Chapter Seven

Emilia was discharged the next day with a bandaged shoulder and a sling to hold her arm in. Sherlock was no where around when the time came, so John was charged with the task of sniper's sight. He tried to think like Sherlock when it came to it, but the most he could come up with was that the attacker wouldn't possibly try a second, or third really, attempt at Emilia's life. So soon, anyway.

On the way home, though, Emilia made the cab stop at the store so she could get a gallon of milk for the house.

John made Emilia a bowl of soup to drink as she sat on Sherlock's couch. Mrs. Hudson made sure John's bed was welcoming enough for the disabled girl with many pillows gathered from every corner of her own apartment. Emilia, on the other hand, had taken up being mute again; this time completely voluntarily.

Another day later, Sherlock had still not surfaced back at the flat. Where he was staying at was a mystery to John and Emilia, but they never discussed it. They both assumed he would show up sooner or later. Hopefully sooner than later.

On a whim, John decided to leave. He wouldn't tell Emilia where he was going, but to her knowledge all she knew was that he left to get some air. He really went to the therapist. Ever since his war flashback, there were words, thoughts, and images he wanted out. His blog wasn't going to help now, for all he wanted to write about was his frustration with Mycroft, Sherlock, and Emilia. Of course that was why his therapist, Ella, had suggested the blog idea, but now with so many followers, John didn't want to scare them off with his nameless rants. Not to mention, said people do read his blog, and the fact that he felt compelled to vent to the public and not to the problems themselves seemed selfish and wrong to him.

Emilia wasn't worried about her safety for that time, because she knew that somewhere in her heart, Sherlock was nearby keeping tabs on everything. If not, then she was ready to welcome the attacker back into her life. The more she thought about what she had going for her in her life, she realized how mundane and pointless, meaningless even, her existence was. Emilia diagnosed herself with depression. Ever since completing school, Emilia had only been an assistant at a publishing office, a job for which she knew she was completely fired for. Her living situation was only at a hotel. She thought that would have been the cheapest accommodation at the time (it actually was), so she could save money and leave the country. Those plans feel so foreign now.

When she was younger, everyone thought she would continue the modeling business, or take up acting after her parents. She was in classes, pageants, shows, even small appearances in television, but it ended once her parents were murdered. The killer was never caught, but Emilia remembered him vividly. He was dead now. She read his obituary a few years ago. Instead, Emilia was accused of the crimes, and as mentioned before, she was committed to an insane asylum. Her behavior become destructive, her personality became the complete opposite of a refined poster child of a famed couple, and she admitted to the killing of her parents.

After a few years of going over the evidence, alibis, and the facts in general, someone realized Emilia was completely innocent and issued the release of Emilia Hayes.

When the first murder happened in the same style of the Hayes actors, Emilia panicked. So many years of trying to get herself back to normal and be a completely civilized person could possibly just go down the drain. She knew she didn't do it, but her personality from then could come back and admit to it. Emilia had her friend, Kyal Moore, remove her past from Scotland Yard's computers.

Emilia was jolted from her delving into her past by the image of Sherlock coming in the door.

They locked eyes for the first time in a couple days. Sherlock glanced around, probably for John, while Emilia looked the man over.

"Where is he?"

Emilia cleared her throat and shook her head.

"You're alone?"

Emilia nodded.

Sherlock started to remove his scarf and jacket, not breaking contact with the girl sitting in his chair.

"He should be back soon," Emilia said, clearing her throat again. She mentally noted that her lack of speech in the past month was a tad bit annoying.

"I see."

Sherlock seemed to pout as he sat in John's chair, eyeing his own longingly.

"Can I ask you something? In this rare privacy, and sworn secrecy?"

Sherlock nodded at Emilia as his hands formed a temple under his chin.

"Are you lonely?"

"I can't be lonely, I don't even think I know how," he answered defensively.

Emilia laughed quietly.

"That demanded privacy?"

"Definitely," Emilia shook her head again as her gaze dropped to her hand in her lap. She rolled her neck to try and relieve the stiffness the lack of movement in her shoulder had caused. "I missed you."

Sherlock's face crinkled up at her statement.

"Of course that comes as a shock, I assume?"

"I'm not alarmed, if that's what you're asking."

"Your face is slipping," Emilia replied while pointing at Sherlock. "I can tell when you're lying now."

"You think you're so perfect at my science now? Since when did you have time to study my creation?" Sherlock leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands folded into each other.

"I just realized what you do, now. When I noticed a few other things."

"If you're so good at it, tell me what you see," Sherlock bit out and jumped up onto John's chair. The cushion under his feet gave a groan from his weight. His arms were outstretched and motioned at himself.

"I see a man, so afraid of a lot of things right now, but choose to appear in a suit of diamond-plated armor. Appearances can be deceiving, though, as I can see a chip in his armor," Sherlock's lip twitched at that statement. "Something has affected him," Emilia began again, standing, "something has made him open up and realize actions he decided to forget."

"That isn't what I asked you."

"Then show me an example, oh wise one," Emilia bowed, wincing as weight pulled on her shoulder. She straightened her body, letting her hair fall to one side of her head.

