Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, clicked the favourite and/or follow button. And a very big thank you to those of you that wished me happy birthday. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out. I've been feeling a bit low these past couple of weeks but it's been getting better. Sort of.

Reviews really do mean the world and let me know that it's worth continuing writing, so if you enjoy this story, please do let me know.

As always, sorry for punctuation and spelling mistakes. I've read this through about ten times now so I'm a bit blind to any I may have missed.

Emily had made a decision.

Though she could already feel herself wavering on whether or not to actually stick to it. But she could not keep this to herself.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson had to know that she had been in that building when Carl Powers had died.

Even though she had nothing to do with that boys death, she felt that her flatmates needed to know this little fact. If only she could find the words to explain it.

The fresh air between the underground and Baker Street was certainly helping to clear her mind, but that did not make her any less nervous. She couldn't quite place what it was that was making her so apprehensive in the first place.

She felt around for her keys in her pocket as she got closer to the front door. As she was about to slide the key into the lock, the door opened much to her surprise and John grabbed hold of her elbows to stop himself walking into her.

"Sorry Em." He began, though he had no need to apologise. "Alright now? You've certainly got some colour back." His brow wrinkled with worry as he watched her looking at him. She seemed to be deep in thought.

She could tell John. Tell him now and then perhaps he could help her explain to Sherlock. She felt she could tell John this particular story for the main reason that he wouldn't be watching her with an all knowing gaze, deducing while she spoke. John would listen with an open mind and a kind ear.

"Yeah. Yeah - John, there's something I need to tell you both but I'd rather tell you first, even though I'm not really sure how to."

"Right. I'm going to stop you there." He guided her into the hallway and closed the door behind them. "Sherlock has sent me off to see Mycroft," He held up his hand knowing she was going to question why. "It's to do with why he was here this morning."

"Someone getting hit by a train or something?" She asked, taking notice of his attire. He had smartened up from when he was at Bart's earlier.

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, that's part of it anyway. Can it wait? With any luck I won't be out long." She sighed, visibly deflating at his words. Waiting meant more time for her to potentially change her mind. "Sherlock's upstairs, I know you said you want to tell me first, but if you change your mind, speak to him. Then tell me when I come back alright?"

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, clearly not happy but willing to wait. "Will you tell me what's going on then? Not just with Mycroft though...with everything?"

"Mhmm, yes. We can sit down, just the two of us, if you prefer, and have a proper chat alright?"

John couldn't help but feel he was, for some reason, calming her down and he knew that she would be on his mind the entire time he was talking to Mycroft.

"Alright." She reluctantly agreed.

"Good girl." He squeezed her elbows. "I'll try to be as quick as I can."

With that, the Doctor had released her from his hold and left the building. Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the stairs and began her ascent. Could she tell Sherlock by herself? Probably. Did she want to? Absolutely not.

She paused as she reached the landing and wondered where the Detective was.

"Ah Emily," The kitchen apparently "You're back."

"Well spotted." She slipped her coat off and examined the kitchen from where she stood. The word mess was an understatement; he had printed out newspaper articles about Carl Powers all over the kitchen table. He was currently in the process of dissecting one of the shoes and hanging up each part on a makeshift washing line.

She waited for Sherlock to sit back down before she entered. In front of him, (amongst the scatterings of paper) was his microscope.

"Been busy I see." She commented as she took everything in.

"Very." Was his only reply. She watched as he continued to study whatever was under the microscope and realised he was wearing his purple shirt.

She rather liked him wearing that shirt, though she found any of them suited him fine, there was something about this one in particular that made it hard for her to focus. Had he been wearing that this morning? Clearly too focused on getting dressed, she hadn't noticed.

Sherlock looked up to find Emily watching him, though her gaze was slightly off focus. He smirked to himself. He was going to tease her, but she blinked and moved away to the kettle.

