So, hello, late update, I am aware. My laptop crashed hardcore, its in this infinite boot-loop. It won't stop :/ A friend is letting me use his laptop, and thankfully I have a habit of storing my writing online. This chapter is going to have an interesting front Sherlock and Emilia have to put up, but something I think you all will enjoy. Hopefully you all are still entertained! The plot will show itself soon... 3
Chapter Eight
When Sherlock woke up the in his bed, he was cold. So cold, it felt as though winter had entered his room and made permanent residence. He pushed his feet under his coverings further to try to warm his toes.
Sherlock exhaled. Yesterday, Emilia presented to him the oddest of affairs; she said she loved him. To him, he shrugged it off. To her, it was probably a big deal. He concluded with what was said, she only seemed to adore him. How else would one love someone without even have met them? Then the next thought popped up; how does he feel about her?
He scoffed and laughed at himself as he turned over in bed. His clock read early in the morning still. Glancing at the window he indeed found snow falling in large flakes, probably having caused at least an inch of accumulated snowfall so far.
Pulling on his dressing gown and slippers, he put his hand on his doorknob to only be halted by the smell of breakfast. Who was cooking? He cracked open his door slightly to peer into the kitchen, and indeed found Emilia attempting to cook. Her one-armed endeavors made him want to chuckle and tell her to quit, but he then admired her valiant efforts at still trying to please the men she lived with. Bacon and eggs were frying, toast being lightly browned, and coffee in the pot. She really had to stop before she hurt herself again.
To Sherlock though, as he continued to think about it some more and he really appreciated it. He really did like her assistance. Or her aptitude. Maybe even her grace as she tried to complete the tasks with one arm, but nonetheless, her. He did appreciate her, but not the way she appreciated him.
Sherlock caught her fingers tapping on the counter—a violin piece he recognized and loved to play as a child. He decided to relieve her of her duties in the kitchen.
"You should be resting rather than straining yourself."
Emilia jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice, halting her inward concerto.
Sherlock went to the stove to rearrange the food in the skillet.
"I didn't hear you wake up," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Sherlock remained quiet as he finished up the breakfast foods, and Emilia prepared the coffee cups, each for the three of the flat's occupants the way they like it. John woke on the couch moments later with a rumbling stomach. He joined the table with a yawn, plus a raised brow to being able to witness such a feat of Sherlock cooking.
"Don't think it's going to be a habit of myself doing the housework, John. I'm still not a maid."
"I wasn't even going to say anything," John said with a toothy grin.
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he made plates for everyone, and Emilia handed out the cups of coffee and/or tea.
After breakfast, John left to meet up with a girl he had recently been conversing with. Sherlock found himself watching Emilia as she again tried to tap out the notes to the song she was thinking of earlier.
"Too bad your dominant arm is injured, otherwise I would like a performance of your skill."
"Dominant or not, I am ambidextrous with the violin."
Sherlock had to raise a brow.
"My fingers would be blistered from playing too much with one hand, so I taught myself to play with the other."
"Orchestra?"
"It was a hobby. I played with my mother until she died. She accompanied me on her piano. I still play occasionally, on my own. My favorite piece was—"
"Pachelbel's Canon."
"Yes. It always seemed to cheer me some. I wish to play the violin more than anything right now."
Sherlock had an idea in the back of his head, but felt very unsure Emilia would be able to keep up with the tempo he could propose. He crossed the room from his couch to retrieve his violin.
"Now you're just going to be a tease," Emilia smirked at him.
"We're going to play together. If you can keep up. Please do not annoy me with inability."
Emilia's brows met in the middle with a crease. "How do you insist we play together? I have no fiddle or arm well enough to play."
"Please don't call it a fiddle, violin is more elegant. Come stand before me."
"How do you think you're going to make this work?" Emilia stood anyway.
Sherlock grabbed her waist and pulled her to the opening in the room. He handed her the violin and signaled for her to prop it on her chin.
"Are you going to draw the bow for me then?"
Sherlock finished rosining the bow and flipped it upward with a swish and a goofy smile. He took a stand behind her and positioned himself so he could hold Emilia still with his left hand on her waist, and the whole right of his body could witness the violin and be able to reach the strings.
"I take that as a yes."
"When I draw the bow begin with the introduction."
"Who plays Canon without the beginning?" Emilia asked incredulously.
