Emma Gitali smiled in the mirror, a smile she hasn't smiled in a while. The dress fit like a well-fit glove, the flawless gold and brown fabric fraying out from the natural waist, reaching mid-calf and brown wrap boots came to her knees. Her hair was curled, like it usually was, and her bangs came to her eyes. She had yet to try on her mask, but she felt she'd wait until she got to the Ball to do it.

Emma cursed when she realized it was nearing five-thirty. She quickly, though clumsily, fumbled down the stairs, grabbed a blanket, and walked out of her apartment. It was raining steadily so she ran over quickly, and stood as close to the door as possible to take shelter under the small porch covering and she rang the door bell.

The door was answered quickly, by John who gave her a smile.

"Did you know that rain drops aren't really shaped like tear drops? They're actually shaped more round...ish." Emma smiled and John stepped aside to let her.

John chuckled, "Good to see you Emma."

"Good to see you as well, John. How have you been?" Emma rapped her blanket around herself.

"I've been very well actually, I want you to come meet someone." John spoke to her, guiding her into the study. When they entered, Emma saw a young blond woman sitting by the unlit fireplace. She turned when she heard the two of them entering the room. She was very beautiful.

"Emma, this is Mary Morstan, my fiancee. Mary, this is Emma Gitali." Mary stood with a smile.

"It's so nice to meet the infamous Emma Gitali, I've heard lots about you." She shook Emma's hand gently.

"Have you now?" Emma laughed, "Only good things I hope. It's very nice to meet you too."

All of a sudden, Emma heard a large boom come from above them, the lights shook on the ceiling. Watson sighed in annoyance.

"Holmes..." He said under his breath as he began to walk out the room, but Emma grabbed his arm.

"Perhaps I should go up, yeah?" Emma said, and he nodded, walking over to Mary. Emma took in a breath and began to rise up the steps slowly.

"She's an interesting girl." Mary said, "Much like Mr. Holmes."

John nodded his head, chuckling, "They are both interesting enough, but each of their outlooks on life are rather different. But you should see the way they act around each other, Holmes especially. It's rather entertaining."

"So Mr. Holmes fancies her?"

John laughed, remembering the conversation he'd had the other day with Holmes, "He does. He won't ever admit it, not even to himself, but he does."

"I didn't think the day would come. Sherlock Holmes, the man who thinks women can never be trusted, finally trusts a woman." Mary giggled and John wrapped his arm around her.

. . .

Emma walked up to Sherlock's room slowly and pushed the door open. A gust of black smoke infuldged her and she coughed.

"Sherlock?" Emma walked in, looking around. She saw Sherlock sitting in a chair casually holding up a newspaper, hiding his face. Emma laughed.

"Yes, who is it?" A voice came from behind the paper. Emma said nothing, she just walked over to him and snatched the paper from his hands. Sherlock jumped.

"Bonjour," Emma said to the charred and blackened up face of Sherlock Holmes. He smiled, looking casually up at her.

"Yes, hello. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm very nice in fact. How are you?"

"Quite wonderful." Emma laughed at his calm tone of voice.

"Let's get out cleaned up, you don't want to be late to the Ball, now do you?"

"Oh, never." He answered sarcastically.

Emma found a bowl of water and a rag. She began to dab the rag across his forehead, wiping off any black residue.

"You know, I am quite capable of doing a simple task such as this, myself." Emma laughed, putting one hand on his cheek so she could wipe the other.

"I am quite aware." She smiled, yet still continued to clean his face. He didn't complain.

Emma felt his eyes searching her body, it made her uncomfortable. Most of the time his gazes did.

"You made this dress yourself." He stated. Emma nodded.

"I did, how did you guess?"

"Even though the dress is..." He paused for a second, then said quickly, "very nice, there are random strings sticking out around the waist. If it were made by a professional, they wouldn't have made silly mistakes like leaving stray strings. Furthermore, the tips of your fingers are very rough and callosed, indicating that you used a needle, and not very professionally, if I may add."

Emma laughed, finishing up cleaning his face. "Impressive, Mr. Holmes." Emma stood, placing the bowl and rag on his desk. Sherlock began to dress as Emma's back was turned. She could hear the shuffling of clothing so she didn't turned around until it had stopped.

