Chapter Nine

In his room, Sherlock was actually in his palace. Eleven out of nineteen men were recognized right away, and the other eight could have been located in the book too, the pages they didn't reach. The laughter Emilia heard, what was it? Sherlock processed all the different sounds he heard in the clinic. That one? No. That sound? No! Then faintly, he heard the laugh. He worked the faint sound into a loud one. So that's what the killer's voice sounds like. He then thought about what the female doctor and nurse looked like. The doctor was a tall woman with black hair, dyed, dead ends. Blue eyes behind glasses, pale skin, at least very early thirties. Height was slightly taller than Emilia. Chipped nails from either frustrated biting or hard labor. Then the look the doctor gave Emilia—she knew Emilia. Emilia didn't look like she knew her.

Sherlock was broken from his concentration when he heard Emilia give a cry of pain. Glancing at the clock he realized it was bandage changing time. Any day now, her stitches in her leg would need removed.

He opened the door in his mind again and this time made sure to lock the sound barriers.

The nurse was a mousy blonde girl, a pixie haircut. She was surprised by Emilia's outburst from the room, and showed sincere ignorance to her. The nurse didn't stand out at all in Sherlock's head, and found no reason to pick her apart. As he tried to recall looking around the hall, it was true there was no one else in close enough proximity to give off such a volume of laughter. Maybe the woman just had the same voice?

Or maybe the killer really is the woman.

Sherlock jumped up off his bed with a start. He shied away from his bed where the idea originated like it was some kind of diseased creature. Is that even possible? Everything snapped into place, his favorite thing to happen when trying to piece the difficult together.

Yes, a woman could actually be the culprit. She could be the one 'raping' and killing the woman. She has the means of framing the men. How insane could a woman be?

But what was her motive? Without a motive or proof, the charges wouldn't stick. Not to mention Moriarty has arranged everything for her, or is making her doing so. What a consulting jerk.

"Could you teach me how to do that?"

Sherlock turned his gaze to the door where he found Emilia waiting.

"That mind palace, thing. John and I stood here watching you for a solid ten minutes, Sherlock."

"It's not an acquired skill, it's a talent."

"Oh, well." Emilia walked into Sherlock's room and sat herself on the bed where he jumped up from. "Did you find a bug here or something? When you jumped up I laughed so hard," Emilia started giggling.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "No, uhm, actually, I just had a breakthrough, is all."

"Did you figure something out? About…" Emilia sat on the edge of the bed now, anxious expressions in her face and body language.

Sherlock hesitated for the slightest second, and then shook his head. "It was about something else. I'm sorry."

He indirectly promised himself he wouldn't tell her anything until he knew more.

"That's alright. I like staying here anyway," she responded quietly. "I keep thinking if the case gets solved and the man who's doing all of this is put to pay for his crimes, I'd have to return home. You and John won't have to watch over me anymore."

"That bothers you?"

"It alarms me. John told me life with you measured up to more than anything he'd ever done anywhere else in his life. I like the way things have been lately, save for the injuries. It was beautiful, the way he talked. He really likes you; you're probably the best friend he's ever had."

"I don't have friends."

"He said you would say that."

"No use in fabricating lies."

"Is that your armor?" Emilia looked up from her hands in her lap. The look on his face asked her to continue. "The armor I said you had the other day. Do you just hide behind these walls you create so that you don't have to admit to feelings?"

"What is it with you and feelings? Every woman and feelings…" Sherlock spun around and faced the wall, hands placed on his hips.

"Because I'm a woman—you assume feelings are all I ever care about?"

"It seems like it. I don't know what it is with you humans. You all bore me with your feelings, your urges and needs, things I live perfectly fine without."

Emilia straightened off the bed and approached Sherlock. He turned when he heard her stop before him.

"I would slap you right now, but I'm afraid you wouldn't feel it."

Sherlock watched her stomp out of the room. For a split instance, he wanted to follow her and make the wrong right, but he felt it was pointless. Instead, he went to messing with a solved Rubik's Cube on his dresser.

After seventeen minutes and having solved the cube ninety-two times, Sherlock decided to check on the states of all the various experiments he had throughout the flat. It took him a moment, but he realized he was home alone.

He double checked all the rooms and looked for his flat mates' coats. They had indeed left. One corner of his mouth fell down in a melancholy look, but he had also decided he would get more quiet progress with the solitude.

But before he knew it, he was texting John.

Where have you run off to? –SH

Emilia is introducing me to one of her friends. –JW

More women. Sherlock scoffed.

