A/N: Thank you to all the wonderful readers who have stuck with me this long, I promise, next chapter, your patience will be rewarded most handsomely *wink face*

Chapter 27: A Surprise Party of Two

Emma smiled at Sherlock from her spot on the couch. He was twiddling with a fork, eating some left-over chicken and rice she had made a few days before. It was his birthday – the first they were really getting to celebrate together – and he insisted that it go ignored. So she had called Lestrade to set up a little surprise party for him.

It had been almost two weeks since Emma's self-confession of love, and she thought she was coping well. She had reduced her time to see him to Friday nights and Sunday's, and had only painted his portrait three times.

She was broken from her thoughts by the sounds of Sherlock's phone ringing. He gave it a cursory glance before standing and grabbing his coat.

"Lestrade says a strange crime needs my attention."

"Oh? Do you want me to go?"

Sherlock smiled. "Of course."

Emma's heart leaped from her chest into her throat. Ever since December, she had allowed Sherlock to initiate the handholding and cuddling. She would not deny herself these things, even if she did see them in a different light now than Sherlock.

She put her coat on and Sherlock took her hand, leading her outside where he hailed a cab.

"So where does he want to meet us?" Emma asked.

"Scotland Yard, which means, it must be serious. Lestrade only calls me there if I need to be briefed on a case they have had a lot of trouble with."

"Well that's probably what's going on." Emma shrugged.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence; Sherlock was thinking of the different cases Lestrade could need his help with while Emmaline was trying to control her thoughts.

They stepped out of the cab and walked into Scotland Yard, and into Lestrade's dark office.

"Why the hell is it black in here?" Sherlock asked, searching for the light switch.

The light suddenly came on and Lestrade jumped up from behind his desk yelling "Surprise!" with Emmaline. Sherlock frowned and looked at the Detective Inspector's desk. It had a cake, a small punch bowl, and two presents on top of it. A small smile touched his lips.

"You did this for me?" He asked them.

"It was Emma's idea."

Sherlock turned to stare at the young woman standing behind him. "Thank you."

She smiled serenely at him.

"Let's eat some cake!" Lestrade yelled, excited.

Emma laughed and began cutting it up and handing it to the two boys. They both inhaled their first slice, and quickly grabbed another. Emma smiled as she finished her first piece. Both men seemed to have large stomachs.

"Really, thank you; this is better than doing nothing." Sherlock said again.

He leaned over to kiss Emmaline's cheek. She inhaled deeply as his frosting covered lips touched her cheek; it felt as if she was on fire, a hot fire building in her belly.

"Oh, sorry." Sherlock smiled sheepishly. He traced a thumb across her cheek, wiping the frosting off, before licking it off the tip of his thumb.

Emma's cheeks burned scarlet as she turned to Lestrade. His brow was cocked as he stared at the two, so comfortable with each other.

"So what was the case you wanted to call Sherlock in on?" Emma asked, clearing her throat.

"Oh well, there's been a few robberies my guys haven't been able to figure out."

"Wonderful." Sherlock said, taking a few files from Lestrade, leaving his presents untouched on the desk.

Emma smiled at the pleasant expression on Sherlock's face; Lestrade forgot her and began to consult with Sherlock. Emma slipped the presents into her bag so Sherlock would not forget them.

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"That was pretty good." Emma said, swinging her and Sherlock's hands between them as they walked down the sidewalk.

"Pretty good? It was alright."

Emma laughed and jumped off the raised platform she had been walking on, and onto the sidewalk next to Sherlock. She stumbled a bit and he caught her, his hands automatically grabbing her waist and steadying her.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah – I'm fine." Emma said, a little shakily, as she looked into Sherlock's eyes.

He let go of her waist and they continued walking back home, his hand finding hers again.

It was April and Sherlock had just taken Emma to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the London Palladium, that they happened to live near. They had taken a cab there, but had decided to walk back in the evening April air.

