A/N: Thanks for all the readers! Just a note, on my profile page I've linked to a Pinterest board that will contain Emmaline's outfits for this story, so go check it out! I add to it every time she wears something new.
Chapter 3: A Week Spent Lonely
Emma sighed and rolled over in her bed. It was Wednesday, and had officially been eight days since she had moved in with her grandparents. She had been allowed to go shopping with her grandmother for a new wardrobe and toiletries the third day she had been there.
Emmaline had been surprised to learn her grandparents were actually quite wealthy. They had an inheritance from her grandfather's dead dad, and both of them had had quite illustrious careers.
As a result, Emma's wardrobe was bigger than she was used to. She felt slightly uncomfortable having such high-end clothes but her grandmother had insisted on it. They had even given Emma a credit card with a $500 a month limit for "seeing friends." As soon as she got friends.
Emma rolled over onto her stomach and reached for the business card on her nightstand. She had not seen the mysterious man Sherlock Holmes since they had sat next to each other on the plane to London. The emotional talks with her grandparents and her boredom made her think about calling him.
On more than one occasion, she had considered phoning him to hang out but then she thought about how strange that sounded. True, the man had been strange. However, she was fifteen, and he was twenty-four. Not that anything was going on, or that she was thinking about it, but hanging out with a grown man just seemed to be a strange thing to do.
She put the card in her back pocket and got out of bed. If she did call him, her grandparents could not know about it. They would think she was some sort of weirdo, wanting to hang out with a grown man. They would probably call the police on him and ban her from ever leaving the flat. Emma tugged on her new red sneakers and walked out into the main room.
"I'm going out for a little while."
"OK dearie. But stick nearby, since you don't know the area." Her grandmother insisted.
"Alright Grandma Vicky." Emma kissed her cheek and did the same for her grandfather before leaving the flat.
On the doorstep, she checked that her purse had her keys and wallet in it. She pulled a few loose coins from the bottom of the bag and trotted down the street to a phone booth. Emma had been surprised, and happy, to learn that London still used the red phone booths like in the films.
She inserted the change and dialed the number from the back of the card. He answered on the fourth ring.
"Sherlock Holmes." He said.
"Hello, Sherlock? It's Emma…we met on the plane last week?" She started nervously.
He took a moment to reply. In that moment, a thousand answers flew through Emma's mind. What if he doesn't want to hang out? What if he says he does not remember me? What if he thinks I am calling because I like him? Which, I most certainly do not.
"Emmaline. What do you want?" His voice sounded normal enough to calm her worries.
"I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee, have a chat." She said casually.
"Are your grandparents getting on your nerves?"
"They're nice enough people. But I just need someone to talk to who doesn't expect me to cry." She said truthfully.
"Did you have anywhere in mind?"
Emmaline looked around outside the phone booth for a coffee shop. "Yeah there's a place – Nonni's Tea Emporium."
"I'll meet you there in ten minutes."
He hung up abruptly leaving Emma feeling happy. Finally, she would get to talk to someone who was not expecting her to burst out in random tears, and who would not put up with it if she did.
Emma stepped out of the phone booth and rushed across the street to the teashop. Entering she was greeted by cool air and the refreshing smell of brewing tea and coffee. Emma had always hated tea, so was glad they had coffee to drink as well.
She got in the short line at the front counter and ordered a cup of mocha and a slice of chocolate biscotti. She picked a spot in the back of the small shop, a small round table flanked by two beige leather armchairs.
Eight minutes later, she ordered another cup of coffee and biscotti from the barista. Just as it was arriving, Sherlock walked into the teashop. She watched his eyes wander over the occupants until his gaze settled on her. He nodded in her direction and got in line at the counter.
She waited patiently while he got his tea and walked over to her, sitting in the chair opposite.
"This is rather cozy." He commented, drinking in the surroundings.
The walls were not bare but covered in bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with novels. They watched as someone took a book out of their bag and found a place for it on one of the shelves. Comfortable seating was crowded into the small place and the cool air mixed with the warm air from the busy London streets when the door opened.
"Why are you wearing a coat and scarf?" Emma asked, sipping her coffee.
"I like it." He answered simply. "You don't like tea."
It was a statement, not a question. Emma smiled softly. "No, I hate it actually."
"Interesting. When do you start school?"
It was not in Sherlock's nature to ask meaningless questions, but the girl had called him for such conversation. Moreover, he felt himself willing to oblige. He had lately found himself rather bored, and Lestrade had not had any cases for him all week. Emmaline's call had been a godsend. When Sherlock thought life was dull, bad things happened.
"On Monday. It's a public school I guess, so no uniform thank god."
"You have a very individual sense of dress." Sherlock noted.
He quickly took in her peculiar attire: mint-green dress shirt tucked into jean shorts and red sneaker shoes. It was the way teenagers dressed these days he supposed.
"So do you. It's the end of May and you're wearing a wool coat."
Sherlock chose not to dignify that with a response. He had already told her he preferred the coat. Instead, he chose to ask another question. "You said your birthday was in June – when is it?"
"June 1st. I will be sixteen." She said proudly, dipping her cookie into her coffee.
Sherlock again did not respond. He wondered now that he had asked her, if she expected a gift. He thought not since they were merely acquaintances. However, Sherlock did admit, he did not know all of society's expectations in social situations.
