I'm still not sure about this chapter. I couldn't work out how to make the scene in Mr Prince's house my own, but I've given it my best. (Though some may think that's not good enough.) You decide.

I used Wikipedia for the info on the name Sekhmet. So if it's wrong, we'll blame them. Also, apologies to anyone named Tabitha, it was the first name I could think of.

Thanks to everyone that has followed. And pressed the favourite button. I have also been BLOWN AWAY by the amount of reviews the last chapter recieved. Let me tell you, they really, really encouraged me to keep going. So if you have a moment, please do leave one. They mean the world.

Emily Cooper now had two problems.

Not only did she have no idea how to explain to her flatmates that she witnessed the death of Carl Powers, she now had no idea how to explain to them that the person who had caused that boys death, the person behind these bombings was also her childhood best friend that she had not spoken to in a long time.

The thoughts of Jim and Carl swirling through her mind had kept her awake most of the night, causing her to toss and turn until she had given up and got out of bed. There was a tiny part of her mind that reasoned that it might not be Jim behind this. That somehow some stranger had taken it upon themselves to learn the nickname she had so adored from Jim. But whenever she tried to think of an explanation, she could not come up with anything.

Only Jim can call me Emmy. Maybe if she had held her tongue before she had spoken those words, she would not be fighting off a panic attack in the loos of the café Sherlock had taken her and John too.

She sighed to herself as she looked at the reflection before her. It was a good thing she had the day off. She had no doubt Roid would be talking her ear off about getting enough sleep and how important it was for work. Not to mention that the bags under her eyes would have cast a bad impression on the public even though she wasn't greeting the public, he would just be saying anything in order to harass her all the more.

She tapped her fingers against the edge of the sink and pushed herself away and out the door; if she took too long one of the boys would come looking for her and she didn't want to have to explain to the café owners why she was being dragged back to their chosen table.

By the looks of it, her breakfast had arrived and awaited her on the table next to Sherlock.

"That could be anybody." Sherlock spoke as she sat down next to him. It didn't take him long to place his arm round the back of her chair.

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."

"How d'you mean?"

"Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly." Both she and Sherlock watched as John walked over to the counter.

Emily stiffened for a moment when she felt the ends of her hair being fiddled with but relaxed when she realised it was only Sherlock. "Eat, you'll feel better." He mumbled to her.

With a deep breath, Emily turned back to the table, picked up the knife and fork and began to dig into her meal. She could hear the faint noise of the television John had just switched on but didn't look back to see what was going on on the screen.

She paused mid bite as the pink phone began to ring. A frown overtook her features at the brief glimpse she got of the background image before Sherlock had the device against his ear.

"Christ, and you moan about some of the rubbish I watch on the telly." Emily mumbled as she heard the woman on screen say something about silk purses.

Sherlock fought off a smirk as he began to talk. "Hello?"

Emily leant closer to the Detective so she could hear what was going on.

"This one.…is a bit... defective... Sorry." The faint voice sounded like an older woman was on the other end. Emily had to really pay attention to hear what she was saying. "She's blind. This is...a funny one." John walked back to the table watching the Detective carefully for any reaction. "I'll give you... twelve hours." Emily sat back up straight. Knowing that somehow Jim was behind this, she couldn't listen to the poor woman currently talking to Sherlock.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock questioned as he stared at the blonde beside him.

There was a moment before Sherlock lowered the phone and dropped it back onto the table. Placing his arm back onto the back of Emily's chair, he once more began to fiddle with her hair.

Normally the feeling would help to relax her, but at that particular moment in time, it did nothing. She pushed the remaining food around on her plate before shoving it away altogether.

She couldn't help but sag into herself a little at the thought that had just crossed her mind; if Jim was behind all this that was going on, did that mean her brother was too? It had been a rare occasion to have seen Seb without Jim by his side. She could count the times on one hand she had witnessed it.

"Not hungry?" John gently asked from the other side as he watched Emily hide her face in her hands. Perhaps she really needed that chat with him more than before and he couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed with himself that he had forgotten all about it the previous evening. The only reply he received was a shake of her head. "At least drink your tea Em." He reached over and took her hands from her face, noting how cold they were, and placed them around her still thankfully warm mug of tea.

