Chapter 20: Going Out

February passed quickly for the pair of odd friends and March soon sprang into bloom. In no way was it nice outside, but indoors people could find comfort in front of a fire or by turning up the heat on their thermostats.

Emmaline had been spending just as much time with Sherlock as ever, for which he was grateful. He had not told her but a few nights he had woken up covered in sweat and shivering. Sherlock knew that Emmaline had been combing his flat for drugs whenever he fell asleep, or when he was out. She had a key to his place so she came and went, as she pleased, which did not bother him.

He hated that she could not trust him yet but he also understood that she probably should not. Sherlock had been craving the morphine for a week, and he wanted it soon. He felt like his body was screaming at him to get it.

The friends had easily entered their normal routine of going out to eat, going for walks, and to the cinema. The only thing that had changed was that Emmaline was now more cautious around him. And so too was he, around her.

Neither of them knew what to do with the other's admission from before Christmas. Sherlock had been treating her like a fragile China doll, not getting closer to her. He wanted her to initiate all contact but he could see it grating on her nerves. However, he did not want to reach out for her hand and have her shrink away from him. He did not want to feel the stab of pain he knew it would cause him to have her inch away from his contact.

Sherlock knew that it should not have bothered him so much, but it did. She had never shied away from him before; in fact, she usually craved his touch to comfort her. Whenever she was upset about something, she came over to his flat. They sat on the couch together and talked, with Emmaline usually worming her way into Sherlock's arms. And it felt natural. Emmaline was Sherlock's best friend, and he did not want to jeopardize that. No matter how much he needed her to comfort him right now, she had to initiate everything.

And Sherlock did need her comfort. There was no one else for him who understood. She did not get exactly how he was felling, especially since he was keeping symptoms from her, but she knew how he felt about it. She had been there at the Centre with him. And all of it horrified Sherlock, and he was afraid of going back there.

More and more he had found himself wanting to use again; he just needed to get past the hurdle. If he could stay clean for three months, then six, then a year…he knew that eventually he would get over the need. But he needed Emmaline's help, and he did not know how to ask for it.

He was also wary to touch on the subject of her molestation. He knew that she probably did not want to talk about it, and he did not want to hear about it. However, he felt that maybe it would be good for her to get the whole story out and not just a snippet. Sherlock felt that it was good that she had been going out with boys, but men still made her uncomfortable. He wanted to help her get over that, to get past her fear of the male species. He just did not know how.

Sherlock did however know what he would do to Gary Poole, if he ever saw him. A few days after Sherlock had gotten out of rehab he had visited Lestrade at Scotland Yard. He had told the detective inspector to keep an eye out for the man, and to tell him if Poole came to close to London. Sometimes offenders looked for their first victims, and Emmaline had been his. Sherlock would let no harm come to his best friend. He loved her.

But even with their strong connection, he had no idea what to do about the history that hung between them. Her shadows, and his, had seemed to cast something over their friendship. Until the air could be cleared for both of them, he was not sure what else he could do.

Emmaline too, was not sure what to do about Sherlock. She was sure that he needed to visit his father's grave, and to forgive the man. However, she had no idea how to get him to do that. Nor did she know what to do about his drug use. She had been shocked to discover that he was a user. The man she thought she knew would not have needed to drugs to occupy his mind.

Apparently, she had been wrong. But that did not make her love him any less. Everyone had problems; Sherlock's were just a little more serious. Emma had not brought it up once with him, because she did not know how. She felt that to help him, she needed to understand why he had done the drugs. He had told her in December that he done them "to forget". Emmaline thought that there was more to it than that.

She knew that Sherlock had a problem with Mycroft. It was evident in the way he talked about him, and in the way that he acted around him, that Sherlock hated his brother. Emma was not sure why. Mycroft had gone to the trouble of paying for Sherlock's hospitalization, rehab treatment, and had found him the best place to be cared for. Mycroft had even paid the rent on Sherlock's flat while he was at the Centre so he would not have been kicked out.

All of these things seemed to her like genuine acts of love from one brother to another; but maybe to Sherlock they were apologies. But apologies for what? What had Mycroft done? Emma did not think she would get an answer soon, and it was not a question she was willing to ask.

