Chapter 26: Back to December

The bow slid expertly across the strings, causing Emma to smile as she listened. Sherlock sat in his new armchair, playing a Christmas song on his violin. She was sitting across from him, on the sofa, and sketching him playing. She stuck her tongue between her lips as she drew the errant curl across his forehead.

Even though it was the beginning of December, Emma still had no idea what to get Sherlock for Christmas. Ever since Halloween, she had been acting strangely around him. They still hung out every week, but she had stopped holding his hand. She would no longer burrow up close to him when she was cold, and they had stopped cuddling on the couch when he read to her.

Sherlock was confused by all this behavior, but let her be. He assumed she was remembering her traumatic experience more lately, but that was not it at all. Emmaline's feelings had confused her ever since she had spent the night at Sherlock's on Halloween. She still thought of him as a friend, but different thoughts were creeping their way into her mind. So she had decided to quit physical contact with him cold turkey, and see if that helped. It had not – she still found herself thinking about him at all hours of the day and it scared her.

She had thought she would never feel differently about Sherlock – he was her best friend. And what she was feeling now – it was unhealthy, and she did not understand it.

Sherlock's playing was interrupted by his phone going off. He smiled and pulled it out of his pocket, glancing briefly.

"It's Lestrade – there's been a murder down the street and he wants me to come investigate."

Sherlock put his violin down and put his coat and scarf on. "Perhaps you better stay here; you might be uncomfortable down there."

"No way! I'm going!" Emma insisted, standing and reaching for her own coat.

Sherlock grinned. "Alright then, let's go."

Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his and they headed out onto the street. Sherlock sighed happily at the familiar contact; he had missed her. They walked briskly to the pub down the street, where the murder had occurred.

Lestrade greeted them at the crime scene tape, a brow raised at their holding hands. He knew Emma and Sherlock were close, but he had often wondered how close. Sherlock was aware there was a law, even if he did choose to ignore it sometimes. So anytime he and Emma came to a scene and he saw them close, he got uncomfortable. He was sure that they were just close friends, but Lestrade often wondered if that would not change.

"Looks like a bar fight gone wrong." Lestrade showed Sherlock to the body, putting a hand up for Emma to stay back.

She smiled at Lestrade. "What's his name?"

"Was just getting to that – twenty-seven year old Thomas Gabriel; newly married, no children, and no other family."

Sherlock snapped on the gloves that had been handed to him and began his examination of the scene.

"So, Christmas plans?" Emma asked Lestrade conversationally.

The detective inspector looked away from Sherlock and to Emmaline.

"Just hanging out with the girlfriend and her family."

"Oh? What's her name?" Emma asked, nudging Lestrade playfully.

She had become more comfortable with him over the past year, with the amount of time she spent around him. Sherlock had often gotten calls to help out with an investigation while she was over, so she would accompany him. While he would look around, she spent her time with Lestrade and she considered the two of them friends now.

"Diana." He answered with a small smile.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Eight months, at New Year's."

"Would you please stop talking about irrelevant things?" Sherlock asked, stooping over the body.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Do you have a picture?" She asked Lestrade.

"Yeah, give me a sec." Lestrade pulled his wallet out and showed Emma a picture of Diana.

Emma whistled and laughed as Lestrade blushed. The photo was of a curvaceous redhead with sparkling blue eyes and full pink lips.

"Well, she's very lucky to have a guy like you."

"Hey, hey, let go of me!" A shouting voice drew both their attention.

Sherlock had grabbed someone behind the crime scene tape and was pulling him over.

"What the hell?" Lestrade yelled, rushing over. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"This is the murderer." Sherlock announced triumphantly.

"Please – please don't hurt me." The man whimpered.

"Sherlock, what on Earth makes you think he's the killer?"

"The glass." Emma said.

"What?" Lestrade wheeled around to stare at her.

Sherlock smiled encouragingly at her.

"The dead man was killed with a beer bottle to the jugular, an attack of anger most likely, and a weapon that was easily available so the murder was not planned. This man has a bleeding finger, and a shard of brown bottle stuck in his finger – like the one in the dead man's throat."

"Is that right?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Yes, very right." Sherlock said proudly.

Emmaline smiled her heart swelling. The way Sherlock looked at her…she felt good. Lestrade slapped cuffs on the man and shoved him in the back of a car.

"Thanks for your help Sherlock."

"Not a problem, but Emmaline and I will be going now."

"So I did well?" Emma asked as they walked back in the direction of his flat.

Sherlock laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. "You did brilliantly." Emma flushed with pride.

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Emma hailed a cab. She had finished celebrating Christmas with her grandparents a few hours before. She had decided not to change however to go over to Sherlock's. Her grandparents had insisted on her getting dressed up for Christmas since their friends would be coming over, so she had. She wore a flower pattern dress made of teal blue lace, and a black slip underneath and black heels. Her hair was up in a bun, with her bangs brushing across her forehead.

She got into the cab and headed for Sherlock's flat. Two weeks ago, he had gotten a little tree that they had decorated with ornaments in preparation for Christmas. She had insisted on putting up a tree, so he had gotten the tiny one that now sat on his living room floor.

