I wanted this chapter out last Sunday but frustratingly most of it got deleted. That's almost seven thousand words deleted. I have no idea how it happened, but I had no way of undoing it. Please forgive me that it's a little late in beng published.

Thanks for all the positive things you've sent me. (That ice cream sounded amazing!) Send me more. What are you doing to distract yourself?

It's my birthday tomorrow and I have decided to gift myself with writing the next chapter. Having written this out so many times and re reading it even more I'm ready to get things rolling again. I hope you enjoy it. Please, please leave a review. Apologies for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I've probably made.

Stay safe guys. Much love.

Emily came to an abrupt halt in the doorway to the living room. Two pairs of eyes turned to watch her, though one pair was more intent than the other.

"Good morning my dear." Mycroft greeted with a genuine smile. Emily quickly tied her dressing gown up. She didn't particularly want either of them seeing the mess she had made on her pyjama top with the breakfast Mrs Hudson had cooked for her. Though she suspected they had already noticed and made their own deductions.

"Morning Mycroft." She replied as she moved towards the windows. "Morning Sherlock." She only recieved a mumble in return as she bent down to tidy up. "Sorry about the mess. I'm assuming Sherlock hasn't offered you a drink?"

"It's quite alright. But you would assume correctly. He's done no such thing." Mycroft turned to face his younger sibling to give him a look but found him still watching the blonde.

Emily stood back up, a pile of paper in her arms, her dressing gown coming undone. She looked around to find a place to put them, perhaps organise them into some sort of pile. "Would you like one?"

Sherlock, who had turned away when Emily had stood, got up from his seat and gently took hold of her wrist. She jumped at his touch and only realised he was so close when she looked up to find he was already studying her face.

"No, thank you. Only a brief visit today. How was your breakfast with Mrs Hudson?" Mycroft questioned, though he didn't expect an answer as he continued to watch the pair stare at one another.

"Delicious thanks." Emily mumbled in response. "What are you doing?" She whispered now to the man beside her.

"We're going to have a little chat later. You and I." He hadn't bothered to lower his voice and Emily could not help the slight flush of embarrassment that they had an audience.

She had spent rather a while last night over thinking this moment; the first interaction with Sherlock. His actions the evening before had come as rather a surprise and Emily had no idea how to...be in front of him. Did she pretend like nothing happened? Did she bring it up? Did she wait for him to bring it up? Would he even say anything? She knew the moment would come when she would have to face him but the fact that Mycroft was in the room had her heart racing even faster at the thought of the encounter being somewhat public.

She gulped. "Oh yes. And what about?"

Sherlock noted her dilated pupils weren't quite as bright as they should have been. Had she perhaps not slept and instead spent as much time thinking about him as he had spent thinking about her? Or was it just because she had slept on a sofa? How unfortunate his deductions would have to wait. "Later." He winked at her and took his violin case from the table where she had been about to place the papers.

He sat back down opposite his brother, taking the instrument from it's case. "Who let you in?" His tone sounded annoyed, and he couldn't help but feel it. He had been planning on cornering the blonde before she rushed off to work to discuss what had happened last night. But the arrival of his brother had thrown that plan out. He would just have to catch her later in the day. Preferably when they had the house to themselves so they wouldn't be disturbed. Again.

"Your landlady of course." Sherlock rolled his eyes; he would have to have a word with her about who she let in. "Not that I'm not enjoying your company Emily, but aren't you going to be late for work?" Mycroft asked now after checking the time.

Emily stood quickly as the front door slammed below them, a couple of loose papers fluttered to the ground.

"Sherlock. Emily!" John shouted as he began up the stairs.

"Shit." Emily dropped her collection back onto the floor and rushed towards the stairs, dressing gown billowing out behind her like a cape.

"Sherlock! Emily!"

"I'm going to be late for work John!" Emily yelled and slammed her bedroom door shut behind her. The noise was promptly followed by another bang and muffled swearing that caused the three males to look up at the ceiling. Evidently Emily had managed to injure herself on something.

"John." Sherlock greeted his other flat mate, taking the focus away from upstairs.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?"