"I see a woman, also afraid of a lot of things but didn't decide to hide it. She used to have so many plans, dreams to leave the country but something that held her back, something or someone. It has to be someone but I couldn't really identify who. She fell in love. I know she wanted to travel because when I first laid eyes on her I saw travel agency papers and a passport at the top of her purse, but now it looks like the trip has been postponed or canceled altogether; now the items lay untouched at the bottom of her purse like she didn't care about them, didn't want to see them. She fell in love with someone, reasons being that the moment she was feeling better, her appearance was one of the first things she maintained on a regular basis. She never left the apartment though," Sherlock started to move around the sitting room, examining the contents as if he was just viewing them for the first time, "so I don't know why she tried to dress herself up so much. Unless it was for someone she was in close proximity to. But to stay put and wallow in a past she wanted to run away from so bad that she had it erased? This person had to be of great importance. Once she mentioned she followed an inhabitant of this very apartment's works, their blog, so immediately I thought of John. I see in this woman a coward, for holding in such feelings that normal humans tend to throw around so recklessly on a regular basis, so why hold it in for much longer? She must be afraid of rejection. I wonder why more people in the world can't think like me. But," Sherlock turned to look at Emilia again, finding her with her head pointed to the ground, "not many people can," and he then closed the distance between them and tilted Emilia's chin up with his hand. "Now, tell me what you…"

Sherlock paused when he saw tears in Emilia's eyes. They were silent tears, but definitely there.

"Have I missed anything?"

"Yes, dear God, yes, you have."

Sherlock took a step back from the girl and her head fell back down, but laughter joined her tears this time. Emilia sniffled before she turned around.

"I do still see a man clad in his armor that he claims is indestructible. He's just as human as the rest of us creatures that inhabit this world…" Emilia tangled her fingers with each other as she paused for a long moment. "Yeah, I did fall in love. I was in love before I even moved into this place," Emilia raised her good arm to motion at the flat. "Yes, I followed a blog, and a website. I did plan to leave, I was so ready to leave—but look at what happened!" Emilia spun around to face Sherlock again. "Here I am stuck in a hole of despair that the past is haunting me with, and I've no way out. So I'm trying to cope with it. I fell in love with an almost celebrity. I thought when I met him, he'd be a dream come true. You know what I saw, though?"

"You—"

"He was a jerk. A real, great big, humongous jerk. Did that avert my affections? No. Not one bit. Wanna tell me why?" Emilia poked at Sherlock's chest. "You know everything, don't you?!"

The pair found themselves inches apart, Emilia in anger, Sherlock in denial.

The second woman to affect him this way. And this one was human.

Sherlock went to the fireplace and put his hand on the skull. Emilia was left between the two chairs John and Sherlock usually sit in. She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lower lip.

"Of all the things that had to fall from the sky…" Sherlock started to say, but slowly. "It had to be you. Rain. Snow. Meteors. The sky itself."

Emilia looked to him as her tears pooled again. Sherlock's fingers stroked the mantelpiece pensively.

"And it was you," he ended, turning to the tearful girl.

Emilia smiled at Sherlock, shaking her head and wiping her eyes.

"I still think you're a jerk."

"I know."

Emilia closed the distance between them and gave him a one armed hug, to which he awkwardly replied to with his hand nervously placed on her head, the other still on the skull.

John sat in front of Ella, upset with himself for realizing he was here a bit too late for his comfort.

"What a surprise, John."

John nodded as he fumbled with his fingers.

"Did something happen?"

John tilted his head as if he were thinking, then nodded.

"I've been reading your blog. It seems to have been helping you quite a bit."

"You could say that."

"And this particular incident couldn't be written about?"

John shook his head.

"It amazes me you still come to me and remain quiet like you do," the pen in Ella's hand was put to paper as she started writing.

John tried to read her writing, but because of previous sessions, she learned to shield her papers more around him. He couldn't decipher her notes now. Sherlock probably could, though.

"I hate my roommate."

Ella blinked in surprise.

"No, I mean, I don't hate him. I'm just… I'm upset with him frequently."

"Is it about anything in particular?"

"No. Maybe. Well, yes. I'm not upset, I suppose. I'm afraid for him."

"Has something changed in your living situation?"

John explained to the therapist his job with taking over a witness protection duty with Emilia.

"Maybe Emilia is becoming the root of your problems?"

"I think so. I'm afraid she's going to hurt Sherlock. I know she… I know she likes him. A lot. I've dated women. I've dated many women. I know women. Sherlock hasn't. His dating mentality is that of a young teenager. I don't think he knows what is going to happen, and I'm afraid for him."

"Now that you've got that off your chest, tell me the real reason you're in here."

John grumbled under his breath.

"I can sit here and wait all day. Take your time."

"I'm finally ready to talk about what happened in Afghanistan. I think."

"I'm all ears."

John launched himself into talking about the incident that led to his injury and discharge from the army. He reminisced and felt remorse for all the mistakes he made, but everything in the end showed how human he really was, and all he could be. Once he had spent the better half of an hour retelling everything to Ella, he felt at least twenty times better, now knowing someone else shares the burden of those days.

John returned home, cleansed and refreshed from the recent and past events in his life. When he found Emilia on Sherlock's couch and Sherlock in John's chair, John only felt right to complete the insanity by sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"Welcome home, John," Emilia rang out.

"Thank you. What's going on?"

"Sherlock is all crazed on nicotine patches. I don't know how to take him in his state."

John looked at Sherlock, actually noticing him in that state of mind. Closed eyes, even and slow breathing, tranquility.

"He came home not too long ago."

"How many does he have on?" John tried to look at Sherlock's arms, but they were covered by the sleeves of a white button up.

"I think four. The wrappers are in the rubbish bin."

John watched Emilia turn back to her book she had in her lap, pushing her glasses back on.

"I wish I could cook something right now. Otherwise I think I might pick up his silly addiction."

"Not good for you, Emilia, don't even think about it," Sherlock finally spoke.

"Yessir," she mock saluted him.

"I forgot to get some more milk," John stood with a sigh.

"It's okay. I got some," Emilia said without looking up.

John was over being frustrated with her now. For her to be injured, able to buy something she cares nothing about, all while being recently attacked multiple times? She was a pretty okay woman.