into the wall) and maneuvered herself carefully the rest of the way, hoping no one had seen her but knowing everyone more than likely had. Why was the room spinning?
Closing the door behind herself felt like it took an age as her hands didn't seem to move at the rate her mind wanted them to.
Twenty minutes later, John found her dozing off in the bathtub cuddling a bottle of shampoo and mumbling something about the kitchen.
Emily startled at the sound of the front door closing. At the sudden movement, she felt something fell from her lap and she took a moment to wonder what the hell it was.
Snuggled up on Sherlock's chair, someone had tucked a blanket around her at some point and Emily wondered how long she had been snoozing for, especially since Jeanette was no longer in the room.
As the Detective appeared in the doorway, she stretched, twitching her foot away from John when he tickled the bottom of it.
"Oh, hi." The Doctor greeted after turning to see him.
Emily watched Sherlock survey the room, knowing full well he was searching for signs of things being in the wrong place, or moved ever so slightly. Though what they had been searching for was a mystery to her.
"You ok?" John asked in an attempt to break the silence.
When Sherlock's gaze landed on her, she sent him a sleepy smile. "Make sure you drink more water before bed." He mumbled to her.
"Oh, but I'll be weeing all night." She complained.
"Better than a hangover tomorrow." He removed his gaze from her and continued to scan the room. "Hope you haven't messed up my sock index." With that, he walked off towards his bedroom.
John sighed and turned back to look at Emily to find she had sunk further into the chair purely so she could try and rest her feet on his seat. "Alright down there?" She nodded and patted the floor for whatever had fallen of her lap. "He is right though, you should have some more water before you go to bed."
"I don't want to go to bed. I'm too comfy here." She finally found her object and picked it up, placing it on the arm beside her. "Where's Jeanie? Why is there a bottle of shampoo on the chair with me?"
"Alright then, before you go to sleep. Jeanette left. She's not coming back. She said to tell you goodbye, and the shampoo bottle...you wouldn't let go of it when I found you in the bath. Thought it would just be easier to let you have it."
"You've taken pictures of me with it, haven't you?"
John chuckled. "Of course."
She hummed to herself and closed her eyes again, letting the tiredness take over. It didn't take her long to drift off again and John couldn't help but laugh to himself at the position she was in. He stood from his chair, careful not to nudge her feet, and tucked the blanket around her as best he could, moving the bottle to the table so it wouldn't fall and wake her.
He returned to the room moments later to set a glass of water and a tab of paracetamol on the table for her should she wake in the night or ready for the morning and after pressing a brief kiss to her forehead and muttering a goodnight to her, he switched off all but one set of fairy lights and put out the fire in the fireplace. Should she wake in the night, then she would be able to make out where she was and where she was going if she wanted the loo.
He thought she mumbled something back to him, but couldn't quite make it out.
"Merry Christmas Em." He tucked her lose strands of hair behind her ear and made his way up to his room so he could sit and read for a while longer without disturbing her.
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