"Hmm? What?" Sherlock looked around at the mess of papers, and dust that Emily hadn't managed to sweep up. In all his thoughts of the woman upstairs the explosion had left his mind. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." There now was the sound of thumping coming from above them. Evidently Emily was having a fight with her skirt. For someone so small, she really could make a lot of noise. Sherlock, with a pluck of the violin strings, turned his focus back to his brother. "I can't."

"'Can't'?"

Emily, who had only managed to get her pencil skirt on came racing down the stairs, tights in hand and entered the kitchen. She needed a plaster. Thank god John had bought that first aid kit all those weeks ago.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." John spared the younger Holmes a look of disbelief.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" Though Sherlock spoke to his brother, he was too busy watching as Emily found what she had been looking for. Discreetly, he sat up higher. All the better to see over Mycrofts shoulder as Emily hiked her skirt up her legs and placed a foot on the edge of the kitchen table.

"Fine." He would not give into the insinuation. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

"What?" John, who had got closer to the windows to inspect the damage, all but snapped.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

But John was paying them no attention, and as he wiped his hands together to rid them of the dust he had just collected walked over to the kitchen to check on Emily. Only pausing to look at Mycroft when he heard the words 'Korean elections'

"Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" It was almost as if he was teasing them, but John instantly knew the tone meant to forget what he had just heard. With a shake of his head he moved over to lean against the doorway and watch as Emily placed her foot back on the floor and pulled her skirt back down.

"Alright Em….What have you done?"

"I stubbed my toe on my bed frame. I didn't realise I was bleeding until I went to put my tights on. Bloody hurts."

"It will do for a bit if you've managed to make it bleed. Might have even pulled the nail off." He received a disgusted look.

"I got a bit of blood on my floor, can you remind me to scrub it off later?" He nodded, but she wasn't really paying much attention. "I'd offer to make you a drink John, but -"

John held up his hand to stop her from talking. "It's fine. Just go and get yourself ready." She beamed at him and ran back up the stairs. John rolled his eyes when he noticed the tights she had left on the kitchen table. Should he take them up to her or just let her find out herself? He rubbed the back of his neck. It was aching a bit and he wondered if they would have any cream he could use on it.

"How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?" He turned back into the living room at the sound of his name.

Where the hell had she put her tights? She was certain she had a pair a minute ago. She had looked under her dressing gown that had, unceremoniously, been thrown on the floor. Nothing. She had checked under the bed. Nothing. She had even thought of checking in the bed but thought better of it. That pair had been the last pair left that didn't have a hole in it. Had she taken them downstairs? It was a possibility - yes...If she remembered correctly, she had taken a pair downstairs with her and left them somewhere. She put her blouse on, paying no attention to the buttons as she sped down the stairs again. Once more coming to a halt in the doorway to the living room. John couldn't help but smile at her appearance.

"And what about you Emily?" Mycroft turned to look at her.

"Sorry?" She paused in glancing about the room to find Mycroft studying her.

"Living with Sherlock dear, how are you finding it?"

Emily opened her mouth before promptly closing it again.

She thought of all the times she had been dragged around London, woken in the night, the injuries she had sustained during his cases and the explosion last night. Not to mention the way she would often catch him watching her or vice versa, the way he would sometimes sit far too closely next to her when she was eating or watching the telly. How he made her want to pull her hair out sometimes and others she wanted to run her fingers through his curls.

She ignored the smirk she could see growing on Sherlocks lips and shook her head to rid herself of those particular thoughts. "It's...certainly better than living with my Mother. Have I left my tights down here?"

"In the kitchen on the table."John answered, receiving a quick thanks in reply. "You need to re-do your blouse." He called to her.

"Good! That's good, isn't it?"

"Sherlock, can I use your bathroom please and thank you." Emily said over her shoulder. She didn't expect a reply, she doubted he'd even heard her. He was probably back to sulking his brother was here.

She didn't bother to close the door properly behind her. Simply began to have a fight with her tights, mindful of her injured toe.

Only when her skirt had been pulled back down and the buttons of her blouse rearranged did she take a moment to relax. Exhaling a deep sigh when she noticed her mess of hair in the mirror. She made quick work of combing it as gently as she could with her fingers into a ponytail and entered the kitchen again looking for a hairband.

