Did you miss me?

I am sorry for the shortness of this. But it's better than nothing right?

I am also sorry for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct. I am in a bit of a rush at the moment, so I won't be able to list everyone that reviewed the last chapter and thank them like I wanted to. But just know that if you did, then Thank you. It means so much to me when you do that. They make me smile and feel inspired to continue.

Also a big thank you to everyone who had followed and/or clicked the favourite button.

I don't own, only Emily.

ONWARDS!

"Caught your fancy" Sherlock's words ran through her mind repeatedly.

"Caught your fancy" Why those particular words would be running through her mind she had no idea. Putting the evidence together; the man she had dreamed about (who was only in the next room, still looking at the paper around the mirror as if they were about to start talking and reveal their secrets at any second) and those words: "Caught your fancy" Did that mean she was starting to develop a crush on Sherlock bloody Holmes? It was the only thing she could deduce from them.

She took a deep breath and stopped those thoughts then and there before they became all she could think about. She rationalized that she had dreamt of men in that way before, and those were mainly men she had only caught fleeting glimpses of. Or if she was lucky, handsome actors. She hadn't necessarily had crushes on them. They were simply in her dreams because they had been in her mind when she had fallen asleep the night before.

Yes, she only dreamt of Sherlock, because he had been in her thoughts before she had drifted off. That was it.

But then why had Jim made an appearance, shocking her awake when things could have become more interesting? He certainly hadn't been in her thoughts wh-

"Kettle's boiled Em." John spoke up from beside her, breaking her away from those niggling thoughts. He had been watching her for a few minutes as she stared blankly at the boiling kettle. He had been wondering what she had been thinking about to lose all focus as she had and had moved next to her to see if she was alright. He had got up this morning to find her sleeping soundly in his chair, a book dangling from her fingers, threatening to tumble to the floor any second and wake her up. He had taken the book from her in the hope that she wouldn't notice but he had woken her, a look of utter confusion plastered across her face as she took in her surroundings. It had taken her only a few seconds to remember where she was and had promptly asked if he wanted a cup of tea, jumping out of his seat as if it was on fire.

"What?" She asked now. "Oh. Thanks." She had finally realised what he was talking about and continued as if she had never paused, pouring out three mugs of water. "What time are you off?" She wanted to change the subject before he could even enquire why she had slept in his chair, and judging by the way he looked at the time it had worked.

"Soon." He replied mysteriously. "Aren't you in today?"

She shook her head as she added the correct amount of sugar for herself and Sherlock, careful to not put any in John's mug. "No. Day off. Which is great. It means I can avoid the angry rant I would probably be getting about leaving and not going back yesterday." She added in the milk now.

"Won't you just get it the next time you go in?" He stirred the liquid as Emily put the milk away.

"Thanks." She blew on her drink before taking a sip. "The beauty of working for a man like Mr Roid, is that he will be so distracted by the other filing clerk, he will completely forget that he has to have a go at me when he next sees me." She picked up Sherlock's mug and carried it out to the table. He had moved at some point in the night to one of the dining chairs, with his back to the table. If it wasn't for the fact that she could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed she would be a little worried. She expected no thank you and was therefore not disappointed when she received none as she made her way back to the kitchen to get herself some breakfast. "It's not so good for the other filing clerk though." She added in after thought. "Do you want anything to eat?" She asked as she put some bread in the toaster. "There's plenty of jam if you want toast." She leaned back against the counter as she faced John.

"No. Thank you, but I should be going." He finished his drink mindful not to burn his tongue. "I'll have something when I get home." He went to grab his jacket. "How do I look?" He hadn't bothered with the usual job interview smart look, but had gone for the casual, shirt and cardigan that still managed to look somewhat respectable.

"You look fine." Emily had never been one for fashion, or how things should be worn, for all she knew she could be sending him out looking like a prat. He smiled at her as he put his jacket on.