He looked carefully at her face and noticed the bags under her eyes. It seemed that the Detective was noticing the same thing as the two of them shared a look. Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at him. John could only shrug in return.

Emily sighed gently and took a sip of her tea, reaching over to pick up the phone. She unlocked it and couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped her lips. "Could have chosen a better picture." The words were out of her mouth before she could think and instantly she regretted it. Again.

Sherlock and John now shared a frown. "What do you mean?" John asked, before shovelling a fork full of food into his mouth.

She waved the phone at them before replacing it on the table top and going back to swirling the drink around lightly. "The background. If you wanted a picture of me, all you had to do was ask." This time, as she waited for the inevitable questions, she took a big mouthful of tea. All the better to stall in answering the questions as she thought of how to answer them by swallowing her drink one bit at a time.

"This is you?" Sherlock questioned, sounding shocked as he picked up the phone himself and opening the image in the gallery folder.

"Mmhm." She mumbled.

"I knew I'd seen this before."

"Where have you seen it?" John asked. Sherlock was quick to flick his gaze back up to Emily to hear the answer.

"It's one of the photos I have framed next to my bed," She wiped her mouth with her sleeve as she felt a tiny bit of tea run down her chin, thankfully not on the side Sherlock could see, "That's my brother's lap I'm sat on." She took the phone again, noticing the hint of purple in the corner. She would have to double check when she got home, but she was sure that the purple was from the frame itself. If correct, it meant the person that had left this phone for Sherlock had been in their flat. But not just in their flat.

In her bedroom.

Emily quickly supressed a shiver and slid the phone back onto the table making sure to exit the gallery and lock it.

"Why would someone put an old photo of you as a kid as the wallpaper?" John asked.

Emily could only shrug. "Toy with you some more maybe?" Perhaps she would have been better off going into work after all.

"Hmm." John finished the last of his breakfast. "That was definitely needed." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "Just popping to the loo." The pair opposite him nodded though they weren't paying much attention to him.

Sherlock waited for John to disappear into the toilets before taking the phone back into his hand and eying the wallpaper himself. He couldn't help flicking his gaze between the Emily sat next to him and the one on the screen.

He leant down so he could speak directly into her ear. "So you've always been messy." He mumbled to her in his deep voice that she greatly wished he would not use in such a public setting.

"Yes." She cast a quick glance up at the television that John had left on to see them talking about the famous painting again. "Complete opposite of my brother, he was always so neat." She gulped down the last dregs of tea before turning to face Sherlock. He didn't bother to move his face away from hers. "Where are we going next for your case? No doubt you're dragging me with you."

Sherlock took a few seconds to study the faint freckles that dusted her cheeks, noting that she had not had those in the photo from the phone. He moved away just in time for John to look up at them from leaving the loos. "Sure you've had enough?" Sherlock indicated with his head to her abandoned plate of food. She took a moment to think if she wanted to attempt another go but reasoned that if she got hungry later she could just snack. The thought of a proper meal still did not appeal to her. She nodded, mumbled an apology, and Sherlock took that as his queue to stand, grabbing the phone and sliding it into his coat pocket once more. "To the morgue."

Emily's head snapped up. "Bart's morgue?"

"Of course." Sherlock replied, waiting for her to stand and leave the table so he knew she was with them. She huffed and mumbled something about bumping into Roid. "You're with me and John, he won't try anything with us both there."

"Ha." She breathed a disbelieving laugh as they exited the café. Her arm automatically went to link with whoever was beside her and she couldn't help but jump when her other arm was taken to be linked so she was in the middle of them both.

Chlorine.

As if she needed another excuse for Carl Powers to slip into her mind. At the sight of the woman on the table, the smell had immediately overcome her nostrils and she opted for leaning against the counter that held the sink.

Sherlock had evidently messaged Lestrade at some point as the man was waiting for them outside the morgue. Emily had only rolled her eyes in a joking manner at his greeting towards her; a cheerful smile and the words I did wonder when you would get dragged into this.

"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?" Lestrade asked them.

"No."

"Emily?"

She shook her head., "Not my thing. Though it appears to be John's thing." She couldn't help but tease the Doctor.

