Two things:

1) I SHOUD have been going back to work this Friday, but they have rearranged and it looks like I'm going back on the 29th. BUT I should be prepared for them to say, actually, come in tomorrow. Which could happen any time. Just to let you know if I suddenly drop off again. (I'm giving myself an aim of updating at least twice a month. I know it's not much, but better than nothing right?)

2) If all goes to plan, the pool scene will be chapter 50. Which makes that the end of season 1. Should I keep going with season 2 on this story, or start another one? Does that even make sense?

"Where did you get the tea from?" The sudden sound of Sherlock's voice breaking through the sound of the adverts made Emily jump, causing her to slosh a few drops of tea over her lap.

Thankfully, the liquid wasn't still boiling or it would have been painful; though she tutted at the dampness. "From Speedy's. They gave me a discount." She dunked a ginger nut into the mug.

"Thought they were closed?"

"They saw me walking by and invited me in." She smiled at the thought of the friendly staff that worked next door to them. Or would it be classed as downstairs? "Where have you been then? What have you done with the good Doctor?"

"I sent him off to find out about the gallery attendant." He replied, relieving himself of his scarf and coat.

"You sent him off on his own? Again?" Should I be concerned this is the second time this week he's done that? She asked herself. She didn't have a chance to think of an answer as Sherlock sat down next to her. "Are you feeling alright?" She eyed him curiously.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock was just as confused by her line of questioning.

"You've sent John off by himself - for the second time this week. AND you've chosen to sit on the sofa instead of your chair."

"So?"

"SO, you never sit on the sofa. You only ever lie on it. Usually when you're sulking."

"How did you know it was ticket stubs in his pockets earlier?" Probably the same way you did. Emily wanted to reply but instead shrugged her shoulders. "Tell me how you came to the conclusion." He stood back up and moved to his rightful chair, sitting on the very edge so he could face her. His hands together in his prayer position, the tips of his fingers resting under his chin.

She took another sip of the lovely drink and made a mental note to pop down there more often. "How many museums have you been to where the security guards keep the actual ticket itself? It's the same with concerts; ticket gets scanned or a bit of it ripped off - the stub - but they've never actually taken the whole thing off you." She shrugged.

He watched her closely in her relaxed position as her focus went back to the telly as the programme she was watching started up again. One of the Agatha Christie adaptations. He'd noted she always enjoyed those. He'd even once taken note of when one was starting and had turned it on for her as she had just arrived home from work.

He was still studying her when the next set of adverts began twenty minutes later. "Been to many?" He smirked a little when she jumped at the sound of his voice again.

"Stop doing that." She whined, standing to dispose of the mug. She had managed to ignore his stare and focus on the mystery that was playing out on the television. She had managed to focus so hard that she had forgotten he was there. "Many what?" She called out over her shoulder.

"Museums." She walked back to the sofa, taking one last biscuit from the packet before deciding that despite how much she would enjoy finishing the whole packet, she probably shouldn't.

"Hmm, only for school trips." He noted how disappointed she sounded. "And those weren't the best experiences either. You know, what with them being educational and all." She rolled her eyes.

"Isn't that what all museums are?" Sherlock sat back in his seat now and relaxed himself.

Emily wiped the few remaining crumbs from her fingers on her jeans. "Well, yes. But school trip ones were so boring." He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "You get put into groups of other kids, which for me was always a disaster as I generally didn't like anyone, so the company was rubbish. We always got given exercise sheets to fill in as we either listened to some tour guide talk far too quickly to keep up, or copied off the information boards word for word. Never any time to ourselves to actually look at things you know?" She met his gaze, suddenly aware that she was rambling on and embarrassing herself. "Sorry." She mumbled.

The adverts finished once more and Emily turned her flushed face to the screen to continue watching her programme and ignore the fact that the Detective was still focusing on nothing but her.

A few minutes passed and Emily was grateful he remained silent so she could watch her show. She became distracted however when Sherlock suddenly jumped from his seat and headed upstairs. "What are you doing?" She yelled to him.

"Just need to retrieve something." He shouted back. His answer was acceptable, but he had no need to go upstairs, his room was on this level. She felt a wave of discomfort shoot through her.

