Chapter 14: And the World Crumbles Down
Emmaline stuck her tongue between her lips in concentration. She was trying to remember the name of a Psychologist for her essay and was having trouble. She was at Sherlock's flat typing her essay – on her new laptop – and waiting for him to finish getting ready.
It was his Friday so they were going to their usual dining out restaurant, an English place Sherlock liked. On her Friday's they usually went to get pizza. She heard the shower turn off, meaning Sherlock just had to get dressed and comb his hair.
Emmaline flipped a few pages in her book until she found what she was looking for and continued typing. She had just finished her last body paragraph when Sherlock walked out of the bathroom.
"Do you know where my shirt is?" He asked.
"Which shirt?" Emmaline sat up and turned around in the chair to face him.
Her heart stopped for a beat before picking back up with a furious drumming rhythm. Sherlock's wet hair was plastered down; tiny rivulets of water were working their way down his bare chest and arms. He stood before her in nothing but a towel, slung low about his hips.
Emma felt her mouth go dry and goose bumps work their way up her arms as she stared.
"Why…?" She mumbled before clearing her throat. She snapped her eyes back to his face, her face turning scarlet. "Why would I know where your shirt is?"
She turned around quickly and shoved her face into her laptop, pretending to go back to her essay.
"I'll just look in the bedroom then." Sherlock said, walking across the flat to his room.
Emma's eyes followed, watching the way his calf muscles flexed whenever he took a step. As soon as he had shut the bedroom door, she slammed her forehead into the desk.
"Ouch." She winced, picking her head up and rubbing her hand over it.
Emma shook her head, trying to clear it, and went back to her essay. She finished her conclusion and began to read it from the top, trying to edit. She was halfway through polishing her paper when Sherlock came out of the bedroom, fully dressed.
"Are you ready?" He asked, glancing at his phone.
"Are you asking me or the Blackberry?" Emma joked.
"You." Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, not understanding the joke.
Emma smiled and shut down her computer. She put on her coat before grabbing her purse. "All ready."
"Are you going to try something new today?" Sherlock asked as they descended the steps.
"Not at all." Emmaline exclaimed with a smile.
Every time they went to eat at the restaurant, she ordered fish and chips. Sherlock tried to get her to try new things but she simply refused. Sometimes she would try bites of whatever he was eating, but she would not get a new meal.
"You are missing out on fine English cuisine." Sherlock lectured.
"You have told me this about a hundred times and I still won't order something else. When are you going to just give up?"
"Never." He replied.
Emma smiled and looped her arm through his. It was a cold November day and they huddled together as they walked, trying to keep warm. The restaurant and was only a few blocks away from Sherlock's flat. That was part of the reason why he liked it so much – convenience.
As he held open the door for her, the warm air from the restaurant rushed out to meet them. They stood in the entryway shivering in their coats and pressing hands against the other's face, trying to warm each other's cheeks. Sherlock took off his scarf and wrapped it around Emmaline. She laughed but did not take it off – it was warming her.
"The usual table?" The host, Devon, asked.
"Yes please." Emmaline got out through chattering teeth.
He led them to their usual table in the back and handed them their menus.
"Mary will be with you in a moment."
The whole staff knew Sherlock and Emmaline. It was a small family-owned restaurant and the two of them had been going there every other Friday for five months.
Emma handed Sherlock back his scarf, and draped her coat and purse over the back of her chair. Sherlock did the same before coming around to pull out Emma's chair.
"You know, you don't have to do that."
"Yes I do. My mother told me to." Sherlock insisted, pushing the chair in.
Sherlock had told Emmaline that his mother had insisted that he and Mycroft be proper gentlemen, and know how to treat a lady. This meant that whenever she and Sherlock went out, he pulled his chair out for her and held open doors for her.
"Well don't you two look cute in your matching outfits!" Mary exclaimed, walking over to the table.
Sherlock and Emmaline both looked down and then at each other. Sherlock was wearing black pants and a purple button-down shirt. Emma was wearing dark jeans and a gray button-down, with a purple sweater over it. She supposed they did look similar, though they had not planned it.
"You two getting water again?" Mary asked, already writing it down.
"Yes." Sherlock said, perusing the menu.
"And you are getting fish and chips again." Mary said to Emmaline.
Emma smiled and closed her menu. Mary turned to Sherlock, waiting. He always got something different.
"Shepherd's pie." He ordered, handing his menu over.
"I'll have that right out for you." Mary took their menus with a smile and walked off.
"Was that the shirt you were looking for?" Emma asked.