An hour ago, he had called her to say that he was putting their little ham and that he would start the potatoes soon. Emma smiled and brushed her fingers across the package lying in her purse – Sherlock's present. She had gotten it for him last week, because she had been at an absolute loss as to what to get him. She hoped he liked it.

Emma walked up to Sherlock's flat and knocked on the door; even though she had a key, she hated to feel like she was intruding. He answered with a large smile and ushered her inside.

"Dinner's done, it's just waiting." He said proudly.

Sherlock was not much of a cook, but he was pleased with the job he had done. Emma smiled when she saw the overcooked ham and the sticky glaze.

"It looks good." She told Sherlock.

He beamed proudly as he got down plates. Emma admired his long arms before shaking her head and walking out into the living room, where she placed his present under the tree. She had recently gotten her job in the shop back, so she felt more independent of her grandparents.

"Here you go." He handed her a plate, and finally noticed what she was wearing. "You look – nice." He said, looking her up and down before stopping himself.

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

"I dress like this every day." He told her, looking down at his black pants, black jacket, and purple shirt.

"It still looks nice." She said, taking a bite of ham.

They ate, talking about how their day had gone, and how the last few days had been. Emma had not seen him the past three days because she had been helping her grandparents clean in preparation for the party. In their conversation though, she refrained from telling him she had sent a present to Mycroft, and addressed it as being from Sherlock. The younger Holmes would be upset if he knew about it.

"So, what did you get me?" She asked after they had finished eating and washed their dishes.

"You are so good at skillfully asking questions." Sherlock joked.

Emma giggled but Sherlock sat down in front of the tree and handed her a red box. She opened it, and inside was a book. A Christmas Story by Charles Dickens.

"Oh, thank you." She leaned over and hugged him.

"You've liked all the classics I have read to you so far – I thought you would enjoy this one."

"I'm sure I will, once you read it to me."

Sherlock smiled. "Of course."

"Here, open mine."

Sherlock ripped open the paper on the proffered present and found a royal blue scarf inside.

"To replace the gray one." He said with a smile.

"Try it on." Emma urged.

Sherlock obeyed, and looped the new scarf around his neck.

"I like it – it goes with your eyes." Emmaline complimented.

"Thank you." Sherlock smiled and leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Emma's cheeks turned a light pink as his soft lips touched her skin. It was something he had done before, but with Emma's confusion it turned into something more. By the time Sherlock pulled back to admire his new scarf, Emma's heart was racing beneath her rib cage, hammering away.

"Do you want me to read to you now?"

"Please." Emma smiled, trying to cover how confused she felt.

Sherlock hung up his new scarf and settled down on the couch, Emma next to him. He pulled a blanket down over them and picked the book up, starting to read. She found herself cuddling up next to him, her leg brushing his.

Emmaline listened to the deep smoothness of his familiar voice, and wondered at how rich it sounded. His dark, chocolate brown curls tightly wound upon his head, which were so familiar to her fingers. Then she glanced back down at his Cupid's bow lips, with their deep indentation that she had grown so fond of. Finally her eyes wondered back up to stealthily glance at his glatz colored eyes – always changing color, and always sparkling.

He finally looked healthy again; he looked like Sherlock. Not as when she had first met him, but what he was supposed to look like. A healthy twenty-five year old who did not do drugs, and whose only vice was the occasional cigarette. All these thoughts ran through her head as her tired eyes drooped.

She had had a long day at home, pretending to enjoy the company of her grandparent's friends. All she had wanted was to come and hang out with Sherlock, and now that she was, her mind insisted on confusing her. She was friends with Sherlock, but all she had been able to think about the past three months was how attractive he was.

As his deep baritone whisked her away to the land of dreams, she could not help but think she loved going to sleep to the sound of his voice. Her eyes closed, her head rested against his chest, and she fell asleep.

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Emma blinked to consciousness in the early morning light. She looked around her for a moment, wondering where she was before she remembered. She had fallen asleep on Sherlock's couch the night before.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Sherlock behind her, asleep. They were still on the couch, and she was wrapped protectively in his arms. As Emmaline stared at the angel's face next to her, and felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back, she realized that it would be terribly difficult for them to remain friends. Because she loved him; and not just as a friend anymore; she was in love with Sherlock.

But what could she do about it? After all the horrible things he had experienced at the hands of those University girls, Sherlock had never dated again. He probably could not trust anyone like that ever again. And how could he love his best friend like that?

No, Emma decided sadly. It would be better for her to suffer in silence and accept his friendship, than to tell him how she felt and be rejected.

She gently removed herself from his arms, so as not to wake him, and covered him with the blanket. Emmaline looked down at his sleeping face, so open, and so trusting when he was not awake. Yes, she had fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes. And she had no idea how it had happened.

Emma found her shoes and purse, and left the flat quietly. She had made up her mind. She loved Sherlock enough to be his friend, while it killed her inside to never have him know how she felt. But it would be worth it to be near him every day, and to see him smile, and to see him look at her the way he did. Emma smiled softly as she thought of that look. He looked at her like nothing else in the world mattered.

A/N: Oh gosh guys, what? I'll try to write a few more chapters today so you all can see what happens!