Did you miss me?

Please forgive me for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct. I don't own, only Emily.

Thank you for everyone who has followed/favourite. It means a lot.

And a special thank you to: Gwilwillith, Hope of the Darkness, shadowboxing, suzii3499, Guest, Kam74, severusfangirl13, , Dynamite-Dreams (that review WAS fabulous), bored411 and FedoraLover23. I'm sorry if I spelt any of those wrong.

HAS EVERYONE SEEN ALL OF SERIES THREE NOW? WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK?

She was sitting on the table, her left leg crossed over her right. The objects that he been scattered on the table top moments ago, had been pushed haphazardly away to make room for her. She had often had moments like this as a child. Moments when she didn't feel like sitting in a chair like everyone else. Instead choosing to take residence on the top stair and watch the world (or rather the residents of the household) go by, or perhaps the arm of the settee, which most of the time she found to be comfier than the actual seat itself, and get lost in a book. Sometimes she even opted to sit on the floor. There had been many times in her youth when playing hide and seek that she had taken to the corner that had been well hidden by the table and the display cabinet that had been a Christmas present from some relative she had never met to her Mother. (It was something Emily had often looked at and wondered if the relative it had come from had met her Mother. It wasn't something she actually wanted and only bothered to fill it with the presents Emily's Gran bought for them. She could count the number of times her Mother had spared a glance in it's direction on one hand.) There were even times when she had had the house to herself and she managed to climb on top of the kitchen counters by herself. Those times she was usually caught by her brother or Jim and told not to do it again.

She had only been in her teens when she realised why she had enjoyed sitting in peculiar places. You could view the world from a different perspective; The arguments that often took place between her Mother and Gran seemed somehow muted or at least turned down a decibel or two from the top of the stairs. The arm of the settee perfect for annoying her Mother. The floor made her feel like Alice in Wonderland after she had drunk some of the magic potion that made Alice become small, the world seemed bigger from that particular vantage point. The corner was a place she could pretend everything was alright. It was her own little sanctuary.

Now, as she was perched on the table in the living room of 221B, she had a perfect view of Sherlock. Or rather the left side of Sherlock. He was busy, staring straight ahead. At what Emily wasn't sure. She turned her gaze to the wall above the fireplace. Or what had earlier, appeared to be a wall. Now, the mirror was surrounded by sheets of paper, print outs of the pictures that had taken earlier during the day and pieces of paper Sherlock had made notes on. She was sure Mrs Hudson would be less than thrilled about it.

Lying innocently next to her on the table, her book that she had managed to get halfway through before she decided it was just too boring for her. But with nothing better to do, she sighed and picked it up again, letting it fall open on her lap at the page she had been reading not five minutes ago.

"Thought you were bored with that." Sherlock's sudden interruption of the silence caused her to jump and blush slightly. He hadn't taken his eyes away from whatever they were trained on, so how had he known she was attempting to read again?

"I am. But I have nothing better to do and I have no idea where John's gone." It was true. She hadn't seen or heard from her friend in what felt like ages, but in reality had probably only been a few hours. The place felt a little strange without him around. It was even quieter that was for sure.

"He's gone out for a drink with his sister. Though that will probably end up being a disaster seeing as she's still a drunk." Emily rolled her eyes. But then her brows knitted together in thought. It wasn't like Sherlock to actually pay attention to what John or herself was doing or going for that matter. Well, at least not all the time. Just the other week she and John had returned from a trip to the café they lived next to, only to find Sherlock sitting in the same position they had left him in, and informing them that he had already asked them twice if someone could pass him the book form the kitchen table. Apparently he carried on conversations with them, even If they were not in the vicinity.

"How do you know?" She dared ask. But she regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She was probably going to have to sit through a speech of exactly how he knew who John was with and what he was doing. And Emily knew she would listen to every word, because she found it so interesting to hear him speak. His speech would of course, be followed by the thirty seconds of Emily berating herself on not having spotted the signs earlier.

"He told me." Was the only answer she received. She looked up at Sherlock now, more than a little surprised with his three word sentence, only to find his watching her rather intently. She blushed and lowered her head again, hoping that the hair that had now un-tucked itself from behind her ear would hide her face or that Sherlock would just stop looking at her. But to her surprise, again, the man raised himself from his chair and took slow and careful steps towards her. She did not raise her head again, but watched from out of the corner of her eye. It wasn't until he was right in front of her that he stopped.

"You have a secret." It wasn't a question, but a statement designed to get her attention focused on him, she knew that. But her head didn't stay down like she silently begged it to. It shot up without her consent and she was shocked to find Sherlock now mere inches away from her legs. She had to crane her neck up slightly so she could actually look him in the eye and not his shirt buttons that so desperately clung to the button holes. There were times when she found herself wishing they would just pop open and be done with. Either that or that Sherlock would get himself some new shirts. Ones that actually fitted.