"No, I was looking for the blue one. I found this one hanging in the back of the closet. I am not sure how much I like it."
"I think it is great."
"Really?" Sherlock asked disdainfully, looking at the purple shirt.
"It's quite fetching." Emma enthused honestly.
"Read that in a book somewhere?"
"I'll have you know that I do know words Sherlock Holmes! I might not be able to tell you what you had for breakfast because of how you are wearing your hair, but I am smart."
"I never said anything to the contrary." Sherlock said gently, his eyes downcast.
"Oh Sherlock I'm sorry." Emma leaned across the table and cupped his cheek. "I just meant to say that I'm not smart in the same way as you. I didn't mean to knock what you do, because it's incredible."
"I know."
Emmaline sat back and crossed her arms on the table. "Then why do you look sad?"
"Because Lestrade says he does not have anything for me to do. I am so bored."
"How about on Sunday we go buy new puzzles, and I can paint over them."
"Why?" Sherlock asked baffled.
"So you have to put them together by the edges, not the picture. It makes it harder." She spread her napkin over her lap.
"That is a good idea!" Sherlock did the same.
Mary came out of the kitchen with their food and drinks. "Here you go guys, enjoy."
Conversation between the two ceased as they ate. Occasionally forks would wander to the others plate as bites were stolen. When all that was left were Emma's fries, she moved the plate between them so they could both eat them.
"Did you still want to see Charlie's Angels next weekend?" Emmaline asked, dipping a fry in ketchup.
"No. You wanted to see that." He said.
"Because you never make movie suggestions." She reminded him.
"I know. But you could pick better movies."
"You said you liked Titan A.E." She pointed out.
"Meh." Sherlock replied.
Emma rolled her eyes as the check arrived. "My turn." She said.
She put her card in and Mary took it away. She and Sherlock both stood and got bundled up. Mary came back with her card, and Emma signed the receipt and filled out the tip line.
"Ready to brave the cold?" Emma asked.
"No." Sherlock replied grouchily.
He held the door open for Emmaline and they charged into the night, huddling together and walking at a brisk pace. Not a word was said as they hurried back to his flat, but Sherlock did have something on his mind. Sherlock had wanted to ask about Emmaline's aversion, and had been meaning to question her about it. He intended to do so when they got back home.
They rushed into his apartment building and walked up the five flights of steps, thankful to be in a warmer building. They headed into his flat and Sherlock stepped over to the fireplace, working on starting a fire. Emma crouched down in front of the tiny flames, trying to get warm.
"Emmaline, there's something I wanted to ask you."
"What is it?" She rubbed her hands together in front of the flickering flames.
"Why won't you tell me? What happened?"
"Sherlock, please don't ask me." Emmaline leaned back from the fire.
"I want to know."
"I don't want to talk about it." She insisted, standing.
"Why not? Isn't that what friends do, tell each other things?"
"Not this Sherlock!" She yelled. "Not this." She fought to lower her voice.
"Emmaline, I want you to tell me." Sherlock pleaded. It was killing him not knowing, especially since he guessed it was important. Something had happened to her and he needed to know what.
"I said no Sherlock!" Emma turned and strode for the door.
Sherlock made no move to stop her. He could tell he had crossed a line by pestering her about it. Her frame rounded the corner to face him.
"And I don't go asking you about your past and things that hurt you! I'm respectful! Sometimes you are so stupid!"
Sherlock heard the slamming door and pounding footsteps that meant she had left. Sherlock slammed his fists against the wall. How could he have been so stupid as to go on like that? What if she did not want to be his friend anymore?
"So stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He yelled, gripping at his hair. Hot tears found their way to his eyes.
No! He thought, enraged. I don't have to feel this. Sherlock threw open the door to his bedroom and ripped the sock drawer from his dresser, flinging it across the room. Taped to the underneath of the top drawer was his bottle.
He grabbed the needle and filled it with shaking hands, not being careful. Recklessly and impatiently, he jammed it into his arm, depressing the plunger. A strong feeling of numbness washed over him. Sherlock knew something was wrong. He stumbled and fell against the dresser.
Sherlock turned and fell through the doorway. He tried clawing his way across the floor to his phone. If only he could call someone…he could almost reach it.
"Mycroft!" He croaked. "Mycroft!" He yelled for his elder brother before grabbing his stomach in pain and curling up on the floor.
"Mycroft…" he got out one last time before blackness tinged his vision and quickly took over, sucking him down into oblivion.
A/N: We are getting into serious stuff here…