Chapter 8: An Education in Film

"How was your date?" Sherlock asked as Emmaline put the second movie of the night into the DVD player.

"Sherlock that was last Friday." Emma rolled her eyes.

"Oh well, how was it?"

"It was alright; I think we're better off as friends though."

"You can have more than one friend?"

"Yeah; aren't you and Lestrade friends?"

Sherlock thought of the first time Lestrade had busted down Sherlock's door at twenty-two years old to find him high on cocaine and pacing up and down the length of his flat. Per Lestrade's instructions he had not gone near that particular drug again; he had substituted it for something much sweeter.

"I suppose."

Emma stood up and grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

"So what did you think of Jaws?"

"Meh." Sherlock shrugged.

Emma laughed. "No, it is not my favorite either." Emma's stomach rumbled. "It is six o'clock. Do you want dinner before we watch Titanic?"

"Do you know how to cook?"

"I picked up a thing or two from my mother, yeah."

Emmaline walked into the kitchen and rifled around in the fridge.

"How does fried chicken sound?"

"Sounds fine."

Emma rolled her eyes. You really could not ask Sherlock what he wanted; you had to put a plate in front of him and say 'eat'. She got out two bowls and proceeded to crack eggs and pour milk in one, and put flour in the other.

"Do you want to trim the chicken?"

Sherlock wordlessly looked through cabinets until he found a cutting board and knife for the job. He grabbed the plate of chicken from the fridge and started running them under the sink before trimming the unsavory bits and cutting them into strips.

He handed each strip to Emmaline as he finished it and she coated it in egg and then flour before plating it. When they were done, she put it back in the fridge.

"That's how my mom did it; she lets it get cold and then she does a second coat."

"Well I'm sure she was of average intelligence."

Emma stared at Sherlock for a second before bursting out laughing. He stared at her curiously, not understanding what he had said that was so funny.

"What?"

Emma talked in between fits of giggling. "Coming from you," she paused to catch her breath, "that's practically a compliment!"

She continued to laugh while Sherlock just stood there, watching her. Eventually Emma came up for air, clutching her stomach.

"Oh that was good. Ahh." She wiped her watery eyes and giggled once more. "I think I need to leave the room now – just looking at you is making me laugh!"

"What about the chicken?"

"Relax – I'm just going to put on my jim jams."

"Was that an English phrase I heard?" Sherlock asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"My grandpa taught it to me. And I'll have you know they are actual jim jams."

"I'll take care of the chicken; you get ready for bed."

"Oh I'm just putting pajamas on; we're still staying up and watching movies."

She turned and left the kitchen to go to her bedroom. Sherlock sighed; she was insufferable. He was having an agreeable time however. Normally on Friday nights, he stayed up looking at cases, going to a crime scene with Lestrade, or taking his morphine.

Sherlock took the chicken out of the fridge and proceeded to give them their second coat before finding a pan and oil, and heating the stove up. The oil had just started to pop when Emma rounded the corner.

"Sherlock, can you do something for me?"

He turned around to see that she was blushing. "Of course."

"I need you to go to the store and get umm, I need some tampons." She mumbled awkwardly.

"What?" He knitted his brow.

"Can I write it down, and someone there can help you?"

"Yeah, but what about the chicken?"

"I'll watch it but I really need these right now." Her pleading voice convinced him.

"Alright." He found a piece of paper and pen and handed them to her.

She wrote down what she needed and gave the folded piece of paper over to him.

"Please hurry."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and left the flat, trotting down the front steps. He made sure the slip of paper was secure in his pocket before heading to the convenience store on the corner. No one had ever trusted him to do anything that did not involve a crime scene or a deduction. Being in charge of doing something, he wanted to do it right.

He stood up straight and walked into the convenience store and right up to a female associate who was behind the register.

"Excuse me." He got her attention and handed her the slip of paper.

The woman at the register smiled and yelled "Jeanne!" Another woman poked her head around an aisle. The woman behind the register waved the paper and handed it to Jeanne. "Another guy shopping for his girlfriend." She explained.

Jeanne smiled sympathetically and showed Sherlock to the back of the store. "This is the kind she wrote down, just for future reference."