"Watched it when I was unemployed." John explained when Lestrade gave him a funny look.

"Did you watch Jeremy Kyle too?" She teased further with the hint of a smirk.

John, though glad she appeared to be brightening up, pointed his finger at her in warning. Emily bit her lip to stop the smile from taking over her lips at the sight of him joking around with her.

"Very popular. She was going places." Lestrade continued.

"Not any more. So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound. Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna."

"I suppose." John commented, bending down slightly to take a closer look.

"Something's wrong with this picture."

Lestrade, who had also been looking at the body, lifted his gaze up to look at the Detective. "Eh?"

"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong."

Emily slid herself onto the counter and began to swing her legs, careful not to bang the front of it with her feet. She lost interest in what was going on in front of her as she studied her nails. She really needed to stop colouring them with highlighter. Maybe she should just paint them like a normal person would. But would her flatmates tease her about it? Seb certainly had when she'd once borrowed some of their Mother's nail varnish and Emily had felt uncomfortable with it on after that and hadn't even so much as glanced in the direction of the make up aisles in the shops since.

Her head shot up at the sound of the door opening, wondering if perhaps Molly had come to join them and discuss the body lying on display before them but found she had no such luck, as she was met with the unnerving gaze of her boss. "Emily." He approached her, not bothering to see what the others were doing in the room. Though they had looked up to watch the interaction. Sherlock stiffening when the man got too close to his flatmate.

"Hello Mr Roid." Emily attempted to sound cheerful, but highly doubted that's how it sounded to the man before her. She slid off the counter top so she could move should she need to.

"What are you doing down here? Shouldn't you be in your office?" He looked as if he meant to grab onto her arm, but she swiftly moved away and closer to the three living occupants in the room.

"Not today, Mr Roid - "

"It's her day off." Sherlock finished her sentence, his tone sharp.

"Oh, yes, well." He bristled at the sight of her two friends "What time are you here tomorrow Emily?"

She frowned, this man had come up with her work schedule, surely he should know it better than she did? "You've given me tomorrow off as well." She managed to hold herself back from snapping at him.

"Ah. Alright then, I'll need to have a chat with you so I'll make sure to drop by." His gaze swept over her front and upon finding no shape of her chest to stare at promptly left the room.

"Can't wait." Emily grumbled, fake smile quickly slipping from her features.

"Bloody hell was that all about then?" Lestrade asked her when the door had closed behind the awful man.

"That's my boss." Emily moaned to him.

"That's what you have to put up with?" The only reply he got was a brief nod. "He was in here all of thirty seconds and he barely acknowledged our existence. If he gives you trouble, you come to me." Emily snapped her head up from the floor. He wore a solemn expression, his gaze never wavered from hers and his finger pointed at her as if he was chastising a teenager for being late for their curfew. She only nodded again. "I mean it Emily, he seems a bit...weird."

A hint of a smile threatened to break over her face.

"That makes three of us looking out for you then." John announced as he looked along the body of the TV show host thoughtfully.

"You want to help, right?" Sherlock bought the topic back on track.

"Of course." John answered instantly.

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data."

"Right."

"Emily." She looked up from the floor at him. "Go with John."

"Alright." She followed the Doctor out of the morgue, (sending a wave to Lestrade) walking quickly to catch up with him. "Where are we going?" She whispered to him when they had made it halfway down the corridor.

"Right." John stopped Emily with a grasp to her elbow watching the taxi they had just exit drive off. "I have an idea."

"Dangerous." Emily mumbled, looking at the rows of houses before them.

"Undercover right? I'm going to pretend to be a journalist." Emily nodded along, taking in John's attire. He didn't exactly look like a journalist, but then she realised she didn't know how they dressed anyway.

"So what about me? It looks a bit odd two journalists going in?"

"You're going to be my apprentice."

"Aren't I a bit old to be one of those?" They had begun moving forwards, John checking the numbers on the houses as they went.

"You're never to old to be one of those. People like to learn new skills all the time."

"Doesn't really pay much though does it?"

"Well, no but - "

"And also, would they really let an apprentice go out and interview the brother of someone who has just died, that someone being apparently famous? Well, on TV at least."

