I feel like tensions would be a little high after the meeting in the pool.

I've taken so long with this chapter and I'm still paranoid I've missed out important information, but the longer I take to publish, the more nervous I am to do so. I do not own Sherlock. Only Emily and any other original characters in this story.

I hope you're all safe and well.

I'm super nervous starting another story, and I will miss The Other Occupant greatly, but I thought long and hard and ultimately decided on a fresh start for a different season.

I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, and for any mistakes I've made here.

Before we delve into a season of Scandals, Truths, Hounds, and Falls, let's do this properly, and start with a recap.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Not that she had needed the confirmation, but her heart sank somewhat at hearing the name.

"Although I have loved this – this little game of ours..."

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!" He screamed the last word furiously. His words were followed by a pause as Criminal and Detective looked at one another. "Would you like another surprise?"

What if - and the more the thought rattled round her head the more it made sense as to what could be happening on the other side of the curtain - John was currently strapped into a jacket of explosives? The image that bore into her mind (a bunch of explosives made into some sort of cardigan, an awful frightening version of the ones John liked to wear, ones that she had, perhaps, a couple of times burrowed for herself without his knowledge) made her heart race.

"The whole gangs together at last. The three of you." Sherlock desperately tried to make eye contact with the blonde as the man before him gestured with his free hand towards him, John and Emily. Apparently she had found a fascinating spot on the floor as she would not look up from it. He could only watch as she furiously tugged on her skirt to cover more than just her underwear. "And the three of us."

"Don't try to talk, my little elephant. Just relax."

"I will stop you." Sherlock spoke softly, hoping to take the attention away from the blonde.

"Our Emmy here, our lovely, sweet, innocent little Emmy.…" She closed her eyes tightly, wondering just what was going to come out of his mouth. "...watched from just up there," She felt herself relax the tiniest fraction that he was going to talk about Carl Powers, "...as young Carl thrashed about in the water," His tone had turned mournful again, but she knew that it was fake. She could feel the eyes of her friends on her and wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow her whole. "and dieeeed." She felt him shrug as if it was nothing.

"Where's mum?" Emily interrupted having had enough of Jim discussing her. Her gaze was now firmly locked back onto what she thought was a figure on the balcony.

"I was coming back, it was only going to be for the summer holidays - "

"But it wasn't just for the holidays - SHE WAS GOING TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME! From us. Your brother."

"I'll burn the heart out of you." His wore a snarl on his face that quickly vanished at the end of his sentence. He almost looked regretful. Almost.

"Catch... you... later."

The sound of the door opening was shortly followed by Jim's sing song voice; "No you won't!"

She came to a complete halt, a hand in Sherlock's, as she thought she noticed more figures join the first one. But...if they had not left the building, did that mean...?

"Oh..." She heard John utter from behind her.

"I don't think - " A door opened further down the room and Jim entered once more, clapping his hands together and turning to face the three.

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!" Why did he have to sound so damn cheerful? "Emmy, did you really think I'd leave without saying a proper goodbye to you? Or that I'd even leave you here?" Emily looked down from her slightly raised position to find at least two laser dots hovering on the chest she had just been resting on. Jim laughed and spread his arms wide, the way he had when she had been little and awaited her hugs. Sherlock squeezed her hand in his before letting go and moving away.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." He lowered his hands and tucked them into his pockets. "Well, almost my only weakness." His head tilted as his gaze landed on Emily. Though it seemed she was the only one to notice.

Sherlock turned his head and looked down at John who lifted his own head to meet his gaze. Emily lowered herself back down to sit against John again. Taking the dots from his chest onto hers. She looked back up to the balcony and stared at the man who she believed to be her brother.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." He laughed and as he began talking again he made his voice become higher pitched again. "... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock's face, looking down at John again, held no emotion, but his eyes were a different story, as they silently screamed a request. John instantly responded, giving a tiny nod. Sherlock flicked his gaze to the woman sat between his friends legs. The woman who he had rather been looking forward to questioning later upon arriving home and, once John had gone off to bed, holding her close enough to make her cheeks flush.