The helpful clerk handed him a box of tampons. Sherlock wondered if he would have to remember this or not.

"What exactly are these for?" He asked, holding the box up.

"Your girlfriend is on her period right?"

"Oh." The elongated word came out of Sherlock's mouth as he finally realized what he was buying. His rudimentary knowledge of the anatomy and human body systems did know what a period was.

Sherlock shuffled to the front of the store and paid for the item. He left the store and hurried back to the flat.

"Oh my god, thank you!" Emmaline exclaimed when he walked in the front door.

She took the box from him and dashed into the bathroom. Sherlock turned slightly pink as he took his coat off and hung it in the coat closet. He walked into the kitchen to check on the chicken; the oil popped happily, as he lifted the lid to check. A few more minutes and it would be done.

Emmaline came into the kitchen, dragging her feet.

"Thanks for going to the store for me." She cleared her throat. "That was nice of you."

"Not a problem." Sherlock smiled before turning back to the chicken.

"Did you just smile?" Emmaline asked, caught off guard.

Sherlock turned around, brow cocked. "I smile a lot."

Emma shook her head and walked all the way into the kitchen, to stand in front of Sherlock.

"It reached your eyes this time; you never smile with your eyes." She smiled happily and backed up so he could turn to check on their food.

It never reached his eyes? What did that mean? Sherlock shook his head and chose not to think of it just then. He turned the stove off and put chicken on two different plates, handing one to Emmaline.

She grabbed their forks and they made their way out to the living room.

"How many more films do we have to watch?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I said this would take more than one weekend. I have a whole list and it is rather long."

They sat down and Emmaline pushed play on the Titanic menu.

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"I'll never let go Jack. I'll never let go."

Emmaline was curled up next to Sherlock and they were sharing a blanket. Emma was crying, because she knew what would happen next and it got to her every single time.

Sherlock sat watching the screen not quite understanding why she was so upset. Yes, the man was dying of frostbite. What he did not understand was, why did she not move over on the door? Surely there was room for the both of them.

"Why are you crying?" He whispered, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"Sentiment." She replied through a throat thick with tears.

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. She did not have to waste time explaining anything to him; the one little word had done it. In the almost three months she had known him, she had learned he did not understand sentiment. Was she trying to get him to watch this movie then to give him a reference point? Or simply because she liked it?

Emma's head fell over to rest on his arm and he looked down; in the flickering light of the television, he saw her closed eyes. She had fallen asleep. Sherlock turned the television off and then the DVD player. Emmaline's bedroom was just down the hall; that was not too far to carry her.

Sherlock stood up gingerly from the sofa and put his arms under Emmaline's sleeping form. She sighed in her sleep and curled into him, one of her hands clutching his shirt in her fist. The corner of his lips tugged up in a smile.

He stepped away from the couch and down the hall, opening her door by pushing his back against it. He set her down in bed and pulled the blankets up around her, tucking her in. She took in a deep breath and rolled over, facing the wall. Sherlock sighed and turned to leave. As he did, he caught sight of her nightstand.

On it were two picture frames. One was a picture of a magnolia tree and the other was a black and white photo of a younger Emmaline with who Sherlock assumed was her mother. The woman had an arm around the young Emmaline and they were laughing, Emmaline buried in the crook of her mother's arm.

Sherlock could see the resemblance. The full lips and bedroom eyes were evident in the black and white photo, but the nose must have been her fathers. He set the photo down and turned the light out, closing the door silently.

It was only 9:30 and she had intended him to stay over all weekend to watch films. Sherlock thought that since this had been her intention, it would be silly to go home. Instead he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and settled himself on the couch. Not quite tired, he turned the DVD player and the TV back on and finished Titanic.

Sherlock supposed he could see why Emmaline fancied it, but he still was not sure why everyone was so upset. The door was what was bothering him more than anything was. He made a mental note to try it out sometime to see if they both could have fit.

When the movie finished, he turned both electronics off and turned over on the couch, drawing the blanket up around him.