"Yes, alright. If you don't like it then don't go with it, but it's the best I can think of right now and we're here, so unless you can think of something else in the next few seconds, how about we just go with that?" Emily's eyes had widened throughout his explanation.

"Yeah, alright." She shrugged. "Should I have some sort of equipment for this acting role?" John patted his pockets until he found what he was looking for.

"Here." He handed her his notebook and pen. "Make some notes."

"Really?"

"Yes, what's wrong with that?"

"Well, it's not me that's actually helping with this case is it? It just happens to be my day off and you've both dragged me out of bed. What if I write the wrong thing? Or miss something vital?"

"I'll only ask the questions that are important, and if you struggle then I can slow down. Stall the conversation. How does that sound?" He didn't bother to tell her he would more than likely remember what was said anyway.

"Hmm, better." She nodded, but still looked uncertain about the situation.

"Anything else?"

"Should we give ourselves different names? You've just said we're undercover."

"Do you think that you would remember what name you choose and actually answer to it?" John didn't want to lower her mood, she seemed a little excited at the thought of being undercover, but he also didn't want her to get anything wrong and end up annoyed at herself. He smiled to himself when she shook her head. "Then how about we just stick with John and Emily? I don't think I could imagine you as anything but Emily you know?"

"According to my brother, Gran wanted me to be named Tabitha."

"Tabitha?"

"It's a lovely name, but I don't think I could have put up with people calling me 'tabby cat'. I can't think of many nicknames for Tabitha, can you?"

"No. I can call you that now if you want? For your undercover name?" Emily was quick to shake her head and John laughed. "Shall we?" He indicated to the house they were visiting, allowing Emily to lead the way to the front door. She knocked and the pair waited patiently for the door to open. An eyebrow raised on Emily's face when it did eventually open. Whoever this was, they were rather dishy and Emily missed what John said to the man before them. She only managed to zone back in when John casually placed his hand on her chin to close her mouth and the dishy man invited them inside.

"Ah." An older man appeared from somewhere though Emily found she was too busy staring at the younger man. "You must be the journalist, and er….?"

"My apprentice." John supplied the end of the sentence.

"An apprentice?" He sounded surprised. "Well, I suppose you're never too old to learn new skills, please come in." The pair followed him through the hallway. "We're devastated. Of course we are." He began without prompt and Emily wondered if perhaps he had already rehearsed this speech. The group reached the living room and Mr Prince continued towards the mantlepiece, propping an arm on it to watch as John and Emily sat down.

At the sight of the cat trying to avoid being sat on, Emily's eyes had widened and a smile covered her face.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

"Er, no. No, thanks."

"Mademoiselle?" He turned to Emily who blushed.

"No thank you."

"Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed." Emily snapped her head forwards. But swiftly turned back so she could follow the handsome man with her eyes until he had disappeared around the corner, but now her first thought was that the two men of the house were both gay. "We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

John lifted the cat from his lap and went to place it on the floor, but Emily turned to him before he could do so and patted her lap for him to put the animal in.

"Is this ok?" Emily asked as the cat was lowered onto her legs.

"Perfectly ok my Dear." Kenny smiled to her. Emily beamed and began to make a fuss of the animal that was now beginning to rub itself against her chest. She'd never petted this particular type of cat before so the lack of fur felt a bit odd, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"And – and to the public, Mr Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses. Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this vale of tears." Emily nodded along, though wasn't exactly paying attention.

"Absolutely." John did a double take to his side when he caught sight of the cat cuddled up in Emily's arms, purring away as if it belonged there.

"Are you taking notes Em?" John whispered to her.

"Hmm? Oh, no. Here." She carefully reached into her pocket to retrieve the notebook John had handed her before they had entered the building. "You take them." John sighed to himself, but opened up the book to prepare to take the notes as Emily gave him back the pen as well.

There was a silence only filled by the cats purrs as John decided on what to say next. He felt a nudge from Emily and looked to her questioningly. She flicked her gaze to their host at the mantlepiece, hoping he would get the hint and begin talking. Her hopes were met as John cleared his throat. "It's more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un..." John looked up in surprise when Mr Prince seated himself down next to him."....treated..." Emily had became squished into the end of the sofa at their host plonking himself down on John's other side. The couch really was not made for more than two people. She couldn't help but note the intense gaze with which Mr Prince looked at John.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now." Stand back up with any luck Emily thought to herself.

