CAN MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE PLEASE TELL LET ME KNOW WHAT THEY THINK I SHOULD DO IN REGARDS TO SEASON 2 PLEASE? CARRY IT ON IN THIS STORY (CHAPTER 51) OR START A FRESH STORY? thank you.
I'm aware that I've already broken my 2 updates a month thing, but to be fair to myself, this chapter was tricky for me. And I'm incredibly anxious to be publsihing it. I have no doubt that in maybe an hours time, if that, I'll think of something else I could have included and absolutley hate myself. If it gets to that, I may end up writing it again and republishing as a one shot, but we'll see.
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I can only hope you enjoy.
Emily's head felt...foggy. It was the only way she could explain it.
Her eyelids, along with everything else felt heavy. She tried to move her fingers but found it difficult. She could feel a hard floor beneath her body where someone had placed her, the roughness of it along with the fact she could feel her body moving with the juddering of whatever she was being held in, made it evident she was no longer at home.
She managed to open her eyes a fraction, but only for a second. Wherever she was, it was dark.
"Didn't think you'd wake up Miss." A voice whispered a couple of feet away from her. She tried to open her eyes again and found she was slightly more successful than the last time. She managed to catch sight of a figure tucked away in a corner. Apparently he was watching her rather carefully. "Thought I'd put too much in you. Don't try too move yet. It won't have worn off, it will make it difficult." Was he supposed to be talking to her? "Light as a feather you were." She reasoned he wasn't. She wanted to ask him what his name was, but found the effort of trying to open her mouth a burden. "Close your eyes again. Rest it off some more." He encouraged with a gentle tap of his hand on her leg. Or what she thought was her leg, perhaps it was her foot? Should someone who had injected her with something and taken her somewhere be this friendly? "Not long now Miss." She blinked numerous times to turn her gaze back to the man sat in the corner, huddled into himself to give her the space despite taking up not very much of it. He pursed his lips and placed a gun against them, telling her to keep quiet. Not like she had much of a choice really as he then aimed it back at her. "You're a lucky one ain't ya?" His voice sounded as if it was becoming aggressive now, but she couldn't focus on it. "No bombs for you." She was sure that's what he had said, but had no way of confirming it as she lost consciousness once more.
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He finished typing his message and sent it off onto the internet with a smirk. It would be a nice touch - the pool. Back to where it all started.
He had a little bit of time before he needed to leave to make it in time for his appointment with the bomber. And since Emily wasn't home, it was the perfect time to dig around in her room to see what she was hiding.
He swung her door open, careful not to let it smack into anything. He took in the details that surrounded him, since his past visits to her room always ended up with him paying more attention to the woman who stayed in it than the room itself.
Purple walls, purple duvet. He was almost shocked she didn't have a purple carpet.
There wasn't much sign of personalisation. It almost felt as if she was planning on moving out. If it wasn't for the clothes she had slept in the night before thrown haphazardly onto the floor, and the full bookshelf, he might have believed she already had.
At least the reading material he had purchased for her the previous night had been handled with more care than her sleep wear had; It sat on her bedside table, an old train ticket wedged in place as a bookmark in front of her two picture frames.
He turned to those first.
He plucked the purple frame up first- the one that contained the photo of her on her half brothers lap, the one he was greeted with every time he answered to the sound of the pink phone going off. Only in this version of the photo - the complete version - you could see the face of her sibling too.
He had a blue hand print on his face, evidently fresh as it matched the traces of blue that Sherlock could just make out on Small Emily's hands and the laugh that the image had caught. They had the same eyes and where this photo was concerned, that was the only similarity.
Emily still had her baby fat on her face, her sibling had already begun to lose his. Emily, with her wild blonde hair, him with his neatly parted ginger.
He supposed they could look more similar now that Emily was older. He couldn't help but wonder what her Father looked like.
He didn't need to wonder what her Mother looked like. Or what she was like personality wise. He had already done his own investigation on her. Mycroft had helped him with it, giving all the information he could get his hands on about the woman. Together the pair of them had had conversations about going so far as to find Emily's birth certificate to find out about the other half of her parentage. But Sherlock had reasoned she would never speak to either of them again - just the thought of that made Sherlock go cold.
If she had wanted to find out who her Father was, she would have done so already.
He placed this photo down and collected the other one. She can't have been much older in this one. She was holding the hand of someone as they walked away from whoever had taken it. They had turned their heads to look over their shoulders as if someone had called their names. Sherlock looked carefully at the boy holding onto her, noted the dark eyes and hair, how he had dressed to make himself look presentable. Not something many young boys did.
