In word this is only 3,269 words, but on here it's over 3,340.
Confused.
With a shake of her head in the hopes that it would take her gaze away from the sight before them, she dug into her pocket, quickly unlocking the device and dialling Sherlock's number.
As the ringing tone sounded loudly in her ear, she couldn't control the few steps forward her legs took. Coming to a stop next to John who was also taking a closer look, she ran the finger already smudged in yellow along the line of the symbol in front of her and sighed when Sherlock didn't bother answering his phone. Not one to give up hope, she tried again, not realising she had somehow left a small blot of paint of the back of her phone.
But, again, he didn't answer. Frustrated, she scratched her cheek and turned to her friend. "You should have rung him. He's ignoring me."
John sighed. "Then we need to go and find him." He pulled his phone from his pocket now. "Hold the torch Em." She took the object from him and watched as he proceeded to take a picture of the wall before them. "Right," He slipped the phone back into his coat, took the torch from Emily and took her hand. "Come on."
"Maybe I should wait here or something?"
"Why?" His brow creased, though wether it was from curiosity or annoyance she wasn't sure. She gestured to the wall with her free hand, unsure of what to say. But John knew what it was she was trying to convey. "Emily, the wall is not going to disappear. It will be fine. I'm not leaving you out here on your own."
"Why not?" John began to pull her along behind him as he ran.
"Because it's dark, we don't know who's out there. Anything could happen to you. I'm not leaving you on your own." He hadn't even bothered to look back at her as he dragged her behind him.
It felt like hours later (though in reality it had probably only been a few minutes) that they found Sherlock, busy examining the side of a freight container.
"Answer your phone! We've been calling you! We've found it." He had released his grip on Emily's hand seconds before. But as her flatmates began running in the direction she had come from, she sighed as she attempted to get her breath back. Why, why did they always have to run everywhere?
But, within minutes, they had arrived back at the wall again, and Emily could not control her smug smirk, though she made sure it only lasted a few seconds before she wiped it away to speak. "'It will be fine.' You said. This does not look like 'fine' John." The wall that had moments before been covered in yellow graffiti was now blank. A wave of gratitude to John rushed through her; if the spray paint had gone, it meant someone had obviously been there. She would indeed have been on her own, and though she would have been fine having to defend herself, being attacked from behind, she would have been less than prepared. Anything could have happened to her.
"It's been painted over!" John stated as if it wasn't clear, though that was probably more for Sherlock's benefit than hers. Emily edged closer to the wall; she was itching to run her other index finger along it. But she didn't need anything more on her fingers. There was indeed nothing. "I don't understand. It-it was here..." He moved backwards and looked at Emily. "...Ten minutes ago. We saw it didn't we Emily." She nodded though it wasn't really a question. "A whole load of graffiti!"
"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." Emily looked up at Sherlock beside her, unsure of what to say. But she didn't have to think for very long. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Sherlock had moved in front of John, and was now holding his head in both his hands.
"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing...?"
"Shh, John, concentrate, I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes." If Emily didn't know any better, she would have thought Sherlock was going to kiss him.
"No, what? Why? Why?" But the only answer he received was Sherlock lowering his hands to John's upper arms. "What are you doing?" Emily hand to hold a hand to her mouth to contain her giggles, though she was sure the pair before could still hear them.
Slowly, Sherlock started to spin them around on the spot, staring intensely into John's eyes. "I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"
"Yeah. But why can't you do this to Emily instead? She saw it too."
"Leave me out if this." She commented, taking her phone from her pocket and snapping a picture or two. Sherlock ignored the pair of them.
"Can you remember it?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Can you remember the pattern?" By now, Emily was almost snorting with every breath she took.
"Yes!"
"How much can you remember it?"
"Well, don't worry..." They still spun.
"Because the average human memory on visual matter is only sixty-two percent accurate."
"You learn something new every day." Emily mumbled as she began to control her giggles now.
"Yeah, well, don't worry-I remember all of it."
"Really?" Sherlock could not have sounded any more disbelieving.
"Yeah, well at least I would..." He managed to pull himself from Sherlock's grasp. "...if I can get to my pockets!" He rummaged in his jacket. "I took a photograph." Emily noted the hint of what she thought was embarrassment cover Sherlock's features as John turned away from the man with a sigh after showing him the photograph.
"You dare show that picture to anyone," John looked determined as he looked at her, a finger pointed directly to her face in warning. "You're in trouble."
She placed her hand across her heart, feigning hurt. "You really think so little of me?" But the only reply she received was her friend raising an eyebrow at her. "That hurts John." But she smiled to him when she could no longer hold the pretence.
"We need to get back to Baker Street." Sherlock stated his nose inches from John's phone as he studied the photographs.