What happened, by the way? –JW

If you're talking about Emilia, then it is no concern. –SH

Suit yourself. She went off to some doctor's appointment as soon as she introduced Sariah and I. Did you know she had one? –JW

Damn Watson not watching over her like he was supposed to! Sherlock was a slight bit nervous about her on her own, knowing he had the identity of the murderer figured out, also having literally ran into her. And a doctor's appointment?

She say where? –SH

Some 'lady stuff' doctor, I didn't pry. Should I have not let her go? –JW

Enjoy your date. –SH

Moments later, Sherlock was bound for the clinic.

Emilia sat in the waiting room nervously. The area around her neck was sweating from her sling, and the bloody thing in general was making her uncomfortable. It really helped though holding her still, but damn right now it was a hindrance. Her hands were closed so tightly in her lap that she almost felt her nails break skin.

"Colette? The doctor will see you now."

Emilia stood up at the sound of her alias being called. She walked as calmly as she could to the assistant and followed her to a doctor's office. Immediately she wished for Sherlock, or at least John in the role of a brother or something, to help steady her. She felt like running. No, she had to be strong.

"Colette!"

Emilia turned at the name and of course to that voice.

"I'm sorry to make you wait, looks like I was able to come after all," Sherlock told her as he joined her side before disappearing in the hallway.

Emilia though, pursed her lips but decided to go on with the happy-couple-wanting-to-bear-a-child act.

"It's fine, I'm glad you could make it."

Sherlock grabbed Emilia's hand and tightened his grip to a strangling pressure. Okay, so he was mad at her. But she was also mad at him, so she returned the hold on his hand just as fiercely.

Once to the doctor's office, they found the dark haired woman from yesterday waiting.

"Hello, Colette and Andrew. I'm Dr. Malia Richards. I understand you have some questions you wanted to ask me?"

Emilia nodded, still not hearing the voice she heard before. Sherlock noticed the woman had changed her voice to sound a few octaves higher. Inwardly he cringed, but it would have to do for now. What does she want from Emilia so bad?

"Yes, well, I was wondering…" Emilia trailed off, not knowing how to ask the questions.

Sherlock stepped up and asked the same one from yesterday. "No men will touch my darling girl in any way, correct?"

"No way in whatsoever. I am the only one in contact with the patients. The only man who works here keeps tabs on the inventory, so to speak."

What an awful job. "Do you think we'll be able to look through the books again?"

Malia handed the books to Emilia and Sherlock caught the look in the doctor's eye again; recognition. Sherlock started to feel nervous.

"What about him, dear?" Emilia drew him to the book and pointed at a page that was later in the pages they didn't get to yet. Number twelve. Sherlock noted numbers thirteen through nineteen by the end of the book.

"Perhaps, but let's not make a hasty decision. Why not find someone that looks more like me?" Sherlock joked in character.

"I don't think I could deal with that much beauty and adorableness at home," Emilia answered, and Sherlock knew she definitely wasn't in character anymore. She picked it back up again instantly. "I guess that's all I needed to ask. I felt like there was more. I'm sorry," Emilia giggled. "I guess all that's left is more discussion with my boyfriend."

"How long have you two been together?" Malia asked.

Sherlock looked to Emilia with a heartwarming smile. "Over three years now."

"Ah, never thought about getting married?"

"Not worth my time," Emilia said quickly. "It's just a name change, to me anyway."

"I understand," the doctor smiled. She offered her hand to each in a handshake. "Well, perhaps we'll hear from you soon. Until then, take care."

"Thank you, you too," Emilia shook the hand and left with Sherlock.

Outside, Emilia let out a held in breath. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

Emilia eyed Sherlock with an angry glare. "We get mad at each other, and—who was it, John—gives me away and you come running. Can't stand to trust me?"

"Have you forgotten what happened to you?" Sherlock asked sincerely as they traveled with the various and random foot traffic on the walkway. "You were attacked, almost killed, still surviving, targeted, shot at, and prancing around where the murderer could possibly be?"

"Prancing? I'm investigating."

"You haven't the faintest idea of how to even ask questions properly."

"Perhaps. I had it under control."

"Shall I prove you wrong, or do you want to continue lying to me?"

Emilia stopped her pacing and gave him an accusing look.

Sherlock inhaled. "Your eyes dilated, your breathing accelerated, the sweat pouring from you in an air-conditioned room, the way—"

"It wasn't a challenge, when I looked at you like that. Just be quiet."

"Quiet is boring."

"How can you be so bored?"

"How can I not?"

"Being you, being around you, all the things you possibly could think of in a single second… I'd always have something to do."

"It gets old."

The pair resumed their walk, the confrontations and arguments not really in the foreground of their minds now. Emilia asked Sherlock questions to get to know him better, to which he openly answered. When Sherlock tried to reciprocate the questions, though, Emilia barely shared any information.