There was something familiar about him too; but aware that he soon had somewhere to be and that Emily could return any minute he filed this fact away for later.
He placed the photo back, carefully arranging it so it looked as if neither of them had been touched. He noted there were no traces of dust; clearly these items meant a lot to her as she kept them clean.
His gaze flicked to the overflowing bookshelf and he crouched down before it. The books were all tucked away somewhat neatly, no pieces of paper sticking out. That would have been too obvious.
He thought back to the times when he had entered her room; she had, most of the time, been sat on her bed but he recalled a few occasions where she had been sat on the floor with her back against the bed. Not unusual. (There were times when he had caught her sat on the stairs, or on the arm of the sofa instead of the seat itself. He'd even witnessed her feet resting against the wall while her head relaxed against the edge of the sofa, hair falling over the edge to come to rest on the floor.)
Perhaps if he sat on the floor to see from that perspective. He seated himself down in the position he pictured in his mind and scanned the room from that height.
Nothing.
He went to stand, placing his hands on the floor to help himself stand up when the tips of his fingers scraped against the edge of something. He caught a firm grip on the object and pulled it out so it was now next to him on the floor.
The shoebox was old, tatty round the edges and the lid slipped off easily. He felt his confusion show on his face as he lifted himself onto the bed, tipping the shoebox upside down and letting the papers flutter onto the covers he began to rifle through the collection of newspaper clippings. All of them similar stories about the same subject: Carl Powers.
Why would she have put these in an old shoebox that was kept hidden under her bed?
Though upon closer inspection, the paper was yellowed with age. They were not the ones he had printed fresh the other day. There were even a few here that he had not printed out. So why would she keep old newspaper clippings, in an old shoebox under her bed?
Did she have something to do with the boys death? Surely not. She would have been younger than the Emily featured in her photos. Perhaps she had just taken an interest in the case and never threw them away? But the fact that she had bought them with her to Baker Street signified these had not been forgotten, that she had never intended to throw them away.
Her seat on the floor had not just been a place for her to sit and read, but to help hide this box all the more.
Why had she not come clean when Carl had been so prominent in his case?
He thought back to the past couple of days, remembering how she had gone quiet at the mention of the boys name. How she had wanted to talk to John about something but had never got round to it.
Could this be it?
Worst case scenario was that she had something to do with the boys death and had collected these clippings as a form of trophies. Whoever else had been in on it had kept the shoes.
Best case being she was simply interested in the case and had collected them. Her need to talk to John was perhaps her worry that she might have known something before Sherlock had worked it out.
But then surely she would have told him, not kept it to herself?
The questions swirled through his mind, questions that he could only make potential deductions about until he had Emily before him to answer them.
He glanced at his watch and began to collect the pieces together, placing them back into their box. With the knowledge that as soon as they were both home together he would confront her on this, he decided to leave it on her bed. Should she get home before he did she would see it on display on her covers and know he knew of its existence. If he took it to his room he had no doubt she would be beyond angry and he would get nowhere.
He didn't look back as he left her room, closing the door behind him to meet the bomber.
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A familiar voice was making its way through her clouded mind. If only she could figure out who it belonged to.
Her body was no longer shaking along with whatever she had been in. Had she been in a vehicle or some sort? Judging by the fact she had been lying down, it had not been a car.
She tested her fingers now, and found she could move them with more ease. That was a good sign right? If she could move her fingers, she could perhaps move the rest of herself, even just a little bit. Gently, she moved her whole hand and finding it felt nowhere near as heavy as it had earlier, moved her arm, then her legs. The process was slow but she didn't want to risk going any faster in case the heaviness or exhaustion came back.
She managed to move herself so she was sitting cross legged on the floor facing a blue curtain. She felt warm tile beneath her ankle, painful as it dug into her. She felt a tinge of relief that she could actually feel pain at the same time as she could feel a stinging sensation in her neck where she had been injected with god knows what.
Cautiously, she turned her head to look over her shoulder to see if her companion from earlier was still with her. Much to her annoyance he was now sat cross legged on the bench on the back wall, gun in his hand aimed at her ready to shoot, should she do something he didn't like. She was reluctant to admit that his presence reassured her that she wasn't alone. Especially since she still had no idea where the hell she was. Though judging by the stench and no sign of any dead bodies, she was currently near a swimming pool.
