A/N: To the anonymous reviewer: thank you, and here's your quick update! Of course she'll be smart – Sherlock couldn't love a dull person!

Chapter 2: Stranger on the Plane

Emma hefted her carry-on into the over-head luggage space and sat down with a huff in her seat. She looked out the window and tried to wait patiently for take-off. As patiently as she could anyway – her father had after all practically shipped her off without trying to get to know her.

Emma stretched her pale legs out before her. She was not sure what the weather would be like in London but she had chosen to wear shorts and red Doc Marten's with her favorite Nirvana tee. A brilliant way to say, "I don't want to be here."

"Oh good god."

She looked up at the intruding male voice only to find someone stuffing a bag in the compartment above her seat. He looked disdainfully down at her before taking the aisle seat next to hers.

Emmaline could not help but to stare – he was a very strange looking man. He had a long face and nose and Cupid's bow mouth – not to mention the alarming paleness of his skin.

"Did your Mother not teach you that staring is rude, little girl?"

Emmaline's brow rose but she turned her head to look out the plane window. So not only was he strange looking, but apparently quite rude and British.

"My apologies; how long has she been dead?"

Emma's head whipped around to look at the man. He appeared emotionless, yet his voice had been…sad.

"What are you talking about?" She asked carefully.

"Your Mother; how long has she been dead?"

"Thirteen days." Emma looked at the man more carefully.

He seemed completely normal – if not a bit alien – in his dark wash jeans and white button-up shirt.

"How did you know, if you don't mind me asking?"

The man looked at her strangely. "So she has manners, does she?"

"She also has a name. Emmaline Johnson, though I prefer Emma."

"Sherlock Holmes." He shook her proffered hand. "To answer your question, I observed. Plenty of people see; it's the observing that is difficult for them to do."

"What did you observe?"

The man, Sherlock, looked at her for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.

"I observed you. Your eyes are red, suggesting you have been crying recently. In your jacket pocket is a package of tissues – obviously someone important to you. There is also only one ticket there, travelling by yourself so no guardian to speak of. Clearly, you have lost of one of your parents. I know it is your Mother because when I mentioned her earlier your eyes started to water. This brought on my inquiry of when your Mother had died. Simple."

"What is that?" Emmaline asked in wonder.

"Deduction." He said a smug smile on his face.

"Do it again." She requested.

"What? Why?" He asked, brow cocked.

"It could have been a lucky guess. Deduce something else." She asked.

This was taking her mind off her mother and she was finding this to be an easy way to pass the time. The man was interesting enough for a plane ride.

"You are staying with your grandparents in London, am I correct?" He asked, another smug smile suggesting he knew he was right.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"You're fidgety which suggests nervousness, obvious. Your outfit choice seems to say you do not want to meet these people, because you are meeting them but you have also put an outfit together, well. Therefore, these people are important. You are not meeting your father in London because a man dropped you off here – and that is not cheating, it is observing. The only logical next step would be grandparents or an aunt. An aunt would have been met earlier one assumes, so grandparents."

"That is incredible." Emma whispered awestruck.

Sherlock stared straight ahead, struck with pride. Of course, it was incredible. He did not need a little girl telling him that.

"What else?" She asked eagerly, as the plane lifted off from the tarmac.

Sherlock sighed. "Are you going to annoy me all the way to London?"

"Most definitely." Emma smiled at the man sitting next to her.

Emmaline needed a worthy distraction from thoughts of her mother. She had planned to sleep through most of the plane ride, but this was much more entertaining.

"Very well." Sherlock sighed heavily but inside he was quite pleased.

Usually the Police used him to solve their crimes and then tossed him away. None of them were interested in what he could actually do with his fantastic mind, except for maybe Lestrade.

"You're an artist. Looks like maybe charcoal and paint are your mediums. You seem to think you're good based on the amount of time you spend painting."

"I am good thank you very much." Emmaline smiled softly to herself and looked out the plane window.

"Not going to ask how I know?"

"Why? You got it right – and you've already proven you can do it."

Sherlock did not reply; instead, he settled into his seat. Emma looked down at her lap, at her hands. There was old charcoal stuck under her fingernails and paint had stained the pads of her fingers.

"How did you know I paint frequently?" She asked, curious.

"The callouses on your fingers. After finding out you are an artist, one can quite easily assume they were made from holding a paint brush for hours on end."

"That really is amazing." Emma told him.

He did not say anything. As the plane cruised silently in the air, slicing through the clouds, she took the time to look at him from the corner of her eye. He really was strange looking. Not at all her type. Not that she had been considering it – he looked old.

Emmaline shook her head and turned back to the window. They had been in the air for perhaps an hour, and the man had not said anything for maybe thirty minutes. His eyes were closed so Emmaline assumed he was asleep, and would not want to be disturbed.

