A/N: This chapter is mostly dialogue as Sherlock is in Florida and Emma is in London, so they talk on the phone. Just fair warning. Enjoy!

Chapter 12: Missing You

September 15:

"How's the hotel?" Emmaline spoke into her new cell phone.

Sherlock had called her as soon as he had gotten to the hotel, just as he said he would.

"It's alright. The American police are paying for it so I guess I got what they were willing to pay for."

Emma laughed and put the phone in the crook of her neck. She picked up her charcoal pencil and sketchpad and began doodling what she thought Sherlock might have looked like upon entering his room.

"Is the bed comfy at least?"

Sherlock rolled into it and lay still for a few seconds, testing it.

"Meh, it is alright. Probably will not do any favors for my back. I'll have to get more pillows – these are absurdly thin."

"How is the television over there?" She inquired.

"The news is on – CNN. I don't think they have BBC here."

Emma could hear the pout in his voice. Her hand continued to move up and down the page as she outlined his face.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Drawing."

Sherlock blew out his breath. He was even more bored in Florida, particularly without Emmaline.

"When are you going to look for evidence?"

"I start tomorrow. I have to be there for the questioning of Mr. and Mrs. Hudson and I get to ask my own questions if I want to." He replied.

"That sounds like…not something you do."

"No. I am looking forward to getting to the scene."

Emma laughed. "Of course you are." She drew in the sharp planes of Sherlock's face, shadowing them. "Did you finish Jane Eyre?"

"I read it on the plane. You know, it was not bad. Certainly better than I expected."

"Did you understand the sentiment?"

"Some of it."

Emma raised a brow before moving the phone to her other side. "Well good for you."

Sherlock's lips curled into a smile. "I thought Jane's schooling particularly cruel. And Mr. Rochester's maiming to me seemed unnecessary."

"I'm not even going to try and explain this book to you over the phone. Many hand gestures are needed."

Sherlock chuckled and turned the telly off. "I look forward to it when I get home."

"When will that be?" There was no hiding the longing in Emmaline's voice. She wanted her Sherlock home again.

"It depends on when this case gets done. The sooner that woman can be convinced to testify the better." Sherlock ran a hand over his eyes.

"Hey, I have to go to bed. It is eleven o'clock here." Emma said, glancing over at her clock.

"I am exhausted too." The clock on Sherlock's end table read six o'clock.

"Goodnight Sherlock; good luck with the case."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

Emmaline hung up her phone and hooked it up to charge. She tossed her sketchpad onto her dresser and settled down for bed. In the dark of the room, she thought she saw something move. She quickly turned her light back on and sat up. Emma leaned over her bed and lifted up the bed-skirt to see under the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief; no monsters. She had not had to check under her bed since she had met Sherlock in London that first time.

Sherlock dug around in his luggage until he found what he had been looking for. The small bottle of morphine he had brought with him. He quickly gave himself a dose, just enough to get him to sleep. He collapsed into bed and drew the covers up around himself. The last fleeting thought he had was the he had not taken the drug in weeks – not since before Emmaline had come over for homework help.

September 17

Emmaline waited for Sherlock to call. It was nine o'clock, which meant it was about four in America. Her phone started chiming in her hand and she flipped it open.

"Hello?" She answered breathlessly.

"Hello, Emmaline?" Sherlock's clear voice on the other line made Emma relax.

"Yeah it is me. This is my phone, you can stop asking."

"Sorry I just wanted to make sure."

"It's alright, I understand." She sat in bed, waiting for him to speak. It was Sunday, which meant she had school the next day and could not stay up too late.

"I have not found anything in my perusal of the house they lived in. Mr. Hudson was very thorough in covering his tracks."

"So he did abuse her then?"

"Oh I certainly think so." Sherlock said, confident of this fact.

"Have you spoken to her yet?"

"A few times. She seems to be a very lovely lady. I have yet to speak to the husband. He refused to be questioned on Saturday."

"Do you know why she doesn't want to testify?"

"I don't understand, but she's told me she's still afraid of her husband."

"No you wouldn't." Emmaline whispered to herself. Into the phone she said, "Do you know why she's afraid?"

"She's concerned that if she testifies and he goes free he'll hurt her."

"You have to be nice, and try to tell her that with her testimony there will be no way he can walk."

"She won't listen to me."

"Tell her that you have a friend who didn't take the opportunity she was given, and that she regrets it."