And judging by the size of the room, she was currently sat in a changing room.
The question of why she was here only just entered her thoughts and she opened her mouth to ask but he quickly moved his gun to hold against his lips again, motioning her to keep quiet. She rolled her eyes and snapped back to face forwards, regretting it instantly as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes to try and regain herself, she tried to focus on whatever was happening on the other side of the curtain. Another voice had spoken and she was almost certain it was John. But what on earth was he doing here? Wasn't he at Sarah's? Well obviously not if you can hear him out there. She scolded herself.
But something was evidently wrong. He sounded tense. Not himself. As if he was reading a script.
"John. What the hell...?" It was only now that she really paid attention did she really notice that the other voice, the first voice, was Sherlock. At least all three of them were together in this. Whatever this was. Emily wished she could step out of the cubicle to find out exactly what was going on, but figured the man behind her wouldn't appreciate it much. She knew she certainly wouldn't appreciate it much if he shot her.
"Bet you never saw this coming."
She needed to get out there. What if - and the more the thought rattled round her head the more it made sense as to what could be happening on the other side of the curtain - John was currently strapped into a jacket of explosives? The image that bore into her mind (a bunch of explosives made into some sort of cardigan, an awful frightening version of the ones John liked to wear, ones that she had, perhaps, a couple of times burrowed for herself without his knowledge) made her heart race. Immediately and not particularly caring about the gun aimed at her from behind she set about standing up. Judging from how wobbly her legs felt, that might take some time.
Her companion noticed what she was attempting to do and was quick to wrap one arm around her small frame, while the other went around her shoulder. He eased her into a standing position, confident she was going nowhere, as his hand covered her mouth to keep her mumblings from getting the attention of anyone else. She didn't have much energy, at least not enough to fight him off properly, but by God, she was going to try. She was surprised that with their limited space the curtain hiding them hadn't been touched and therefore moved. But she rationalised that was more to do with the fact that her struggle wasn't exactly much of one.
She could feel her blouse become untucked from her skirt that had ridden up far too high whilst her legs had been crossed but there wasn't exactly much she could do about it at the moment since her arms were being held to her side. She dreaded to think what the state of her hair looked like. And where the hell was her coat?
"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died." Emily stopped altogether at the mention of the young boy. At least she knew for sure that she really was near a pool now. But her heart sunk at the thought that it was the pool. "I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too."
Nope. Please no. As if sensing what was about to happen, her companion tightened his hold on her. She lost focus of the goings on outside of the curtain as an idea crossed her mind. But she needed to be smart about it. She somehow needed to manoeuvre herself into a position where she could kick him in his privates.
"I gave you my number." But the sound of a new voice, a new player (though if she really thought about it, he wasn't a new player at all) took all thinking away from her, bringing her back to listening to what was going on. "I thought you might call." The voice sounded mournful, and it was a voice she would know anywhere.
Suddenly, her heart rate had sped up all the more. Jim was here. And she had evidently been correct in thinking that he was behind Sherlock's case. She breathed heavily through her nose in an attempt to listen to what was going on out there, but her companions panting was loud in her ear.
"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket..." Jim continued. "...or are you just pleased to see me?"
"Both." She had no idea what that meant. Did it mean a gun? Did Sherlock have a gun? She both wished he did and didn't have one.
"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Not that she had needed the confirmation, but her heart sank somewhat at hearing the name. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" Emily fidgeted slightly to try and make herself somewhat comfortable but only ended up being held tighter, she wondered if her breathing would stop if his grip became anymore constricting.
"Be a good girl and stop. Moving." He muttered angrily into her ear. She only rolled her eyes but quickly regretted the action when it bought another wave of dizziness.
"Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." What would happen if she bit onto his hand? "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." There was a pause just as he was beginning to get louder. Presumably he was getting closer. Emily wished she could see what was happening. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see... like you!"
"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"
"Just so."
"Consulting criminal. Brilliant." His voice had turned soft. If she didn't know any better, she would have said the two were flirting in their own, strange, way.
"Isn't it?" She could hear the pride in his tone. "No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will."
A clicking noise that Emily guessed was a gun sounded. "I did."
"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."
"Thank you." The hand around her mouth was getting sweaty and Emily couldn't help but feel a little disgusted. Could these two hurry up so she could be free from this hold?
"Didn't mean it as a compliment."
"Yes you did."