"Right." John sounded a little nervous and Emily couldn't blame him.

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely..." Emily could wrote a whole list on how she could not agree on that opinion. "... but it's not the same without her.

Emily scrunched her face as John fidgeted away from the man next to him; If he squeezed any closer to her she felt as if she would fold into the cushions. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No." He answered instantly. Making Emily wonder if a matter of seconds after his sister had died still wouldn't have been too soon.

"Right."

Mr Prince, whose gaze was still intent on John finally spoke again. "You fire away."

The cat yawned from it's position in Emily's arms as John rubbed the side of his nose. Emily crinkled her own nose as she watched him sniff his fingers. She raised an eyebrow at him but he merely smiled to her.

"Is it alright if I just make a quick phone call?" Mr Prince looked somewhat disheartened but agreed none the less. John was quick to stand from the sofa and leave the room as he no doubt rang Sherlock.

An awkward silence descended between the two remaining people, but Mr Prince was quick to stand and make his way back to the mantlepiece to check his hair in the mirror. "You know, my sister could have shown you a thing or two on how to style your hair." Emily frowned as she wondered if there was actually anything wrong with her hair in the first place.

"Oh?" She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her blonde locks. She couldn't deny that it wasn't exactly a beautiful sight, but considering how little she had slept the night before, how much of a mess it had looked that morning when she had got out of bed, she didn't think it was too bad. "What's wrong with it?"

He looked at her through the mirror, analysing her hair, then her choice of wardrobe. "My dear, what's right with it?" He looked back to focus on his own reflection.

"Maybe not all of us have the time to stand in front of the mirror, all day. Some people have to work." She spoke her mind, wearing a smile as false as Mr Prince's grief as John re-entered the room.

"Everything alright?" He asked as he sat back down next to his companion, noting the smile on her face directed at their host. Emily let out a silent sigh of relief at his reappearance, followed by a nod.

"That was fast, did you get through?" In other words: Is Sherlock on the way?

"Oh yes. Our photographer is on his way. I hope that won't be a problem Mr Prince?"

Emily highly doubted it. "Oh not at all. Perhaps you'd like a drink while you wait?" Emily's stomach chose that moment to rumble. "Some food perhaps?" He chortled.

"If you have some biscuits...?" She shrugged, not expecting anything to actually come of it. But moments later the dishy Raoul had placed a cup of tea in front of them and a plate of biscuits.

At the sight of them, Emily couldn't help but reach forward with a polite thank you, mindful of the cat in her arms. "Does this lovely cat have a name?" She questioned, choosing to ignore the look John was giving her and told herself to expect a lecture about not eating a proper breakfast later.

"After the Egyptian Goddess, Sekhmet - "

"Oh, the Goddess of healing?"

The man in front of them seemed impressed. "You know Egyptian history?" John too had turned to look at her, curious as to how she had known that piece of information.

"I used to love learning about the Egyptians," She took a bite of a ginger nut, chewing thoughtfully. Swallowing the treat before she continued. "Then life sort of got in the way and they didn't teach you that particular section of History in secondary school. At least not the one I went to." She finished with a shrug.

"She was a present from me to my sister. Now, I suppose she's mine."

"She would come with the house." John supposed. Emily hoped Sherlock would arrive.

"I haven't seen her take to anyone the way she has with you." Mr Prince sounded a hint annoyed.

"I really like animals." More than people. She finished mentally. The cat let out another meow as if to confirm this fact. Emily wondered if she could sneak Sekhmet into her coat and take her home but reasoned that Mrs Hudson probably wouldn't appreciate it.

An awkward silence descended once more, causing the two on the sofa to drink their tea's. Emily so she wouldn't babble on about the ancient Egyptians, John so he could avoid the stare of Mr Prince. The silence lasted longer than was necessary and Emily desperately tried to think of things to talk about.

As she felt another rumble begin from her belly, Emily inched her way towards the biscuits again, slowly in the hopes that John wouldn't notice.