" What makes you say that?" He took the book from her hands and threw it onto the settee as if he had not a care in the world.

"You." Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound lower? "And I know exactly what it is." His voice was now a whisper as his hands were now settled on either ide of her legs on the table. His body leaning forward ever so slightly, invading her personal space. Not that she minded. Not in the slightest. "When I do this..." His face got lower until it was right in front of hers, "Your pupils dilate." She couldn't help but notice that his didn't exactly look constricted. "I would imagine that when I did this..." He placed his left hand on her waist and his right on her cheek. "Your pulse quickens." Her hands, that were palm down on the table now became slightly sweaty the longer Sherlock looked at her. But her attempts at discreetly wiping them on her jeans did not go unnoticed by the Consulting Detective. He chuckled to himself, his eyes glinting with a certain mischief that made it hard for Emily to breath. She hadn't noticed, until now, that Sherlock had lifted her leg away from the other and now stood between them, causing very little space to come between the pair of them now.

"What are you-" But she was cut off as Sherlock gently kissed her neck, silencing not only her voice, but her thoughts as well.

"I knew it." Sherlock murmured against the skin of her throat so she could practically feel his words against her.

"Knew what?" She was sure her cheeks had turned a bright red at how breathless she had sounded.

"Emily Cooper has a crush." Sherlock announced, tucking the hair behind her ear again before placing his lips firmly on top of hers. Her eyes shut as she begun to run a hand through his dark curls, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat, only encouraging him all the more. His hands roamed her waist as his kisses become stronger with every passing second. But something didn't feel right to Emily. She felt another presence in the room. Reluctantly, she broke away from his mouth, a little thankful for the gulp of air she took.

Sherlock leaned his forehead against hers and watched her intently. Not speaking just watching. It wasn't until a flash of red caught her eye that she looked away over his shoulder. There, leaning against the doorway leading to the kitchen, was Jim. Hair slicked back and sunglasses on, a smart and expensive looking suit made him seem even more handsome.

The flash of red that had caught her attention, an apple that he was throwing into the air and catching without even having to look at it. She could tell, even thought his shades covered his eyes, that he was watching her. The smirk plastered on his face was all the confirmation she needed. He opened his mouth and spoke, his Irish accent as clear as ever.

"Did you miss me?"

Emily's eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by the darkness of her bedroom. Her breathing was a little erratic, not to mention her heart beat.

Why the hell would she dream something like that? It could not have been about the boy who had invaded the majority of her thoughts throughout secondary school, or the handsome Doctor she had literally bumped into the other day? Oh no, it had to be Sherlock bloody Holmes she had dreamt about. She wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been so-so- intimate. The only consolation she had that made her feel a little at ease was that she had had far more intimate dreams than that, thankfully none of them involved Sherlock. Or Jim watching for that matter.

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed to herself. There was no way she was going to be able to get back to sleep now, not after that. She grabbed her dressing gown from the bottom of her bed and stepped out from under the covers. The cold air giving her goosebumps as soon as it hit her bare skin. With her gown tied tightly around her she made her way downstairs, careful to avoid the creaks of the floorboards so as not to wake John who she could hear snoring slightly in the other bedroom.

She was halfway down when she began to panic. What if Sherlock was still up? He would know instantly that something was wrong. It was Sherlock after all.

She could only hope that he wouldn't be able to deduce that she had had a dream that involved him. He was never very good at spotting when someone took a fancy to him. Or if he did, he never said anything. It was Sherlock after all.

She slowly entered the living room to find Sherlock, lying on the settee. His hands in the usual prayer position. For a moment she watched him, wondering if he was asleep. He was so still that there was no way he was awake. But then, after a few seconds more, she noticed his Adam's apple bob up and down with the motion of swallowing.

She moved away into the kitchen and turned the kettle on. She mentally argued with herself as she waited for the water to boil, that Wotsits at this time in the morning was not the best idea in the world.

She made Sherlock a cup of coffee and herself a cup of tea before she berated herself. What if Sherlock was planning on going to bed soon? If he drunk coffee now, he wold never get to sleep, and she and John would be paying the price. But then she figured she had already made the drink, she wasn't going to waste it. If Sherlock didn't want it, he didn't have to drink it.

She placed it gently on the table in front of the settee and sat down in John's chair with her own, curling her feet up next to her. She reached over to the bookshelf and grabbed the nearest book, she didn't have time to read the cover however as a voice broke the silence.

"How did you know I was awake?" She looked over at his form. He hadn't moved. Hadn't even opened his eyes. If it wasn't for the fact that his Adam's apple bobbed again she would have said she imagined his voice.