He studied her for a moment, or what he could see of her. Her hair looked dishevelled which could have been from the fact that she had had a long day, or it was windy on the tube ride home, but judging by the fact that her leg was bouncing up and down, she was worried about something. It had not taken him long to learn that when Emily Cooper was worried about something she fiddled with her hair. And fidgeted.

He had also learnt that, with time, she would talk about whatever was bothering her. That prompting would just irritate her if she wasn't in the right mood and while he rather enjoyed irritating her when he was bored, he wasn't so keen on doing that while he had a case. He ducked his head back down to the microscope. "The kettles boiled Emily." He muttered when he couldn't hear her pouring the water.

"Hmm?" She jolted from her thoughts. "Oh, thanks." Though she internally cursed at herself when she started automatically pouring a second mug for Sherlock. She figured if he didn't want it, he wouldn't drink it so continued to make him a coffee.

She turned back and leant against the counter, her eyes landed on the dissected shoe that hung in the corner. A shoes that had belonged to a boy whose death she had witnessed. A boy whose face currently stared up at her from their kitchen table. She stared back and heart racing, gulped down what little saliva she had collected and opened her mouth to speak.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Was the only reply she received though it seemed he was only paying attention to what he was looking at. She decided to test if he was listening or not.

"Sherlock, I've been thinking about killing off my Mother."

"Hmm." Still he did not look up at her. She turned back to finish making the drinks, but moved when she realised what she was forgetting.

"Yeah, and then maybe framing it on someone else." She studied the head in the fridge for a moment (wondering how much attention, if any, it would receive now Sherlock had a case) before taking the milk out for herself. "Maybe Mycroft? What do you think?" Now as she turned back to look at him, he was too busy rooting through the papers for only the Detective himself knew what.

"Wonderful idea." He mumbled.

"Do you think so?" She spun as she threw the spoon in the sink.

"Hmm yes. Yes of course."

"What did I just say then?"

Now he looked up at her; eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at her. "Sorry?"

"What did I just say? You thought it was a wonderful idea, what was it?" She placed his drink down on the table for him and watched as he tried to think back on her words.

"Wotsits."

"What about them?"

"You need to buy some more. And milk, we're almost out." He went back to his microscope, effectively shutting off any potential conversation. Emily sighed and moved past him to the stairs.

"Coffee's on the table if you want it." She mumbled to no one in particular. She had known that she needn't have bothered testing if he was listening or not. Even if he had been, she knew she wouldn't have been able to say what she needed.

Emily was sat in darkness, as she had been for some time. She had received a text from John a short while ago informing her he was on his way home. Only after replying to him did she check the messages from her Mother.

She had wanted to throw the damn phone at the wall when she had finished reading them. All had been a mixture of how Seb was home at last and that she needed to come back right away. She hadn't been back to her previous home in a while, perhaps it was time to go back and check on the silly woman. Try to reason with her that Sebastian wasn't coming home.

Just the thought of having to speak to her Mother made her angry and so to distract herself from her anger, she had made the decision to plan her speech to John. Had reached under her bed for a shoebox. But this one was not her usual box filled with everything she had collected over the years about Timothy.

No, this shoebox had been pushed further back. It was also one she hadn't opened in a long time.

So, now surrounded by the same newspaper clippings Sherlock had printed himself (only her copies were yellowed with age) she had begun to plot the words that she would say to the Doctor as soon as she got the chance. But everything had sounded too pathetic to her. It didn't matter what string of words she threw together, none of them sounded right. Would it be better to just say them outright without any script? But then what if she couldn't stop spewing out words and just ended up talking about Timothy?

She squeezed her eyes tightly together to stop herself from going back to that particular memory and decided to put away the collection she had made at the age of not quite five and get changed into fresh pyjamas; if she was going to talk about something that made her uncomfortable then she at least wanted to be cosy while telling it.

She heard the front door slam faintly as she pulled a top over her head. If she could catch John before he went into the kitchen and started talking to Sherlock, it would be the perfect time. Perhaps he could even take the plaster off her toe while she was talking.

