Disclaimer: I don't own the Sherlock series or any of the characters. Except for the ones I make up. Those ones are mine.
Also, I'm not British, so this is kind of just my best guess at life in England. My old friend Google has helped me fix most of the glaring errors, but some of it's probably still wrong. Gulp.
When Molly left for London, the only part of it that wasn't horrible was that I got her old bedroom. Everything else was all, "Help wash the dishes, Emma. Molly's not here to do them anymore. Help your mother put away the groceries, Emma. Molly's not here to help her anymore. Go do your schoolwork, Emma. Molly's not going to do it for you anymore." Like she ever did any of that before. Now I just got saddled with all the work, and Molly got all the credit.
In case you hadn't picked it up already, I'm Emma. Emma Hooper. Thought you might like to know.
Anyways, if it sounds like my life was boring, then you're absolutely right. "Emma, stop making such a ruckus and do your homework!" "Emma, don't dump salt all over the roast or you'll ruin it!" "The science fair is coming up at your school, Emma? Remember when Molly won…?"
Needless to say, this all became very tiresome, so one day after school, I decided I deserved a break from the madness. Thus, I decided I would go to London to visit Molly.
I feel it only just to mention that this trip may have been slightly unannounced and/or unauthorized, but let the record show that I did leave a note for my parents, since it seemed to be the polite thing to do.
….However, I may have forgotten to take the note out of my notebook and leave it for my parents to see, resulting in the note making the trip to London with me by accident. Everyone always says it's the thought that counts, but they don't really mean it.
My ticket to London cost most of the birthday money I had saved up, but I figured once I was there I could borrow the rest from Molly for my ticket home. I assure you, it all made perfect sense at the time. I clearly had a plan in mind, and it wasn't a "completely brainless expedition" like my dad later said it was.
Thus, having consoled myself, I settled in for the trip. I'd been to London before, but never on my own, so it was all quite exciting. I envisioned myself arriving in London, the grand and elegant traveler. Molly would be waiting at the station for me, in awe of how grown up I was. Then we would have a marvellous weekend together, and I would be back home in time to be at school on Monday.
Unfortunately, my arrival at the London station wasn't quite as picturesque as I'd imagined. I had fallen asleep about halfway there, and awakened with just enough time to scramble off the train in the London station before it moved on. That was when I accidentally left my bag with all my clothes and money on the train. And once I was in the station, I also realized that Molly would not be waiting there for me, since I'd forgotten to inform her of my grand and very grown-up plan.
Unsure of what exactly I should do next, I left the station and wandered about the streets for a bit. I still had a little money left in my pocket, and briefly considered using it to find Molly, but... I was hungry. So, naturally, I decided to go buy something to eat. In retrospect, spending every last cent on some decadent, chocolatey concoction may not have been the best idea, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Chocolate in hand, I sat down in the bakery to ponder my dilemma. The sensible thing to do would be to find the police, explain my problem, and be packed off home. However, for obvious reasons involving an irate mother and an unpleasant trip home, I quickly discarded this option. The only other option was to sit in this bakery and eat until I ran out of money. This seemed like a perfectly sound plan, so I sat and watched people go by the shop window, while I ate more chocolate than I usually was allowed in a week.
I had just popped the last bite into my mouth when the bell over the door jangled and a young man in a long, dark coat entered into the shop. He quickly glanced around the shop before his gaze settled on me. "Emma Hooper?" he asked.
I swallowed uncomfortably before mumbling "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers" through a mouthful of chocolate.
"Nor are you supposed to run away from home, but you don't seem to care. And I'm not a stranger." The door burst open and Molly flew into the shop and right towards me. "I know your sister."
"Oh my goodness! Emma, what were you thinking? Do you know how worried we were? Are you okay? Where have you been? How could you do something so idiotic?" Molly said breathlessly, alternately mothering and scolding me.
I glared at her. "I'm fine. Who's he?" I jerked my thumb at the guy wearing the ridiculous coat.
"Oh, that's Sherlock. He's a detective. He helped me find you." Molly cast a grateful glance in Sherlock's direction. I gagged.
"Sherlock? What kind of name is that?"
"Sherlock Holmes. I specialize in capturing delinquents such as yourself." He extended a hand, and I gleefully met it with sticky, chocolate-covered fingers.
"Emma, really?" Molly looked mortified, but I didn't care at this point. She couldn't even be bothered to find me herself, her one-and-only baby sister. She had to bring along some rubbish 'detective' instead.