Sherlock drew the bow and Emilia pinned her fingers to the string. The first note sounded, and began the opening scale.
Emilia closed her eyes and envisioned the sheets of music in her head. She had the piece memorized, and the pictures in her head were a comfort to her. Made her feel like home again.
Sherlock watched Emilia's finger work and her expressions. She truly poured her heart into the piece. When the rest came before the fortissimo notes, she smiled brightly, and then her fingers moved to play the scales to Sherlock's tempo. His hand tightened on her waist when he felt impressed by her ambidextrous violin skills.
She played the whole notes with vibrato, the eighth notes with precision. Sherlock too, had to join her smile as he felt content with her talent. The one thing that amazed him most was how they were on par with the tempo. There were no adjustments to be made
The last note ended before they knew it, and with a relaxed sigh, Emilia rested back on Sherlock. He let the bow lower to his side as Emilia let the violin rest at hers. They sat there in a silent reverie for a few moments, until they could hear Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. Sherlock immediately went to put the violin away.
"Sherlock, I heard the violin and it was so happy! I just wanted to tell you I really loved that piece, dear. Good morning, Emilia!"
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Emilia said with a nervous laugh.
"Oh, look at the mess you all have made in here," the elder woman began as she entered the kitchen.
Sherlock smiled as he shook his head. Looking back at Emilia he found almost the same expression.
"Can I talk to you?" she asked him as Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen with the dishes from the morning.
"About what?"
"The case."
Sherlock's happy face was exchanged for another of the same kind, but the more excited one. "Have you remembered something?"
Emilia's eyes shifted from him to Mrs. Hudson.
"She's too busy to hear us. Trust me."
With those two words ending the sentence, Emilia got goose bumps. I trust you. "I thought of something that maybe should have been considered."
"Don't leave me here waiting, what is it?"
"The men who were framed, how in the world did… their DNA get on those women if they weren't even present?"
Sherlock placed his hands under his chin the way he does when he thinks. "None of them are in contact with any same person. If they are, its unconscious."
"They also probably had to willingly give up their… sperm," Emilia's face tinted red as she said the word. "Otherwise, they couldn't have been… forced to do that…"
Sherlock noted her uneasiness with the topic. It had to be overlooked for now. This needed discussing.
"You don't think they had donated it, do you?" she added.
Sherlock's face showed that expression it did when things clicked into place. "The sperm bank. We can start there."
Instantaneously, they started bracing themselves for the cold weather. Because of her injury, Sherlock had to assist Emilia with her scarf, coat and gloves, to his dismay. He wanted to move.
"Where are you two running off to now?" Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway of the flat and called to them.
"Case, Mrs. Hudson! Lock up when you're done!" Sherlock called as the door at the foot of the stairs closed with a click.
Mrs. Hudson swung her hands in a manner that just screamed 'whatever!'
Emilia walked into the building with uneasiness about her. To her, this was the most embarrassing thing she could really be doing on a Thursday morning. Sherlock gave her a rundown of a scenario they had to play through to be able to get the information they need.
So here the pair are, walking arm in arm up to the desk.
"Hello, can I help you two?"
"Uhm, yes," Sherlock started, his acting voice on. "My girlfriend and I are, you see, wanting to have a child, but I'm unable to act up to par for the part."
Inside, Emilia thought the most embarrassing part about the whole ordeal was on his side.
"So you two are looking for a donor. Alright, come on in, fill out this paperwork."
Emilia was handed a clipboard and pen, and she and Sherlock were led to a room to fill out the papers in private. Sherlock walked around the small room observing things, while Emilia filled out false information.
"Oh, look, sweetie, they want to know why you're unable to provide me with a child," Emilia giggled as she pointed at the paper.
Sherlock gave a disgusted look her way and came to look anyway.
Emilia laughed and continued to fill out the papers.
"They think they can cure such an ailment as that with the correct information? Humph."
"Its fine, Sherlock. Not like this is for real anyway."
Sherlock continued to pace around the room until the nice lady from the desk came back in. Back to acting, Sherlock thought and joined Emilia's side. The lady took the information from Emilia.
"Looking over this, everything looks good. Do you both want to look through the profiles of all the donors we have with us?"
"Certainly," Emilia said with her actress voice. It seemed so solid, though, completely believable.
