Chapter One: Many Years Ago

September 1990 (Sherlock is almost twelve)

A young Sherlock Holmes was 'meditating' out in the schoolyard in between classes, not really because he thought it worked, but it's an excuse to ignore everything and everyone. Sherlock didn't notice, however, that there was a group of boys walking towards him.

"Look, it's the machine!" One of them called out. Of course, Sherlock could hear them, but he challenged himself to ignore them.

"He thinks he's so much better than us, doesn't he?" The apparent leader of the group said, "Maybe we should teach him that he ain't better at everything."

"And maybe someone should teach you that it isn't nice to pick on people," A girls voice said from in front of Sherlock. He had to suppress the urge to look up in surprise.

"Oh yeah, didn't anyone evah' teach you tah mind your own business girl," one of the cronies said.

"Didn't anyone teach you simple math?" She asked, "Or how to speak properly?" She added and smiled.

"Hey!" The boy shouted indignantly, and he seemed to be about to pick a fight with the girl.

"Come on man! We'll get in so much trouble if we fight with a girl!" One of the other boys called from behind. Quickly the group ran away, realizing that a teacher was about to come their way.

"You know..." She looked around, "I don't think this actually works, or at least, you're not doing it right".

Sherlock wanted to respond, but he also wanted to be left alone, and he figured that this girl would leave once she was bored of talking to thin air.

"I'm new, I just moved here from-"

"East London, your mother got a new job, you play the violin, you're an only child, and you have self-confidence issues, which are completely unfounded," Sherlock interrupted. He looked up at her, expecting her to be angry or upset, but she was smiling.

"How'd you know?" She asked with a smile.

"I observed," Sherlock told her simply. She sat down in front of him, and that was when he realized she wasn't going to leave him in peace. "I'm Sherlock."

"Emily, Emily Smith."

January 2000

Mycroft was pacing in his brothers small flat, Sherlock hadn't been back for a while. Emily had gone out looking for him, but that was nearly two hours ago and he was beginning to get nervous. But before he could worry anymore, the door swung open and Emily came stumbling in, half carrying, half dragging Sherlock behind her. They were both shivering, and their hair was covered in snow. Mycroft quickly came and took Sherlock and laid him on the sofa.

"Where did you find him?" Mycroft asked her.

"Half dead in an alley nearby," Emily said running her hand through her hair, "When I first saw him I actually thought he was dead".

Mycroft walked up behind her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

"Thank you for finding him Emily," Mycroft said. He looked her over, "You're cold and tired, you should go home" Mycroft glanced over to Sherlock, "I got him".

Emily shook her head, she looked like she was about to cry, "I'm never letting him out of my sight again" she said, "I nearly forgot." She dug into her pockets, she pulled out a white piece of paper, "His list," she said as she handed it to Mycroft.

Mycroft took a moment to read all the things on the list and shook his head, "Oh Sherlock," he said sadly. He looked over to Emily, "Will you help me get him to his room?" He asked her. She simply nodded and grabbed one of Sherlock's arms, together they carried him to his bed.

"His breathing's getting harsher," Emily noted. She put her ear to his chest to hear his breathing, it was a little slow for Emily's liking.

Mycroft watched her nervously, "I think we should take him to the hospital." She said.

"We can't, you know why," Mycroft said. Emily nodded sadly in response, Sherlock and hospitals just did not mix. It was the only place that they actually attached the drugs to him.

"I'm going to stay here tonight, you can go if you want," Emily said. Mycroft just smiled, he left the room for a moment, and when he came back he had two chairs. He placed them beside the bed and he and Emily took a seat. It was only then that Mycroft realized she was shivering, he quickly glanced over her and noticed that her clothes, which had previously been covered in snow were now quite damp, and her hair was also wet. He reached out and touched her arm, which was cold to the touch as well.

"Emily, you're freezing, do you want tea?" He asked her.

"Yes please, thanks," she said, it was quite obvious that the adrenaline that had been keeping her warm and awake was wearing off fast.

When Mycroft brought the tea, he also brought one of Sherlock's tee-shirts, which of course he never wears. Mycroft figured it would be like a dress on her, considering she was quite short, and Sherlock was quite tall.

Emily looked at it quizzically, "What's that for?" she asked before taking a sip of her tea.

"You should get out of your wet clothes," he replied. Emily put down her teacup and went to the bathroom to change, and when she came back it was like she was wearing a dress. His shirt went just past her knees, she yawned and sat back down in her chair.

After about half an hour of just staring at Sherlock's unmoving body, Emily looked at Mycroft, "You have to work tomorrow, don't you. You should go, I can watch him."

Mycroft sighed and nodded, "Alright, call me if anything changes."

"I will." Emily looked at Sherlock and even though she knew his heart hadn't stopped, she was still afraid it would. She pulled her chair closer to the side of his bed and rested her ear over his heart. Slowly, she fell asleep to the steady beat, knowing that if it stopped she would wake.

At about 3 am Sherlock started to develop a bit of a fever, but at around 4:30 am he finally had his first lucid moment.

Sherlock blearily opened his eyes and looked around the room, he felt a weight on his chest and saw that Emily was half sitting, half laying on him. Sherlock looked at her with concern, she felt cold, very cold.

"Emily?" He asked.

She moaned but didn't move or open her eyes. Sherlock sat up slightly and pulled her up on the bed with him. He pulled the sheets over them both and pulled her closer to him. He could feel her shivering and he felt awful. He vaguely remembered her finding him in the alley. He also remembered how cold it was, and that she wasn't wearing a proper jacket.

He wrapped his arms around her and she curled up closer to the heat factory that was currently Sherlock.

The next morning Sherlock woke up to find that Emily was still asleep. She was no longer cold to the touch, but she now seemed to have a fever. When Sherlock sat up she drearily opened her eyes, "Sherlock?" She asked. Her eyes then widened, presumably as she remembered the events of the previous night. "You're alright? You're okay?" She asked quickly.

"Yes, I'm fine, you're-"

Emily slapped him, "You're a bloody idiot Sherlock!" She shouted. She angrily sat up, "Do you know what I would do to keep you safe?! What Mycroft would do?!" She then stood in anger, "There are people who love you right here! Right in front of you! Do you know what it feels like to watch you try and kill yourself over and over again?!" She brushed the tears from her face. "If I had been an hour later..." She shook her head, "If-if I had-" Her voice stopped as she started to cry.

Sherlock looked at her, did she just say she loved him? He pushed the thought from his head. She was crying, she never cried. She was crying and it was his fault.

"Emily," Sherlock walked around the bed and stood in front of her.

"I-I th-thought you were-were dead Sherlock!" Emily said in between sobs.

"I..." Sherlock didn't really know what to say, but studies showed that physical contact helped soothe painful emotions. He hugged her tightly and felt her tears wet his shirt. "I'm so sorry Emily."

Emily shook her head and pulled away, "Sorry isn't good enough Sherlock, not this time. Next time there won't be a sorry to make because you'll be dead."

Sherlock nodded and put his hands on her shoulders, "I will never do this to you again, I promise."

Emily sniffed and rubbed her eyes, "You better not."

"You're sick," Sherlock commented, and Emily glared at him, "Yes, that would be my fault, please allow me to make you-" Emily sent him a glance, "Order you," He corrected, "Some soup." Emily smiled and nodded. "Go back to sleep for now, I'll wake you."

She nodded and crawled back into Sherlock's bed.