Hey hey hey. Thank you kindly for the couple of reviews I got! :) I love you hear from you guys.

Now, here's more insight on the situation at hand, into Sherlock thoughts and a bit more on Emma's past. By the way, thanks for the compliments on my character, I'm shaping her as best as I can. ;)

Tuesday morning, Holmes and Watson sat in the study, Mrs. Hudson came in and started dusting the book shelves.

Since yesterday, Sherlock could not get their neighbor, Emma Gitali, off his mind. Her very person stumped him like nothing else he's ever experienced before. Sure, he could tell that she was a very creative and artistic person by the remnants of paint on her hands and calloused finger tips that are quite possibly due from plucking at a guitar, with good hygiene, but he could also tell that she wasn't from these parts, well at least, not recently, her accent gave him that clue alone. But he was stumped as to her character, her past, her present, she was a mystery, but she was not at the same time. Those nights he hears her crying, he doesn't know how much pain she must have gone through that have such a lasting effect on her.

His mind has a mind of its own, cases have been close to nil as of late and it's decided to take this mystery upon itself and he could do nothing else but follow.

"Holmes, I hear you met Miss. Gitali yesterday." Sherlock nodded, "She's quite the...woman, isn't she?"

He nodded again, "That she is."

Watson flipped through a book, "I hear she's an artist, and a quite exceptional one as well, Mrs. Hudson informs me."

Sherlock thought, as he lit the tobacco in his pipe. He was right, very artistic.

"Holmes, what do you think about her?" Watson asked, and Sherlock was slightly taken aback by this.

And honestly, he didn't know what he thought of her, but as there was knocking on the door, Holmes immediately set his pipe down as he shot out of his chair, and it was obvious what he thought of the Miss. Gitali. "I'll get it!"

And speak of the devil, once again, stood Emma, with her hands modestly behind her back and waiting for the door to be answered.

"Good morning there, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I must say; I told you so." She pulled the letter out from behind her back. Holmes laughed slightly.

"Thank you dearly, Emma." She nodded, and smiled sweetly.

How can a woman, who cries at night-every night, be in such a beautiful, happy mood in the morning...well, if you can't figure it out on your own, might as well get help and get this woman off your mind. Sherlock thought as she was about to walk away.

"Um, Miss. Gitali, would you like to come in, Mrs. Hudson is just making a lovely breakfast, won't you come in for a chat?" Sherlock could see she was thinking about it.

"Oh, well, sure, I don't see why not. Thank you." She walked inside and Sherlock led her to the study where Watson sat with his feet up on the table, reading the paper.

"Watson, I introduce Emma Gitali. Emma, this is Jonathan Watson." Emma walked over to him and shook his hand.

"Well hello, it's nice to meet you." He shook her hand as he lifted his feet off the table.

"And you as well," she sat down next to him, Sherlock began to pour tea for the three of them, "Excuse me if I seem a bit hesitant at times, it's just been hard to get used to most men being gentlemen," she laughed. "Thank you," Emma took a sip of the tea.

"Why is that?" Watson asked, taking a drink of his own. Emma seemed to lighten up as he asked her this.

"Oh, I spent the last several years traveling the world, India, China, America, Africa, the corruption of the men and women outside of London is truly unimaginable." She set her cup down, her hand shaking, "I loved it!" Watson and Sherlock laughed.

Emma told a little of her adventures in India and China for the rest of the morning until she explained how she had to go.

. . . . .

"Thaad? Who are you reading today, my dear?" A voice spoke. The man, that sat on the sandy ground leaning against a log looked up from his book he was reading by the fire light.

"Edgar Lee Masters. Wonderful pot, sad life though."

A young Emma Livingston walked over to him, kneeling down and wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed his warmed cheek with her soft lips. "Read me one." She sat down next to Thaad. He flipped pack a few pages and stopped on a rather short poem.

"Here's one I thought you'd love. It's called 'George Gray'.

"I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me--
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessnes and vague desire--
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid..."

Thaad closed the book slowly, "What did you think?" He looked at Emma with curious eyes.

And she thought, "I like it. The meaning is slightly depressing. And the imagery is fantastic." Thaad laughed, nodding his head.

"I knew you'd love that. It's almost like he was right here, judging himself before his tomb." Emma smiled, imagining it herself. "I particularly wanted to show you this one because I wanted to tell you something, Emma."

Emma moved to sit in front of him, Thaad took both her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs in circles around her knuckles.

"What is it?"

"...Well, first, I just want you to know I love you with all of my heart." Emma blinked, afraid of what might come next, "And, second...I want to know if anything were to happen to me, if anything were to happen at all, that caused us to be separated, I want you to live your life without sorrow. I want you to make something of yourself. Your-beautiful-self." Thaad smiled at Emma's blushing cheeks, he reached up and stroked her cheek with his hand. "Have meaning to your life, Emma, I want to know if you'll do that. For me. If anything were to happen to me..."

Emma breathed heavily, taking in what Thaad had just asked of her.

"Only if you'll do the same," Emma told him. And he smiled, kissing Emma full on the lips.

"I love you, my dearest Emma."

"I love you, Thaad Gitali."

Well? How was it?

Let me know!