Chapter 7: Summer Vacation

"This is serious Sherlock!" Emma swatted his arm away from her paper.

They were at Nonni's again, a month after her birthday. She had been surprised to learn that her school started summer break at the beginning of July. So here she was, three days into her break trying to pick her A-levels. She had chosen to go to Sherlock for help in explaining exactly what an A-level was, but he was not entirely helpful.

"I was home-schooled remember?" He said, removing his hand.

"Well, I have to pick four classes right? Just four classes that I take as advanced or whatever. That should not be too hard."

"You've been sitting here for an hour trying to figure it out." Sherlock pointed out.

"OK so? This is important."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sitting here bored with another person was better than sitting alone bored. Bored alone he got…recreational. Sherlock pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up.

They were sitting side-by-side on the leather sofa, knees touching. Emma had a sheaf of papers in hand: her A-level choices and descriptions as well as her paper to fill out with her choices. She batted a hand impatiently at the smoke when it came near her face.

"That smells terribly." She insisted, for the thousandth time.

Sherlock, as usual, made no reply. He picked up the book he had brought and turned back to it.

"I promise – as soon as we've finished we'll go to the movies."

Sherlock sighed. "I have no desire to go to the cinema."

"Well I do, and you chose to hang out with me today." Emma smiled smugly before turning back to his papers.

Sherlock rolled his head back against the couch. If only Lestrade would call him in to consult on something. His last case had been days ago; days of stagnation made room for plenty of boredom.

"What do you think about Psychology?" Emma turned her head to look at Sherlock.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Sherlock drummed his fingers impatiently against the arm of the couch.

"Alright well, I'll check that and it just leaves one more."

"What do you have so far?" Sherlock inquired, slightly interested.

"Psychology, Art, and French." Emma stuck her tongue between her lips in thought. "I think…Health and Social Care. The only thing close to a medical class they have on here."

"Why are you taking French?" Sherlock looked over her shoulder at her boxed choices.

"It's a beautiful language; besides, I need to learn some foreign language."

Sherlock huffed indifferently and sat back in his seat. He mentally filed away that he had moved close to her and she had not shied away as usual. Perhaps she did not notice?

"Alright I'm done. Now can we go to the movies?" Emma packed up her bag and turned to look at Sherlock.

"I am not one who enjoys films; besides, there is nothing good out."

"We could go see that space movie – Titan A.E. That looked good."

Emma scrunched up her face and poked his chest. "Besides, how would you know what's out? You don't have a television."

Sherlock sighed but closed his book and stood. "Alright, let's go. There is a cinema around the corner."

Emma held up her hand and Sherlock pulled, helping her up from the couch. She straightened her dress and made sure her bow was still tied.

"Alright, we can go now."

Sherlock held the door open for her and they stepped out into the warm air. The slight breeze rustled the few strands of hair loose from Emma's ponytail. Sherlock rubbed his arms self-consciously while Emma giggled.

She had gone to his flat that morning to bring him breakfast – she often did on weekends to made sure he actually ate – to find him awake and bundled into his usual long-sleeves and jeans.

Emmaline had let him keep the jeans, but had rifled through his mess of a closet until she had found a short-sleeve shirt for him to wear.

"Will you stop doing that? It looks fine." She insisted, pulling his arms down to his sides.

"I look ridiculous."

"No, you'd look ridiculous in that coat of yours. It's summer Sherlock; that means you get to dress like it will be hot out."

Sherlock huffed impatiently. "I have had that coat since I was twenty – it was a gift from my mother."

"And I am sure she would not want you to get heat-stroke. Come on."

Emma tugged on his arm and pulled him into the cinema doors. Secretly, she made a note to file that information away. He had been letting more slip about his personal life since her birthday in June. She was glad she was finally able to learn more about him, slow as it was getting information out of him.

She had taken to writing the things down, when she got home so she could remember them. So far, he had let slip random bits of information.