It was a balmy March evening that found Sherlock and Emma going bowling, at her request. They stepped out of their cab and ran into the bowling rink before they got any colder.

"You get our shoes; I'll grab some hot chocolate." Emma requested.

"Alright." Sherlock stepped up to the counter while Emmaline walked across the bowling alley to the little café situated inside.

"I need a size eleven, and a nine."

"How many games?" The attendant asked, looking for the shoe sizes.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. "Three."

The attendant handed him the shoes, and Sherlock paid for the games. He stepped over to lane '3' and found Emmaline walking towards him, carrying chicken wings, fries, and two sodas.

"No dessert?" Sherlock asked, taking a fry.

"They have pie – we can get some when we are done bowling." Emma replied with a smirk.

Sherlock sat down to put his bowling shoes on, while Emma typed in their names for the bowling screen. Sherlock grabbed a red, ten-pound ball and stepped forward to line up his shot. Emma tied up her shoes, and sat watching. He brought his arm back, swung it forward, and released. The bowling ball coasted down the lane to strike the middle pin, knocking them all down.

"What? What was that?" Emma asked incredulously.

"Is that not how the game is played?"

"You never said you were so good!" She accused with a short laugh.

"Mycroft used to take me, to get away from mum and dad when they were fighting." A shadow passed over his face at the mention of his family.

"Well, don't think that past experience is going to help!" Emma warned jokingly.

Sherlock looked up and smiled, taking his seat. Emma's bright yellow eight-pound ball flew forward down the lane and hit eight pins. Her ball came back up and she hit another one down.

"Not so bad." She said.

"I'll win." Sherlock said.

"Nope." Emma said, popping the 'p', as she took a bite of chicken.

By the end of the first game Emmaline and Sherlock had finished off their food and were working on a second basket of fries. When the screen announced Sherlock the winner, and the next game starting, Emma laughed.

"You are better than me." She admitted.

"Darling, that was evident from my first strike." Sherlock said with a smile, rising from his seat to bowl.

"And very, very clear, after your seventh." Emma added.

Sherlock bowled another strike right off the bat and Emma sighed. She knew there was no winning against him; he won every game they played except Monopoly. Cluedo, he made up rules. Chess, he was a better strategist. Bowling, he had years of practice. But Monopoly…that was pure chance and a business-oriented mind.

"Come on, two more games, then we can have pie."

"Alright, you've convinced me." Emma stood up to take her chance to bowl.

ᶓ

"This isn't pie." Sherlock said, taking a bite.

"OK I guess I was wrong – its cheesecake."

"How could you mistake the two?"

"Apparently very easily." Emma defended, digging her fork into the crust.

After a few minutes silence, and a polished off cheesecake, she looked up.

"You know, we've known each other for almost a year." She thought aloud.

Sherlock was well aware of the fact. For almost a year, this young woman had embraced every one of his quirks and had prided him on them. Truly, having her in his life was a joy. Emma had been counting down, and had decided to give him a painting to celebrate.

"Our one year anniversary." Sherlock toasted.

Emma smiled. "We can celebrate in two months." She teased.

Sherlock looked down at his watch. "It's almost ten…you should probably be heading home."

"Yes, I suppose so." Emmaline sulked.

Sherlock helped her with her coat, and they walked out into the cold air and hailed a cab. The driver dropped Emma off at her door before taking Sherlock home. He stepped up to his flat and shed his coat. Sherlock was exhausted, but there was no way he would be able to get to sleep. He had had trouble getting to bed for a few weeks. Nevertheless, he put on his pajamas and tuckered down into bed, trying.

Emmaline went to her room and changed, snuggling into her pillows and blanket. She was glad that Sherlock was back; but something felt changed between them. Their friendship no longer felt like a life-raft that the two of them were clinging onto. With some of their secrets out in the open, it felt like a real friendship. A trusting relationship where both parties equally participated.

Each of them just had to get the other to open up a little more. Emma smiled happily. It was more like Sherlock was her life preserver, and she was his. The thought made Emmaline happy; everyday she missed her mother, but she was missing her less and less. There was still a hole the woman had left, but Emma would always have the memories of her mother to comfort her. Now, now, she had a beautiful friendship with Sherlock to look forward to.