She stretched her legs out before her and drummed her fingers on her bare thighs. It was a song her mother had often sung to her as a child to get her to go to bed – and whenever Emma was scared. After a few minutes, she found herself singing quietly to it under her breath.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you…please don't take my Sunshine away."

Emma finished quietly and stopped tapping the rhythm. With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the airplane seat. She missed her mother more than anything. There would be no one around to sing that song for her anymore – no one to keep her safe from the monsters. Her eyes began to tear up as she tightened her hands in her lap.

Biting her lip, she tried to keep the flow of tears back but it was impossible. She missed her mommy and wanted to be back in Texas, in their apartment with her. She wanted her mommy to tell her that whatever she was working on was 'simply amazing'. Emma wanted to hear the familiar camera shutter click that meant her mother was photographing something. She wanted to be locked out of the bathroom for hours while her mother turned it into a darkroom. Emma wanted to smell the strawberry shampoo when she buried her face in her mother's hair because she had had a nightmare. She wanted to go to an art show and have her mother review everything with a smile on her face. Emma just wanted to see that smile again.

"Oh do shut up."

Emma's sobs faltered as she looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Your crying is sincerely annoying."

"Well I'm so sorry." Emma bit back sarcastically.

"Good." Sherlock settled back into his seat.

"That was sarcasm you doofus!" She whispered vehemently.

Sherlock sat up and looked at the crying girl. She seemed genuinely upset, the tears running down her face. Honestly, Sherlock would never understand sentiment in others. He had never understood why others felt the need to cry over someone's death.

With a sigh, he reached for the tissues in her jacket pocket. As soon as his hand lifted and reached for her Emma instinctively backed up. She moved as far back from him as her seat would allow, her heart racing.

"What are you doing?"

"I was getting your tissues." Sherlock cocked his head at her curious reaction.

"I can get them myself."

Emma carefully sat back down in her seat and removed the package of tissues from her pocket. Had this man really been reaching for something in her jacket? He seemed strange enough to actually do it.

"Would you like to be distracted?" He asked.

"How?" She asked cautiously.

"You aren't wondering why an Englishman from London is in New York?"

"I figured you were a tourist. But you don't really seem the tourist type."

"I was here on business. I'm a Consulting Detective – the only one in the world."

"How can you be the only one?" Emma asked curiously.

She waited patiently for his answer and wiped her eyes dry with the tissues before blowing her nose.

"Well, I invented the job." Sherlock said as if the answer was obvious.

"Alright Mr. Consulting Detective – why were you in New York?" Emma settled into her seat and watched as the young man spoke.

"I was called in to help with a case. A mysterious death."

Emma waited for a moment but he did not elaborate.

"Is that all?"

"Well it turned out to not be very interesting – turns out the chap killed himself."

"And that's not interesting?"

"Not the way he did it."

Emma laughed and shook her head. "You are the strangest person I have ever met."

Sherlock did not say anything. A tight smile had formed on his lips.

"No – I meant that in a good way. It's…refreshing."

"Why did you flinch? When I came near you?" Sherlock turned his head so his gaze could bore into her.

"You're a stranger."

"But that's not it; there's something else."

"You are a stranger, and I'm not telling."

"Well, give me time." Sherlock smiled lazily before putting his fingers against his lips in thought.

"How old are you? Because you look young."

"Twenty-four."

Emmaline's eyes widened. He was nine years older than she was, and they were carrying on a casual conversation.

"How old are you?" He asked, not turning to look at her.

"Fifteen. I'll be sixteen next month."

"Hmm." Sherlock made a non-committal noise.

She looked slightly older than fifteen, perhaps seventeen, and she acted older as well. Sherlock had already pegged her as a minor since she was in need of a guardian; however, he thought she would be off to university in a year or two.

"Oh that's poor form." Sherlock whispered to himself.

"What?" Emma leaned over, closer to him.

Sherlock looked at her curiously out of the corner of his eye. She had no problem initiating close contact, but when someone else tried, she became nervous. Interesting.

"You see the man in between those two females, a row up from us? The woman on his left is his wife, the one on right his mistress."

"You're joking." Emma whispered, incredulously.

"Clearly he likes his mistress more, body language suggests so. Do you see what I mean?" Sherlock asked.

"His body is facing hers, not his wife."

"Very good. Simple, but good."

"Oh thank you." Emmaline said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Who else?" She inquired.

"Who else what?"

"Deduce something else – I'm bored."

Sherlock risked a glance at the young girl. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and she looked sad. Her fingers were unconsciously gripping the edge of her shirtsleeve and her fingers were again drumming the song rhythm on her thigh. She was not bored – she was on the verge of tears again.