Sherlock put his hand on Emilia's and smiled at her so he could keep up the façade.
When they were handed the book, they flipped through pictures and information of all the men who came through the facility. Right off hand, Sherlock recognized eleven of the nineteen accused men. So this is a connection. But how did the sperm leave with the murderer without rising suspicious?
"Is this a true decision you want to make?" the woman asked.
Sherlock pursed his lips, and Emilia picked up after that.
"It's a lot to take in. We're really beginning to think this is our last option, but now that I'm here I'm starting to get cold feet…"
"That's a normal reaction once applicants get this far. We do keep all of your information on hand so that whenever you are ready we can pick up where we left off."
A thought crossed Sherlock's mind he needed cleared up. "So if we do, do this, well, are women the only ones employed here? I don't want a man to touch my darling girl in that intimate of a manner."
"We are a fully female staffed clinic, save for our lab technician. They do say we need to expand our diversity of staff," the woman tried to joke with him.
Emilia's hand tensed under Sherlock's as a laugh sounded in the hallway beyond the door.
"Honey, I'm willing to wait. I want to leave now; I'm feeling a bit light headed…" Emilia said suddenly.
Sherlock stood with her, keeping up the lover act and treating her so fragile. Emilia went for the door quickly and walked out, almost colliding with a female doctor.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Emilia stuttered out.
"I'm sorry, too," the doctor said.
Sherlock caught a look in the doctor's eye that looked like familiarity. She recognized Emilia.
Emilia still pushed her way out and left the clinic, Sherlock on her heels. Once outside, Emilia still didn't stop until she was around the block.
"What was that for? We were still gathering some very important information!" Sherlock scolded her.
"I heard him," Emilia stammered, kneeling down. Her good arm was out bracing herself on the wall she was knelt to. No matter how cold the snow was right now, she was sweating.
"The killer?"
"That laugh I heard, it was him. I can't forget that voice."
"So the only man working there is him? How lame," Sherlock started. "That was an easy solve."
Emilia watched as Sherlock pulled his phone out and started to text. Probably Lestrade.
"Sherlock there wasn't a man in the hallway when I burst out of that room," Emilia stood again and leaned herself against the wall. She rotated her neck and adjusted the strap on the sling. "It was just that woman doctor and a nurse with her."
"Maybe the killer was visiting again?"
"The laugh was right outside that door. I don't know what I was thinking going out that door so quickly, what if he was there?"
Sherlock stopped texting, but almost instantly Emilia got a text. She fished her phone out of her pocket and read her text.
So close, but not quite. Try again, darling girl.
The phone number was a straight set of zeroes, so Emilia couldn't return the message or call, but instead she shook with a small tremor and handed the phone to Sherlock. As he read over it, he started to look around to see if anything was out of the ordinary.
There was nothing. No odd looking car, no window with someone watching, and certainly no scopes as far as he could see.
"Let's head back to the flat and get our bearings," Sherlock suggested as he threw his hand in the air for a cab.
John was home when the pair returned. John's head was balanced in the palm of his hand with an ice pack. Sherlock chuckled when he saw the man.
"What happened?" Emilia said as she went to his aid.
"Her boyfriend came home early, didn't he?"
"Did you know she had a boyfriend?" John asked with an accusing glare.
Sherlock shrugged off his coat. "It was a deduction, John. I don't even know the woman's name."
"… Yeah, he did." John placed his head back on the ice pack.
"He hit you?" Emilia asked with a loud tone.
"Just a few times. He went to the hospital."
"Atta boy," Emilia cheered then started to remove her scarf and coat. Sherlock again assisted her.
John gave the same look from a few moments ago as he witnessed Sherlock helping the girl. When the hell did he ever do anything like that?
"Great acting today, by the way, Emilia," Sherlock said as he hung her items on a hook.
"Oh, I wasn't acting," she said with a straight face as she pulled her gloves off.
Sherlock paused momentarily, but then spun on his heel and retreated to his room. Emilia watched the door close, and then grinned. She put her gloves in her pocket of her coat as it hung.
"I need to introduce you to a nice girl, John."
"You have girlfriends?"
"A few," Emilia said as she plopped down into Sherlock's chair. "Tell me the kind of girl you're looking for."
"I just want a nice girl, is that too much to ask?"
"Never," Emilia smiled and started to go through her phone.