The World is Spinning Backwards
Chapter 45: A Healing Heart and Mind
Emmaline blocked out the chill February air, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. She bounded up the steps to her flat and unlocked the door. She had moved flats, and boroughs. From Westminster with Sherlock, to Camden on her own, in a nice little flat on the fourth floor of a lovely building.
She held the bag of groceries she carried in her left hand while she kicked her flat door closed. With her right, she flipped the lights on as she walked through her home, stopping in the kitchen to drop the bag off. As she put the groceries away, the florescent light caught the diamond on her engagement ring.
Emma still wore it, even after all that had happened between them. Neither had served the other with divorce papers, and she had heard from Mycroft that her husband would soon be getting out of another stint in rehab. He had entered on Christmas, Mycroft there to escort him. She had not visited him once, needing time to herself to adjust.
It was hard, losing one life, then her husband. She had shared a happy home with her family, and the one bedroom flat seemed empty and dark by comparison, no matter how many lights she turned on.
Mycroft kept her updated, as often as he felt was necessary. Apparently, he felt the need to tell her that Sherlock had received visits from a mousy woman named Molly quite often. Emma could care less what he did, and told Mycroft as such. As far as she was concerned, Sherlock was not her priority anymore. She was. It was time for Emma to focus on herself, and build herself up.
She began seeing a therapist, dumping her with all of her problems; Emma saw a new doctor and was prescribed depression medication, which helped. She no longer felt the urge to drive her car into oncoming traffic whenever she went out; slowly, she was getting back the parts of herself that she had lost. Emma still kept in touch with Greg, asking how he and his family were doing, how the force was treating him. They both carefully avoided the subject of Sherlock. Lestrade was quickly becoming a good friend to her, and she valued his presence in her life.
It was Greg who brought up the topic one day, of working out, to help relieve her stress. She found the advice invaluable when she joined a local gym and took up running, and boxing. Every time her gloved hand hit the punching bag, or her sneakered feet hit the ground running, she would think of Jonathon, and Sherlock, and let her anger and regret build.
She was upset that her child had died, angry that nothing could be done for him. She felt guilty for walking out on Sherlock. For never visiting him in rehab, to help him recover. Every time he called, or texted, and she refused to pick up, she felt shame. Nevertheless, she refused to allow him to infringe on the peace she was trying to make with what had happened. To be alone was helping her heal, from everything. The death of her mother, her grandparents, and now her son.
Through all of her grief, she still recognized that Mycroft was monitoring her, for his brother's sake. It must have been driving him crazy, not able to know how she was. Often she felt as if eyes were watching her when she was on a morning run, or when she went to the gym. It drove her crazy, but she never brought it up whenever Mycroft would show up unannounced to report on the condition of his baby brother. She knew that the brothers helped each other out of a strange sense of love, that neither would admit to, and so held her tongue.
One particular conversation with the elder brother, she remembered well; one of the many times he had shown up with no warning after one of her runs.
"He's gone back to his work finally." Mycroft stated, sitting down on her couch.
"That's good. I'm sure Lestrade is glad to have him there." She replied, sitting in the chair across from him, sweat still pouring from her face and arms.
"Yes he is rather pleased that Sherlock seems to be doing fine. Keeps pestering my brother about his mental well-being and trying to get him to see a counselor."
"He should; it might do him some good."
"Oh, so you do care." Mycroft replied testily.
"I've always cared, Mycroft. I do not expect you to understand what it is like to lose a child, as you have never had children, but it is the worst thing I have ever experienced. And Sherlock acted like nothing was wrong with him. That was hard for me, and I am trying to get better." She said, her voice hard.
"You're right. I do not understand what it is like to lose a child. However, I do appreciate the pain of losing a spouse. It is not easy." He replied, equally touchily.
"I'm sorry; I forgot that you were married before. Sherlock doesn't talk about you very often." She squirmed, uncomfortable.
"Her name was Almira, and we were only married for a few years before she became sick." He shared, quite uncharacteristic for himself.
"I'm sorry. Sherlock said you had someone new in your life though, a Lawrence?"
"An agent, in our offices, yes. We met about three years ago." His thin lips closed, leaving it there.
A smile ghosted Emmaline's lips. "Well I'm very happy for you Mycroft. I'm glad that you were able to move on."
Mycroft stood, looking down at his watch. "Yes, and so will the both of you." He grasped his umbrella delicately, causing Emma to again wonder if it was more than an object to protect its owner from the sun and rain.