The kitchen was unsuccessful, so venturing into the living room she was pleased when her eyes immediately landed on one next to Sherlock's skull atop the mantlepiece.

It was bumpy and she had no doubt still knotted, not to mention there were a few strands she had missed, but she really was running out of time.

"This looks fine." She mumbled to herself in an attempt to convince herself. "It looks fine right?"

"Yes." She heard Sherlocks reply, even though she hadn't really wanted one.

"But will fine keep Roid away?"

"Want us to save you at lunch?"

"Thanks but I think I'm eating with Mike today. You're welcome to join us if you like." She shrugged as she eyed the reflection of the yellow smiley face and its bullet holes in the mirror. "Or if you're still bored." She caught John saying something about someone jumping in front of a train. Her interest was piqued, but she couldn't stay and listen.

She went back to the kitchen and slipped her coat on, checking that her keys were in her pocket before sliding her heels on. "I'm off to work. Mycroft, it was lovely seeing you." Sherlock rolled his eyes as his brother sent her another friendly smile.

"And you, my Dear."

John couldn't help but sigh to himself as he checked his watch. For all her rushing about she really was going to be late if she kept stopping to talk.

"Perhaps next time we can have a proper chat. With tea. Or coffee. Or whatever it is you drink." She called back to him as she descended the stairs.

"Certainly." He turned back to John. "The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called." Mycroft carried on as if the interruption of Emily hadn't occurred. His cheeriness gone. John began to flick through the folder he had just been handed. "The plans for it were on a memory stick." They heard the front door shut gently, followed by the click of heels on the pavement outside moving at a pace that was a little more hurried than usual. If she was late, she would definitely have Roid on her back all day and she knew it.

John sniggered to himself. "That wasn't very clever." Sherlock smiled in agreement but paused in applying rosin to the bow of his violin as he thought about the actions he had just witnessed Emily perform.

"She'll be back in a minute." He mumbled to the room, not particularly caring if the others were still talking.

The two other men in the room paused their conversation once more to look over at the younger Holmes.

"How do you know she'll be back?" John asked, but instantly wished he hadn't.

"She's left her phone." As if on cue, The front door opened and Emily stomped back up the stairs, taking no notice of the meeting that was still going on in the living room.

She had managed to make it to the end of the street before she realised she didn't have it. She probably wouldn't need it, but she didn't want to risk it.

There it sat on the bedside table next to her photographs, the little light winking to her indicating she had a text, but it would have to wait. She didn't dare stop to check it. Simply slid it into the inside pocket of her coat and, hopefully, for the last time that morning, clomped back down the stairs. "I forgot my sodding phone." She shouted, though she doubted they were listening. "Off again. Love you all. Have good days."

John waited for the sound of her heels to get fainter before he turned back to Mycroft and tried to get the conversation back on track. "Top secret?"

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." Sherlock checked over the sockets of the device. Not a scratch. Everything about it screamed fresh out of the box. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." He turned to give John an accusatory look, but John had found the wall of the office suddenly very interesting.

He turned the phone on, having only a second to take note of the background someone had set before a voice alert sounded.

"You have one new message." There was no new voice after this. Instead, four short beeps followed by a longer one.

"Is that it?" John questioned.

"No. That's not it." Sherlock noticed that not only had the background image been saved in the images folder, but a second photo had been added too. Sherlock chose the background image first. A little girl, who could have been no older then five had been painting, unused paper had been set out on the table before her, but she had opted instead to paint herself and whoevers lap she was sitting on. Her face held a gap filled smile where a few baby teeth had fallen out. He was certain he had seen this image before, but couldn't place it.

"Who's that?" John questioned.

"No idea." Sherlock replied and scrolled to the next image. This one, very different from the one before.

An unfurnished room, it's wallpaper peeling in places, a not particularly welcoming fireplace and two mirrors were really the only thing of note in the photo. But Sherlock knew he recognised it all the same. But this image, this room, he could place where he knew it from.