She turned back to the book in her hand and studied the cover. 'Criminal Law.' The words were big and bold against a blue and red background. "People don't tend to swallow in their sleep." She enlightened him in a murmur, blew on her drink and took a sip.

He made a noise as if he was annoyed with himself. He sat up now and studied the wall above the fireplace. Emily too, turned her gaze upwards and found that, much like it had been in her dream, the mirror was surrounded by bits of paper. The photos that Sherlock had asked or rather told Emily to print out from his phone was distributed around notes he had made.

She silently prayed that the CV that she had helped John with earlier had not been touched or tampered with. Much to her joy, she discovered it still lying in wait for later on in the morning when John had a job interview. Sherlock really must be busy if he hadn't even bothered to have a read through of that.

She jumped a little when Sherlock slumped in his chair opposite her and watched her blush. "Why are you awake so early?" She opened her mouth to answer but she didn't get the chance to use her voice. "No. Don't answer that." He leaned forward and studied her, his hands had taken up their usual prayer position again. "You don't seem to be in pain. You're not menstruating." She was fairly sure her eyes were as big as saucers at his words. "There's no need to look shocked." Her blush only intensified. "You're not hot, you have your dressing gown on, it's wrapped tightly around you, your feet are tucked underneath you, probably so you can maintain the warmth or what little of it they have left after standing in the kitchen for that long. But you're tired. the slight bags under your eyes indicate that. So why aren't you in bed? You were already blushing when you were observing me, suggesting you were blushing when you awoke. Bad dream? No, bad dreams leave people sweating or upset, but you don't appear to be either, so perhaps a good dream." He paused as if for breath. "Oh yes. A good dream. Your breathing just increased." She rolled her eyes and attempted to control her breathing and fight the images that flooded her brain of the events of said dream. "Now, a good dream and a blush, presumably about a man who has caught your fancy. Anyone I know?" Her brows knitted together in confusion at his last sentence. Perhaps she was still dreaming?

"You don't have to pretend to be interested, I know you're not" She settled for those words instead of questioning him about why he cared.

"Who says I'm not interested?" Sherlock questioned with a rather fake look of disbelief. She raised an eyebrow, as if to state the obvious and watched as he rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'm not interested. Just trying to take my mind off the case."

"Why?" She took another sip of her drink. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Because I'm getting nowhere." He answered, sitting back properly the way he would when interviewing a client. She was certainly starting to feel like one.

"Why did you take this case?" She asked suddenly. She wasn't sure exactly why she asked the question. But she felt she needed to know the answer.

"Someone broke into a bank, took nothing, had no obvious way of getting in. Wouldn't you have taken it?" He replied with a quirk of his eyebrow as if that should have been obvious.

"Well, yes. But that's not what I meant."

"Enlighten me." His hands were once again, under his chin in the prayer position.

"That guy from the bank..." She clicked her fingers when she couldn't remember his name.

"Sebastian." Sherlock supplied for her.

"Yes. Him. Thank you." She took a moment to wonder how she could forget that name seeing as it was the name of her brother and not a day went by when he didn't cross her mind. "He emailed you about it right?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "But John told me you two went to school together." Sherlock nodded. But she didn't know how to voice her thoughts. "But you weren't friends. John told me what he said: 'We hated him.' Why bother doing this for him if he hated you so much?" She had used quotation marks as she had quoted the arsehole.

It took Sherlock a moment to reply. "It's a case. Cases keep my mind busy. If my mind isn't kept busy it rots."

She merely nodded in return and looked back down at the book in her hands. A moment of silence passed before she opened her mouth again. "I'm glad you weren't friends with him." She informed him. "He's an arsehole." Due to the fact that she had found a sudden interest in the book on her lap, she missed the slight smile that passed over Sherlock's features.

"Was I right?" He asked now, changing the subject. She looked at him from under her lashes. He was watching her intently, reminding her of her dream. She looked down again before Sherlock could notice her blush.

"About what?" She knew the innocent act wouldn't work, but it was always worth a try.

"About why you're up. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." Her mouth twitched into a smile.

She let the silence linger for a moment, Sherlock's words hanging in the air.

"Possibly." She made her voice sound nonchalant.

"That means yes judging by fact you're blushing again." Drat. She thought to herself.

"No. Possibly means...possibly."

Silence descended once more. Sherlock took to studying the paper around the mirror again. Emily opened the book and began reading. Even if it wasn't her usual type of book, she wanted something to take her mind off Sherlock and her dream and hopefully control the flush of her cheeks.

"That means yes." Sherlock mumbled to the room as if all the furniture had suddenly developed ears and could hear every word they were saying, clarifying it for them as if they wouldn't understand.

Emily laughed to herself and continued to sip her drink as she read the table of contents. Maybe being in Sherlock's presence after dreaming about him wasn't so bad.

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