"Oh," he turned back 'round to face her, "Sherlock would never admit this to you right now, but he's stumbled across the path of someone he thinks is very dangerous. Might I suggest you add to your new regimen?" He left a flyer on her coffee table before departing the flat with the calm air of urgency that only Mycroft Holmes could retain.
Emma picked it up, giving it a curious glance. It was an advertisement for the Judo school down the street from her home. Mycroft wanted her to take up Judo? She stared questioningly at it, thinking on his last words. It could be, in his own convoluted way that he was simply looking out for her safety.
Emma shook off the talk from just a few weeks before. She had indeed taken Mycroft's council and added weekly lessons to her school schedule, therapy sessions, and doctors' visits. Emmaline had more on her plate, but she also felt more prepared to handle it than ever. Working on her mental health had helped her feel better than she had in years. She felt so much better, got ahead in her schoolwork, and was only two semesters away from graduating with her bachelor's degree.
As she worked on starting her dinner, listening to jazz music, she felt that maybe soon she would be ready to see Sherlock again.
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August. Sherlock sighed at the thought. It had been eight months since the death of his son; since he had last seen his wife. It had been six months since he had last heard the siren song of his morphine. It seemed that Lestrade took his warnings more seriously now, and had given him a scrupulous load of casework. With the new work, had come an increase in his reach. Lestrade was sending him all over London and her boroughs, and Sherlock had caught murmurings of a man…something more than a man…
He was about to sit down to look over the file of a particularly gruesome double murder when there was a knock on the door of his flat. With a sigh, he heaved himself up to answer. The door swung open, and standing there, looking slightly disheveled, was Emmaline. She was leaner, tanner, and looked healthier than the last time he had gazed upon her.
Her hair was in a long braid, and she was wearing running shoes, yoga pants, and a vest underneath her jacket. Sherlock could see that she had just come from a run.
"Emmaline…" Sherlock wetted his dry lips. "What are you doing here?"
"How are you Sherlock?" She asked, avoiding his question.
"I've been well."
"Liar." She accused.
"How did you know?" He asked, shoulders slumping.
"I always know Sherlock. When it matters, I always know."
And she wrapped her arms around him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder, letting out the choking sobs he had been holding back for so long.
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"What do you mean I need to keep my flat?" Emma asked, incredulous.
"My case work has increased, in our separation. And I'm afraid that means more danger to me. I cannot have you tangled up in it as well. For your safety, I ask that you keep your own home. Please."
"Fine, Sherlock. I do not like it, but fine." After a moment's pause she asked, "How will this work then, marriage?"
"I'll find you." He told her, giving her cheek a soft kiss.
Emma sighed and stood from the chair she occupied. "We've been apart for so long, is this really what you want?" She inquired.
"Yes. Your safety has always been my precedence, and this will further help to ensure it." He spoke convincingly, a passion in his words.
Just as Mycroft had told her, he truly believed that someone, or something, was out there.
"I'll see you again, I promise." He whispered, kissing her softly.
Emma seemed to melt in his arms, Sherlock's familiar embrace a shield from the hurts of the world. Their little boy still tugged at her heart, but he too was slowly becoming a balm instead of a thorn.
Sherlock felt her strength, her courage, and marveled again at the remarkable woman who had fallen into his life, quite by chance. He extricated himself from her grip and ran a loving hand across her cheek.
"You have to go."
"I know." She whispered. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him once more, before turning and leaving quietly.
Sherlock waited a few minutes before he pulled out his phone and scrolled through. He ignored all the lonely calls and texts he had sent to Emmaline over the past six months, and instead clicked on the messaging history between him and Mycroft.
Emmaline looks healthy – SH
Yes she does, what of it brother mine? – MH
You know everything she has done; affair? - SH
If there was or not, that is not my place to tell brother dear. Perhaps you should talk to your wife – MH
Sherlock slammed his phone down in frustration. No; he would never tell her his mind had wandered down that particular path, and questioned her faithfulness. Even if she had, she had come back to him, and they had time to repair the relationship they had almost walked out on again.
A/N: I would just like to alert everyone that there are only two more chapters to this before I enter the editing stage of the first two books. Oh, and I have changed 'Four Seven Four' to 'If Convenient'. I always hated the title and I think this fits it better.
Also, I found the notebook with my notes in it for the Final Game so we are all good there. It was in the possession of my sister who was using it for school notes; luckily nothing was harmed.
A side note, if any of you are Fannibals, Vanyiah and I are currently working on a Hannibal fic called Compulsion that is currently up on my page! You should check it out, it's pretty good if I say so myself!