She tip toed down the stairs so as not to disturb the Detective and waited for John to presumably finish talking to their landlady. She shook out her hair as she released it from it's ponytail and took a deep breath when she heard footsteps approaching.

"John." She called to him as soon as she saw the top of his head.

He looked up at her and smiled. He had been correct in thinking that he wouldn't be able to not think about her the whole time he was meeting with Mycroft and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to make her look so troubled.

"I'm glad you're home." His smile got wider and as he walked past the kitchen he stuck his head round the door, unsurprised to see Sherlock still busy with his case.

"Me too." He let out a deep sigh and took hold of her arms, giving them a warm squeeze. "Shall I redo your plaster and you can tell me what's bothering you?" She nodded. He rubbed her arms and wondered if she was warm enough. "Go sit down on the sofa and I'll be right in."

Emily took her usual corner on the sofa and was relieved when John dragged a chair from the desk over to sit in front of her only seconds after. He tapped his hand on his knee to indicate she could rest it there. "It came off on the bottom, but it's still stuck on the top, I didn't want to rip it off myself in case of the nail...you know." She explained.

"Hmm, good thinking." He inspected her toe closely. "On the count of three, I'm going to rip it off. It doesn't look like your nail is coming off so it won't hurt too much."

"That's a comfort." Emily mumbled with only a hint of sarcasm.

"One." Emily began to brace herself, she had never liked the feeling of ripping plasters off (unless she was ripping them off someone else) but found she needn't have bothered. Without even saying the next number, John had swiftly removed the offending item.

She bought her foot close to her face now, and while there was a bit of dried blood that needed cleaning off, her nail was still firmly in tact. "What if that had been hanging off?"

"It wasn't." Emily raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I could see that it wasn't, you don't think I would have actually caused you more pain do you? I doubt I'd hear the end of it."

She rolled her eyes with a barely concealed smirk. "Thanks."

The pair turned to look out into the hallway when they heard the signs of Mrs Hudson carefully climbing the stairs. "She's made us a drink, come and talk to me in the kitchen." He offered her his hand, which she was quick to take.

"That's good, because we're on the last dregs of milk."

John rolled his eyes as Mrs Hudson spoke. "What you going on about?"

Sherlock slammed his hand down on the side table he was seated at, making their landlady cringe and flee the kitchen.

"Clostridium botulinum!"

"Bless you." Emily spoke as the two of them entered. Sherlock turned round to face them.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

"Dangerous then." Emily quipped as John simply looked at the Detective with a blank expression.

Sherlock shook his head at her, dismissing her. "Carl Powers!" Emily busied herself and moved over towards the bigger table where the drinks had been left for them.

"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?"

Sherlock stood and walked over to where he had made the makeshift washing line, John following. "Remember the shoelaces?"

"Mmm."

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns." Sherlock moved back around the table as he spoke, watching Emily take a hasty sip of her drink and immediately regret it as she burnt her tongue.

"What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." Emily listened as he began to type on his computer, she was curious to know what he was typing, but found she didn't have a chance to ask anyway; Sherlock was still explaining. "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet." He straightened, placing his hands on his hips. "That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know..."

Emily spluttered on her saliva. "I'm sorry bomber?"

"Get his attention..."

"Mm-hm."

Sherlock checked his watch, "Stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years."

"Yes." Sherlock looked to John, "Meaning..."

"He's our bomber."

"No hang on a minute." Emily put the mug down on the table, managing to slosh some of the liquid over the side of it. Emily was tired of flicking her eyes between the two. "What do you mean bomber?"

"The gas leak explosion last night?" Sherlock turned back to her as she nodded. "It wasn't a gas leak. Intentionally made to look like one." He opened his mouth to explain more, but the phone began to ring from the side table.

Emily could only watch as Sherlock hurried to answer. The room was filled with sobs as Sherlock evidently switched on the speaker. Emily wished he hadn't.