"Emily dear, what have you got on your face?" At the sound of Mrs Hudson's question she turned her face fully to the woman currently holding the door open for them. She sounded amused.
"Pardon?"
"Your face dear. When was the last time you washed it?" The older woman moved to the side to allow the three tenants into the building.
Emily shrugged and pretended to think. "Mmmm, 'bout, nineteen ninety-seven?" She joked. "What's on it anyway?" She turned her face to John, but Sherlock got there faster. He tilted her chin to get a better look under the lights.
"Yellow spray paint." While his long fingers felt rather soft and gentle on her skin, she felt a little awkward at the action happening in front of other people. She removed her chin from his grasp and walked over to the mirror.
"Oh yeah." She sounded bored as if spray paint on her face was the last of her worries. "Thanks Mrs Hudson." Her tone became brighter as she spoke to her landlady. With that she bounded up the stairs, undoing her coat as she went.
She let it drop on the settee and moved over to the mirror over the fireplace, listening as she heard the males of the house walk up the stairs, take their coats off and turn on the printer. Though she suspected that was just Sherlock. She found her suspicions correct when she looked at his reflection. Though what she found rather odd was the fact that he was not looking at the printer on the table waiting for it to load. He was looking down at the phone in his hand, still studying the pictures John had taken. Or at least he was pretending to.
His body was straight, though she noticed that he was leaning slightly against the edge of the table, and his head was lowered as if he found the screen of the phone fascinating. But his eyes were not on the screen. Instead, they seemed to be watching her. Though what part of her she wasn't sure. She decided to conduct a quick experiment. Ever so slightly, she bent her left knee so she was standing more on her right foot.
If she had not been watching with her keen eyes, she would have missed the way his popped a fraction wider. Had she just caught Sherlock Holmes looking at her backside? She quickly shook her head at the notion. Don't be ridiculous. She thought to herself.
She hurriedly found the spot of yellow on her face again when Sherlock abruptly moved closer to the printer, casting his gaze away from her. She noticed now that her cheeks were flushed. Why the hell would her cheeks flush at the thought that Sherlock was looking at her arse? It must have been a mistake, just a trick of the light.
As Sherlock began printing, she licked the pad of her index finger and began to try to wipe the paint away, though she had little success.
"Emily." She paused mid wipe to find that John was standing next to her, hands on her shoulders trying to get her to face him. She allowed him to move her. "What are you allergic to?"
What a thing to ask. But it had gained Sherlock's attention. "What?" Her face scrunched up in confusion.
"What are you allergic to?" He repeated as he took in her flustered face.
"Ummm." Now she really did have to stop and think. It had been many years since she had been asked that question. "Some form of antibiotics I think and..." Baked Beans? No that wasn't it; she just hated the taste of those. Celery? Tasty, but she couldn't stand the smell. She clicked her fingers as she suddenly recalled what else it was. Though how she managed after thinking about Baked Beans and Celery would be a mystery to her. "Face paint. Though it wasn't really an allergic reaction I had, it was just a form of reaction." She nodded, rather pleased with herself when it sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.
"What symptoms?" John was in full doctor mode now she realised, so it was probably best not to say she was fine.
"Well, where the paint had been was incredibly red and very hot. It looked weird because I'd had half a butterfly on my cheek so when my brother washed it off only half my face had reacted. Not that my face isn't weird anyway." She added in afterthought.
"So your skin only reacted where the paint had been?" She nodded. "Well, then I don't think you're allergic to spray paint then. But you are rather warm." He placed the palm of his hand against her forehead.
Her eyes widened when she realised it was actually because she had caught Sherlock looking at her. "Maybe...maybe it's because we came in so quickly. You know? It was rather chilly outside, and it's really warm in here?" She could only pray that her tone didn't sound too hopeful that he would buy what she was telling him.
"Hmmm." John finally took his hand away and looked back to the yellow on her cheek. "That won't come off with just saliva; you need soap and warm water.
Emily took a step back. "Whatever my Doctor orders." She looked over John's shoulder at Sherlock who had now turned to look at the paper now printing the images. "Sherlock mind if I use your bathroom?" His head snapped up to meet her gaze so quickly, she thought he might have got whiplash. But she didn't wait for his answer. "Thanks." She slipped her shoes off, placing them by the living room door out of the way and hummed a merry tune as she exited the room.
It didn't matter how hard she scrubbed, the damn paint wasn't budging. Her cheek had now become all the redder with each stroke of the cotton wool ball she had found. She looked as ridiculous as she had when she had been little and the butterfly had been washed away. Sebastian had teased her for days on end that he should go and get her a mask just like the Phantom of the Opera wore. Though at that young age, she had not understood the joke, had tilted her head to the side and asked what he had meant. She had never received an answer off him; he was always too busy laughing till he cried at his own joke, but Jim had informed her that one day she would understand. And when that day came, she was more than welcome to give her brother a punch to the face.