He could speak French fluently, he had a French grandmother, he had a mother, father, and brother, – and the brother's name was Mycroft. Mycroft was seven years older and they seemed not to get along. Sherlock was 24 years old and was born on January 6 1976.

He sometimes forgot to eat, and had to be reminded from time to time. He had a great analytical mind that could, as he called it, deduce things. He used this mind to consult the police as a detective. Which Emmaline thought was amazing because he could have chosen to do anything with it.

Sherlock had told her that he was home-schooled by private tutors until he went off to University, and that his family had often gone on trips around the world to aid in the Holmes' boy's studies. This told Emmaline two things: the Holmes family must have had money, and Sherlock must have been a lonely little boy.

He had gone to University when he was 20, but had only attended for two years leaving without a degree. He had also never chosen a major while there. She still had yet to figure out exactly where he had gone to college.

No wonder Sherlock acted strange and anti-social around everyone else but those he knew closely. Not interacting with other people until you were twenty? Being Sherlock, she could guess how he had first interacted with the people around him. She guessed he probably had not had many friends at school, which caused a pang in her chest. He was a strange man, but he was no so bad once you got used to all his quirks.

Sometimes they would be at the café or his flat, and he would not talk for long amounts of time. He forgot to eat, or drink. However, he was the upmost in hygiene and, she suspected, probably took two showers a day. He did not find much relish in the television or movies, they were not entertaining to him. What he did like were his deductions. When bored enough he had even told the barista that needed to stop watching so much porn because his girlfriend was going to break up with him over it.

Emma had watched that one, mortified, and was thankful the owner had not kicked them out or banned them. He was constantly tapping classical rhythms against his thigh and had a makeshift science lab in his kitchen. He was messy and cluttered and if you tried to clean, he yelled "its organized chaos!" and put everything back.

He knew absolutely nothing about art, but on a few occasions had watched Emmaline draw in her sketchpad. He smoked quite frequently, something that bothered Emma, but which Sherlock just did. He never commented on it, nor did he do it often around Emma. When he did, he made sure to smoke away from her so the smoke he breathed out would not be in her general area.

On the only other crime scene she had been to with him, he had made a mind-baffling deduction before announcing to Detective Inspector Trevor exactly who he was looking for. When everyone had stared at him dumbfounded, he had smiled triumphantly. He enjoyed making other people feel less intelligent.

When she had asked how he knew however, he had slowly taken her through the crime scene explaining each detail and what it meant to his deduction. Lestrade had later pulled her aside and spoken to her about it.

"Did he explain that to you, just now, what he said?"

"Yes; I wanted to know how he knew."

"He does not do that with anybody. Just the first time, so we knew he could actually do it, this deductive reasoning of his."

"So?"

"All I am saying is, we're expected to treat his word like the Gospel. But he explained everything to you."

Emma had walked away that day feeling confused and just the tiniest bit happy. She walked up to the ticket counter, happy with the information she had found out about this enigmatic man.

"You get the popcorn, I'll get the tickets." She told Sherlock.

He sighed but stamped out his cigarette and entered the lobby of the movie theatre.

"Dragging your boyfriend out for a nice day, huh?" The woman behind the glass winked at her as Emma paid for their tickets.

Emma smiled but did not say anything. The people at the café thought they were brother and sister, and other people assumed different things. She and Sherlock both shot down people that assumed they were a couple – there was no way Emma looked old enough to be Sherlock's girlfriend. Besides, the idea of Sherlock even having a girlfriend was so comical, she had to contain herself from bursting into giggles every time the idea was suggested.

Emma took her tickets and walked into the lobby. How anyone could think she would date Sherlock was beyond her. True, these were strangers suggesting the idea so they had no idea what he was like. The man was insufferable, strange, and old. She shook her head and found Sherlock holding a box of popcorn and a soda.

"The movie starts in ten minutes. Shall we watch all the entertaining film trivia that I know and you don't?" Emma laughed and popped some popcorn in her mouth.