Lestrade had come forward to look over his shoulder. "What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" There really was no better way to explain the photo.

"It's a warning." Sherlock was looking into the distance.

"A warning?"

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again." He cast a look back down at the photo before brandishing the phone at the other two and leaving the office. "And I've seen this place before."

John quickly followed. "H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?"

Not bothering to stop, but turning back to face his companion, he raised his hands in the air for added dramatic effect. "Boom!"

Despite being a good ten minutes late, her toe still throbbing and the fact that she had actually said 'love you all' to a room of people that included Mycroft (she really could have banged her head on her desk for that one) Emily had decided that today was going to be a good day.

It didn't matter that she had been ten minutes late because it was Roid's day off. Mike had popped his head round the door quickly to make sure they were still on for lunch and Molly had stopped by for a quick chat that had ended up lasting a good half hour as she gushed about her new relationship. Her 'office romance' as she had put it. She had had to rush off eventually, but had promised to bring him back down with her when she next came so she could introduce the pair.

To make things all the better, she had managed to purchase the last can of Tango in the vending machine along with a packet of Wotsits.

Now, as Emily heard Mike's knock on her door, she beamed and slipped her coat on, checking her goodies were in the pockets.

"Where are we off to today?" She closed her door behind her and began to walk alongside her friend.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I've got somewhere a little different in mind today."

"Ooh, pray tell, pray tell."

"The cafeteria." He announced. He didn't notice Emily stop walking beside him until he was a few feet ahead. He stopped to look behind him at her and noticed she had lost the smile from her face.

"The cafeteria?"

"What's wrong with the cafeteria?"

"There'll be...people there." And knowing her luck, the two nurses that had taken a shine to laughing at her.

"What's wrong with that? And anyway, there will be people anywhere we decide to go." He noticed she had put her hands in her pockets and began to pull out the loose change she could find.

She counted seventy two pence. Maybe she shouldn't have spent her money on the vending machine. Had the two of them left the building for lunch, she would have got away with her snack, but now she would be dining in the canteen there was no chance of Mike letting her off the hook of no proper food.

He could see her wavering. "They've got chips." He knew she was a sucker for chips.

"I've only got seventy two pence." She bit her lip in thought. She couldn't even pay by card since she'd left it at home.

"Come on, my treat." Mike moved to stand in front of her.

"No, Mike, no. I can't keep letting you buy me food or giving me yours. It's not fair, you shouldn't have to - " Mike had lifted his hand in the air to pause her. He hated how disappointed in herself she sounded. He took her hand in his own and wrapped it around his arm, continuing down the corridor so they were linked.

"I want to Emily. Wotsits and a fizzy drink won't fill you up and someone has to look after you. I know John does a pretty decent job when your at home, but John isn't here now."

"But -"

"No buts. I am buying you chips and chocolate cake if they have it today and you are not leaving the table until the plates are empty. No arguments. We are going to sit in the cafeteria and have a jolly good lunch break. No arguments."

They had reached the dreaded room and Mike escorted Emily to a table. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Can you at least take my seventy two pence and I can give you some more money tomorrow?" But Mike put his fingers in his ears as he walked away so he could ignore what she was saying.

Emily sighed as she sat down. She really could not let Mike keep buying her meals. She would have to repay him somehow.

Half an hour later and all the chips Mike had bought her had disappeared. The chocolate cake was currently being devoured as he told her all about what she had missed at the Christmas party the previous year. (Roid had only had a few drinks before passing out. His staff had taken the opportunity to draw on his face with permanent marker. To add to the hilarity of it, Roid had come into work the following morning with no idea whatsoever and had continued his day not knowing why everyone had been laughing at the sight of him.)

Telling her the details of exactly what had been drawn on the mans face, Emily began laughing, and unable to swallow the mouthful of cake she had just placed in her mouth, almost began to choke on it.

"Swallow your food, then laugh Emily." Mike chided jokingly. He watched as she managed to swallow it down before throwing her head back and letting the laughter bubble out of her lips. He only wished he had remembered to bring his phone with him so he could show her the photos. Mike couldn't help but notice she had been a lot more jolly since she had moved into Baker Street. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she had made two new friends and had finally got away from her Mother. He certainly hoped it was.

