Hey, sorry it's been so long! But I'm back ;) And please let me know what you think of this chapter! Also, I wrote a Kirk Lazarus one-shot that you should check out.

One Week Later

"Holmes," Watson walked into Sherlock's room, stopping at the sight he saw in annoyance. Sherlock was hanging upside down on the rafters from the ceiling, a book in his hand. "Holmes, get down, we're going out to dinner tonight."

"My dear Watson, what makes you think I haven't already had dinner? It is such a late hour in the evening." He flipped the page casually, just hanging there.

"Because I know you. Now come on, get down before all the blood rushes to your head and you pass out." Completely ignoring his words, Sherlock turned to the next page.

"How inter-"

"Emma's coming too." Sherlock turned his head towards Watson, which was a large mistake because when he turned his head, he also turned his upper body which resulted to him slipping from the rafter and falling to the ground with a thump.

"Ugh..."

"Look decent, we'll be leaving in a moment." Watson left with a smirk on his face as Sherlock began to get ready.

Watson and Mary sat together at one side of the table, Emma and Holmes sat at the other, though not as close together as Mary and Watson were.

Emma wore a silk red dress, a lot like the one she wore when Holmes first met her, that made Sherlock internally choke every time he glanced at her. Red was her colour. Her brown hair that was held up in a bun by chopsticks looked a dark auburn in the low light.

"Emma, dear, I absolutely love that dress on you. Where ever did you acquire it?" Mary asked, taking a sip of white champagne.

Emma took a drink of her own red champagne, "I got it in Singapore, a nice man by the name of Victor Wong gave it to me for free, he said I was the only woman on this planet that deserved to wear it." She giggled and took another drink.

Holmes snorted, making Emma glare at him.

"Well, what a nice compliment. And he was right, it looks ravishing on you. Don't you think, Mr. Holmes?" Mary turned her striking gaze towards him.

Taking in the last gulp of his champagne, "Hmm? Yes, if you call tomatoes ravishing."

Emma pursed her lips, then cocked an eyebrow.

"When was the last time you washed that shirt, Sherlock? Or is that smudge of dirt on your collar a trick of the light?" She reached over and rubbed her hand over it. Sherlock gave her a not so smug smile, rolling his eyes a bit.

Watson and Mary chuckled. Their food soon arrived and Emma was working on her third glass of champagne, Holmes on his forth.

"So, received any mysterious pianos lately, Emma?" Holmes said, breaking the air of silence between the two while Mary and Watson sped off into a conversation concerning where their future will lead.

"As a matter of fact," she paused to take a drink, "no."

"Interesting, you were so keen that it would happen again." Now he looked at her with a smug look on his face.

"For your information, I was so keen onthe fact that something might happen like it. It scared me and you know that." Emma played around with her salad with her fork. Popping the green lettuce her mouth.

"Something so small like that shouldn't scare you at all," he said, demeaning her. And Emma took offense to it. But she just sat in her seat, frozen. But not a second later she let her fork drop to her plate, making a loud clink. Mary and John looked up.

Without words, a certain glint in her eyes, Emma moved her plate over to the side, stood up on her chair and stepped onto the table. The dishes clinked but didn't break under he feet.

"Emma..." Watson spoke quietly in suspicion.

"Excuse me! Ladies and gentlemen!" The room had quieted and everyone had their heads turned towards Emma, "I want you all to know, that a selfish, pitiful man by the name of Sherlock Holmes sits among you, judging everyone by his own standards."

Sherlock tried to grab her dress to get her to step down, but she only backed away from his malicious hand.

"A selfish man who has no normal human feeling emotions. At. All. Who makes a fool out of anyone less intelligent than he is. Who thinks that there is a logical, scientific explanation to everything, and if there's not: it simply does not exist. i.e. Love, for one!" She laughed. "A man that does not believe in love."

Holmes couldn't believe what she was saying, though it didn't surprise him, he'd had enough and he pulled the napkin from his shirt and climbed onto the table next to her.

"Oh, says the woman who believes that all we need is a little creativity and some 'imagination' and everything will be all fine and dandy. Fine and dandy my ass! A woman who doesn't understand the boundaries of what is considered reality and fantasy is utterly worthless."

Emma clenched her jaw, "You are a man who won't let himself believe in anything he doesn't understand. Where will that get you in life? No where!"

Watson watched the two bicker with an annoyed and somewhat embarrassing look on his face. He was surprised the table didn't collapse under the weight on the two. He should've known coming to a domestic environment would only lead to destruction with two of the most temperamental beings in all England.

"A man who conducts experiments on his own dog, no matter what the outcome." Emma and Sherlock were face to face, arguing.

Emma watched him as he spoke, and saw a different emotion overcome him, "A woman who does what she wants no matter what people think. Who thinks that love can happen to everyone when in actuality it truly does not."

Emma scoffed, as Holmes got even closer to her, "I do believe in love, I believe in everything that I have experienced, unlike some oth-"

Watson sat, looking at the two deranged people arguing on the table. But as Holmes interrupted Emma's statement by grabbing the back of her head and kissing her with as much force as they'd both exerted in the dispute, he ripped the napkin from his shirt, threw it on the table top in defeat.

Holmes pulled away and stepped back quickly, leaving a stunned Emma in front of him, her eyes wide. He looked away, and if you looked closely (which Emma was at this moment) you could see a red rise to his cheeks.

