Dylan Eiler
The World is Spinning Backwards
Chapter 34: A Life-Altering Occurrence
Emma pushed the grocery cart down the aisle, reading items off her list to herself as she looked for them.
"White rice, milk, eggs, bread, flour…" she trailed off as she crossed off each item.
Her phone rang as she was bagging two ears of corn.
"Hello?" She answered, putting it in the crook of her neck as she grabbed potatoes and bagged them.
"Hello love." Sherlock's velvety baritone replied over the phone.
Emma smiled to herself and pushed the cart away from the vegetables. "Hey babe. Did you need anything at the store?" She asked, picking up some lettuce and looking over the leaves.
"No – well, aren't we out of tea packets?" He asked, trying to remember. The kitchen was not his area of expertise and he did not store information from that room in his mind palace.
"Yeah – that's on my list." She told him.
"Then no, I'm fine." She chuckled. Of course, he was; the man rarely ate unless she forced him too. "I just called to tell you I will be home a little later because of the case I am working."
"Alright well I'm checking out now, so I'll start dinner when I get home. Are you eating?" She asked, setting items on the belt for the cashier to bag.
"I should be – this case is just about solved. I just need to talk to Lestrade about something. I should be home in an hour or so."
"Alright sweetie; I love you." Emma said, paying for the groceries and putting the bags in her cart.
"I love you too." Sherlock replied before hanging up.
Emma put her phone back in her purse and took the groceries in her arms, glad the case Sherlock was working on was solved. He had been working on it for three days and had done nothing but work; Sherlock had not time for food or company when he was working on a truly interesting case.
Emmaline had felt quite rejected the first day until she remembered that this was whom she had fallen in love with; the man who dropped everything for a mystery to solve. She knew he would be back to her when he was done so she had given him time to work alone.
She was glad when she finally got back to the flat; setting the groceries down outside the door, she rooted around in her bag for a key. Just when she had produced it, she looked down at the door. There were scrape marks around the lock and the door was slightly ajar.
Sherlock had done this before when he had forgotten a key and no one was there to let him in, but he knew Emmaline was coming home soon…and she did not think he would have been done talking to Lestrade so quickly. He was not due home for at least twenty minutes, according to him.
She picked up the groceries and pushed the door open with her foot, entering tentatively. She pushed back against the door, shutting it.
"Sherlock?" She called out.
The lights in the flat were all out and she felt something was wrong. She made her way into the living room when she stopped short. Standing in her flat was a teenage boy, maybe fifteen years old, who wielded a knife. His eyes widened in surprise when she walked in. He had obviously been expecting someone else.
"Let's stay calm." Emma urged, never taking her eyes off the blade. Her voice shook slightly with the fear she felt at the break-in.
The boy did anything but; he had been sent here to kill Sherlock Holmes as gang initiation, payback for the detective putting their leader in prison. No one had said there would be a girl here. Not knowing what to do, the boy lashed out with the blade he held and ran for it.
Emma felt a white-hot pain sear her throat as she heard the pounding footsteps of the boy get quieter as he ran down the stairs. She dropped the bags she held and pressed a hand to her neck; it came away covered in blood: her blood. Panicking, she turned towards the kitchen, where the nearest phone was; the phone in her bag was completely forgotten.
She pressed her hand back against the wound and made her way across the living room before she felt dizzy and her vision became fuzzy. Emma reached a hand out and touched the doorjamb before falling over onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor, hitting her head, and blacking out, her wound continuing to stain the white floor a dark red.
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Sherlock stepped into the crisp August air; his coat bundled around him as he walked home. Emmaline had promised dinner by the time he got there, and he knew she would be pleased he was done working for now. He had noticed Emmaline sulking the first day he had a case, but her mood had picked back up the past few days.
He would not apologize for his work; it was something that he loved to do. However, he could take a day off so they could do something together. She was leaving for Cambridge in two weeks and had already been sent her dorm assignment. It pained Sherlock to think she would be leaving him so soon, but they had made plans to see each other every couple of weekends, as her work permitted.
Sherlock bounded up the steps, loosening the scarf about his neck as he pulled the key from his pocket. He was about to put it in the lock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. His heart ran cold as he pushed the door open carefully. Sherlock's breath left him as he saw the fallen bags, groceries lying everywhere in the living room. He ran to where they were, examining the floor. Droplets of blood covered the hardwood floor, leaving a trail that led to…the kitchen.
He stood and raced to the kitchen and he stopped, frozen. Lying on the floor in a pool of scarlet liquid was his Emmaline. Her skin was sickly pale and she did not move but for the faintest of breath that passed her lips.