"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock..." His voice became high pitched and sing song, "Daddy's had enough now!" His voice was certainly getting closer again as his tone returned to normal. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play."
She felt her companions breathing become erratic at the amount of money Jim had mentioned. She couldn't blame him really. It was an awful lot of money and he'd spent it as if it was nothing apparently.
"So take this as a friendly warning...my dear. Back off." Jim continued. "Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?" Had he been the one Molly had been talking about the other day?
"People have died."
"That's what people DO!" He screamed the last word furiously. His words were followed by a pause as Criminal and Detective looked at one another. "Would you like another surprise?" His tone had gone back to normal, his voice soft again. His personality changes were instant.
Something Emily had become used to over the years.
Suddenly, the hand on her mouth vanished and a firm shove had Emily flying forwards, narrowly avoiding taking the curtain with her. It hurt her feet as they slapped against the floor - why hadn't they put her shoes back on? She felt as if she was moving in slow motion and while it felt her feet wouldn't seem to work properly her eyes widened at the sight of the water she was heading towards.
So it was rather fortunate that, without even looking, a set of arms wrapped around her waist, catching her before she could fall in.
As she caught her breath, strands of hair falling about her face, the gentle movement of the water the only thing she could see, the voice she could not deny that she had missed all these years addressed her. "Oh Emmy." Jim maintained eye contact with the Detective, a smirk gracing his features as Sherlock's eyebrows creased with confusion, eyes widening a fraction at the sight of the blonde. "Did you ever actually learn to swim?" The shaky breath she released was enough of an answer, and with barely any effort Jim moved her so she was standing upright. Between him and the pool. He positioned her so he could wrap his arm around her waist holding her close to him. "Isn't this wonderful?" His grin was teasing and Sherlock wasn't quiet sure who he was talking to. "The whole gangs together at last. The three of you." Sherlock desperately tried to make eye contact with the blonde as the man before him gestured with his free hand towards him, John and Emily. Apparently she had found a fascinating spot on the floor as she would not look up from it. He could only watch as she furiously tugged on her skirt to cover more than just her underwear. "And the three of us." Now his hand gestured towards himself and Emily as her head snapped up to look at the man holding her up. She instantly regretted it as she felt her head spin again. Jim briefly made eye contact with her before looking away again. "Oh don't look so surprised Emmy, I think you knew he was here." His tone suggested he was bored as if he'd already had this particular conversation before.
She began to flick her eyes over the room, or what she could see of it, trying to find the face of her brother. She studiously managed to look everywhere but at her flatmates. She thought she caught sight of a figure on the darkened balcony but was bought out of her thoughts when Jim squeezed her closer to him.
"Where?" She managed to mumble, though her voice sounded a little wobbly. She wasn't sure if that was whatever was coursing through her veins or from lack of use for several hours.
"Don't try to talk, my little elephant. Just relax." There was a part of her that hated herself for actually leaning on him a little and she couldn't help but hope that Sherlock didn't notice. "That's it." He praised her. Of course he would alert them she had done as he'd asked.
"I will stop you." Sherlock spoke softly, hoping to take the attention away from the blonde. He felt a twinge of something spark inside him and if he had stopped to think about what it was, he would have realised it was hurt. He flicked his gaze over to John, noting how stunned his expression had become at the appearance of the third flatmate, the Other Occupant.
"No you won't." Jim was calm. Too calm.
"You all right?" Sherlock asked John who had moved his gaze back to the floor, he was deliberate in keeping it there.
Jim moved forwards, taking Emily with him, though she lagged behind a little, stopping when he reached John's side. "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." John looked up to meet Sherlock's eye before nodding once.
"Emily?" He looked back to her now, watching as she turned her eyes away from the balcony to look at him. "Are you alright?" He repeated his question. Her nod in return was slow and he wondered if anything that was happening was actually registering for her.
"She has a little bit of something in her system." Jim turned to look at her properly for the first time. Assessing if any damage had been done to her. He released what was left of her ponytail from its confines and tucked some hair behind her ear before continuing, "Used it to knock her out and bring her here. She should be back to chattering away fairly soon." His words were followed by a tut as he caught sight of her wrists. "Someone didn't do as I asked." He mumbled to himself. The skin had red prints in the shape of someone's hands. They had been rough with her. Rough enough to leave a mark. Probably a bruise. That wouldn't do.
Sherlock took a hand off the pistol and held the memory stick out towards the other man. "Take it."