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Emmaline sat up in bed, blinking her eyes. It was morning and she was in her bed. How did I get here? Emma rubbed her eyes and threw the blankets off. The last thing she remembered was Jack Dawson sinking into the icy depths of the ocean and thinking how soft and warm Sherlock was.

She stretched her arms above her head and froze. Oh my god, Sherlock. Did he carry me in here? Emma got up and walked out into the hall. First things first, she had to go to the bathroom and then get breakfast.

Emma washed her hands and dried them, throwing the towel into the laundry bin in the hall. She was on her way to the kitchen when she passed the couch and halted. Someone was on her couch…

Moving carefully around the couch she inched her way closer; once she had the coffee table between her and the occupant, she leaned forward to move the blanket down from the man's face. She softened as she recognized the mop of dark brown curls. Just Sherlock.

Emmaline breathed out a sigh of relief. He looks so peaceful. When he was awake, Sherlock looked troubled and lonely. Sleeping he looked almost angelic. Emma reached forward a tentative hand to brush the curls from his forehead. He stirred and burrowed deeper into the couch, but did not wake up.

Sitting on the coffee table, Emma scooted closer. She had never before noticed his scent: tobacco and vanilla. It was a very odd combination but everything about Sherlock was odd. She sat there for a few minutes, watching him sleep. He seemed almost human, almost normal.

However, Emmaline liked him for all his quirks and faults. That was what made him Sherlock. Her Sherlock. Emma brushed the stray curls once again before getting up and entering the kitchen. She was not sure what Sherlock liked, so she decided she would surprise him with buttermilk pancakes.

Sherlock lay on the couch, frozen. He had felt someone touching his face and had dug deeper into the couch but had woken up. He had smelled the orange shampoo she had been using for the past month. When she did not move, he was not sure whether he should get up or not. Was she waiting for him to move? Then her hand had touched his forehead again, brushing his hair from his face.

He listened to her retreating footsteps and just laid there, the scent of oranges lingering in the air. After a few minutes, he pushed the blanket off and sat up, staring into the kitchen. She was at the stove cooking breakfast. Sherlock decided to get up and go help.

He cracked his back and loped into the kitchen, yawning. He had not slept well on the hard sofa.

"Hey, you're up." She smiled brightly and handed him a plate with a stack of pancakes. "Do you like syrup? There's some in the cabinet up there if you do."

Sherlock reached mechanically up for the syrup and poured it over his stack. He cut into them with his fork and took a large bit.

"Mmm," he moaned. "These are good." He took another bite.

Emma smiled and put her own pancakes on a plate. "I'm glad you like them. Could you pass the syrup please?" Sherlock passed the bottle over. "Thanks."

"So what films did you have in mind for today?" He asked, spearing more pancakes on his fork.

"I thought we could watch Rocky, The Lion King, take a lunch break and walk somewhere, and then come back and watch Fight Club, and then maybe Psycho."

"Four films?" He asked disbelieving before placing the bite in his mouth.

"Too many?" Emmaline asked, unsure.

She and her mother had often made weekends all about watching new films, and on a Saturday, they could watch as many as six movies.

"No, it's fine." Sherlock took another bite of his pancakes. "We'd better get started if we're going to watch all of them."

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Emma yawned. She was again curled under a blanket next to Sherlock. They were almost done with Psycho, and it was only seven o'clock.

"I don't know why I'm so tired." She said sleepily as she nestled into her couch buddy.

It probably has something to do with Sherlock being so goddamn warm! She rested her head against his shoulder as her eyes drooped.

"Hey Sherlock." She mumbled.

"Hmm?" He brought his cheek down to rest on the top of her head. Her drowsiness was contagious it seemed.

"Next weekend we can do something you want, since I got this weekend."

"Alright." He agreed, drawing the blanket tighter around them.

"Goodnight Sherlock." She whispered, inhaling the scent of vanilla.

"Goodnight Emmaline." He whispered back, breathing in the scent of oranges that her hair held.

Both people promptly fell asleep, the TV still on and the credits rolling.

A/N: If you hadn't noticed, I'm uploading quite a bit today as I'm not sure if I'll be able to do anything this week as I'm going back to school. We'll see.

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