She paused in her actions when she remembered the actions of Raz earlier that evening. Dropping the wool into the sink, she reached into her back pocket and found a piece of paper.
Folded neatly but smudged with what she presumed was spray paint, she unfolded it and found a drawing. It was a drawn version of her looking over her shoulder at whoever was studying the page. In the drawing, her phone was in her hand, the screen just noticeable. The words: 'Calling Raz' followed by a number filled it. She supposed this was his sly was of giving her his number, his cheeky way of asking her to call him sometime. It was possibly the nicest way she had even been offered a number before. Before she could lose the drawing, she re-folded it carefully and placed it back in her pocket after entering the number in her phone.
She was more than a little tempted to text him, but she had no idea what she would say. 'Hey, thanks for the help earlier, this picture you drew of me isn't accurate, it's too pretty to be me, but I'll keep it anyway.' Or maybe 'you really are rather presumptuous aren't you?' She sighed and decided that she was too tired to start a text conversation with anyone at that moment. Instead she saved it under 'Cocky Artist' and entered her inbox. She hadn't given it much thought until then. She felt as if the space where the text she had received earlier was glaring at her, silently telling her that it was a rather foolish mistake to have deleted it. Perhaps she could have got Lestrade to take a look into it, or, and she dreaded to think of what would happen if Sherlock ever found out, the Consulting Detective himself.
But it was too late. She had deleted it. It was gone, and unless whoever had sent it texted her again; there wasn't really much reason to bother anyone with it.
"John told me about earlier." She jumped at the deep voice behind her, almost dropping her phone in the sink in the process. She laid her free hand over her heart in a feeble attempt to get it to calm down and sent him a scolding look in the mirror. He chuckled at her as she picked up the cotton wool again, placing her phone on the side of the green bath, and began to scrub her face again. She was just thankful that her cheek was already red; his chuckle always caused her to flush. The very few times she heard it anyway.
"About what? Lots of things happened earlier."
She hadn't realised that he had moved closer to her until he was right behind her.
"The phone call," She looked up to his reflection again. "From your Mother."
"What about it?" She shrugged as if she couldn't care less and looked back at her face. She wasn't prepared for Sherlock to reach for a fresh cotton wool ball, run it under the tap and turn her face to him.
"It upset you." He stated calmly as he moved her hand away from her face and began to gently wipe at the yellow.
"It's nothing I'm not used to." She tried desperately not to meet his gaze that was set firmly on her. "You could have knocked you know, what if I'd been naked?"
"I shouldn't have to knock, it's my bathroom. You weren't showering, why would you be naked?" She rolled her eyes and opted to change the subject.
"It's not coming off." She indicated with a wave of her hand to her cheek.
"Give it time, it will eventually." But he didn't stop cleaning her cheek. Neither did his gaze waver as she finally met it.
"So then why are you still trying now?" The truth was, Sherlock had rather enjoyed the feel of her skin when they had been downstairs, and he had just been looking for another reason. Helping her clean the paint from her skin was just an opportunity he couldn't resist.
"Thought it might speed things up a little," He lied. "You were taking too long and we need to go."
"Go where?" Her shoulders visibly slumped, Sherlock's hand on her chin being the only thing to keep her head from rolling along with her eyes.
"Back to the museum." With one final sweep of the cotton against her cheek, he threw it away, along with the one she had been holding while he had been in front of her. "We need to find Soo Lin Yao; she can help us crack this code." He had not bothered to distance himself from her.
"Oh." Was all that left her mouth. But without her telling them to, her eyes fell on his lips. If this was one of those romance films or god forbid one of those cheesy romance books, this is the part where we would kiss. She mentally shook her head and blinked as she moved away, trying to create some sort of distance between them. Or at least enough space so that she wouldn't be able to feel his minty breath on her. "Well then we should go."
"Yes." His voice rumbled and Emily was sure that if she had been as close as she had moments before, she would have felt his chest rumble with the word.
"I'll just..." She pointed to the door. "Go and get my things." She moved around the man, careful not to touch any part of him no matter how much a part of her brain was screaming for her to.
She felt his gaze on her as she walked and let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding as she arrived in the corridor. It was quickly inhaled again when she realised she had forgotten her phone.
"Shit." She murmured under her breath and spun on her heel to turn back to retrieve the item.
Sherlock was still standing there, watching the doorway she had just exited. He would have been stood in the same position if it was for his arm stretching out, her phone held in it, ready for when she came to collect it. She felt like an idiot.
"Thank you." She mumbled as she took it, not meeting his amused eyes. His hand was holding it in such a way that she could not avoid contact with his fingers. As they touched, though it was brief, she felt her skin tingle.
She felt her cheeks flush. Again.