Emma watched him thinking curiously. She had no idea what he was thinking about but he subconsciously brought his fingers to his lips.
"When's your birthday?" She asked, trying to resume conversation.
"January sixth." He answered, still thinking.
After a few moments of deliberation, Sherlock decided simply not to worry about it. He drained his cup of tea.
"So…" Emma really had not thought through calling him.
At the time, it had seemed smart, but now with him across from her she felt intimidated. She had visited his website and he seemed to be a truly intelligent individual. She was worried that calling him had been a mistake and that he would soon get bored.
"What's your favorite play by Shakespeare?" He suddenly asked.
Emma stared at him a moment in surprise before answering.
"Hamlet."
"Why?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.
"Because it's about the tragic flaw of time – and what happens if we waste it. I like it because it's about this man who should succeed in getting revenge, but because he can't do anything on time he loses his life."
"A little sad." Sherlock commented.
"How about you?" Emma asked.
"Twelfth Night." He answered automatically.
"Why?"
"I'm not sure." Sherlock said after a moment's hesitation.
Emma got the feeling that he did know, but he was not willing to share. She cocked an eyebrow to let him know she was not fooled, but he did not seem disturbed by this fact.
They sat in comfortable silence for minutes, Sherlock staring at the novels in the shelves, and Emmaline looking at Sherlock.
He was certainly a strange man, but he was also a good companion. In the hour they had been sitting in the teashop, she had not once felt like crying. She had met him twice now, and talked to him for a total ranging somewhere near seven hours, but she still felt as if she knew little about him.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock stood rather abruptly to take his coat off. She had expected him to sit back down but instead he walked to the shelf nearest them and started running his fingers over the spine of books.
"What are you looking for?" She asked, joining him.
"Anything."
His fingers stopped on a book and he pulled it down from the shelf.
"Brave New World by Aldous Huxley." She read the front.
"This is alright; have you read it?" He asked.
"No."
"Well you should."
Sherlock grabbed his coat and inclined his head towards a small leather sofa across from their table. He draped his coat across the back of the couch and sat down, patting the cushion next to him. Cautiously she sat down.
Sherlock crossed his legs and opened the book to the first page.
"Are you going to read to me?" Emma asked, uncertainly.
"I find the best way to read is to be read to. Besides, didn't you ask to be distracted?" He was not about to tell her he enjoyed reading aloud.
"Yes, I did." She admitted.
She was glad he was not offended. Yes, she had called him to distract her from thoughts of her mother. He was good company and she was glad of it. She found him easy to be around and she hoped they could be friends.
"Alright then. Are you ready to begin?" He asked.
Emma tried hard to suppress a giggle. This just seemed strange to her, but she was intrigued.
"Yes, alright."
"A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories." Sherlock's deep voice resonated with the first line of the long book.
ᶓ
Sherlock closed the book. They had gotten four chapters in, which was quite a feat. They had been sitting in the teashop for two hours and people had come in and out all day, dithering and talking about simple things. It was almost six o'clock in the evening.
Sherlock had to get back to his flat to finish an experiment and he did not doubt that Emmaline's grandparents were wandering where she was.
"Thank you Sherlock." Emma whispered tiredly.
Even though she had been in London for a week, she was still running on Texas time.
"I think it's time you got back home. Come on."
Sherlock helped her stand up and she waited while he returned the book to its spot and put his coat on.
"My grandparents just live a few blocks away." She said, pointing in their general direction.
"I'll walk you home." Sherlock insisted.
Emmaline did not voice an objection. It was getting dark out and she did not know her way around very well yet, not to mention that London was huge.
They fell comfortably in step and walked quietly down the pavement back to her flat. Emma stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up.
"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently.
"The stars." She answered with a slight frown.
"What about them?"
Emma pointed up to the sky. "There are less of them here – you can't see as many."
"It's because of the pollution." Sherlock stood next to her, looking at where she pointed in the night sky.
"That's sad." Her hand fell to her side. "In Texas my Mother and I would lay out a blanket in the yard and just look up at the stars, for hours." Emma smiled faintly at the memory.
"How many more stars are there?" Sherlock asked curiously. He was used to the London sky.
"You mean you've never seen a clear night sky?" Emma turned her head up to stare at him in shock.
"No."
"Well then I'll paint it for you." Emmaline resolved, looking back at the stars for a second.
"Come on; let's get you home."
Sherlock turned around, expecting Emmaline to follow. She caught up with him quickly and the rest of their walk was spent in silence.
"I live right there." She pointed across the street at her apartment building.
"Then I believe it's time to say goodnight."
"Yes I suppose."
"Goodnight Emmaline."
"Goodnight Sherlock."
Sherlock turned on his heel and began walking away.
"Sherlock wait." He turned his head over his shoulder to see Emma following slowly.
"I just wanted to say thank you, for hanging out with me today. It helped a lot – it really did. And I was wondering if you wanted to do it again sometime, you know, since you still have to finish reading that book to me."
"I'll meet you there tomorrow, the same time." He said impulsively.
"OK." Emma beamed. "Goodnight Sherlock."
She turned and ran across the street and disappeared into her building. Sherlock shook his head and turned the collar up on his coat, walking down the dark London sidewalk back home.
A/N: I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay while writing this, specifically Fix You. If you haven't heard it I suggest it highly – I'm considering it 'their' song.
As always thank you for reading – please review? They encourage me to write more quickly.