At sun set, Emma Herrington left her flat and began her walk to the bus stop. Bag in hand, her destination was clear to only a select few. The tap of her heels echoed on the streets as she walked briskly. Her pea coat was open with a red scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. Despite the warmth of the evening, she had her arms tightly crossed in front.
When Emma passed by one building, a shadowy figure moved to watch her. Once she was fifteen metres away, the man silently skulked his way out onto the sidewalk. Wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt and dark grey trousers, the man stole across the street, matching pace with Emma.
Stopping for a moment, Emma pulled out her mobile phone and checked a text message. The man continued down his side of the street for a distance, passing Emma, then taking cover in the entrance of a nearby building. After a few seconds of reading, Emma put her phone away and resumed walking. The man waited until she had passed approximately twenty metres ahead before he continued to follow, still on the opposite side of the street.
Little did the man realised he was being followed. Twenty metres behind him, on the same side of the street as Emma, was John. He held his phone in hand, texting Emma. His intent was merely to look busy, though he took the opportunity to send her encouraging messages. Every once in a while, he would look around, curious as to where Sherlock was, but always keeping aware of the man.
Emma had turned to cross the street, when her path intersected that of her stalker. She froze as he approached her. John was too far away at the moment to hear what was being said. He was preparing to break into a run to assist her, when he received a text message from Sherlock.
Wait.
Sherlock, located on the same side of the street as Emma and the mysterious man, had remained concealed within the shadows beneath the trees. He was approaching from the opposite direction, moving silently. Both he and John witnessed the confrontation. Neither could hear the exchange.
After a few minutes, Emma shook her head quickly. The man appeared to be asking her a question. Holding up her hands in an act of surrender, she seemed to plead with him. The man pointed a threatening finger at her. The tone in his voice heated. The words unintelligible.
"Sherlock." John growled, moving closer to Emma. He could not stand the wait.
Suddenly, the man grabbed her wrists. Emma screamed. John broke into a run as she began to struggle. His heart raced as he tore across the street. Before he could reach her, Emma ripped herself from the man's grasp and took off in a run. The stranger pursued. John sprinted after, hoping Sherlock was close behind.
"Sherlock!" John shouted as he followed the two down an alley.
Sherlock anticipated. He ran opposite of John to intersect their paths. However, Emma turned unexpectedly, running through the foyer of a building. In a heartbeat, she was out the other side and onto the street. Jumping into a cab, Emma yelled at the driver. Unfortunately, the hooded man jumped in seconds before the car drove off.
"John!" she cried out, and the cab was gone.
John heard her scream, but by the time he ran out onto the street, she was gone. Leaning over, his hands on his knees, he tried to catch his breath. He stood and paced in frustration and anxiety, desperate to do something, anything.
She can't be gone! He thought frantically.
Fifteen minutes later, his phone rang. It was Sherlock. "She's gone. I've lost her." John said into the phone. His heart ached at the thought of having failed the woman he had promised to protect.
"John, she's with me." Sherlock said.
"What?" John asked incredulously. Relief washed over him. "Oh, thank God!" he leaned against the wall, suddenly weak. "But...how?"
"Meet us at our flat. She cannot stay at her place." Sherlock answered. "We'll talk there."
Mrs. Hudson warmly welcomed Emma into the building. She did not approve of her staying in the flat with Sherlock and John and had insisted on providing a room for Emma to stay the night.
"Mrs. Hudson, that really isn't necessary." John began. "It's not like we haven't-" Mrs. Hudson's disapproving look stopped him from speaking. With a weak smile, he nodded in agreement that Emma would stay in a room of her own.
Emma, who was bruised and scraped, limped her way up the stairs, with assistance from John. The three remained together going over the details of that evening's events. As she and Sherlock discussed the man who was following her, John focused on cleaning the wounds she had sustained when falling out of the cab.
"So, you say you had entered the cab to escape the assailant." Sherlock stated.
She perceived he was observing her, his jaw was tight, his hands forming a temple. "Yes." Emma replied.
"But he followed you into the cab." he continued.
"Yes." she again replied.
"And, how is it you managed to escape?" Sherlock asked. John gave him a scathing look. Emma had been through a traumatic experiencing and his friend was treating her as if she were lying.
"I kicked him hard, pulled his hair and sprayed him with pepper spray. I did not wait for the cab driver to stop. I opened the door and jumped out." she explained.
Sherlock nodded, sinking further into his chair.
"Y-you don't believe me?" she asked. John heard a tremor in her voice, though her eyes conveyed something else to Sherlock.
"The evidence supports your story." he replied matter of factly.
"My...my story." she said quietly, looking down at John who was bandaging up her scraped knee. "My story?" She stood, suddenly in a rage. "For your information, Mr. Holmes, it is not a story. It happened and I am frightened for my life!"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, observing her.