"Ah, there you are. I was told you'd be here." John approached the table and allowed his eyebrows to raise in confusion, a smile growing at the sight before him. Laughter suited her. "What's wrong with her?"

"I was just telling our dear Emily here - "

"No." Emily managed to stop laughing, though she was still giggling somewhat as she spoke. "No, please don't say it again, I haven't got long left for my lunch and I'd like to finish my cake without it killing me."

"You can tell me later then." John took the seat next to her.

Emily nodded. "Maybe by then I'll have the photos to show you as well." She looked at Mike hopefully.

"You'll have to show me how to send them to you."

"Come by later. I can't wait to see them."

"Will do."

"What are you doing here then John?" She turned fractionally to look at him properly while still eating her cake. It didn't escape his notice that she had tucked a napkin down the front of her blouse to prevent creating a mess.

"Sherlock has a case."

"Oh, so no more bored Sherlock shooting at the wall?" She enquired hopefully.

Mike couldn't help but become curious, though if he was honest, that didn't sound surprising whatsoever. "Sherlock shoots at the wall?"

"Don't ask." Both the residents of Baker Street replied at the same time.

"Right well." He braced his hands on the table and scraped his chair back across the floor, standing as he began to clear up his mess. "Best get back to it."

"You're not going already are you?" The smile had vanished from Emily's face. "We were having such fun."

"I need to get back but if you finish early, you can go early."

"You're not my boss. Roid is." John noted the confusion in her tone as he stretched his arm across the back of her chair.

"Is Roid here today?" Emily shook her head. "Then I'm your boss today." Mike joked, bringing a childish smile to grace the woman's features. He took his mess back to the counter, coming back for his jacket. "I'll see you later then Emily. John, loved the update on your blog." He nodded his head towards the newcomer, walking backwards to speak to him properly.

"Ah, glad you enjoyed it."

"Thanks for the lunch Mike." Emily shouted to him as he disappeared through the doors. An arm popped back through the door, the hand formed into a thumbs up to show he had heard her.

"So, Roid's not here?"

Emily placed the last bite of cake in her mouth and shook her head. Only when she had swallowed it did she open her mouth to speak. "Thank god."

"Late were you?"

"Only by about ten minutes." She shrugged and began to scrape her fork across the plate to collect all the crumbs. "You didn't answer my question properly a minute ago what are you doing here?" She gently asked again.

"Sherlock has headed down to the lab, I thought I'd pop my head in and say hello, but obviously you weren't there. He said you were having lunch with Mike today and that you'd either have gone out or you'd be here- why don't you just lick the plate Emily? It might be quicker. Not to mention quieter."

She gently put her fork back down on the table and began to clear up her own mess. "I must remember to read your blog." She said to herself, John helped her carry the plates back to the counter. "I heard you and Sherlock yelling about it last night, but it slipped my mind to read it myself. What with the explosion and all. " She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and headed towards the doors that lead back to the seemingly never ending corridors, checking over her shoulder to make sure her flatmate was following. "Off down to the lab then?"

"I suppose I'd better. Hey, if you finish quick enough make sure to come down and you can travel home with us."

The pair stood in the corridor, neither wanting to go their separate ways though for very different reasons. "What happens if you don't end up going home?"

"Then just come and sit with us for a bit and then you can go home and we'll bugger off to wherever it is we need to go."

Emily's focus was already heading back to the work she needed to be getting on with in order to leave as soon as possible and with a nod of her head, she turned away to head in the direction of her little office. "Alright, well, I'll see you at some point then. Do you want me to make any dinne-"

The hand that gently claimed her elbow held her back, and she looked up to meet John's worried face. "Are you alright?"

She tilted her head to the side, wondering what he could possibly mean. "Yeah, of course I am. What - "

"I don't mean in general Em. I mean the explosion last night. I didn't get a chance to ask you this morning, or check you over for any injuries."