She turned around and was she saw was yet again, impressive. He was in a smart suit, though the vest had a unique pattern on it which gave it personality and he wore a golden scarf that matched perfectly to Emma's dress. She was, undoubtfuly, speechless. But she smiled.

He grabbed his hat and a plain golden mask that sat on the desk next to her.

"Ready?" He asked. Emma smiled, and rapped her arm around his, nodding. She felt him tense up against her touch, but his face remained the same as they walked down the steps to meet Watson and Mary.

They sat and conversed over tea for a while before a cab was called and they were on their way to the Grand Hall where the Masquerade was being held.

Emma's eyes shined as she looked around the large lobby she stood in. Two large stair cases on either side of the room, golds and pure whites, festival décor, and beautiful people in mysterious masks. Even her own didn't compare to most, in fact, hers seemed very simple. Just a cream coloured one with gold swirls, one she'd made herself, and obviously one of very few simplicity compared to all the rest.

"I don't know why I've never been to one of these before, it is so very...magical." Holmes stood beside her, smiling at her aweness, but quickly wiped it off his face before she could see. "It's like I was plucked straight out of this normal world and dropped right into a fantasy, don't you think Sherlock?"

He nodded, "It is quite beautiful," his eyes never leaving her. She looked at him, even though he wore a mask she could still tell it was him, by his black graying hair, or by his stunning brown eyes, or his stumble that never seems to grow nor disappear.

She grabbed his hand, "Come on, let's dance," and drug him onto the dance area.

Sherlock held her hand in his, he set his other respectfully on Emma's waist. Emma rested her arm around his neck and they began to waltze. Emma was surprised at how smooth his movements were, like he'd been dancing all his life.

The music was a bit more upbeat than Emma would've normally liked, but it reminded her of a time when Thaad had taken her out dancing. And the more she thought about it, the more her mind played with her. She looked at Sherlock and saw Thaad's dark skin and pudging lips.

No, she thought to herself, I am here with Sherlock.

She blinked once, and then twice.

Ah, there we go. She smiled a kind smile and Holmes returned it. She suddenly became transfixed in his facial features and she really look the time to admire how handsome Sherlock really was.

"You really surprise me, Sherlock." Emma said after a while.

"How so?"

"I never would've guessed London's top consulting detective to be a dancer."

"I'm not."

. . .

Emma looked up at the sky, the stars so bright. Her eyes sparkled underneath them as she and Sherlock stood on the balcony outside of the Masquerade.

"Look," she said, pointing to a clump of stars, "that is Chamaeleon. And that's...Ursa Major..."

Sherlock looked up at stars. They'd always intrigued him but he hardly took the time to memorize every constellation. He knew a few, like Orion or Leo, but none more than that. He felt he didn't need to know them.

"Oh! And there is Leo. That one's always been my favourite." Emma smiled brightly and for a second, Sherlock almost swore he saw that sliver of happiness in her eyes that he'd seen in the picture of her and her daughter.

"You're being awfully quiet, Sherlock. That's unlike you, something bothering you?" She turned to face him and he leaned against the ledge.

"Nothing particularly comes to mind, just pondering a few thoughts." Emma nodded, looking out into the night.

"Have you ever thought about love?"

A long silence passed before he answered.

"No, I have not. It is a very foolish path to follow."

Emma shrugged, playing with a part of her dress, "I don't think so."

"Oh, yes, that's right, you had a child through such acts of love." Sherlock spoke with a gaunt tone. Emma looked up at him, she didn't know what to say for fear her anger would overcome her. Her anger of him speaking of the past like it was a pitiful mistake.

"...Yes."

"I would never have been caught acting so foolishly in my young years."

Emma said nothing. Anger and sadness boiled inside her. Sherlock went on about Mary and Watson's marriage and about how he thought it was a mistake. He showed bitterness towards the relationship, but she didn't listen much.

He suddenly stopped, realizing that his harsh words were making Emma's hands clench together, her knuckles were white.

"Oh, I've upset you."

She turned to him, "Yeah. Yeah, you have." And she turned around and walked back inside.

"Emma--" Sherlock called out to her, but she only sped up her pace until she'd ran all the way down the stairs and outside into the night.

Sorry for the spelling mistakes, I usually correct them from the Document Manager but for some reason it's being extremely stubborn and not letting me.

But reviews would make me happy :)