Sherlock paused. What did that mean?

"Emmaline?"

"I have to go Sherlock, it is late. Remember to eat dinner."

"Oh, okay. Good night."

"Night."

Emmaline hung up and turned over in bed. She had let too much slip tonight. She had let him know too much. Keeping that information close was all she had. If he found out, would he still want to be her friend?

Sherlock hung up and flopped down onto the hotel bed. Did that mean Emmaline had been involved as a witness to something, had given up the chance to testify for something? Sherlock pulled out his notebook and wrote that down with a few question marks next to it. He closed the book and put it back in his luggage. Since Emmaline had reminded him, he was hungry. He had not eaten in a few days and topped with all the morphine he had taken over the last few days, he needed to fuel his body.

Sherlock grabbed his wallet and headed out, still trying to figure out exactly what Emmaline had meant.

September 21

"Hey, do you know anything about parabolas?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Never mind."

Emmaline had her phone on speaker and sitting on her desk while she did math homework. Sherlock had been gone eight days now. Each night she had to check under her bed for monsters.

Each night he had to take morphine to get to sleep, in ever-increasing doses. Being separated had taken their toll and they each hoped for the case to end so they could see each other again. Sherlock however would not rest until Mrs. Hudson was safe. Speaking of Mrs. Hudson…

"She wants to talk to you tomorrow."

"Who does?"

"Mrs. Hudson, the woman being abused."

"Why does she want to talk to me?" Emma stuck her tongue between her lips in concentration as she drew a graph.

"Well she wants to talk to the friend I mentioned, and I am assuming that's you."

Emma paused. Yes, it was her. So Sherlock knew that she had refused to testify in a court case. He still did not know for what, or that it had been about her.

"Yeah I will talk to her. It just has to be after school."

"I told her that – she said it was fine."

"Oh, well." Emma was not sure how she felt talking about it, but if it got Sherlock home faster than she would try to help.

"Have you planted any evidence?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet but I might have to. I will see this man get hanged, one way or another."

"Just be careful Sherlock."

"I will."

There was a pause. "Crap. My grandparents want me to go to dinner with them. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

"Goodbye."

September 22

"Hello dearie?" An old woman's voice came on the phone. A British voice.

Not someone who sounded very old, Emmaline thought, but maybe someone in her fifties. She sounded demure as well, and Emma imagined a tiny old woman in pearls.

"Yes, hello." Emmaline replied awkwardly.

"This young man, Sherlock, tells me that you have something to say to me."

"I just, I know how you feel." Emmaline started. "I know that you are afraid and that you do not want to see him go free. And doing anything against him will only hurt you later on. But it won't." Emma's voice got stronger as she spoke.

"Sherlock's right, you have to testify. That is the only way your husband will pay for what he has done. I had the chance to tell a jury and a judge exactly what had happened to me but I could not. I refused. Because I thought, he would go free and he would hurt me."

"Me not testifying ensured his freedom. He moved away, out of the state and I never saw him again. But that stayed with me – because he could be out there hurting other people and I did nothing to stop it." Emma's throat was thick with unshed tears.

"I feel awful every day knowing that it was me who let him go. Every day I feel that. And you should not have to. Because you sound really sweet Mrs. Hudson. You sound like someone who is tired of being beaten down and stepped on and I think you should stand in that witness box and tell those people what he did, so that he does not do it again."

Emma pulled the phone away so the other end could not hear her stifled cries. Her hand over her mouth, Emmaline sobbed. Having to relive everything that had happened with that man in this five-minute conversation had brought everything back to the surface.

"Dearie, are you okay?" Mrs. Hudson asked, concerned.

"No I'm not." Emmaline said while tears leaked from her eyes. "Don't be me Mrs. Hudson. Please don't be me." She whispered, tears flowing freely.

"Can I…can I ask what happened to you dearie?"

"I don't want him to know." She whispered. "And if I'm being honest, I'm still not ready to say it."

"Thank you for talking to me. I know how painful this must be."

"And I'm sorry that you know." Emma said.

Mrs. Hudson handed the phone to Sherlock.

"Are you alright Emmaline?" His worried voice came on the line.

"No. I am not. I want you to come home." She pleaded, still crying. "Please come home." Another sob forced its way out of Emmaline's sore throat.

She needed someone there who knew. No one knew, but Sherlock would sit there with her and be silent with her. That was what she needed. She needed him.