"I got one right last time." He reminded her as they walked into the darkened theatre.

"Yeah but it was about Leonard Nimoy. Everyone knows everything about him." Emmaline pointed out.

"That was a very obscure question."

"Who did Leonard Nimoy play in Star Trek?" Emma recited. "Everyone knows he played Spock." Emma took another handful of popcorn as they found their seats.

"Which, speaking of, how do you even know what Star Trek is? I thought you only saved important information?"

Sherlock crossed his legs and took a sip of the soda. "Mycroft had a bit of an obsession growing up and he made me sit down and watch every season of the original Star Trek with him."

Emmaline noted it. The fact that he had seen something culturally relevant was surprising. She filed that away too to write down later in her journal.

Sherlock read the trivia question that flashed across the screen aloud. "Who said 'I'm the king of the world!' and what movie was he in?"

"Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Titanic!" Emma whispered quickly.

She thrust her fist into the air when the answer appeared on screen and she was correct.

"How do you know so much about film?" Sherlock asked, taking a small bite of popcorn.

"My mom and I watched a lot of films together, and it's one of my favorite things to do. I love art, and film is an art form." She took a sip of their soda. "Besides, that's like asking how you got to know what you know."

"No it's not. I learned what I know by studying." Sherlock looked confused. How could she compare the two? One of them is actually useful.

"And I studied film; I watched a lot of them."

"There's no point in arguing with you is there?"

"No not really."

Sherlock sighed and took another sip of soda.

Usually he would argue until he ran out of breath with anyone who said something he did not agree with, or who he thought was wrong. With Emmaline there was just no point – she would argue that she was right until the ends of the Earth if she had to.

"It's starting." Emma whispered to Sherlock as the theatre darkened.

She settled down in her seat and watched wide-eyed as the film started. Sherlock was not as interested but he found the film capturing his attention as it went on. Whenever it got particularly dark, Emma would reach out and grab Sherlock's arm until the film settled down again.

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"That movie was good!" Emma exclaimed as they left the theatre.

"It was not awful." Sherlock agreed.

"Are there any films you do like?" Emma asked curiously.

"Star Trek was not bad." Sherlock had actually quite enjoyed the series but was not too keen to tell Emmaline that. "I have not seen too many films."

"I know; we will have to educate you. My grandparents will be gone all next weekend – some sort of old people gathering. Like a dinner gala or something. Do you want to come over and hang out?"

"Are you going to force me to watch more films?"

"Yes. But I'll cook for you too."

Sherlock thought about it. "If I don't have a case."

"Agreed."

"Oh, fish and chips." Emma dragged Sherlock over to the short line at a food cart.

"You just ate popcorn."

"I know but theatre popcorn always gets me hungry."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This girl had a bottomless pit of a stomach.

Emma ordered her fish and chips and offered some to Sherlock as they walked down the street. Sherlock took a chip and munched on it.

"See, food is good." She laughed.

Sherlock did not honor her sarcastic comment with an answer. He knew she was joking with him. Of course, she had had to explain the nuances of a joke to him the first time she had made one.

He suspected that she knew more about him than she was letting on – Emmaline was smart and he had divulged more of his personal life to her than he had with anyone. She had also told him little of her personal life, but he had made note of it.

Her issue with the male species was still baffling, but he would figure it out. He was in fact taking notes of her reactions and was treating it as an experiment. Sherlock knew that she was not particularly close to her grandparents, but that she loved them. Sentiment. He remembered that particular conversation rather well.

"I don't even know how they feel about her death. I mean, I have not even asked them. I've just been concerned about myself."

Sherlock listened to her quiet whisper. She had dragged him out after dinner to a church where they were currently sitting in the back row.

"I guess it is because she was my mom, you know? Like she's important to me so how could she be important to anyone else? Which is weird and selfish because of course she was important."

A little boy had turned around to give them a dirty look and she had stuck her tongue out at him.