Immediately Jim's attention turned to the Detective. "Huh? Oh! That!" He released Emily's waist from his hold and took her hand to lead her forwards with him, taking her closer to the other man as they strolled past John. Reaching out for the stick with his free hand, grinning.
"The missile plans!" Emily looked back at what was going on beside her as Jim bought something to his mouth and gently kissed it. She felt her face scrunch up in puzzlement and his hand tightened it's hold on her own as if he knew what she was doing. She couldn't help but think that his hand felt nice around her own. Just like old times. "Boring!" Jim's voice turned sing - song again as he shook his head "I could have got them anywhere." Nonchalantly, he tossed the stick into the pool and Emily jumped as John slammed himself against Jim's back, almost hitting her in the face as he did so. She lifted herself away from her childhood friend as much as she could in order to be out of the way of John's wrath, but Jim squeezed her hand tightly in a warning.
"Sherlock, run!"
Jim laughed in delight. "Good! Very good."
But Sherlock did not move as John had demanded. Still aiming the gun at Jim's head he looked up and Emily could have sworn the look was filled with anxiety. Was he possibly wondering what could go wrong with John's brave idea? Because she certainly was.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty, then we both go up." Emily could feel the fog receding at the savage tone that John's voice held. She had never heard him speak like that before. She could ignore the feeling of worry before, but it was only now that she felt that worry begin to overcome her. The feeling only intensified as Jim slipped his arm back around her waist, his hold on her even tighter now.
Jim was calm despite having a man covered in explosives on his back. "Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets." She felt as if she should at least try to move away, but the warmth of the arm around her waist and the familiar scent of her childhood friend, though somewhat covered by whatever cologne he was wearing, was starting to comfort her and quite honestly she felt she would fall down at that particular moment in time if she did move away. Would Sherlock catch her? As John pulled him even closer, Emily had no choice but to be jostled around with the pair of them. Something that wasn't particularly helpful to her recovering head. "They're so touchingly loyal. Emily is rather, loyal, too, don't you find? But, oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."
Emily watched as a red laser dot appeared in the middle of Sherlock's forehead.
She could feel Jim's breath on her temple as he looked round at the Doctor expectantly. Sherlock shook his head slightly, aware of what was happening from the fact that both his flatmates attention was resting on his forehead.
"Gotcha!" Jim chuckled as he was released from John's hold, looking back at the man before facing forwards again.
With his free hand, Jim brushed his down his suit, straightening it as if having a man covered in explosives attached to his back was nothing. "Westwood!" He gestured indignantly.
There was a pause, as if the group were deciding who should have the next word. Emily felt a new level of worry, however, when it was Jim again that spoke. "Has she told you yet?" He squeezed her impossibly closer as if to emphasise just who he was talking about. Not that he really needed to, Emily was the only 'she' he could have been talking about. "Oh!" His voice became all the more gleeful as he turned his head to look at John again. "Judging by that look on your face she hasn't."
"Told me what?" Sherlock answered with his own question.
"She did try to tell the good Doctor though, didn't you?"
"Told me what?" He tried again attempting not to get angry. He ignored the stab of jealousy he felt that at the thought she had tried to tell John, despite already knowing this fact.
"Should I tell them or will you? Hmm?" He had glanced down at her and watched as she swallowed hard and opened her mouth to talk. "No, you're right, I'll tell them." He smirked when she rolled her eyes. Or tried to. "Our Emmy here, our lovely, sweet, innocent little Emmy.…" She closed her eyes tightly, wondering just what was going to come out of his mouth. "...watched from just up there," She felt herself relax the tiniest fraction that he was going to talk about Carl Powers, "...as young Carl thrashed about in the water," His tone had turned mournful again, but she knew that it was fake. She could feel the eyes of her friends on her and wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow her whole. "and dieeeed." She felt him shrug as if it was nothing. "That's what you were trying to tell your Doctor friend, was it not Emmy?"
She thought, briefly, about lying but knew she would be seen through immediately. She nodded slowly in order to keep the world from spinning again.
"What? I - " Sherlock was interrupted.
"Never even flinched. Did you?" She wasn't sure if he was actually waiting for an answer, but he continued talking so apparently he wasn't. "See, it's not so bad now that they know." Was he trying to reassure her? It wasn't working.