She braced herself to jump from her seat should she need to as she asked: "Are you going in my room?" If the answer was yes, then she could panic.

"No." He shouted back to her. She relaxed. Clearly he was snooping in John's room, probably for the man's laptop. Or just because he could and wanted something to do.

Could she trust that he was being honest and wasn't currently mooching through her belongings? What if he was and found the shoeboxes under her bed? Her leg began to bounce as all the possible scenarios began to manifest in her brain. But she didn't have long to over think as she heard a bedroom door close and Sherlock coming back down. She attempted to distract herself with other thoughts, but she couldn't think of anything successful.

Sherlock noted the twitch Emily had begun in his absence. Her show had finished, but it appeared she wasn't paying any attention. As he slipped John's gun into his coat pocket, she started to fiddle with her hair. Perhaps now would be a good time to work out exactly what was bothering her. "How was your Mother?" He took out his phone to make it look like a casual conversation instead of him deducing things from her. He noted she immediately froze. So it was that woman that was bothering her. He'd had his first suspicion the other day after she had taken the call outside the lab while she waited for him to finish clearing up. When he finally left the room he had found her leaning against the wall, her whole face and neck had turned red, her breathing had been laboured with panic. When he asked her what was wrong she had simply told him that it had been her Mother, drunk and up to her usual antics no doubt; nothing to worry about. He had known she had been lying, but she had told him she was heading off to her office - effectively cutting off the questions he had for her.

He had let it be because she hadn't spoken any more of it and he hadn't wanted to push.

"She wasn't there." Her tone told him everything he needed to know. Fed up. He couldn't blame her for it, but also couldn't help his curiosity.

"Not there?" He questioned. He watched as she stood from her seat and moved over to the window bay, leaning against the wall.

"No. Drunk enough to have forgotten I was going round it seems. Sober enough to leave the house for more booze."

"No note?" Not that she'd looked for one. Not that she'd even needed to, that woman had never left a note.

"Nothing." She didn't dare mention the creak she had heard of the floorboards.

"So what did you do?"

"I stole her biscuits and came back home." She sent him a smile over her shoulder and attempted to look out of the slight crack between the board and the frame. He chuckled to himself, a sound that Emily so enjoyed hearing.

"Shall we go to one?" She looked at him over her shoulder again at the sudden change of topic. She didn't think she'd ever get used to him doing that.

"One what? Library? Orgy? Sweet shop?" She turned back to the window frame.

"Museum." Sherlock elaborated as he studied the wall above the sofa, eyes flickering over every slip of paper and note in between the back of the blonde's head.

"With John? Alright then. I'm assuming you'll want to wait until you've finished this case then. How about the Museum of London? Or the Natural History Museum?" Sherlock opened his mouth to interrupt her but she hadn't finished. "Though if we end up in the Science Museum, don't make me stand on the earthquake machine. Seb told me all about it." She leaned forward, all the better to see through the gap, as her gaze landed on a woman who had come to stand outside the building. "Have we always had a homeless person outside?"

She felt Sherlock come up behind her and gently move her out of the way so he could take a look for himself. She didn't realise she leant in a little closer to him as he left his hand on her waist.

"Excellent."

"What is?" She felt a hint of disappointment as she felt his hand move away but focused on his actions; he was now getting his coat on again.

"That homeless person, she has information for me." He grabbed her coat from the back of the chair in the kitchen and walked towards her holding it out so she could put it on. "We need to get moving." She slipped her arms through the sleeves and begun to do it up as Sherlock waited patiently for her.

"Do you know where we're going?" She slipped her shoes on, Sherlock holding onto her elbow to keep her steady.

"I will when I find out the information she has for me." The pair descended together, Emily blowing a kiss to their landlady as they passed her in the hallway. She had bought some shopping home and Emily wondered what delights she had bought.

She made sure the door shut gently behind her. However, since she wasn't paying attention to Sherlock who was still leading her to the outside world by dragging her along behind him, she all but smacked into his back as he stopped, presumably to make sure the homeless woman was still there.

When she moved to stand by his side, rubbing her nose, she took note of the taxi that had pulled up before them. Together, she and Sherlock walked forwards to meet John as he got out. Emily with a bright smile, Sherlock with a question etched on his features.

"Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art." John immediately provided the answer.

"And?"

"And..." Sherlock started to walk towards the homeless woman whilst still talking to John, leaving Emily to watch them. "Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?"

"No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer." She turned her gaze up to the darkened sky, wondering when it had become night time so quickly. She had clearly been too engrossed in her own mind to notice.

Should she really be heading out now? She did have to go back to work again in the morning, however much she didn't want to. Oh god, Roid want's to talk to me. She thought to herself. The feeling of dread that came with the thought of work suddenly became ten times worse. Perhaps she could tell the boys she would have to sit this out, as she had earlier in order for her to have a decent bed time and not get up late.

Just as she came to the conclusion that that was the best idea she had had for a long time, Sherlock took her hand and pulled her over to John who was stood next to a taxi. Presumably the one he had just exited.

"Come on." The three climbed into the vehicle, and began their journey. Emily hoped it wouldn't be too far. Perhaps if she had changed into her pyjamas, she would have got to stay at the flat.

A sudden, unpleasant thought occurred to her, and she had barely finished that thought when she opened her mouth to voice her question; "You're not going to give me a worksheet when we go to a museum are you?" Emily asked. The thought of him replying with a yes worried her.

"Worksheet?" John questioned, completely clueless about what she meant.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer that he was going to take Emily to a museum when they had finished with the case, make a point of saying only Emily, but the blonde beat him to it.

"Sherlock has said we should go to a museum when you've finished this case."

"Oh he has, has he?" John teased, immediately understanding what had gone on, and how wrong it had gone.

"Mhmm." She nodded.

"Isn't that nice of him?"

"Isn't it? I've never been to one properly unless it was with a school trip..." And so she went off again on her ramblings about the school trips. The smile John wore never leaving his face as he enjoyed the blondes babbling and the annoyance of Sherlock at having not been able to explain he wanted it to be just himself and Emily. "...So no worksheets please Sherlock." She finally finished and sat back in the taxi.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sherlock mumbled. John couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"How was your Mum Em?" The smile faded somewhat from his face as the topic changed to one that wasn't quite so jovial.

Emily went on to explain again how the woman wasn't there but it hadn't been too much of a waste of time since she managed to steal the snacks. It didn't take long for her to veer off the topic of her Mother and talk about a shopping list with the Doctor.

When the necessities had been written down on a stray piece of paper Emily had found in her coat pocket (John had no doubt that list would not see the light of day again for a good few months) the back of the cab turned silent.

Sherlock, in his mind palace. John attempting to mentally remember the list the pair of them had worked on. Emily watching the world go by out of the window.

"We're here." Sherlock announced as the driver parked and the Detective paid him.

"Where is here?" John questioned as he helped Emily out of the taxi.

"Vauxhall Arches." Sherlock replied. John and Emily shared a shrug as they followed the Detective.

Emily, feeling the chill, linked her arm through John's. She opened her mouth to inquire what exactly this place was when Sherlock spoke before she could utter a syllable.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Both John and Emily looked at their flatmate, to find him looking skywards. They followed his gaze to see what little of the night sky that was visible to them was filled with stars.

Neither of them noticed Sherlock look back down at Emily.

"I thought you didn't care about things like that." John pointed out.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." Sherlock replied simply. Emily still looking up at the stars, had to move her gaze away sharply before she began asking herself the impossible questions that always lead to an existential crisis.

Their walk took them to the arches and Emily couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. She linked her other arm through Sherlock's and pulled him closer. He looked down at her and sent her a comforting wink. He smirked to himself when she gave a hint of a smile.

"Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?"

"This way."

"Nice. Nice part of town." Emily hopped over a dirty looking puddle and hoped she would never have to come back down here again. John continued, "Er, any time you wanna explain."

"Homeless network – really is indispensable." The trio had come to a brief stop as Sherlock spoke.

John retrieved the small flashlight from his pocket, switching it on as he spoke. "Homeless network?"

"My eyes and ears all over the city."

"Oh, that's clever. So you scratch their backs and..."

"Yes, then I disinfect myself." Sherlock now turned his own torch on and shone it into the darkness of the Arches. Emily wondered if she should have bought the one from her Mother's house, but reasoned she would only have complained about it's weight the entire time she would have to use it.

