Having finished the Wotsits, and making a mental note to buy more the next time someone went shopping, Emily was now nursing a glass of the punch her landlady had created. At first she had not been able to taste the alcohol for the fruit. So much so that she had begun to wonder if the drink would count for at least one of her five a day.

The couple had moved to the kitchen and she was happy to leave them to it. She didn't want to bother them anymore than she already had done.

Nine Million Quid. She thought to herself. She could fill the whole house with Wotsits, the whole street even and still have enough left over to bring home a few dogs. But having Wotsits in the house with dogs probably wasn't the best idea. She was unsure if they could eat that type of food. Probably not a good idea to try that one.

With her feet tucked up underneath her, she took another sip of the punch, and listened as John giggled faintly at something Sarah had said. Emily could not help the overwhelming feeling of shame that over took her. She should have tried harder to stop Sherlock from crashing their flatmate's date. Should have fought harder against whoever her attacker was back at the theatre.

Gently shaking her head to rid herself of those thoughts before they overtook her mind completely, (for she had spent many nights lying awake at night wondering where she would be now had she stuck with Jim all those years ago. Should have's and what if's got her nowhere but regretting the past.) she took a gulp of her drink and rested her chin on her hand.

Anyway, she figured, it's not really like I cold have stopped Sherlock. He just does as he pleases.

This thought lessened her shame somewhat as she heard movement from the kitchen. She looked over to see John standing in the doorway, menu in one hand, mobile phone in the other.

"Em, we're ordering take away, did you want anything or have you filled up on Wotsits?" He raised an eyebrow at her in amusement at the sight before him; His roommate sat curled up on the settee, empty bowl on her lap that had five minutes ago been full of Wotsits, the glass that still bore the slightest hint of punch, and her hair messy. Had Sherlock still been home he would have said their date, or whatever they were calling it, would have ended rather well. It had not escaped John's notice how the Detective had wanted her to go along with him back out into the outside world, or how he had looked at her.

If the pair weren't together by Christmas he would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you ordering?" She squinted her eyes at the menu as if that would help her see it from where it was hidden in his hand.

"Chinese." She snorted at the choice. "It was the first one I could find."

"Yeah, go on then." She lifted the glass up to her lips to finish the liquid.

"Anything you want in particular?"

"Another glass of punch would be nice."

"From the menu."

"Oh. Hmm, surprise me." She shrugged as she ran her index finger along the bowl to gather the crumbs of her snack. Nine Million Pounds. That is a lot of dogs. I wonder if the boys are allergic to dogs. "John are you allergic to dogs?" She called, but she needn't have raised her voice as he was still in the doorway watching her whilst he held the phone to his ear.

"I know we're ordering Chinese, but I highly doubt they cook dogs in their restaurants over here."

"Ha. Ha. Not what I meant. I meant are you allergic to dogs as in pet dogs."

"Just how hard did you hit your head?"

"I'm just curious."

"I highly doubt Mrs Hudson would allow pets in here Em. But no I'm not allergic to dogs."

"What about you Sherlock?" She turned to face the desk, only to find the Detective missing. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He left about five, ten minutes ago. Said something about - oh hello, I'd like to make an order please." With that he turned back into the kitchen to order the food. And hopefully bring back more punch for me.

It had taken Emily a grand total of two minutes and twenty three seconds to get bored with waiting for the food and her refill of punch. But instead of going into the kitchen to retrieve more for herself, she had abandoned the living room altogether and made her way upstairs.

Her thoughts had once more taken a darker turn and memories of Timothy Pecker flooded her brain. The overwhelming urge to rifle through the book his Mother had written all those years ago had become too much.

The couple downstairs hadn't noticed her departure from the room. She was unsure if this was a good thing or not as she had begun to feel dizzy once more. If she fainted she would just have to make sure she landed loudly enough for them to hear and come to her aid.

Kneeling down on the floor she reached back under the bed, her fingers just skimming the shoebox when she faintly heard the knock on the front door.

This was her moment to make it up to John for ruining his date. Making sure she had some cash in her pocket, she stood quickly and raced down the stairs, speeding past the living room just as John too emerged from the kitchen.

"Take aways here Em. Oh. What are you -?"

"I've got it John." Though it hurt her head, she continued her descent down the stairs, padded her way across the floor in the hallway and threw the door open. She smiled at the man who for some reason had his hood up. "Thanks for waiting. How much do we owe you?" She pulled the cash from her pocket but noticed the man before her held no plastic bag in his hand. She looked behind him to see no vehicle of any kind waiting for his return.

"Do you have it?" Was the only reply she received.

"Have what? Where's our food?"

"Do you have the treasure?" He snapped.

"What bloody treasure? JOHN!" She shouted as loud as she could. But if her flatmate replied, she never heard it.

The next thing she knew, the man at the door had lifted his hand, the object he held came towards her swiftly and darkness took over.

I'm sorry.

FB