"Where's mum?" Emily interrupted having had enough of Jim discussing her. Her gaze was now firmly locked back onto what she thought was a figure on the balcony. She could just make out a few other outlines in the darkness and she had no doubt she had no idea who they were. But the one she was currently staring at, she was sure, could feel it with every fibre of her being, was staring right back at her despite aiming a gun at someone. "What have you done with her?" She spoke up a little, voice wobbling, as she directed the question to them.
"Don't be so boring Emmy." Jim huffed. "I think you can guesssss." He hissed into her ear causing her to tense and try to pull away from his grasp, only causing it to tighten and hold her closer. "Ah ah ah. Don't struggle. It will only make it worse." Sherlock and John could only watch as their flatmate slumped sideways, her head coming to rest on the chest of the man behind the bombings. His voice turned gentle and both her friends felt as if they were intruding a private moment at his next words. "I don't know why you're bothering to ask, you know she never liked you. We were the ones who raised you." His free hand wound itself into her hair. Not only did it hold her in place and keep her close but it also provided her a slight bit of comfort. Maybe if she closed her eyes tight enough, she could pretend she was a child again, tucked up in bed with Jim telling her a story while he stroked her hair. Any minute Sebastian would come in telling her to hurry up and go to sleep so he could have his best friend back to himself. But the reek of the pool wouldn't allow her to slip into her memories.
"And Gran. She helped too." She whispered as the image of the woman came to the forefront of her mind.
His grip on her blonde locks tightened, she flinched before he realised what he was doing and went back to the gentle hold he had seconds before. "Never did like that woman. Even less than your Mother."
"I know." Emily mumbled into his chest. She lifted her hands and grasped onto the lapels of his suit and lifted her head away from him to stare into his eyes. "Why did you have to have her killed?"
"How did you know it was me?" A proud smile lit up his face.
"I didn't. Was never one hundred percent sure. Until now." When his eyebrows moved to show his confusion, she continued. "I've always known the two of you never got on. I've never been able to work out why though. The fact she was shot just before she could take me away on holiday wasn't particularly shocking to me if I'm honest."
"I couldn't let you go away with her. I just couldn't." His confusion cleared, he shook is head. His face showed remorse but his tone held glee.
"Why?" Her voice cracked and she wondered if she would cry.
"She was taking you away." He stopped shaking his head and rolled his eyes as if it should have been obvious.
"I was coming back, it was only going to be for the summer holidays - "
"But it wasn't just for the holidays - SHE WAS GOING TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME! From us. Your brother."
She didn't even flinch, as the other two had, when he began shouting, the fury he felt evident on his face, though she could feel her heart speed up at his words. Had her Gran actually been planning on taking her away to live with her? "I was - I was coming home?" She hadn't meant for her statement to end up as a question, her tone laced with sadness at the thought that she could have got away from her Mother a long time ago.
He shook his head and lifted his hand to her chest where the elephant charm rested on her skin, the necklace she had received from her Gran all those years ago. "No. Don't you see, my little elephant? She wasn't going to bring you home. She'd arranged everything with that stupid daughter of hers for you to go and stay with her permanently. I couldn't have that. We couldn't have that." She instantly knew who else he meant by 'we' and felt her heat break just a little more at the thought. She could feel him lift the elephant from her skin and fiddle with it as she thought to herself.
Had it been Sebastian that had actually fired the bullet that had killed their Gran? It was a question she had thought of so many times growing up, but she had never taken the notion seriously. But with Jim's words, this thought became a serious possibility. With the figure on the balcony she believed to be Seb, aiming a gun at her friend, it became a certainty.
"Judging by what's going on now, you're not that keen on my current flatmates either." She said, finally making eye contact with the Detective who was already watching her attentively, gun still aimed at the man beside her. For the first time she wanted nothing more than to remove herself from Jim's hold. She wanted to be standing with Sherlock or John.
"No not particularly."
"But yet, it's taken you all this time to come this close to having away with them?"
He beamed at her as if to say he knew something she didn't. "I have so loved watching you with them. It's so...fascinating." Emily wasn't sure what he could mean by that. Fascinating? Watching them? But she didn't have time to voice her queries as Jim had turned the focus back to Sherlock. "D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"
"Oh, let me guess: I get killed." He sounded bored.
"Kill you?" He grimaced. "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He ran his eyes up and down Sherlock's body, meeting his eyes again as his voice became vicious. "I'll burn the heart out of you." His wore a snarl on his face that quickly vanished at the end of his sentence. He almost looked regretful. Almost.
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock responded softly.
