I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and how awful it is, and spelling/punctuation mistakes. But I really wanted to update before tomorrow, and get started on The Blind Banker. The last sentence is before the beginning of that episode.

I hope you all had a great Christmas, and that you have a Happy New Sherlock day. (OHMYGODIMTOOEXCITED!)

We've waited so long for this, and it has been a pleasure to be a part of this fandom and go crazy with you guys.

Here's to an AMAZING 2014, I hope you guys will stick with me, and go crazy with me when the Hiatus starts again.

After a few weeks, Emily deemed her room, liveable.

Well, it hadn't exactly been un-liveable in the fist place. It had been empty, save for a bed frame and mattress ready and waiting for her. But she had felt a change to the colour of the walls; dull grey wasn't exactly her cup of tea. She had refused the help of John numerous times, but had to ask him if he could hold the step ladder as she painted the higher parts she couldn't reach. Resulting in them both having violet specked hair by the time she had finished.

That particular day had ended with her sleeping on the settee as the smell of paint was too much for her. Sadly, Sherlock had stayed up for longer that night. Which meant she had had to listen to him talking to himself about things to do with the current case he and John had been working on. It was fairly early in the morning when Sherlock had actually left the room and gone to bed. Though Emily highly doubted the Consulting Detective had gone to bed. He had probably just had enough of her fake snoring.

When she was sure he had gone and wasn't coming back, she crept to the door leading to the staircase and patted down Sherlock's coat. Earlier, when she had shut it behind her, it had banged against the door. A noise that should not have been made by a simple coat. She had a suspicion of what it was, but wanted to make sure.

Sure enough, in the left hand pocket, were a couple of batteries. The two that were still missing from the remote control. She smiled to herself as she replaced them from where they came from. She would sleep with the remote under the covers with her, just in case she didn't wake up before Sherlock, then in the morning, she would turn the TV on from the comfort of her position.

To her, it was one mystery down.

Now she just wanted to find out where her favourite book had gone and she would be happy.

Ever since the visit from John and Sherlock, Mr Roid had been acting strangely. For instance, if he ever saw her walking towards her in a corridor, he would act as if he had forgotten something and turn back the way he had come. His visits had also become few and far between. She wasn't complaining. On the contrary, she was actually looking forward to work some mornings. Her work was also getting done quicker. She had a bit of free time to annoy Mike if he was free, or chat to Molly. She had become rather fond of the woman and she tried to encourage her to talk to Sherlock as much as possible whenever he was in the building. It didn't work of course, Sherlock only seemed to talk to Molly when he wanted something and Molly gave in rather easily when she got a compliment that left her flustered.

Molly had asked her one day how she managed to not get flustered whenever the man was around. To which Emily answered with: "I pretend he's ugly." Then at the confused look she received: "It's easier that way." She shrugged as she spoke those words. It was only those times when she was pretending that he was ugly, that she realised just how good looking he was.

Emily wasn't exactly sure where the rest of January had gone. Neither was she sure where February had disappeared to. But she wasn't going to object. The sooner March was out of the way, the sooner it would become warmer. Spring time had always been her favourite. That time of the year when it wasn't too hot but neither was it too cold. That time of the year when flowers bloomed and made streets more colourful.

But right now, the only colour she was concerning herself with, was that of her pillowcase.

Her face was pressed into it. Her face probably looked like a tube map from the creases of the material, but she couldn't care less. And her body was snug and warm under her quilt.

She wasn't going into work until later, and she wanted to spend as much time as she could in the warmth of her bed sheets. She wasn't exactly sure what time it was.

She was lightly snoozing when there was a knock on her door.

"Come in John." Her voice was still croaky with sleep.

"How did you know it was me?" He asked with one hand on the door handle and the other on leaning on the doorframe.

"Sherlock doesn't knock." She answered simply, stretching as she did. And it was true. One night when she couldn't sleep and ended up staring at her ceiling, Sherlock had let himself in, and continued to lie on the bed next to her. When she had broken the silence and asked him what the hell he was doing, he had answered with one word: "Bored."

She hadn't bothered to throw him out but continued to stare at the ceiling along with him. It hadn't taken her long to fall asleep after that, she had listened to his breathing as he had lain there in his usual position, hands together as if in prayer and the rest of him ruler straight. When she had awoken the next morning, he had gone, and neither of them spoke of it again.

"What's up?" She questioned John now.

"I'm off shopping. Did you want anything?"

"I think I've written everything I want down."

"Ok. Going in late today?"

"Yep." She said, popping the 'p'.

"I'll see you later then. Sleep tight."

"Ok." She pulled the quilt over her head, but a thought suddenly struck her. "Wotsits John. Can you get me some Wotsits please?" She shouted, effectively getting rid of any sleepiness she had left.

"Wotsits. Got it." John shouted back to her from the staircase.

"Thank you." With that she pulled her covers back up over her head and attempted to drift off to dreamland once more.

Emily wasn't sure how much time had passed between then and when she started hearing banging noises coming from downstairs, but she figured it was probably time to get up anyway.

Again, I'm sorry for how bad that was.

For the last time this year:

Believe In Sherlock.

(#Sherlocklives)

FB