"As soon as I can." He promised. "Not a second later."

Emma covered her hand with her mouth and tried to calm her frayed nerves. Opening this wound, even partially, was like touching an exposed nerve. It hurt like nothing she had known before, this pain. Not even the act itself hurt as much as living with it.

"I have to go now Sherlock. I have to do homework."

"Remember to eat dinner." He said gently.

Emma laughed, her face still wet. "Yeah, I will." She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt. "I will, so you remember too. Bye Sherlock."

"Bye Emmaline."

Emma closed her phone and threw herself on her bed, sobbing. She cried for everything: her lost mother, her drunkard father, Sherlock's alcoholic father, his distant brother. She cried for Sherlock himself. But mostly she cried for her.

September 27

"The trial is almost over." Sherlock said excitedly.

"A few more days and then you are coming home?" Emmaline asked.

"Yes."

"Hey, are you near any beaches?"

"I have been told there is one ten minutes away."

"Well then, I good sir, have a request. Could you please get me a bottle of sand? I am looking after your weird stomach lining experiment."

Sherlock laughed heartily into the phone. "Yes you are. Alright, a bottle full of sand."

"Thanks." Emma smiled into the phone.

"Have you painted anything while I was gone?" Sherlock asked. He was flipping through television channels, bored.

"I painted the red phone booth; the one I used to call you in."

"Is it hanging?" He asked, pausing his channel flipping at a meaningless cooking show.

"It is on my bedroom wall." She declared proudly.

"And are you doing well in school?"

"I am doing fabulously thank you for asking."

"Thank you, for whatever you said to Mrs. Hudson. I don't know what it was, but you convinced her."

"It's not a problem."

Her tone told Sherlock that she was not going to discuss the matter. There was a slight pause on both ends of the conversation.

"You've been talking on the phone a lot, but you told me you like texting. Why do you call?" Emma asked, genuinely curious.

Sherlock had told her he preferred texting to calling and actually texted Lestrade about cases.

"I like talking to you. It makes me think you are here."

"Me too." She said the smile evident in her voice.

"Oh the break is over – I have to go back into the courtroom now."

"Oh OK, bye!"

"Bye Emmaline." He whispered before hanging up.

Emma smiled and jumped off her bed. She had to start on her homework if she wanted to finish at a decent time.

September 30

"I'm coming home in a few days."

"When, exactly?" Emma asked impatiently.

"The case is over now, he was found guilty so he will hang."

"That's good news."

"It's very good news. Mrs. Hudson has decided to move back to London on her own. The police here are being very kind with her about it."

"That's good." Emma said.

Sherlock chuckled. "I should be home on the second."

"Of October? That's two days Sherlock."

Sherlock refrained he actually got home on the first. He wanted plenty of time to catch up on sleep and check on his experiments before seeing Emmaline.

"I know but the plane does take time to get there, and I have to finish up here."

Emma sighed. She knew he was right, of course. It still annoyed her.

"Alright. I've been really bored without you here."

"So have I." Sherlock thought of the almost empty bottle of morphine in his luggage. It had been full when he had arrived in Florida.

"Did you get a tan?"

"No, still pale as ever."

"Good. I think it would be strange seeing you not be pale."

Sherlock did not reply. He was busy packing up his clothes.

"Sherlock, what are you doing for Halloween?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Emmaline was shocked. She should not have been, it was, after all, Sherlock. "Do you want to pass out candy together?"

"At the flat?"

"Yeah at the flat." She said exasperated. Where else would they pass out candy? "I'll let you pick the costumes."

"Do I have to dress up?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.

"The rules of Halloween say 'yes'."

"Alright let me think about it and I will let you know."

"OK. It is late here, so I have to get to bed now. But I can't wait to see you on Monday."

"Neither can I." Sherlock smiled as he finished packing.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

They both hung up. Emmaline checked under her bed one last time for the monster – but nothing was there. Content, she turned the light off and drew the blankets around her, waiting for Monday.

Sherlock drew out the last of his morphine and injected it carefully. Because so little of it was left, it did not create near the same effect as it had before. It created a mildly drowsy effect. Luckily, for him it was all he needed to fall asleep. He could not wait until Monday either. He would have to think of costume ideas on the plane, or he would have to wear whatever Emmaline picked out.

He smiled as he drifted off, wondering what she would pick if she could.