She waved him off. "No injuries John, at least not from yesterday anyway. Sherlock checked me over. Though speaking of injuries," She took a moment to copy his pose. John had gone full Doctor mode. One arm crossed across his chest, the other allowed his hand to rest on his chin as he listened intently to her. "My toe still hurts a little bit." She attempted to look sorry for herself, but judging by the laugh that John released, it wasn't working. "I'll have a look at it when I get home though."

"And by 'I'll have a look' you mean me."

"You are a Doctor. That's what Doctor's do."

"Hmm, we don't just peel off plasters." He removed his hand from his chin and went back to casual John with his arms crossed.

"Oh please John? I can't do missing toenails, or toenails that may or may not be hanging off." She shuddered at the thought.

"But you can handle dead bodies?" He teased.

"Pleeease?"

"Hmm, we'll see. But make sure that plaster doesn't fall off. You don't want toenails rattling around in your tights with you."

"That wouldn't happen." Her smile slowly died as John's grew. "Would it?"

John shrugged. "It might."

"Why would you say something like that?" She whined and glanced down at her shoe.

He laughed again and turned away, making his way back to the lab. "To wind you up obviously."

"Yeah, well, thanks for that."

He spun so he was facing her though he still kept moving. "And yet you love me. Don't try to deny it. I heard you say it this morning." He didn't wait for a reply. Turning back to face the way he was going, he heard Emily grumble to herself. He very much enjoyed winding her up. He only wished he was heading in the same direction as she was so he could wind her up some more. That would be far more enjoyable than dealing with the case Sherlock had got himself into. Or rather, someone had put him into.

Emily had finished the current pile of papers she had needed to get through and had decided to catch up on John's blog. (The texts that had been waiting for her had only been from her mother and so she had decided they could wait until later.) She had thoroughly enjoyed John's writing and the comments and had even added her own. Wondering if the boys were still in the lab she had made her way down. Since first meeting Sherlock, she had been down to the lab a few times but it had usually been with company, so she was more than a little thankful when she managed to find her way all by herself. She swung open the door and entered.

"'Kinder'? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind." She caught John telling the Consulting Detective.

"What wasn't kind? Who have you upset now?" Both of them looked up at her as she walked over towards the stool opposite them.

"Molly." John sighed.

"Oh, what have you said to her this time?" She was rather fed up with him upsetting her friend. Not to mention hearing about it from the woman herself.

"I only told her that her new office romance is gay."

"And that she'd put on weight." John added.

"Ouch." Emily hissed. "Yeah... Never tell a woman about her weight. Or anyone for that matter."

"I thought women liked it when you comment on their weight."

"Only when they're losing it." The rustle of her Wotsit packet caught Johns attention.

"Hang on, haven't you just eaten a load of food with Mike?"

"Well, yeah, though that was a little while ago. So?"

"Mrs Hudson cooked her breakfast too. Full English judging by the stains she had on her top when she came back upstairs." Sherlock added.

"How the hell are you still hungry?" Emily only shrugged, placing a piece of the snack in her mouth.

"They might have gone off by the time I next find this packet." She shifted a fierce gaze onto Sherlock who had opened his mouth to speak. "I don't want any comments from you either."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You might have. You were probably thinking something." She watched as Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, seemingly fed up with the conversation. He reached over and moved one of the trainers closer to John on the desk.

Emily, out of curiosity, leant forwards to take a closer look at the red liquid in the tall beaker that sat before her.

"Go on, then." He instructed.

"Mmm?"

"You know what I do. Off you go. Stop sniffing the chemicals Emily." He sat back and folded his arms expectantly. He hadn't been looking at her, but she wasn't surprised when Sherlock mildly scolded her.

A few incoherent noises left John's mouth as he checked his watch before he replied properly. "No."

"Go on."

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate -"

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me." Sherlock interrupted.

"Yeah, right!"

"Really."

John glanced over at the blonde who had watched the interaction with a keen eye. She shrugged. "Can't hurt to have a go."

The Doctor turned back to look at Sherlock, resulting in a staring competition between the two. The only noise that filled the silence was the dull crunch of Emily's food. "Fine." He finally gave in. Clearing his throat he picked up the shoe. "I dunno – they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers. He immediately corrected himself."

"Good." Sherlock encouraged. Slightly. He turned away and picked up his phone.