"Well done, you. Come and get me." A voice spoke. Whoever this was sounded frightened and though she didn't have a proper grasp of the situation, Emily could not help but feel a little scared herself.

"Where are you?" Sherlock spoke, "Tell us where you are."

Emily stared at John with wide eyes as Sherlock took note of the details and made a phone call.

Had someone been blown up in the building opposite last night, or had it just been the building? Why was there some poor woman sobbing down the phone to Sherlock? What the bloody hell was happening?

Only when Sherlock had hung up did she begin to ask these questions.

As her flatmates began to explain, John escorted her back to the sofa. They told her about the explosion, the strong box, the pink phone, (Sherlock had rolled his eyes when Emily asked if it was the phone from A Study in Pink) everything that had happened that she had missed out on since she had left for work that morning.

When they had finished and she had asked all her questions, the three flatmates sat in silence. Emily was unsure of how much time had passed before John stood and announced he was going to bed. She was a little disheartened that John had forgotten about letting her talk to him, but by the time she had turned to face him and stop him he had reached the stairs and Emily didn't have the courage to ask him to come back.

Sherlock had also stood but had made his way into the kitchen after bidding John a mumbled goodnight. He begun to read back through the newspaper articles again. He may have found the cause of death, but he hadn't found out who had caused it.

He only paused when Emily came in to rinse out the mug she had drained. He had decided to prod a little.

"Something's the matter." He informed her.

She had been opening her mouth to wish the Detective a goodnight when he had spoken. Now though she frowned and waited for him to elaborate.

"Earlier when you made your tea, you couldn't stop fidgeting, your hair was a mess, more so than usual, when you got home. You've been fiddling with it. So, something's the matter." He looked up at her and held her gaze. He wanted to have that little chat with her now knowing that John was tucking himself up in bed and there was no threat of Mrs Hudson walking in and disturbing them. But his mind was far more focused on the bomber and what might happen next. He felt Emily deserved all of his focus, especially when it was over something so important. In that moment as he looked her over, he made the decision that when this was over, then he would talk with her. Maybe he wouldn't even talk it over, perhaps he would just announce that they were seeing each other and amaze John with his deductions on how he knew Emily had feelings for him.

The corner of her lips lifted slightly into a sad smile and he wondered if perhaps she was reading his mind. "Just stuff with Roid."

"That's a lie." He chuckled to himself but realised that she would tell him in her own time. "How's your toe? Nail come off?" It was Emily's turn to chuckle now.

"Thankfully no. Still fully attached, though I need to get rid of the dried blood. I should also put that plaster in the bin." She left the kitchen for a matter of seconds to grab the item and swiftly put it in the bin when she returned. "I'm off to bed. Maybe I'll even wake up on time tomorrow and I won't have to rush, what do you think?"

"Sounds nothing like you." He teased and sat down at the table, watching her come closer before stopping next to him.

As she bent down, she could have sworn she saw his pupils dilate. The teasing smirk he wore certainly faded as he perhaps wondered what she was doing. She wasn't sure what had come over her, or what had bought the idea into her head in the first place, but found it was too late to stop what she was doing. Promptly, she placed a kiss on his cheek and moved away to the stairs. "Goodnight Sherlock." She called back to him. She received no reply and hadn't been able to check his features for a reaction. She wondered if she'd shocked him into silence. Or disgusted him. As she closed her bedroom door behind her, she reminded herself that he had cornered her in the kitchen the night previously and hinted that he wanted her to share the bed with him. She highly doubted it was the latter reaction.

Only when he heard her bedroom door close, did Sherlock react. The smile he wore took over his whole face.

An interesting case and a kiss on the cheek from Emily. It may not have been the conversation he had wanted to have with her but he felt it was a step in the right direction.

"And what delights do we have in here today then?" Emily queried as she entered the lab for the second day in a row.