Necklace forgotten, Jim began to twiddle a lock of Emily's hair between his fingers, never breaking eye contact with the man before him. "But we both know that's not quite true." Sherlock blinked involuntarily at his words, understanding instantly the meaning behind them. The fact that he had been playing with Emily's hair made it all the more obvious. The man before them smiled and shrugged. "Well, I'd better be off." He nonchalantly looked around before turning back to Sherlock. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat and see Emmy again up close." He squeezed her as Sherlock raised the pistol higher and extended it closer to Jim's head.
"What if I was to shoot you now – right now?"
Not even missing a beat Jim answered, unperturbed; "Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He opened is eyes and mouth wide to mimic shock before grinning at Sherlock again. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. I doubt very much you want to get our Emily here covered in my blood. Not that it wouldn't be the first time she's had blood all over her." He screwed up his nose, releasing the strands of blonde from his hold before continuing, "And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He took hold of the girls arms, gently pushing her away from him. He made sure she could stand on her own, leant into her so his lips were against her ear "Nice watch you have there Emmy." His whisper created goosebumps and judging by the smirk on his face, he knew it too. He tapped his finger against her nose and began to turn away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He looked back at Sherlock, distaste evident on his features as he made his way calmly to the door that John had appeared through earlier. Sherlock slowly inched forward to keep the man in view.
"Catch... you... later."
The sound of the door opening was shortly followed by Jim's sing song voice; "No you won't!"
The door closed, none of them moved, though Emily could feel herself getting a little dizzy. She tried to blink it away as Sherlock suddenly dropped to his knees in front of John to unfasten the bomb vest he was attached to.
"All right?" John tilted his head back, his breathing heavy. "Are you all right?" Sherlock's tone had turned urgent.
"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine." Emily gradually lowered herself into a crouching position in the hopes that if she did end up collapsing, it would be onto the tiles and not into the water. "I'm fine."
"You." Sherlock, tugging at the jacket and vest on John, turned his gaze to Emily as she placed her palms down onto the floor trying to steady herself. She looked up at him from behind a curtain of hair. To say she was nervous of what his next words would be was an understatement, but at that moment she was more focused on trying to remain conscious. "You have some explaining to do." His tone sounded neither angry or upset. It was more curious than anything.
"Sherlock." The man John was talking to managed to roughly strip his friend of the items from his arms. "Sh-Sherlock!" He bent and skimmed the items along the floor as far away as he could. Emily looked back down to the ground, focusing on her fingers and trying not to worry about the discussion that would inevitably occur as soon as they were back at the flat. Hell, it may even happen in the next few moments, though she sincerely hoped her friends would wait for her system to clear so she could think clearly. "Jesus." John uttered softly, reaching up to pull the earpiece from his ear. He began to breath heavily and Emily wondered if this was possibly delayed shock setting in. "Oh, Christ." He dropped down so he was squatting, bracing his back against the changing room edge, blowing out a long breath in an attempt to calm himself down. Emily looked back up again to watch him. She found he was already watching her. He beckoned her over with his head and she slowly began to crawl over to him.
They ignored Sherlock as he started to pace up and down, John took hold of Emily's arms when she was near enough and pulled her to him to hold her in a tight embrace. With her face squished against his chest, she wrapped her arms around him in the hopes that she was helping to calm him down. He moved his legs to place them around her to make her more comfortable.
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled her familiar scent, not knowing which scenario was worse; her not being here and not knowing where she was, or having her here with them and being a part of what just took place - what could have taken place. "All right?" He mumbled to her, still breathless. He only received a nod in reply and what he thought was a mumbled "Sorry." causing him to tighten his hold on her before turning to Sherlock "Are you okay?"
The Detective was scratching his head with the gun, still pacing. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." He turned to look at the Doctor and therefore Emily. He was wide-eyed and breathless himself. "That, er... thing that you, er, that you did – that, um..." He cleared his throat as Emily turned her head to watch him. "... you offered to do. That was, um...good." Emily fought the urge to roll her eyes. Now was probably not the time for eye rolling.
John stared blankly ahead of himself. "I'm glad no-one saw that." Emily cracked a frown.
"Hmm?"
John turned his focus to the messy blonde strands as he rested his chin on top of them. "You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."
Sherlock shrugged. "People do little else." He looked down at the pair grinning, John released a snort of laughter.
Emily moved backwards to look John in the face. "I saw." She reminded him, her voice was soft and while she felt as if it was stronger than when she had been conversing with Jim, cracked slightly.
