Chapter 19: Coming Home

Emma danced around the kitchen, holding the spatula up to her mouth like a microphone. Sherlock was coming home today, so she had gone to his flat to clean up and make him a welcome home dinner. She had spent all of her Saturday trying to tidy up the chaos that was his home, without disturbing any of his case files.

Emmaline moved her fingers across the neck of an air guitar, pretending to play the raucous music coming from the record player. It was the middle of February, and Emma was glad to see her friend finally being released.

He had never once erred from the strict line the Centre had put him on, and in fact had done well there. However, Mycroft had wanted to be sure of his brother's recovery, and so had insisted on keeping him there longer. Emma still visited him every day and on the weekends, bringing him books and puzzles to relieve his boredom.

The one thing she had not been allowed to bring however was food. Emma thought that Sherlock could do with some fattening up – he had lost so much weight in rehab. What he needed were proper home cooked meals, which was what she was giving him tonight.

Sherlock had no idea that Emmaline was at his flat. When she had taken his keys that first night in the hospital, she had made a copy so she could get things from his flat for him. Sometimes she would spend time in the flat, trying to remind herself of him.

Mycroft had called to tell her that Sherlock would be dropped off within the hour for good. He had also warned that Sherlock might be different. Now that he was off the morphine, his behavior might be different, and he might still suffer some symptoms associated with withdrawal. He had told her, that if the need ever arose, she could call him.

Emmaline had kindly declined his offer. Whatever was the matter with Sherlock, she could handle it. She continued to flit around the clean kitchen, cooking for him, and expecting him to be home at any time.

"Sherlock, if you ever need help, you know you can call me." Mycroft intoned to his brother as they pulled up to the curb.

"Thank you." Sherlock spoke curtly, stepping out of the car.

He grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. The driver honked his horn, and Sherlock waved goodbye. With a sigh, he stepped up the apartment building and began the five-story walk up to his old home.

It felt slightly strange being here now, after what had happened. The three months he had spent in the Centre had made it seem like home. But it was not; it was this.

He could go for walks with Emmaline again, and go to the cinema. He could eat real food – order takeout. So many things that had been deprived to him were at his fingertips again. Except for the drugs. He could not go back to that. Not just for himself, this as counseling told him was who he was supposed to be doing things for, but for Emmaline.

Sherlock could tell that she had been surprised and hurt to find out about his drug abuse. It was a secret that he had desperately tried to keep from her. But she had not judged him – in fact, she felt like the only one who had truly been on his side.

Emmaline had been there for him when he had most needed her and had spent more time with him than Sherlock's own brother. For this, he was grateful. Sherlock was not sure how long he could have lasted at the Centre without a friend. And Emmaline was a fantastic friend. She had stood by his side unwaveringly while he recovered. But what would she do now that he was out? She had not been there to greet him today as he walked out a free man, and that hurt. It should not have, but it did.

Sherlock walked up to his door and got out his key. He was about to put it in the lock, but paused. He could hear music on in his flat – loud music. Sherlock stooped to examine the door; it was unlocked. His senses heightened, he pushed open the door quietly and stepped inside.

As he passed the hall closet, he reached inside for the cane he kept in there. If someone was trying to rob him, they would be sorry. Sherlock held the weapon firmly in his grasp and jumped around the corner. What he saw made him smile.

His grip on the cane loosened and he lowered it, a smile stretching across his face. Emmaline was in his kitchen, her back to him, dancing. Sherlock could smell food cooking and saw dishes stacked in the kitchen. Sherlock leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms, watching her.

This must be what it is like to be happy, he thought. The warm feeling spreading through his chest must be happiness.

Emma turned and jumped back in fright, clutching at her racing heart.

"Oh, it's just you." She smiled and took in a deep breath.

"Who else would it be?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the kitchen.

"I don't know." Emma replied, shrugging.

She turned back to the stove and continued cooking the chicken. She was delighted that he was back, in his home. It felt right again, the world. Everything felt whole and right with him where he should be.

"You made dinner." Sherlock observed.