"See that man up there?"

ᶓ

"That's the fourth time that stewardess has asked you if you need anything." Emma pointed out.

"Yes, so?" Sherlock asked, opening his bag of peanuts.

"She likes you." Emmaline giggled and popped a peanut in her mouth.

"What does that mean?"

"You don't know what liking someone means?" Emma asked in surprise.

"I have no reason to – it's not important."

"What is important?"

Sherlock huffed before shoving a small handful of peanuts in his mouth and chewing.

"Anything related to my work. Facts and statistics and the composition of gravel."

"How is the composition of gravel relevant to anything?"

"You would be surprised."

Emma smiled at his raised eyebrow and the gleam in his eye. Over the last six hours of strange conversation – the strangest conversation she had ever had – she had noticed something. Sherlock got excited when talking about his work, or his intelligence. Or anything related to him in a positive manner.

He seemed not to understand anything involving emotion, or as he called it, 'sentiment'. Which was somewhat nice for Emma. For the past thirteen days all anyone had said to her was how awful it was that her mother had died, and that she could cry if she needed to.

Her father had been indifferent and drunk the whole six days she had stayed with him. Sherlock was different – he understood, she thought. But he also did not care very much. But he was distracting her so she did not have to think of it either, which was nice.

The pilot came on over the loudspeaker announcing their descent and the necessity of their seatbelts. The stewardess' came around making sure that everyone was properly buckled, and the one who had been eyeing Sherlock made a beeline for their aisle.

She leaned over him to make sure Emma was securely tucked in, her lean form hanging over Sherlock's lap. Emmaline watched him out of the corner of her eye and was surprised that he did not show anything – no surprise, no anxiety, and no anger.

The buxom blonde seemed offended as she trotted off with a 'huff'.

"Sherlock, I think you hurt her feelings." Emma giggled at his shrug of indifference.

"Why are you staying with your grandparents Emmaline, if you have a father?"

"Can't deduce it?" Emma asked sourly.

"Some things, no."

"My dad didn't want me. He wanted to ship me off so he didn't have to deal with me." Emma shrugged.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Emma turned to look at him sharply.

Her angry retort died on her lips when she saw the look in his blue-green eyes.

"My father didn't want me either." He whispered, more to himself.

Emmaline wanted to reach a hand out but she did not. This man was a stranger; and she thought any sign of affection would drive him up the wall. So she kept her hands in her lap. They sat in silence for the rest of the descent and until the plane landed.

When it was okay to get off the plane, Sherlock helped her with her bag and ushered her off the plane ahead of other people.

"Thank you." She said, as he led her into the baggage pick-up terminal.

"It's nothing."

Emmaline did not feel that it was nothing; she got the impression that he did not often do this for others. She reached down off the trolley and picked up her other bag.

"The lobby is this way – you said your grandparents were picking you up?"

"Yeah, they are."

Emma followed him out of the luggage area and up stairs to the main level – and the entrance to the airport. A little ways away she could see an elderly couple holding a sign with her name on it.

"This is where I leave you." Sherlock said, looking outside.

"It was nice meeting you. And thank you, for the distractions." Emma said sincerely.

She nodded curtly and picked up her bags. She had taken a few steps when Sherlock told her to 'wait'.

"My card." He handed her a white business card. "In case you need any more…distractions."

"Thank you Sherlock. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again."

"Goodnight Emmaline." He nodded his head before walking off in the opposite direction.

Emma smiled softly to herself before taking her bags and walking over to her grandparents.

"I'm Emma." She said when she got over to them.

"Oh dear!" Her grandma rushed forward to hug her tightly.

Her grandfather took her bags and led them outside to their car. They were silent, awkwardly so. Emma was tired and did not want to deal with their grief – they had lost a daughter. All she wanted to do was get some sleep.

As soon as they pulled up to the apartment, she patiently waited for the old couple to open the door. It was nicely furnished and looked expensive. After she got a good night's rest she'd have to explore the apartment.

Her grandfather gathered her bags and put them in a small bedroom in the back of the apartment.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow dear. You must be tired."

"Thanks grandma."

Emma kissed her grandma's cheek and quietly shut the door. She kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the bed. She felt around in her jacket until she found the business card from Sherlock Holmes.

It was a simple white card with silver foil outline. The front read:

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting Detective

She turned it over and read his phone number, address, and website. She would have to see if her grandparents had a computer so she could look at it tomorrow.

Emma put the card on her nightstand and turned the lamp off. As the room was washed in darkness, she burrowed under the covers and tried to fall asleep in the strange place.

A/N: I'm beginning to realize how creepy this might be – a fifteen year old girl hanging out with a twenty-four year old guy. And the fact that it's Sherlock does not help. Oh well – these are their ages when they met.