"You won't go around telling everyone about it."
She shrugged slowly, as if her arms were a great burden to her and Sherlock reasoned if she really had been drugged, they probably were. "I might." She teased.
"You wouldn't dare." John replied, a hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Oh?" She manouvered herself so she was sitting with her back against John's front, placing her hands on his knees and rested the back of her head against his shoulder. "Why's that?" She had managed to make a smile appear on her face and she wondered if she looked even more of a mess now her hair had been let down.
"Because we know where you live and what room you sleep in. Not to mention where you store all your Wotsits." A childish giggle escaped her lips and John couldn't help but feel pleased with himself at the reaction. "Can you stand?" He felt her push her hands against his knees to help raise her up.
"Usually yes." She muttered. Sherlock walked towards them in order to help. "Right now, I guess we'll find out." Her gaze chose that moment to unwittingly move up to the balcony. The smile she had been wearing fell immediately when she spotted the figure from before had not left and was still standing there. Watching. Perhaps waiting for an order, or just watching her interact with her flatmates? She came to a complete halt, a hand in Sherlock's, as she thought she noticed more figures join the first one. But...if they had not left the building, did that mean...?
"Oh..." She heard John utter from behind her.
"I don't think - " A door opened further down the room and Jim entered once more, clapping his hands together and turning to face the three.
"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!" Why did he have to sound so damn cheerful? "Emmy, did you really think I'd leave without saying a proper goodbye to you? Or that I'd even leave you here?" Emily looked down from her slightly raised position to find at least two laser dots hovering on the chest she had just been resting on. Jim laughed and spread his arms wide, the way he had when she had been little and awaited her hugs. Sherlock squeezed her hand in his before letting go and moving away.
"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." He lowered his hands and tucked them into his pockets. "Well, almost my only weakness." His head tilted as his gaze landed on Emily. Though it seemed she was the only one to notice.
Sherlock turned his head and looked down at John who lifted his own head to meet his gaze. Emily lowered herself back down to sit against John again. Taking the dots from his chest onto hers. She looked back up to the balcony and stared at the man who she believed to be her brother.
"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." He laughed and as he began talking again he made his voice become higher pitched again. ".... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"
Sherlock's face, looking down at John again, held no emotion, but his eyes were a different story, as they silently screamed a request. John instantly responded, giving a tiny nod. Sherlock flicked his gaze to the woman sat between his friends legs. The woman who he had rather been looking forward to questioning later upon arriving home and, once John had gone off to bed, holding her close enough to make her cheeks flush.
She felt his gaze upon her and turned briefly to meet it. She understood immediately what he was asking and after taking a moment to study his features; the smooth skin, the sharp cheekbones, his mesmerising eyes and dark curls, nodded gently. She sent him a small smile and turned away from him to look back up at the balcony. Somehow finding through the darkness, much to her surprise, the unmasked face of Sebastian meeting her gaze. At least she would be with everyone she loved. At that moment she could even forgive her brother for more than likely shooting their Gran.
Sherlock wished she had stayed looking at him and found himself wondering, despite the situation, who she was looking at instead. He turned back to face Jim, keeping her face in his mind. "Probably my answer has crossed yours." He raised the pistol, aiming it towards the other man, who held no fear whatsoever in his expression. Slowly, he lowered the weapon downwards until it was pointing directly at the vest John had been wearing moments before.
Three sets of eyes locked onto the item, but Emily continued to stare upwards. A sad smile graced her features. Of course the first time she saw her brothers face after all those years would be the same moment she - they - were all about to die.
She could feel John's heavy breathing as his chest rose and fell against her back. She slid her right hand into John's and interlocked their fingers. He squeezed it in acknowledgement. Was that a goodbye? Perhaps it signified that everything would be alright. Unlikely.
With her left hand she blew a discreet kiss up to the balcony and her smile grew when she saw her brother pretend to catch it.
Perhaps it was whatever was still circulating her system that made her feel this calm, she supposed she would never find out, but she was grateful for it.
She closed her eyelids, rested her head back against her friends shoulder.
And waited.
I hope you're all doing alright out there? Staying safe and being kind.
If I end up starting a new story for season 2 I'll let you guys know and hopefully you will be willing to give that one a follow too. There's a Scandal, and a Hound and a Fall, (not that you guys need telling) not to mention a secret that needs sharing and honestly I'm so excited to get going.
This is me signing off from season 1. Onwards to Saeson 2.
I love you.
FB