"Emmaline!" He finally choked out, rushing to her side.
He pressed a gloved hand to the gash in her throat as he kneeled next to her. His other hand pulled out his phone and dialed '999', requesting immediate assistance and an ambulance.
The call made, help on the way, his phone clattered to the floor as he applied more pressure to her wound.
"No, no Emmaline, hold on. Please hold on." He begged, tears springing to his eyes as he watched her lying there, helpless to do anything for her.
EMTs arrived minutes later and pushed him out of the way. Lestrade, having heard that help had been called to Sherlock's address, came and pulled Sherlock into the living room.
"She'll be taken to the hospital once they assess her condition here." Lestrade told his friend gently.
"She's flat lining!" He heard the yells from the kitchen. "We need to get her to a hospital stat!" The other officer demanded, bringing in a stretcher.
Lestrade held Sherlock in a restraining grasp; he knew the two were close friends and that Sherlock would try to go into the kitchen and only hamper the progress the first responders were trying to make.
"You can visit her in the hospital Sherlock." Lestrade yelled in Sherlock's ear.
Sherlock ignored his friend and still fought against his strong grip. He needed to ride in the ambulance with her, needed to know she would be OK. He watched as they lifted her onto the stretcher, the pool of blood staying behind on his tiled floor. She had lost so much…
"You can go wait in the ER waiting room if you have to." Lestrade told him, still holding Sherlock. He did not want the man running out of the flat right now. "Change first, you're covered in blood."
That much was true; Sherlock's gloves, pants and the end of his coat were saturated with it.
"You want me to change my clothes while she's dying?" Sherlock yelled, wrenching free of Lestrade's iron grip.
"Sherlock, she'll be fine!" Lestrade yelled back, hoping it would be true.
"She flat-lined in my kitchen!" Sherlock screamed, tears spilling forth over and running down his cheeks. "She was attacked in her home and is fighting for her life, and you want me to change?" The strangled cries tore from his throat with an almost animal sound as he collapsed to his knees on the hardwood floor.
"They won't let you in otherwise Sherlock." Greg spoke gently, holding out a hand.
Sherlock sighed and let out a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He had to get into the hospital; he had to see Emmaline as soon as she woke up. Because she would wake up.
"Fine." He said in a huff, standing and leaving Lestrade alone in the living room.
He changed quickly, leaving his bloody clothes in a heap on his bedroom floor. From the closet, he grabbed his old pea coat and put it on before allowing Lestrade to escort him outside. He did not even throw up a fuss when he was placed in the back of a police car to be taken to the hospital. He had to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to check on her condition.
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"Miss Johnson is not up for receiving visitors at this moment, she was just stabilized." The receptionist told Sherlock when he went up to check again on Emmaline's condition. He had been here for hours waiting to see how she was, anxious to see her.
"I have to see her, please!" He urged his voice desperate.
"Sherlock, sit down." Lestrade told his friend. He turned to the receptionist and began a conversation with her as Sherlock took a seat in the lobby. His friend had left to go back to Scotland Yard after dropping Sherlock off, but had recently come back to check on him and Emmaline.
He rang his hands as he waited for some news, or for Lestrade to come back. Emmaline had been attacked in his flat; someone had gotten in and tried to get to him, most likely. He would not know until she woke up and told him what happened but he could guess. It was not a robbery, nothing had been stolen. Moreover, no one would lie in wait for Emmaline – she had no enemies. However, Sherlock had plenty.
"Come on." Lestrade walked over to where Sherlock was seated and helped his friend up. "She's giving you five minutes because I begged and flashed my badge, but that's it. Five minutes and nothing more for today."
Sherlock thanked Lestrade as he rushed past him and down the hall, counting the numbers until he reached door '553'. As Sherlock knocked on the door and pushed it open, he distantly wondered if this was how Emmaline had felt when rushing to see him in the hospital almost two years ago.
His heart was drumming erratic rhythms against his rib cage as he stepped into the dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn and the only light on was the one near the door. Her bed was cast in darkness but he could make it her form in the large bed, her chest moving up and down with each breath. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she seemed to be all right.
He stepped nearer the bed and sat in the chair to her right, reaching out across the scratchy hospital sheets to hold her hand. She stirred at the contact and turned her head to the right, her eyes blinking open slowly. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat as he eyed the large bandage that covered the area between her collarbone and her throat.
This is my fault, he thought. I brought this danger home to her. Sherlock kept his thoughts to himself but frowned, rubbing circles into the back of her hand.
"Hey." She said creakily. "Wow, I sound awful."
"You've been asleep for hours. Would you like some water?" He made to stand up but her grip tightened on his hand.