"And dessert." Emmaline announced.

Sherlock cocked a brow. "Are you that glad to have me back?" He asked seriously.

"Yes." She answered sincerely.

Sherlock stood there, watching her for a change of expression, but her face stayed stoic. A soft smile touched his lips before he turned away.

"I'm going to put my things away." He held up the small bag and his violin case.

"Alright; supper's almost ready." She told him.

Sherlock inclined his head to show that he had heard. He walked out into the main room and glanced around. The surfaces had been dusted, the floor vacuumed, and his books put away, but the case files had not been disturbed. Sherlock smiled; Emmaline knew him well.

He walked into his bedroom and put his violin case down. She had cleaned up in here as well, making his bed and cleaning the dresser. Sherlock opened his drawer and saw that it had been rifled through, but carefully put back. Someone with a duller eye would not have noticed the intrusion. No doubt she had been checking for drugs as she cleaned.

Sherlock sighed sadly but put his things away. It was to be expected, of course, that no one would trust him for quite a while. He walked back out to the living room to find the table set with two places for dinner.

"What did you make for dessert?" Sherlock called.

"Cake, since you could not have any last month."

Sherlock smiled wryly. Last month had been his twenty-fifth birthday, and he had gotten to spend it in drug rehab. He was not allowed to celebrate, and Emmaline had not been allowed to bring him a slice of cake. She had also told him that he would have to wait until he was out to get his present, because she was sure they would not allow it.

"Here." Emmaline came out of the kitchen holding a present.

Sherlock took it from her and stared at the box. While he examined it carefully, Emmaline took the chance to wrap her arms around him and hug him. Surprised, Sherlock stood there a moment before wrapping his arms around her.

"I missed you." She whispered.

"Me too." Sherlock whispered back.

They stayed that way, in each other's arms, for quite a few minutes before Emmaline pulled back.

"Go on, open your present." She ordered.

Sherlock obliged and tore the paper from the tiny box. He opened it, and grinned. Inside was a jack-knife.

"You've been paying attention." He commented.

In early January, Sherlock had told her how he used to have a jack-knife to keep his mail on the mantle but it had been misplaced some months before and he had not had the chance to replace it.

Emmaline smiled proudly. "Of course I pay attention. Now sit down."

Sherlock did and they ate their chicken and green beans and chatted amicably. It felt good to be sitting in Sherlock's flat again, the two of them. Mostly they wanted to enjoy the moment. It had been three months since Sherlock had felt that he could really be himself without being judged for it and that was a wonderful feeling.

After dinner and dessert, Sherlock and Emmaline sat on the couch and he read some of the Odyssey to her. His arm was around her shoulders, holding the book, and she was curled up against him.

His deep, lilting voice soon had Emmaline's eyelids drooping. Eventually her eyes closed and she sank against his chest, asleep. Sherlock looked down and smiled softly. How typical of her to fall asleep, just when it reached the best part.

Sherlock set the book aside and stood from the couch, carefully so as not to disturb her. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her gently into the bedroom. He set her down in his bed and tucked her in under the blankets, making sure she was comfortable.

He turned to leave the room, to go sleep on the couch, but something had hold of him. Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see Emmaline's hand gripping the edge of his shirt. He could see that she was still asleep, and he did not want to wake her. He tugged gently but her grip did not loosen.

Sherlock sighed; it would be impossible to leave without waking her. Sherlock turned back towards the bed and crawled over Emmaline, and tucked himself under the blankets. He turned his back towards her and tried to fall asleep.

However, he felt rigid. How could he fall asleep with someone else so close? He had never even slept in bed with his mother or father as a child. Sherlock was fully prepared to spend the night awake.

Emma sighed and turned over, her hand moving up to rest under her head. As it did, her fingers brushed his back. Sherlock relaxed at the gentle touch and soon found his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. The rhythmic breathing of his companion soon caused Sherlock's own breathing to slow, his eyes to close, and his mind to enter the world of dreams.

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while – English homework I hope to start updating regularly again.