"I don't look like a Granddad do I?" He questioned her and indicated to his cardigan. She eyed him up and down over the top of her mug.

"Put some slippers on and you might." She teased and was thankful that his smile only became wider.

"I'll see you later. Sherlock, I'm going." He called into the living room and received no response.

"Good luck John." Emily replied instead and was a little surprised when John came over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you. Don't get cold." He indicated to her dressing gown that had opened itself and now showed off her pyjamas for anyone to see. It took a few moments for the door to slam and her toast to pop, but in those moments she took the opportunity to look at Sherlock.

There was certainly no denying that he was handsome. She couldn't blame Molly or indeed the other women they had encountered that had taken a fancy to him. His voice was one that could easily hypnotise you into doing anything he wanted. And there were times when she felt he was staring right into her soul with those eyes of his. But this was Sherlock Holmes. The world's only Consulting Detective. A pain in the arse if you lived with him. Or worked with him for that matter. She shook her head and turned to butter her toast.

"Caught your fancy." There was no way she fancied him.

"Could you pass me a pen?" Sherlock mumbled from his position causing Emily to stop her ascendance of the stairs back to her bedroom. Who was he talking to? Apparently he had done this before, according to John anyway. Sherlock would just start conversing with an empty room thinking that one or both of them were listening. Whenever John returned Sherlock would often say things that didn't make sense to him, as he had of course, not been a part of the conversation. But Sherlock, so often caught up in a case, had never noticed his absence., just assumed John had heard every word. She shrugged her shoulders when Sherlock didn't repeat his question and continued on her way back to her room, the smell of her toast making her mouth water.

It couldn't have been much later that the door slammed again, letting Emily know that John had returned. But she did not look up from her book as she sat once more, snuggled up in John's chair.

She felt John's coat take it's place behind her head as Sherlock, without looking round, opened his mouth to talk.

"I said, "Could you pass me a pen?"" Emily looked up now as John looked around the room. He met her gaze, the question obvious in his eyes. She shrugged her shoulders in response.

"What? When?"

"'Bout an hour ago." Emily leant over and picked up the closest pen from the table beside her, handing it to John as he sighed.
"Didn't notice I'd gone out, then." Without even looking at Sherlock, he tossed the pen.

Without even looking, Sherlock lifted his hand and caught it. She wondered how, after so little time of living under the same roof, the two of them had become so in sync.

"Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"Did it go alright?" Emily inquired.

"It's great. She's great." He answered absently. Sherlock finally looked away from the wall and shared a look with Emily.

"Who?" The pair asked, as Emily leant forward slightly in her seat, her interest now fully piqued.

John looked at them before responding. "The job."

""She"?"

"... It."

Sherlock turned his gaze to Emily again, sharing the suspicious look she was also wearing on her face. She leaned back and smirked. John Watson did not mean the job.

"Here, have a look."

Sherlock jerked his head to the right indicating to the computer, he hadn't looked away from Emily though. He hadn't really paid her much mind, not since last night after she had fallen asleep minutes after discovering she was developing feelings for someone. Whenever he thought back to that moment when her cheeks had flushed and his words circled through his mind, he felt an unpleasant feeling. It was not something he could place, it was not something he was used to.

Now as she sat in John's chair reading her book, he noticed for the first time that morning, that she kept sneaking glances in his direction, possibly nerves that he would root around some more to discover just who had caught her fancy. But he was too busy for that just now. He would save it for another time when he didn't have a case.

"Hmm?" Emily waited a moment as John read the article Sherlock had found. "The intruder who can walk through walls."

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

"God. You think..."

"He's killed another one." Emily was surprised that Sherlock had not jumped up from his seat, claiming it to be Christmas. Surely if 'He' had killed another one this would mean a serial killer? Didn't Sherlock love those? She kept her mouth shut however as Sherlock focused his gaze all the more on the wall around the mirror, his hands going back to their usual prayer position. She turned her attention instead to her book, and failed to notice whenever Sherlock stole a few glances at her.

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