"And I really have not tried to get to know them. I mean they're my grandparents so I love them, but I feel bad not knowing anything about them."

Sherlock had scoffed.

"What?" She had quickly turned to look at him.

"Love. Sentiment."

"What about it?"

"Caring is a disadvantage." He had replied simply.

At the hurt look in her eyes, Sherlock knew he had said something wrong, but he was not sure what.

Since then, she had not brought up her grandparents again. Sherlock switched tracks back to what he knew about her.

She was a painter, and he had noticed more paint on her fingers lately. Whatever she was working on it was taking up her time. She missed her mother desperately and whenever she saw something that reminded her of her mother she would tear up. He knew she felt uncomfortable about having everything paid for by her grandparents, especially her new lavish wardrobe, and that she was looking for a job.

He knew she had an amazing amount of film trivia knowledge stored in her brain and could spout film facts like an expert. When compared to other teenagers, she had a strange sense of dress. He had once asked her about it and she had replied, "I dress how I want. I wear what makes me happy."

She had gone to public school in Chicago and then Texas, and was one of the top in her class before moving to London. He knew that her father had left her mother when Emmaline was ten, but before that had not been much of a help with anything. He also knew that her father had been an alcoholic, much as his had been. This little fact he had kept to himself however.

"What films did you have in mind?" His question broke her from her daydreams.

She had grown so used to his not talking that she found she could easily slip into thinking about other things around him, like her art.

"Definitely Titanic, that is a classic." Emma pursed her lips in thought.

Sherlock took another chip and bit down on the greasy potato, waiting for the rest of her answer.

"Maybe Rocky. Have you seen Lion King?"

"What?" Sherlock looked down at her, unsure.

"The animated Disney film with the lion?"

"No." Sherlock broke off a bite of the fish.

"Well add that to the queue. This might take more than one weekend."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you weren't so damned intent on exposing me to culture."

"Yes, shame on me for trying to turn you into a functioning citizen."

She pulled her fish and chips out of his reach and ran ahead. She turned, walking backwards and laughed.

"I am a functioning citizen! I contribute to society, I pay taxes!"

She stuck her tongue out and ran ahead, laughing. Sherlock sighed but gave chase. People yelled at the two as they darted in between couples and ran through crowds, but to them it was a game. Emmaline looked over her shoulder to see how close he was. She saw that he was close to catching her and willed her legs to run faster.

Sherlock put on an extra burst of speed and caught up to her, trapping his arm around her middle and hoisting her into the air. He set her down just as quickly and took a step back, trying to catch his breath.

"You run fast." She commented, panting.

She sucked in a great gulp of air and giggled.

"I used to tie sweets on a string and make Mycroft chase me around the gardens. I had to be fast, that fat dollop of a boy chasing me around." He too laughed shakily.

Emmaline held out the rest of the fish and chips. "Your prize sir."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you eat it."

Emma smiled and straightened up. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk and people had to move around them.

"Come on." Sherlock jerked his head that they should keep walking.

"Where are we going?" Emma finished off the last of her fish and tossed the newspaper in a trash bin.

"Just around the corner here, this is Oxford Street by the way, and now we're turning onto Binney Street…and there it is." Sherlock pointed ahead of them. "See that stone courtyard? That's Brown Hart gardens."

"It looks very empty."

"That's because people can't appreciate stone."

Sherlock and Emmaline walked down the street until they came upon the large stone 'garden'. They stepped up and walked down the length of the courtyard, passing a small fountain, until coming to the other side.

Emmaline turned her head either way to look at the architecture of the pillars and domes. Sherlock led her to a dome that underneath it had a bench; this dome was more elaborate than the others were, and had a blue top.

"How long have you been without a case?" Emmaline asked.

"A few days." Sherlock sighed. Today was the first day all week that he had not been bored.

"Alright, let's play a game."

"What game?"

"You don't get to use your deduction skills for this because that's cheating. When someone walks by, we make up a random life story for them."