Her movements hadn't gone unnoticed by their host however. "I was telling your apprentice here that my sister could have done wonders with her."

"Oh?" But there's nothing wrong with her, John thought to himself, knowing that Sherlock would agree. That the only person who thought that way was the man speaking.

"Oh yes. She could have given her some style advice, dressed her in colours that suited her."

"You've got a piece of hair..." Emily trailed off and waved her hand above her own hair to indicate his had moved out of place. Sure enough, the man turned hastily back to the mirror and began to fuss with it again. Emily took the opportunity to give John a glare, silently telling him she wanted nothing more than to leave.

John could only shrug in return. But it seemed they didn't have to wait any longer as they heard the front door shut. John placed his teacup down and started to get up.

"That'll be him."

"What?"

"Ah, Mr Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock announced his arrival and Emily felt a wave of gratitude for his appearance. If he was here, surely that meant it was almost time to go home?

"Yes."

"Very good to meet you."

"Yes; thank you." The pair shook hands, Emily was curious to know why the Detective looked closely at Mr Prince's hand as he did so.

"So sorry to hear about..."

"Yes, yes, very kind." Mr Price sounded as if he was tired of people being sorry about his sister.

"Shall we, er…." Emily stood up to get out of the way as Sherlock placed his case down on the sofa and listened as he and John began to converse quietly. "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

"Oh yes?" Sherlock smirked.

"Yes." Emily could only frown at them as she could only wonder what they were conversing about.

Mr Prince clapped his hands together, finally happy with the state of his hair. "Right. We all set?"

"Um, yes. Can you...?" Emily watched as their host made himself comfortable at the mantelpiece once more, Sherlock walking closer, starting to take photographs.

"Not too close. I'm raw from crying." Emily frowned, trying to recall if he had cried whilst she and John had been talking to him.

The cat meowed as if to gain the attention of the room from Emily's arms and Sherlock turned to face them.

"Oh, who's this?" He eyed the feline that Emily had cradled in her arms, unsurprised she had made friends with the animal of the house.

"Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"Of healing." Emily supplied.

"How nice," Though his tone indicated it was anything but. "Was she Connie's?"

"Yes. Little present from yours truly."

"Did you want to hold her for the photo?" Emily asked him. She received a nod and moved closer. She began to manoeuvre the animal carefully into her owners arm, only gaining a slight scratch as the cat tried to hold onto her warmth her cuddle had provided.

"Sherlock? Uh, light reading?"

"Oh, um..." The Detective held the flashgun towards Mr Prince, firing it off and effectively blinding the man. "Two point eight."

"Bloody hell. What do you think you're playing at?!"

Emily giggled at the scene before her as Sherlock kept firing the flashgun into the man's eyes to keep them closed. He sent her a wink and watched as she snatched the remaining biscuits from the plate on the table.

"Sorry." She could have sworn she herd Sherlock utter, (though he sounded anything but) however, she was far too busy munching on another ginger nut to really take notice.

"You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What's going on?" Mr Prince sounded as if he was fed up with the situation.

"Actually, I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." John took hold of Emily's free hand.

"What?"

"Sherlock."

"What?" He asked as John grabbed the case from the sofa, and dragged Emily to the door.

"We've got deadlines." John answered. "Emily, let's go." As if she had a choice. She felt herself become squished again as Sherlock was fast to follow them.

"But you've not taken anything!" The trio ignored him and hurried out of the living room, letting themselves out of the house. Emily, saddened that she hadn't said goodbye to the cat, gave a little wave to Raoul when she spotted him watching them.

Emily stuffed the last biscuit in her mouth as the front door shut behind them. She was pleased to finally be free from that house and sincerely hoped she wouldn't have to go back there again. Unless it was to visit the cat.

"Yes! Ooh, yes!" John chuckled to himself.

Sherlock smiled. "You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat." The trio walked onto the main road as they talked.

"What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."

"Does that mean I've got some in mine now?" Emily questioned as she took a look at the scratch on her own hand. The little blood that had escaped had already dried, though it did sting a tiny bit.

Sherlock was still smiling to himself. "Lovely idea. And to answer your question Emily, no."

"Oh... Is there something wrong with my hair?" Now she was free of the older man's gaze, she patted it down, smoothing it on the sides. Did it really look so awful?