When Sherlock had called her and told her to dress up, Emma had gotten excited. In some part of her mind, she imagined how she would look if this had been a date; the rational part of her mind knew that would never happen.

So Emma had rifled through her closet for an appropriate outfit; one that was dressed up, but still friendly, because this was not a date. No matter how much she wished it was, and no matter how much she had wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him five minutes ago when he had held her like that.

She had eventually settled on a three-quarter sleeve leopard shirt, a high waisted, but knee-length, red skirt, and a skinny black belt, and black kitten heels.

She had gone to Sherlock's flat to meet him to see that he had dressed in his usual black pants and blazer, and a black shirt. Emma had smiled when she saw him, as she always did now.

Emmaline had no doubt that Sherlock had some inkling of how she felt; he was a genius and a man that could deduce a computer programmer by his tie. Of course he could deduce her love from her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

"So, have you caught the robbers yet?" She asked conversationally.

"Not yet; they don't leave behind many clues, even for me. But they'll mess up eventually." Sherlock reassured her.

He and Lestrade had been looking for the thieves since early January, and it was nearing the end of April. He looked down at his watch; they had been walking for a good half-hour, and they were rounding the corner onto Emmaline's street.

"Should we do that again sometime, go to a show?" He asked.

"If you want to; I had fun." Emma answered, looking into the distance. "Hey, what is that?" She asked, pointing in the direction of her grandparent's flat.

"It looks like lights." Sherlock said, squinting to see.

"Are those…are those police lights?" She asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Emmaline…"

His tone of voice confirmed her sighting. Her spine tingled in dread as she thought about every possible scenario.

"They are probably at another flat – you have lots of neighbors." Sherlock said, trying to reassure her.

Emma did not answer; she broke out in a dead run in the direction of the lights, of her home. After a moment's indecision, Sherlock ran after her. If it really were her grandparents, she would be devastated.

Emmaline pumped her legs, running fast for being in one-inch heels. Her lungs burned as she neared her flat, and she could see officers coming out of one of the doors, but she was not sure if it was her home. She hoped to God that her grandparents were safe and it was one of her neighbors. Please, not again.

As she got closer, she could see one silver-haired officer standing outside the flat – her flat she could see now. An ambulance was on the sight and two stretchers with bags were being wheeled down the front steps.

"No!" Emma's strangled cry tore from her throat.

She stopped running and stood there, tears streaming down her face. Sherlock caught up to her, breathing heavily, and wrapped an arm around her.

It's them, he thought. It's her grandparents. He held Emmaline to him, her sobs racking her body. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"We have to talk to Lestrade."

Emma clung to his shirt and nodded her head. The last thing she wanted to do was see someone else. Sherlock kept an arm around her and guided her towards the police cars. Lestrade saw them approaching and stepped towards them.

"Emma, I am so sorry, but your grandparents – they have been murdered." He told her.

His heart went out to her as she stood there, tears and makeup running down her face, her hand bunched pathetically around a fistful of Sherlock's shirt like a child.

"You have to come down to Scotland Yard so we can ask you some questions, and to find you a relative to stay with."

Lestrade led Emma over to a car and he opened the door for her.

"Are you coming Sherlock?" He called.

Sherlock's mind raced. Emmaline could not leave – she could not.

"Give me a second!" He yelled, pulling out his phone.

"Hello?" The familiar voice answered on the other line.

"Mycroft – I need your help, please." Sherlock's strained voice said.

"What is it?"

"I need documents, whatever, saying Emmaline is my cousin. Please."

"Sherlock, slow down; what is wrong?"

Sherlock ran a hand down his face; he did not have time for slow.

"Emmaline's grandparents were killed – they're going to take her away from me Mycroft unless you can tell them I'm her cousin. Please." He pleaded.

"Give me thirty minutes." His brother answered, clicking the phone off.

Sherlock let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. He looked up at the starry sky and said a silent thank you.