Just when Watson thought Emma was about to yell at him, she jumped towards him, rapping her arms around him and kissing him again. But from the surprise weight from Emma, Holmes lost his balance and they both fell from the table and crashed into a table full of desserts. Whip cream, pies, cakes, icing covering them both as they looked at each other and Emma started laughing harder than she ever has before. Holmes held a smirk upon his face, a mischievous smirk.

Emma sat up, picked the clumps of cake up from her arms. She laughed at the bunch of whip cream in Sherlock's hair and his face looked as if someone just threw a pie in it. She reached over and wiped the cream from his eyes.

"Holmes, Emma..." Watson came over to them, pulling them both up, looking at them as if he were scolding his children, "You two are a disaster, we can't ever go anywhere nice without you getting us removed from the property."

Holmes smirked, putting on that classic Sherlock look, "Now, Watson, why would you ever believe anything otherwise?"

Emma sat asleep on Holmes' chair, her legs scrunched up underneath her arms curled around her body trying to escape from the cold air.

Holmes was looking through a sketchbook that he may or may not have taken out of Emma's bag once she'd fallen asleep. He couldn't help himself. As he looked through each page he gained a respect for Emma as an artist, not many women had the talent she had. She had a special skill for still-life scenes, but had a unique knack for fantasy, he noticed. Holmes had seen many drawings of the man whom he knew little of, Thaad was his name, and the daughter, Meribelle. There were several at the beginning but as he flipped through the pages the faces of her loved ones seemed to lessen until there were none left whatsoever. It was apparent that she was very fond of the male and female bodies. Some of the drawings made him laughed internally, some actually threatened tears as he felt the emotion she was trying to portray.

There were hundreds, every page was filled, and it was very clear that this was Emma's passion.

Mrs. Hudson thudded in quite unexpectedly, "Mr. Holmes, there's a man at the door asking to speak with Miss Gitali."

"Who is it?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, sir, he said he was an old friend of hers." Holmes stood, placing the sketchbook down and walked down the steps.

Standing at the door, was an old man, in his fifties or sixties, clad in a black suit and a fedora atop his head. He held a cigarette in one hand, bringing it up to his mouth lazily and inhaling. His skin like leather.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked, his eyes suspicious.

"Yes, is there an Emma Gitali present in this residence?" He spoke with a rough, worn, and scratchy American accent. Sherlock studied him.

He was a piano player, the way his back was slightly haunched over. He had years of vocal damage, most likely caused by tobacco abuse. He had a certain odd quirk about him that Holmes couldn't quite put his finger on, and couldn't tell if he was a threat or not, he'd have to be weary.

"Who are you?"

"My name is, uh, Tom Waits. I'm a friend of Emma's," he said.

"How do you know her?"

"Well, as you can probably tell I'm an American. Originally from New York actually, beautiful state. Any who, Emma and her family visited New Yor-"

"Who's at the door, Sherlock?" Emma asked tiredly, walking down the steps. Once she reached the bottom, her eyes widened and a smile grew on her face.

"Tom!" She exclaimed and threw her arms around him Sherlock's eyes narrowed when he spotted the man's hands rap around her waist tightly and he picked her up. "What are you doing here in London?"

"Oh, I seem to recall someone telling me to come visit you someday, and you know how these London Nights bring out the wolf in me." Tom said, Emma smiled.

"Well I'm very glad you found me, though I actually live in the apartment next to this one." She japped her thumb to the left. "Oh! This is Sherlock Holmes, he's a good friend of mine." Sherlock nodded once to him and Tom tipped his hat.

"Now, where's that lil' gal of yours? I've brought her a special gift." And Emma's smile faded.

"She-she's...not with me." Emma half muttered, half spoke in the smallest voice Sherlock had ever seen her speak.

"Oh, is she out with Thaad? That little bastard owes me a poker game." She looked to the floor, Sherlock watched as her calm eyes turned dark with woe. He felt a need to comfort her, in some way. He set his hand on her shoulder.

"I think we should go out for a drink, Tom. Sherlock, would you like to come?" Emma looked up at him quickly, and he shook his head.

"Thank you, but I'm quite fine here. But I would prefer to have a word with you for a moment though," Sherlock said, an uncomfortable feeling settling upon him and he added, "in private." Emma nodded.

"I'll be right back down Tom, you can wait in the study if you want." Sherlock followed her up the stairs into his room.

"What is it, Sher--"

"I don't trust him."

Emma closed her mouth, rolling her eyes. "You don't trust anyone, Sherlock."

"That's not true, I trust my instinct. And it's telling me that that man down there is not one to trust." Sherlock spoke with confidence behind his words.

"I know him, Holmes, he's a good man. A good friend." She hardly ever called him Holmes, and he didn't like the way she said it either.

"How come he doesn't know of your past?"

Emma sighed, "Because--"

"And how is it that I do not know either?" Emma couldn't say a word before he interrupted. "And as I suppose you will be informing Mr. Waits of said past," she nodded lightly, "now that you mention it, I am quite parched." Sherlock slipped on a black coat and set his hat over his messy locks.

She sighed, "Okay."

Sorry it ended in such an odd way, but that's all I have so far.

So, review and let me know how it was.

And also, check out my Kirk Lazarus story!