"Are you basically saying you have an army?" Emily asked as they moved forwards, the torch beams showing them the litter, graffiti and homeless people that were settling down for the night.

"That's one way to put it, yes."

"So, if and when you need help, you just - "

"Sherlock!" John interrupted her.

Sherlock grabbed Emily around her waist and pulled her over to the side of a wall, hidden from... whatever they were hiding from. "Come on!"

"What's he doing sleeping rough?" John whispered as Sherlock peered round the corner. Emily, squished between her two flatmates (Sherlock's arm released her waist but only so his hand could take hold of hers) looked up at John.

"Who? The Golem man?" She received a nod from the Doctor as a reply.

"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much."

"Oh shi…." John almost swore from beside her.

"What?"

"What's wrong?" The Detective and the blonde asked at the same time.

"I wish I'd..."

Sherlock turned back round and with his free hand, handed over John's gun. "Don't mention it." Emily made the mistake of making eye contact with the taller man and found a knowing twinkle in his gaze. She found she could not look away and Sherlock too, maintained the eye contact. Only when John spoke again did the two of them snap out of it.

"How did you - ?"

John's questioned went unfinished as Emily felt a sudden pull on her hand. Before she knew it, the three of them were running towards another tunnel. Only when they reached it did they get to see someone slip into an awaiting car that immediately sped off.

"No, no, no, no!" Sherlock had thankfully let go of her hand as he punched the air with frustration. "It'll take us weeks to find him again."

Emily manoeuvred herself over to the fire to try to warm herself a little. The could feel the cold crawling into her coat now that she was no longer stood between the two males.

"Or not. I have an idea where he might be going."

"What?"

"I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message." John spoke as he moved over to Emily, taking hold of her hand, "There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on." John set off, taking Emily with him. No doubt Sherlock was following behind.

"Is that what you went upstairs for? Into John's room?" Emily asked suddenly as the trio finally set foot inside the building of the Planetarium.

"Yes." Sherlock replied simply as he looked around his surroundings, working out which way to go.

"Hang on - you went in my room?"

"I had to. It's where your gun was. I knew we'd - you - might need it." John spluttered, irritated that the Detective had gone through his bedroom when he wasn't there.

"How did you know he'd want it?" Emily looked up at Sherlock. His gaze met hers. His eyebrow was raised as if to ask her did she really need to ask that question. "Nevermind."

They heard the slam of a door, instantly the three began to move towards it. Sherlock stopped abruptly, Emily bumping into his back once more. "Stay here." He simply told her.

"What?!"

"Stay here! John, come on!" Her mouth opened and closed several times making her look like a lost goldfish.

"Why?" She all but yelled. She felt like stamping her foot. What was the point of dragging her around if she couldn't even be in on the proper action?

"Em." She turned to look at John who was attempting to calm her down. His empty hand raised in front of him and a gentle smile on his face. "He's right. Stay here." He couldn't say much else as Sherlock began to drag him away.

Emily released a frustrated sigh. She could have been in bed. She could have been in her pyjamas finishing off those biscuits and watching telly. She could have been helping her landlady put her shopping away. But oh no, she had to be here, missing out on all the action and - "Oh, a gift shop."

Emily looked up from the book she was skimming through as a figure entered her field of vision.

She only caught a brief glimpse of them as they ran back through the entryway, but they appeared to be the tallest person she had ever seen.

She left the book on the counter and moved quickly in the direction he had come from. She came to a set of doors that she pulled open, a narrative voice filling the entire room in between a rewind noise.

She stopped before a mixing desk, playing with a few of the buttons before she managed to work out how to turn it off. It took her a few seconds more to work out how to bring the lights back up.

When she finally accomplished it, she looked to the stage; John was slowly, groggily, standing up. Sherlock was lying against the wall, looking more frustrated than he had earlier. Clearly, this other attempt had also failed.

"I've missed something haven't I?" She asked them. Both men looked up at her, neither of them answering her as they attempted to catch their breath. "Got any change for the gift shop?" She asked cheekily. "Found a book I like the look of. I'll pay you back when we get home."

Please, please, stay safe out there. Let me know you're ok.

FB