"Umm...they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new...except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while." The Detective had started to look frustrated at the word new but breathed out a silent sigh of relief as John finished his sentence.

"Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs." Emily opened her mouth to speak but thought better of interrupting the Doctor. He definitely wouldn't appreciate it.

"You're on sparkling form. What else?"

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's."

"But...?" Sherlock prompted, finally looked away from his phone to watch John study the shoes closely.

The Doctor looked inside both of the trainers, noticing a smudge on the side. "But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

Sherlock studied John with a proud look coating his features. "Excellent. What else?"

"Uh..." With one last look at the shoe, he placed it back down on the counter. "...That's it."

"That's it?"

John nodded. "How did I do?"

"Well, John; really well." John cast his gaze over to Emily to share a look. Emily looked impressed with him, but John looked a little lost. Surely there was more to come. "I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know...Emily." The girl in question paused in her actions of sucking her finger clean of the orange dust. "You were going to say something."

"Don't bring me into this. You haven't even told me what this is all about."

"Later." Sherlock raised an eyebrow to her, patiently waiting for her to continue. But she didn't. "Share with the class."

John nodded in an attempt to spur her on.

"Well, it's just that - no. No it's nothing."

"No, go on, it can't hurt to have a go." John encouraged, repeating her own words back to her.

She sighed, crumpling the packet up and looking around for a bin. "It's just that retro suggests..." She was struggling for the right words. "Retro means made now, but imitating a different time right? But anything that's made these days to look like it's from the eighties is all... Neon. How many eighties movies have you seen where the actors are wearing neon? I'd have said they were more vintage?" Losing her confidence, it sounded more of a question then something she could have deduced. "Where's the bin?"

The other eyebrow had raised on Sherlock's forehead as he listened. "Anything else?"

"Hmm, no. Tell us what we missed then. I know you're dying to."

With that, Sherlock rotated his wrist, his palm turned upwards waiting for John, who looked more than a little frustrated, to hand him a trainer. There was a pause as Sherlock took a moment to look closely at the footwear. "The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three... no, four times." Emily watched John Place his hands on the desk and lower his head in despair. "Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old." John straightened.

"Twenty years?"

"You're right Emily, they're not retro – they're original." She smiled to herself as Sherlock held his phone out to John. "Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine." He now turned the phone to show Emily the image on his screen though she only caught a seconds glimpse of it before he turned it back to himself.

"But there's still mud on them. They look new."

Sherlock gazed thoughtfully at the trainer. "Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?" John and Emily questioned at the same time.

The Detective nodded towards the computer screen. "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me." Emily would have to take his word for it as she could not see the screen from her seat. "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind. The bin is in the corner Emily."

"Why would he leave them behind if he loved them so much?" Emily spoke to herself, as she wandered over to the corner to get rid of her rubbish. Though she had a feeling she knew what was coming.

"So what happened to him?" John spoke the question loud enough for the pair of them to hear.

"Something bad." He looked up at John, though kept flicking his gaze back over to Emily as she sat back down to make sure she was still listening. "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets..." He trailed off, staring ahead of himself. "Oh." Sherlock's voice had turned soft that Emily struggled to hear him.

John attempted to follow the man's gaze to see what he was looking at. "What?"

"Carl Powers."

"Sorry, who?"

Sherlock was still staring into the distance over Emily's head, focusing so much Emily now turned to look over her shoulder. "Carl Powers, John." Emily felt her heart skip a beat. Had she still been eating she would have choked for sure.

"What is it?"

"It's where I began."

Emily felt the blood drain from her features and she quickly stood from the stool, the room filling with the scraping noise bringing Sherlock from his mind and drawing the attention onto her.

"You've gone a bit pale Em, are you feeling ok?" John asked, concerned his friend might faint. She certainly looked pale enough.

She flicked her gaze from one to the other of the men across from her. If she lied and told them she had simply forgotten some important paper work John may believe her, but Sherlock would see straight through her.

"I just...need to go." She whispered, almost stumbling as she moved away from the seat and, though her legs wobbled, made it to the door. "I'll see you at home."

FB