"What?"

"Here, I'll show you." Emma craned her neck to see someone walking down the street. "See that woman right there?" Sherlock nodded.

"OK…she's in Witness Protection. Her father was a big Albanian gangster, and she gave the police information about his drug ring and now he's looking for her so she had to get a new identity." Emmaline looked back to Sherlock. "Understand?"

"How do you know all of that?"

"I don't. It's all made up, pretend."

"Why?"

"For fun Sherlock! Come on, just try. That man over there." She pointed out an old man. "Make something up about him."

"Umm…he has arthritis." Sherlock said lamely.

"That's a good start." Emma chuckled.

She and Sherlock sat on the bench for an hour, making up life stories for people that passed by and laughing at what the other made up.

It was dark out when they stood from their bench and worked their way towards Emmaline's flat. Halfway there, Emmaline gasped.

"Oh Sherlock, I forgot to tell you, I can't hang out tomorrow."

"Why?" Sherlock put his hands in his pockets, rooting around for another cigarette.

"I have a date."

"What's that?" He triumphantly produced a cigarette and lit it.

"You don't know what a date it?"

"It's a dried fruit." He turned to look at her curiously.

"A date is with people; two people who fancy each other go out and have fun."

"So what we've been doing?" Sherlock asked, still not understanding. He finished off the cigarette and threw it to the ground, stamping it out.

"No we've been hanging out, like friends. A date is different because…well because you're interested in maybe being more than friends." Emma swung her arms.

"I still don't understand; that's alright though, it's not important." Sherlock put his hands in his pockets.

"So you would have deleted it anyway?" Emma asked.

"Probably." Sherlock shrugged.

Emma stopped swinging her arms and looked down at the pavement as she walked.

"I met him in school and I ran into him the other day; he seems nice enough. His name is Chesterton though." Emma scrunched her name at the nose.

"Chesterton? What kind of a name is that?"

"I'm choosing to ignore the awful name because my best friend's name is Sherlock, and that's pretty strange too."

"Where are you going?"

"He invited me out to dinner at an Italian place just down the street."

"Enjoy yourself?" Sherlock wondered. He did not know what to say. Nor did he particularly care, but as this was Emmaline, he was making a little effort.

Emma laughed and looped her arm in his. "Yes that's an appropriate wish. I don't know much about him other than he's into computers."

"Do you like Italian food?" Sherlock inquired.

They were coming up on her street and would have to part soon.

"It's alright. Do you like it?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, this is where we say goodbye."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

"Goodnight Sherlock." She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Remember to eat dinner tonight, okay?"

She started down the sidewalk, waving goodbye. Sherlock lightly touched his cheek. Only his mother had ever kissed his cheek. He hailed a cab back to his flat and barged inside. With nothing to do, he rifled around in his dresser until he found what he was looking for: the almost empty bottle of morphine.

Sherlock quickly took off his belt and wrapped it around his left forearm before filling the needle and pressing it into his vein. He sighed happily and let the belt slip to the floor, along with the used needle.

He worked his way out of his bedroom to the living room where he collapsed face-first into his armchair. He crawled his way up it until his knees were on it and he was sitting backwards. He found himself staring at the star painting Emmaline had done for him. Through his hazed eyes, he could see that she was right – it was the lady night and her master the sky.

Sherlock giggled and tumbled backwards out of the chair, hitting his head on the floor. He laughed through the pain and rolled over, working his way under his desk. There he curled up and stared at the exposed brick wall he was facing, drooling a puddle into the rug.

He sighed and closed his eyes, forgetting Emmaline's wish that he eat dinner. He did not feel hungry…he did not feel anything.

A/N: So at this point our characters have known each other for about two months. This is just the tipping point guys! We do time jump in this fic just because they know each other for such a long time but we will see all the important events and relationship milestones.

Please review as I enjoy reading them! If there's anything you'd like to see Sherlock and Emmaline do in London and you review it, I might put it in!