"No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have..."

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother. There's nothing wrong with your hair Emily." Sherlock interrupted.

John chuckled as he continued. "He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?"

"Didn't he?"

"No. It was revenge." Emily wished she had a drink with her, her mouth felt dry from the biscuits.

"Revenge? Who wanted revenge?"

"What did he mean by colours?"

"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so..."

John stopped and turned to the Detective, reaching out an arm to stop Emily from walking by herself too. "No, wait, wait. Wait a second." He paused until he had Sherlock's attention. "What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. Emily reeks of the stuff. No, the cat doesn't come into it." Emily took a moment to sniff her sleeve, John doing the same, and found the Detective to be correct. "Raoul's internet records do, though. There's nothing wrong with the colours you wear, or the style you choose, Emily. Hope we can get a cab from here." Sherlock walked off, leaving the other two behind.

John let out a sigh and Emily wondered if it was from disappointment he hadn't solved the case, or frustration that Sherlock had solved it so quickly.

"I'm thirsty." Emily informed him to try and take his mind off whichever one it was.

"Hungry too?" Emily rolled her eyes, and began to follow the Detective but John held her back. "Sherlock's right you know."

"He usually is." She mumbled.

"Well, yes, but this time, he really is right. Don't pay any mind to what Kenny Prince said back there, there's nothing wrong with your hair - " He grabbed hold of her hand as she raised it to touch her locks again. "Or the way you look, or the things you wear, or the colours you choose."

"I don't think I'd want to take any advice from a man who can't look away from a mirror for twenty seconds. Or chooses a sofa that small. No matter how gay he is." She looked towards where Sherlock had headed to find him waiting for them, looking into the distance, though apparently feeling Emily's gaze, turned his head to watch them. "I'm thirsty." She repeated.

"So you've told me." He placed her arm through his and together the pair caught up with Sherlock. "We need to stop somewhere and get a drink." Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he looked at Emily.

"Some more biscuits too, perhaps?" He teased. Emily rolled her eyes and continued past the Detective taking John along with her. "I need to pop back to the flat, you can eat something there."

"You make it sound like you'll be leaving the flat again?" Emily asked.

"Naturally. I'm on a case."

"So, you'll be leaving me there then?" She turned her head to look up at Sherlock with a hopeful look. In return, she received an raised eyebrow, telling her that obviously she wouldn't get to stay at the flat and not to ask silly questions.

She couldn't help but release a sigh.

The smell of cheese on toast was making Emily's mouth water. Thankfully it was almost ready and she could annoy Sherlock for a couple of minutes while she waited for it to cool down.

"I want that finished Emily." John informed her sternly from the table, watching her as she was crouched down watching the cheese bubble.

"Yeah, yeah. Do we have any ginger nuts? Oh! Or jammie Dodgers?"

"What no Wotsits?"

"Don't be silly John, of course I'm having Wotsits, but that dishy Raoul has made me want some more biscuits."

"You mean the murderer Raoul." John corrected.

"Alright then; the dishy murderer Raoul." She placed her food onto a plate and began to rifle through the cupboards to look for the biscuits.

"How is it his fault anyway?"

"He shouldn't have given me a plate of them. Maybe Mrs Hudson will have some?" She sat down, blew on her food and risked picking it up.

"No time to ask, sounds like we're heading to Scotland Yard when you've eaten that."

"Eugh." Emily took a bite of her food. It was still slightly too hot, but she didn't think she could wait much longer. "Why do I have to come with you?"

"It's been decreed." Emily rolled her eyes at the reply, but continued to eat. "When are we having that chat then? The one we were meant to have last night, but I forgot about?" He noted she slowed her chewing for just a second but quickly regained speed after a moment.

"Not now. When we come back?"

"Hmm. Yeah alright then." He stood from the table, "Just Umm... " John moved his head to indicate the toilet. Emily nodded, fighting with a piece of the melted cheese. His seat didn't stay empty long however as Sherlock sat down instead. In his hands, a big pile of papers that he was placing into a folder.

"Better?" He asked her without looking up. He hadn't even taken his coat off.

"Much, thanks."