"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. Let me get you a napkin or something, she knows better, she really does, I'm sure she's sorry, she didn't mean to." Molly was babbling. Molly, my academic genius, top of her classes, never-minced-words sister, was babbling.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"Nothing." She flushed. "Emma, don't even try it. You're not turning this back on me. You are in big trouble, young lady, and don't think I'll forget it! Mum's already on her way up to London, so we're going to go meet her at my hall. And you have a lot of explaining to do. And why on earth did you..." She grabbed my wrist and began dragging me out the door, lecturing as we went.
Sherlock had the audacity to smirk at me as I headed towards my doom. "Good luck, Miss Hooper," said Sherlock.
"Good riddance," said I, relishing my witty response.
"Good grief," said Molly, and scolded me the whole way back.
It was pretty much the most miserable thing I could think of, sitting there waiting for Mum while Molly lectured me. I muttered something about how I thought she was here to study and not lecture, and then immediately wished I hadn't said anything. Molly just about hit the ceiling, and it's doubtful I would have survived until my mother arrived if Sherlock Holmes hadn't chosen that moment to reappear.
"Hello, Molly. Your sunglasses were left on the table at the bakery, Emma. I thought I'd return them." Sherlock handed them to Molly, which I'm sure he did just to annoy me, since they were my sunglasses.
"Thanks." I snatched them back and jammed them on my face to avoid looking at Sherlock, only to look over at Molly and realize that my sister had suddenly turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and forgotten all about lecturing me. I would have been grateful for the distraction, if a horrible realization hadn't hit me at the very moment.
Molly liked him. Molly Hooper liked Sherlock Holmes.
Sisters can read each other like that, you know. I could pick up on subtle things about Molly that other people might miss, like the shy smile she was currently giving Sherlock, or the way she was twisting her fingers around each other. But, then again, she was still tomato red, so maybe I shouldn't have given myself too much credit here. I glanced over at Sherlock. He was standing there, watching… the ceiling. Nope. Not seeing the appeal.
I digress. Molly liked the idiot, so something had to be done. Molly appeared to be working up the courage to say something to him (probably more babbling, but I'm just guessing), so I stood up abruptly. "I'm waiting outside until Mum gets here. It smells nasty in here," I said, making a beeline toward the door that led outside.
"Get back here, Emma!" Footsteps were hurrying behind me. Good. That meant she'd left Sherlock behind to chase after me. My brilliant plan had worked! Wait. Too many footsteps. Bad. Sherlock was following Molly.
Picking up speed, I burst through the front doors and around the corner of the building, only to bump into...
"Mum!" I gasped, panicked. She couldn't meet Sherlock! She might do something embarrassing like try to pay him for finding me. Or worse, invite him to dinner. "Good, you're here! Let's go!"
"Emma?" My mother managed to combine confused, happy, angry, and frazzled all together in one expression. "Where's Molly? Why are you out here?"
"Finding you. Let's go home!" I grabbed her hand and started dragging her away, but my mother jerked me to a halt.
"Young lady, you are already in enough trouble as it is, and-oh! Hello, Molly!"
I slowly relinquished my hold on my mother and turned around to see Molly hurrying in our direction, with Sherlock close behind. Molly and my mother embraced, tearing up like they hadn't seen each other in years. I stood there and considered leaving, but unfortunately, Sherlock was standing behind Molly, keeping an eagle eye on me. He'd apparently already considered what I was considering. (I think.) So I waited until Mum looked back to me and picked up the scolding where Molly had left off. She was just setting off on a fine tirade about how I was aging her before her time when Molly cleared her throat.
"What is it?" Mum looked up to Sherlock standing beside Molly. "Oh! Who's this?"
"This is Sherlock Holmes, Mum." Molly was turning red again.
"Hello," said Sherlock.
"Oh, uh, hello." Mum looked suspiciously between Molly and Sherlock. Something clicked in my brain. I hadn't considered this angle. Mum had never been happy about the boys Molly brought home. Yes, yes, maybe this was just what I needed! Unfortunately, my whole family seemed intent on betraying me that day.
"He's the one who found Emma" was all Molly had to say before my Mum turned traitor and invited Sherlock over for dinner to "thank him."
It's true what they say, you know. Dreams really do come true. Except mine was a nightmare, and it was invited to dinner.