That morning, Emily had awoken to an empty flat, though a note had been left for her from John to say where they were and what they would be doing.

She had only seen them for the first time that day when John entered her office as Sherlock had carried on down the corridor, presumably to the lab.

He had caught her up on what had been happening that morning and she had desperately tried to steer the conversation clear of Carl Powers. She had managed it but she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid it forever. She had only relaxed when John had announced he was going to go and say a quick hello to Mike while he had the chance.

It didn't matter how hard she tried, she found she could no longer pay attention to her work and figured a quick break could do no harm. She had remembered to grab her phone in case John got back to her office before she did and wondered where she had got to.

"Just doing an experiment on this blood sample." Sherlock answered without looking up.

"Fascinating." She sat down on the stool opposite him again and decided on a game of solitaire on her mobile. It only took a matter of seconds before she wished she had stayed in her office. She couldn't pay attention to her game either. Her gaze was firmly on the Detective as he worked. She also couldn't help but wish he would do another button up on his shirt.

Christ, what had he done to her? Before he had cornered her the other night, she could be in a room with him and not think about him too much. She wasn't so conscious about what she was doing, or the manner in which she was doing it. Now however, she felt as if he was taking up all the space in her brain when she was near him.

One thing was for certain though. She could never tell Molly.

As Sherlock bent down, he looked up at her, catching her stare. Was there much point in looking away? Surely he knew how she felt. Judging by the smirk he sent to her the answer to that was yes.

"Experimenting for anything in particular?" She asked weakly, if only to try and take her mind off the man's intense gaze. She could very faintly hear a fizzing noise.

Sherlock's brow creased into a frown at her words but he didn't get a chance to speak. The pink phone began to ring again. He broke the stare to check the screen to find the familiar 'Blocked' was waiting for him. He looked back up at the blonde and raised an eyebrow.

Emily nodded, though she wasn't sure why. Surely he hadn't been asking if she was alright for him to answer it. It wasn't as if whoever was calling was interrupting anything. Right?

"Hello?" Sherlock hadn't bothered to turn the speaker on, so she didn't hear any of what was being spoken on the other end. She turned back to her game of solitaire, but quickly looked back up at the next words that Sherlock uttered. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

His gaze had landed back on Emily and the frown that had appeared on her face.

"Then talk to me in your own voice." Seconds after, the phone was lowered from his ear. It looked to Emily as if he was in thought as he looked over her shoulder into the distance before finally looking back down to the fizzing on the desk. He picked it up to look more closely before he smiled to himself.

"Found what you were looking for?" Emily asked softly. Sherlock flicked his gaze up to her; the smiled widened a fraction.

"Oh yes." He retrieved his phone from his pocket to text John. "I'll walk you back to your office."

She stood from the stool, smoothing down her skirt as she spoke. "You don't have to."

"Wouldn't want you to get lost." She rolled her eyes at the jab.

Her phone began to vibrate in her hand. The word Blocked flashed on her screen. She swiped it so she could ignore it but sighed a little when the vibrating started up once more. "I'll wait outside while you tidy up, I've got a phone call too." She swiped in the opposite direction this time as she left the lab and leant against the wall facing the door. "Hello?" She asked cautiously.

"Hello, lit-little o-one. So...lovely to hear...your voice." A male voice was on the other end, but it was not one she recognised. Whoever it was sounded scared. It made her think of the woman on the phone to Sherlock last night.

"Who is this?"

"In time my dear."

"No, I want to know now. Who is this and how did you get my number?"

"Oh, Emmy-"

"Only Jim can -" She snapped before she could help herself.

"Go on my dear...say the m-magic words I love to hear."

"Only Jim can call me Emmy." She finished the sentence with a racing heart and a barely audible whisper. She felt the sting of tears collect in her sockets, though she managed to shove them away before any could fall.

"Do you m-miss me?" There was a pause, only filled with the man's sobs before the line went dead.

Stay safe. Take care. Much love.

FB