"Not right now." She cleared her dry throat and waited patiently as he sat down.
"What do you remember?" He asked, worried about the answer.
"Just – being attacked at home and then – not making it into the kitchen. I – I was trying to – dial the emergency number. I woke up once, I think, here. But they put me back to sleep. And then I turned over and saw you."
Sherlock smiled weakly, thankful she did not remember almost bleeding out on their kitchen floor.
"How did I get here?" She asked, running her fingers over the knit blanket on top of her.
"I found you and called for an ambulance." Sherlock replied, avoiding her gaze.
Emma tried to get him to look at her, but he refused. After a minutes silence she asked, "Sherlock…was it, was it bad?"
"You were swimming in it. You were – it was everywhere." Sherlock's voice shook as he remembered seeing her lying there.
"Hey, baby, I'm fine now." She said gently.
"It's my fault." Sherlock blurted out. "Whoever it was, was there for me was he not? I put you in danger."
"Sherlock don't be silly." Emma said, shaking her head slightly.
There was a light knock on the door and Lestrade opened it. "Time's up Sherlock; you can visit her tomorrow."
Sherlock nodded his head and stood up with a sigh. He planted a light kiss on Emmaline's forehead before leaning down to whisper in her ear.
"You won't be able to convince me this was not my fault; I almost got you killed today love, and I will not forgive myself."
Emma watched as Sherlock's proud form hunched under the weight of his guilt and he left her feeling worse than she had in a long time.
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"You can be released tomorrow." Greg told Emma, during visiting hours on her third day in the hospital.
"And you found the kid that did this?" She asked again.
"Frederick Martin aged 15. Confessed to the whole thing, and that he was lying in wait to kill Sherlock as part of a gang initiation/payback against him for sending their leaders to jail."
Emma sighed in relief. "Good work Greg."
"I'm just glad to see you are alright Emma." Lestrade kissed her cheek before gathering his coat and standing. "I have to be going – I have a date."
"Good luck big boy." Emma encouraged with a wink.
Lestrade blushed and stammered another goodbye while Emma chuckled. She only had to wait a few minutes before Sherlock arrived. Her boyfriend had visited every day and stayed for the entirety of visiting hours, but he had been strangely distant. He barely spoke and just hung around staring sadly at the ground or held Emma's hand while soaking in her image.
"Hey." She smiled brightly as Sherlock came in, but the grin soon disappeared. Sherlock's face was pale and drawn, just like every time he had come in to see her.
"Lestrade says I'm being released tomorrow morning." When Sherlock said nothing Emma went on. "And they caught the kid who attacked me." Still her lover said nothing. "Sherlock, are you listening to me? I'm coming home tomorrow."
She watched as he winced and sat down in the chair next to her bed.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?"
Sherlock said nothing at first but instead took her hand in his and traced circles with his thumb. He swallowed down his self-hate and thought of what he had to do. It's the only way to keep her safe.
"I hired a cab to take you to Cambridge tomorrow morning, and I've packed all your things for you. They're over there."
Emma looked over and saw that indeed there were a few suitcases in the corner by the door.
"I'm dangerous, and I'm damaged, and I don't deserve you. I got you hurt Emmaline and I can't watch that happen again so you have to leave. I'm not a good person, and I'm not a good friend. I don't know what you saw in me." He shook his head forlornly.
Opening her mouth to speak, she was cut off by Sherlock's fingers on her lips.
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I know you'll try to convince me that you should stay, but I know that you can't. I can't be around you."
Sherlock squeezed her hand one last time and stood up.
"This is goodbye Emmaline."
Leaning down, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Sherlock…" tears threatened to spill from Emmaline's eyes as she saw the heartbroken and despondent expression on the face of her only love.
He captured her mouth with his in one last bitter, longing kiss before drawing away.
"I never want to see you again." He said, drawing himself up. His words rang with finality and they cut through Emmaline's heart, causing a new wound to bleed as she watched him walk from her hospital room.
After sitting for a few minutes dumbstruck, she worked up the courage to walk over to the packed belongings he had left. A part of her hoped that he had left them empty and this whole thing was some sort of sick joke. She opened the first case and saw that it was full to the brim with her clothes.
The first tears worked their way down her cheeks as a choked sob escaped her throat. He really packed my things…he's really leaving…she thought. Emma opened case after case and saw her clothes, and toiletries and books and records and painting things. The last case, the smallest, held all her picture frames. Pictures her mother had taken, pictures of her with friends, and pictures of her and Sherlock. She held one to her chest as she allowed herself to cry, her heart a gaping wound that she never wanted to fix.