John stood up. "Emma, I apologise for Sherlock's rude behaviour. He...he means well, I...I think." He shot a look to his flatmate.
Emma glared at John. "You! You are always making excuses for him. Do you not see? He thinks he's better than everyone!" she snapped.
Her eyes darted back and forth. John had a look of surprise on his face. Never had he heard Emma speak in such a manner. Sherlock remained in his seat, still watching and listening. He did not move.
Emma looked down at Sherlock as the anger in her eyes began to subside. Quietly, she said to him, "I'll handle this on my own." She picked up her coat and headed for the door. John ran after her, trying to stop her.
"Your brother." Sherlock stated.
Emma had the door open, but turned to face him. "Pardon?" Her cool demeanour had returned, the rage gone.
"Was the assailant your brother?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Yes." she replied and left down the stairs and out the door.
John was left staring at Sherlock as Emma rushed out. He moved to follow her when Sherlock called out, "Wait."
John whipped back around. "Why? Sherlock, tell me why should I wait? She's going to walk back to her flat, alone, at night. I would think you wanted her to be attacked. You desperately need a case and are making her one right now!"
"John." Sherlock sighed. "You are letting your emotions control you. Take a step back." he instructed, but John was not in the mood to listen.
"No. I will not step back. All she is to you is another problem to solve, another mystery to unravel. She's my girlfriend, not an experiment." John argued.
"John." Sherlock said.
"What?" John snapped at him.
"The assailant could not have been her brother." he answered.
"What? How could you possibly know that?" John asked, grabbing his coat.
"I could see him from my vantage point. His skin was tan and he was over six feet tall." he answered, waiting for the information to sink in.
John stood still for a moment, hand still reaching for his coat. Tan? Six feet... After a few moments, his hand slowly lowered to his side. "Not her brother?"
"No."
"Then, who was he and why was he following her?" John demanded.
"More importantly," Sherlock added. "Why did she lie?"
John glared at his flatmate. Clenching his fists, his anger had reached near breaking point. "So, that's it is it?"
"Pardon? Is what it?" Sherlock gazed over at him in an almost lazy manner, as if he had forgotten all about Emma or the recent events.
"She's been through a traumatic experience. She didn't want to involve us in the first place and this 'adventure' turned out poorly. Yet, all you are concerned with is that she lied. So she lied. You were right. The great, all-knowing Sherlock Holmes is always right!" he yelled. Sherlock tilted his head and was about to argue the point, but John would not give any leeway. "Did it occur to you that she might be pushing us, or more accurately you, away? She said so herself. It wasn't a story, yet you treated her as if she were a suspect! You don't know a bloody thing about Emma, or women for that matter. You said so yourself: women are not your area. But, oh no! Sherlock could not possibly be wrong, not in his little world!" he began pacing angrily about the room.
"John." his flatmate started to say, but was interrupted.
"No. You listen to me!" he hissed. "I'm tired of being pushed around. Tired of seeing you treat her that way. She's a lady and deserves every bit of your respect!" he stopped, as if having an epiphany. "Jealous. You are jealous."
"What?" Sherlock ask in disbelief.
"You heard me. Ever since I started seeing Emma, you've done everything possible to end it. You were rude at our first meeting. You almost consistently made me late to our dates and you pulled me away from her to work on cases."
Eyebrow raised, Sherlock jumped up and snapped back, "You never complained about the cases. In fact, I don't recall you protesting, save for one instance."
"I... it was..." John stuttered. Realizing Sherlock was gaining the upper hand, he rallied. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you hired that man to stalk her. You didn't, did you?"
"No." his friend said impatiently. "John-"
"Don't 'John' me! She is my girlfriend, quite possible will be my wife someday. There, I said it!" he shouted.
Seeing the smirk that was now on Sherlock's face only served to enrage John. With a swoosh, he swung his tightly clenched fist. A loud crack could be heard in the flat as his knuckles slammed hard into the detective's jaw. Sherlock fell back into his chair from the surprisingly strong blow. John shook his aching hand, his breathing heavy, his face red.
"Perhaps you and your brother would do well to remain out of my personal life. Do not question my relationship with her." he seethed.
"My brother? What has Mycroft to do with this?" Sherlock asked, an edge to his voice.
Grabbing his coat, John turned on Sherlock, who was nursing a sore jaw. "I called him about the medications you were taking." John began to explain. He received a scolding look from Sherlock.
John continued, "I was concerned! Imagine that. I had mentioned speaking with Emma about it. Mycroft seemed surprised. Said something about me not being her type, or some sort of rubbish." He waved his hand as if to brush the idea off. Silence reigned for a few minutes. John was pulling on his coat, when Sherlock jumped back up, taking his own coat "Where are you going?" John asked angrily.
"For a walk." Sherlock answered, without explanation, and left John alone to his thoughts.