"There's no time for a cup of tea, just have some water." How had he known she had been eyeing the kettle? "You can have one when we come back. And your wotsits." Finally, he looked up to her and gave her a big fake grin. She rolled her eyes, placing the last piece of toast into her mouth. She stood, placing the empty plate in the sink.

"Why are you dragging me to the Yard with you? Surely John's enough?" She filled a glass with cool tap water knowing she would regret it in about twenty minutes time when she was desperate to empty her bladder, but also knowing she needed to take this seriously and not make herself the cup of tea she was gasping for.

"It's your day off - "

"Exactly, it's my day off."

"You have nothing better to do."

"I have plenty to do."

"Like what?"

"Like...watching telly," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Or reading a book, or annoying you, or relaxing with Mrs Hudson."

"Boring."

"Maybe I like boring."

"You like the mystery of murder, I've seen the books you read. You're interested in Serial Killers, I've seen what you watch on the telly." It was like he hated the word.

"That doesn't mean I want to get dragged into that world." She hadn't realised it, but Sherlock had stood and moved over to her. As she finished those words, he grabbed her by the waist and spun her to face him.

"And yet, you knew that moving into this flat, living here with me and John," His voice had dropped low again and Emily could practically feel the rumble of it in her chest, "would involve just that. I've seen how fascinated you are when we've taken you with us before. You're part of this world, whether you like it or not." He tilted her chin up with a finger before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, never looking away from her eyes. "You have no need to listen to a word of what Kenny Prince says, you really are just - "

The toilet flushed, followed by the sounds of the tap running. The spell was broken and Emily was quick to move from her flatmates grasp. "So people keep telling me." She mumbled to herself, filling the glass up again. She really would end up with a full bladder, but she could not think of anything else to do with herself at that moment and as the door to the bathroom opened, she was glad she had done so.

"We off then?" John asked, looking suspiciously between his two flatmates.

"Do you need the bathroom?" Sherlock, his voice back to normal acting as if he hadn't just been so close to Emily he'd left absolutely no room between them, asked her. She shook her head.

"Get your coat back on then Em." John encouraged.

Though there really was no denying that Sherlock had been right about her, she wanted nothing more than to sit on the sofa, preferably with a bowl of ice cream if they had any, and watch some telly.

Emily had been correct.

Shortly after getting comfortable in the taxi that carried the three flatmates to Scotland Yard, her bladder felt full.

Thankfully, by the time it had become pretty much unbearable, they had arrived and Emily had rushed off to the loos, much to the annoyance of Sherlock. She was quick to remind him (over her shoulder as she all but ran) that it had been his fault she had drunk the water in the first place.

She could barely remember the way back but was proud of herself when she spotted a frustrated looking John being talked to by Sherlock.

Just as she got close enough, Sherlock moved away and into an office. "Alright?" She placed a gentle hand on John's arm. "What's he done now?" John pursed his lips and met her gaze.

He shook his head, "Nothing."

"That's a lie." She spoke gently. She looked into the office to find Sherlock waiting for them. "Tell me later?" John only nodded, taking hold of her hand in his and pulling her along behind him.

They entered to find Sherlock now sitting at Lestrade's desk, a laptop loading up in front of him.

John led Emily to the chair opposite Sherlock and pulled it out for her. She thanked him and sat sideways in it so she could dangle her legs over the arm of it.

Lestrade and John too busy watching Sherlock's actions on the laptop to ask her to sit properly, though she doubted they'd mind.

It didn't take long for the sounds of Sherlock typing on the keyboard to grab her attention. As soon as he had finished the phone rang, the familiar word 'BLOCKED' above the smiling face of young Emily. He picked it up and held the device to his ear.

"Hello?" A pause as the woman on the other end spoke. Emily's heart rate increased as Sherlock began to speak more clearly, "Tell us where you are. Address." Now she started to bounce her foot in the air, Sherlock's voice becoming urgent now, "No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing." Emily watched her foot bounce, the movement became hypnotic. "Hello?" Her head snapped up to the Detective's, their eyes meeting.

Instantly, she knew that the woman on the other end was gone.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned.

"What's happened?" Slowly, the phone was lowered from his ear. Emily turned her gaze back to her feet.

The silence was deafening.

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