Night was always a strange thing for Sherlock Holmes, he felt the night had it in for him, the night was mysterious, and he loved it. But this particular night, as Sherlock practiced his violin in the candle light he had a sudden stop in measures from an unusual sound that had not come from his violin.

Coming from the corner of the study, a small, soft weeping sounded in the silence. Holmes looked around in confusion, and then set his violin down and walked over to the sound. It was coming from a vent diagonal to the window, that he guessed connected to the apartment adjacent to his.

The overwhelming curiosity flooded him as to who this weeping girl was. Sherlock wanted to say something, but for the love of all things good he didn't. He didn't know who she was, or even what to say. So he sat, and listened to the sobbing of the girl for at least an hour before he finally fell asleep with his head laying on the vent, his body huddled in the corner of the room.

Emma sat at the foot of her bed, hands clutched around her body, looking into space. Her eyes never blinked. Boxes all around her, littering the floor and stacked to the sky. She'd have to get unpacking soon, she couldn't live with with all these bare walls and bare rooms with no colour.

Emma stood, walking over to the box that sat so quaintly in front of her. A rather large box filled with items of her past.

She opened it slowly, staring down at the first thing on top. A crafted orange jewelry box her beautiful daughter had made her when she was five. It was made of stiff board, cloth, and a plethora of sparkles and sequins. She always loved colours. And right next to the box was a small photograph, framed in glossy bamboo sticks. Emma's eyes teared up when she thought of her little girl. Maribelle. The most beautiful child she'd ever seen. Brown locks framed her round face, just like her mothers, and big dark brown eyes. Maribelle had gotten the love of creation from her mother as well, the box that sat in front of Emma holding little treasures she and Maribelle had made together. Ceramic elephants, a drawing of an owl, a stuffed rabbit, and a rain stick Maribelle always loved to play with and coincidentally it would always rain after every time.

Emma smiled, remembering. And under it all was a lone picture frame and a few sketches and paintings of the man that brought happiness and tears to her eyes and to her cheeks.

"Thaad..." Emma sat cross-legged on the floor, frame in her hands tightly, as if it'd fall to the depths of an ocean if she dropped it. She closed her eyes, imagining...

-The hot sun beating down on the town of Nillear, though the winds blew, cooling the air and blowing the wind-chimes made of stones and crystal and broken pottery all around the small village. And Thaad stood there, his dark skin and even darker eyes looking out to the land that goes on for miles and miles. The wind's forceful gust blew his short dreadlocks left and right.

He suddenly turned at a sound of someone approaching. His lips formed a smile, showing his perfectly straight, glowing white teeth. He walked over the unknown person, a woman. He took her face in both his hands.

"I love you, Emma."-

Emma sobbed quietly, clutching the picture frame in her hands. She missed him so dearly. His warm arms holding her as they would watch the sun rise, beautiful reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks reflect in their eyes.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She shouldn't cry. She should be grateful that it had happened. But as much as she tried not to let the tears escape, they fell freely down her rosy cheeks and she held in soft sobs. Emma stood, still with the frame in her hands, her knuckles white. She walked out her room and down the stairs and set the frame up on a table in the hall way. Her fingers lingered on the face of the man she once knew. Knew so well, yet didn't know at all.

"Mr. Holmes, wake up, it's near noon and you haven't had your breakfast yet." And as he did every day for the next month and a half, staying up, listening to the soft crying of the girl next door. The wonder and curiosity over-comes him like no other, though he tends to ignore the urge to step right outside and over to the apartment next door, he doesn't need a distraction such as, thoroughly distracting himself through cases. Though one day, a different change had occurred.

. . . . .

As Sherlock put the old violin to the nook of his neck and played an unknown scale, unknown even to him, an obnoxious knocking at the door pulled him out of his trance. He figured Mrs. Hudson would answer the door, but after a minute and the knocking continued. He sighed heavily, and stood.

When he reached the front door, he answered firmly, "What is it?" And he saw a woman standing there, younger than him, probably the same age as Watson, with her hands behind her back. Her hair was a certain shade of brown he'd never seen before, and green eyes like leaves. Her wardrobe was that of nothing he'd seen in London, only described in books; a black Cheongsam with unique stitching's of Chinese landscapes in rich colours. It took only seconds to memorize her face, he repeated, "Yes?"

She smiled, though her teeth were not the perfect shade of white, they were aligned perfectly, unlike most men and women in England, "Oh, let me introduce myself," she took one hand from behind her back, extending it out to Sherlock, "I'm Emma Gitali, I live in 221A, I just moved in about a month ago, I'm sorry it's taken me this long to take action on introducing." Her accent was a mix of several dialects of different countries.

He shook her small, soft hand, "Sherlock Holmes, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Emma put her hand behind her back once more, and had a thoughtful look on her face, "Wait, Sherlock Holmes? I've heard stories about you in America, what a coincidence. But, I came here," she reached into her satchel and pulled out an envelope, "to give you this. The mail carrier gave me this on Saturday, and I'm sorry it's taken me this long to give it to you, I've been quite busy lately."

Sherlock took them from her, looking at it and indeed, addressed to him, "Well thank you, Miss. Gitali."

"Oh, it's no problem at all, in fact, I'll probably be back again tomorrow."

This brought up curiosity in his mind, "Why do you say that?" He put the letter on the shelf next to the doorway and leaned on the door frame.

"Oh, just a hunch." She smiled again, "Well, it was very nice to meet you Sherlock Holmes, but I must be on my way, have a glorious day." And she walked down the steps and down the walkway, and Sherlock watched until she was nothing but a tiny dot in the distance.

"And a glorious day I shall have." Sherlock said as he grabbed his coat and hat, and set off for a small stroll.

Sorry for the shortness, I'll make up for it in later chapters.

And please, please review? I'd really like to know why/if you would want to read more! :) And I am up for any suggestions/criticism on my story.