Emma scooted over as Sherlock got in the car. If Mycroft could come up with those documents, then she would not have to leave. His Emmaline could stay with him.

He put an arm around her shoulders and she buried her face in his chest, resuming her crying.

"Do you have any leads?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"It's all exactly like the other robberies we have been investigating, except for the double murder. We think the Bells' surprised them at home, and that's why they were killed."

Sherlock ran a hand over Emmaline's hair, and whispered a 'Shh' in her ear. "We're almost at Scotland Yard."

Emma's fingers tightened their grip on Sherlock's shirt. He kissed the top of her head. "You're not going anywhere; I promise." Please Mycroft.

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"How are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

Emma walked into his flat, numb. They had been at Scotland Yard for hours, answering questions before trying to find a guardian. Sherlock's name had come up as her nearest living relative – a cousin. In the car, Sherlock had told her how he had called Mycroft and had him draw up documents.

He was not really her cousin – but everyone else thought so, and now she could stay in London. She could stay with him. And the thought caused a little of her bleeding, crying heart to fix itself. But only a little.

She had just lost her grandparents – her one last connection to her mother. The one last connection she had to family. Emma was officially an orphan, and officially alone.

She sank onto the couch, not knowing how to feel. She had cried her eyes out in the car, and at Scotland Yard. She just felt empty. Sherlock sat down on the couch next to her, brushing hair out of her eyes.

"How are you doing?" He asked again.

"I didn't spend enough time with them." She whispered.

"You had just lost your mother – how were you supposed to get close to them?"

"I got close to you." She accused, turning her head to stare into his eyes.

"Oh darling." He said sadly, drawing her into his arms.

Emmaline welcomed the comforting touch as she again sank into tears, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Sherlock ran his fingers gently up and down her spine as she heaved great sobs; for a moment, he thought she would break from the force of it. However, his Emmaline was strong, and she would get through this, just as she had with her mother. They sat there for the better part of an hour, and he did not once complain that she was ruining his shirt, or that he did not understand the sentiment. Because he was starting to understand it.

ᶓ

Emma gently took Sherlock's hand, drawing strength from him. They were staring at the newly packed down earth that marked her grandparent's resting place. He traced circles on the back of her hand, hoping to stop her from breaking down into tears again.

She had lived with him for a week, and it had been a long week. She had moped about the flat, numb to everything. Friends from school called her and she gave monotonous one-word answers to their questions. She would come home and do her homework, not speaking to Sherlock.

The truth was Emma was emotionally exhausted. She was not sure how she was supposed to get up in the morning and go through her day. She had lost three people in the past year-and-a-half who were all important to her. The only one who was still here was Sherlock; and she could not even tell him she loved him.

Her life was a mess, and she was not sure how to put it back together. Standing here with Sherlock, she felt a little better. No matter what happened to her, she truly believed that he would be there for her, to take care of her if she needed it.

Emma gripped Sherlock's hand tightly.

"Can we go now?" She asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"Are you done saying goodbye?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll never be done saying goodbye." She replied.

He turned and hugged her close to him. "I will find them Emmaline – I promise." He whispered in her ear.

Emma threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He kissed her forehead – pressing his lips against her smooth skin for one, two, three seconds.

"I promise." He whispered, pulling back to see her shining eyes.

He brought his thumb up to wipe away her falling tears.

"Come on."

And he wrapped his fingers tightly around hers and led her from the grave markers of her grandparents, away from the dusky sunlight, and to the car waiting for them to take them home. As Sherlock held her in the car, looking down at the strong young woman she had become in the almost two years he had known her, he felt a misplaced sense of pride.

He had not fashioned her into this strong woman, but he liked to think his influence was in there somewhere. Just the knowledge that some part of him might be in her heart brought a smile to Sherlock's lips.

"We're home." He whispered in her ear.

Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over ~~ Nichole Sobon