"I don't have much to say about me. Everything about me you see is all I am, and I know you see everything."

"I can assume things," Sherlock started, looking over Emilia again to try to reread things about her. "I don't always gather everything, though. I couldn't learn your phone number from looking at you."

"If you didn't already have it, I'd think you were totally asking me for those numbers, sir."

Sherlock grinned. "I was only making an example."

"Oh, and here I was hoping you were making a pass at me."

"You'd know." I wouldn't even know how.

Emilia laughed and grabbed his arm and walked next to him. They continued their exchanges, and settled on stopping for Chinese before actually going home.

"What about John?" Emilia asked.

"He's more than willing to talk about himself, so ask him yourself. You're a fan of his, so obviously you know about as much as you could ever care about."

"You speak so mean about him but you care so much. You're an odd creature, Sherlock."

"Anything but human."

"What do you have against us humans, anyway?" Emilia twirled her fork in some noodles on her plate.

Sherlock sat down his utensils and folded his hands before his chin. "They're boring. Normal. Predictable. They can't fathom everything the world really has to offer, then again, being a high-functioning sociopath, I see things and feel things completely different from anyone else. The normal observation of what a human could see through that window," Sherlock pointed to the window right next to their table, "is so mundane compared to what I see."

"What do you see?"

"I want your answer to that question, first."

Emilia looked, and started to tell him everything she saw. "An overcast sky, people walking to their destinations. Cars, buildings, the such."

"I see a sky that snowed less than a mile away and it's slowly making its way here. Those people can't be classified as an entire unit, because that person," he pointed out a man texting on his phone, standing in place and tapping his foot to music pumping through headphones, "is on his way to commit another serial act of adultery. He's married, yet I watched him remove his ring only moments before and is seeming to be excited by whomever he is conversing with. I think it may be the woman over here in the back corner of the restaurant—don't look at her, Emilia—then the rest of the humans out there all, to me, have a recognizable trait, habit, or something of the sort that sticks out to me. I can tell you where they've been and possibly where they're going. I can tell you what each of those buildings hold and why it's such a bad marketing or living decision. The cars all sound like they have a malfunction requiring a mechanic's attention like a babe craving for his mother."

Emilia was staring at Sherlock with an entranced expression.

"Here's the part where I'm either complimented or insulted, and judging by the look on your face is the former of the two."

"You're mesmerizing."

"That's a new one," Sherlock chuckled and picked his chopsticks back up.

"No, not just what you've just done, but you as an entire whole."

Sherlock chewed and watched Emilia as her eyes just seemed to drift over what she saw of him rather quickly.

"I can't even begin to explain it, everything I ever learned about you before meeting you, I thought was brilliant. Now that I know you, met you and am getting to know you, I'm astounded by you, you're… all of you."

"I presume that's a glowing compliment."

"I could say more, but I've already gone there before and gotten nowhere," Emilia smirked and dug into her food again.

Sherlock studied Emilia.

Lost weight. Shoulder is swelling and showing expressions of pain. Happy. Very, very happy. Wearing new clothes. Eating very little. Tired.

He ran out of things to deduce about her personality because he realized she wasn't showing it at all. He wanted to know more, but that would require many exchanges of words she seemed adamant against. Sherlock could take a page out of John's book and try to talk these things out of her as he got to know her better.

"I was just wondering about John, and remembered what you did. Who is this woman you set him up with?"

"Oh, Sariah Moore. My friend Kyal's sister. She's a beautiful girl, and very nice. I'm sure John's having the best time with her, right now. He decided to take her out to eat and then to catch a film at the cinema."

"That's good. I'll have to meet her to make sure she's as pure as you think."

"I assure you she is, and maybe you should leave John to get to know his dates before you unravel their whole lives in embarrassment."

"I embarrass them? And how do you know?"

"Me and John are BFFs," Emilia laughed while raising a brow.

Sherlock chuckled and pointed at Emilia's plate with his chopsticks. "Finish up, I want to try to make it home before the snow actually does fall."

Emilia threw up her fork to counter his chopsticks in a mock sword fight. The two laughed as they drew it out for a moment, then returned to eating in silence; save for Emilia watching Sherlock as his laughter quieted and his smile faded. Sherlock was beautiful to her.

And she to him.

A late update again, but remember I haven't forgotten you. I'm dealing with personal stress of a ridiculous multitude. I'm struggling to get by in life, struggling to keep my head above the water. I like the feelings fanfiction gives me and how it helps me escape the real world for a while. It's nice. Does anyone have any suggestions to give me? I'm almost out of reading material.

Keep the reviews coming, you have no idea how much they mean to me as well.