She felt his gaze upon her and turned briefly to meet it. She understood immediately what he was asking and after taking a moment to study his features; the smooth skin, the sharp cheekbones, his mesmerising eyes and dark curls, nodded gently. She sent him a small smile and turned away from him to look back up at the balcony. Somehow finding through the darkness, much to her surprise, the unmasked face of Sebastian meeting her gaze. At least she would be with everyone she loved. At that moment she could even forgive her brother for more than likely shooting their Gran.

Sherlock wished she had stayed looking at him and found himself wondering, despite the situation, who she was looking at instead. He turned back to face Jim, keeping her face in his mind. "Probably my answer has crossed yours." He raised the pistol, aiming it towards the other man, who held no fear whatsoever in his expression. Slowly, he lowered the weapon downwards until it was pointing directly at the vest John had been wearing moments before.

Three sets of eyes locked onto the item, but Emily continued to stare upwards. A sad smile graced her features. Of course the first time she saw her brothers face after all those years would be the same moment she - they - were all about to die.

She could feel John's heavy breathing as his chest rose and fell against her back. She slid her right hand into John's and interlocked their fingers. He squeezed it in acknowledgement. Was that a goodbye? Perhaps it signified that everything would be alright. Unlikely.

With her left hand she blew a discreet kiss up to the balcony and her smile grew when she saw her brother pretend to catch it.

Perhaps it was whatever was still circulating her system that made her feel this calm, she supposed she would never find out, but she was grateful for it.

She closed her eyelids, rested her head back against her friends shoulder.

And waited.

It turned out, however, that she didn't have very long to wait.

The silence was suddenly infiltrated by the tinny sound of The Bee Gees' 'Stayin' Alive' causing Emily to snap her eyes open.

That was not a sound she had been expecting.

She looked over at Jim in time to see him close his eyes and sigh in exasperation. "D'you mind if I get that?" Clearly he hadn't been expecting it either.

"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Sherlock responded nonchalantly. He turned to look at Emily but she could only shrug with confusion. How the hell was she supposed to know who was on the other end?

"Hello?...Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He mouthed the word 'sorry' at the Detective and Emily rolled her eyes. Quite frankly, if she was going to die, she'd like it just to happen and be done with it. Not have all this...faffing around. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" Her childhood friend shouted suddenly, his face full of fury. She would have jumped had she not been so used to his mood swings. When he spoke next, his tone was venomous. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you." There was a pause as he waited for whoever he was talking to to repeat their words. "Wait." He lowered the phone, walking forwards to the jacket, stopping beside it. He gazed down at the floor thoughtfully before lifting his dark eyes to Sherlock. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked casually.

Jim looked down at the phone and Emily watched him carefully as he lifted his gaze to meet her stare. It softened slightly as he directed his words to her. "I'll see you again, very soon, my sweet girl." He turned away and started slowly walking away. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." His tone was not so gentle. He casually strolled back around the pool towards the door, lifting the phone to his ear once more. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." As he reached the door, his free hand raised, he clicked his fingers and instantly the red dots that had been focused on them vanished.

Emily felt John let out a sigh of relief. She quickly scanned the balcony for any sign of her brother or retreating figures of snipers, but she could see none. Despite being sat so close to John, she suddenly felt overwhelmingly lonely knowing her brother had gone. Again.

"What happened there?" John questioned from behind her.

"Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?" Sherlock turned to face Emily again. "Any ideas since you seem to know him?" This time, his tone sounded agitated. She tried not to take it personally, but felt offended all the same.

"No." She mumbled.

"What was that?"

"No!" She shouted to him now. "Piss off." She muttered to herself as she began to stand and ignored how unsteady she felt. When Sherlock instantly raced forwards so she wouldn't fall back down again, she tried to fight his hold off. "Get off me."

"Emily." John tried to calm her down at the same time Sherlock spoke.

"We all know if I let go, you will fall into the water and according to your friend, you don't know how to swim." She felt she hated him at that moment.

"Fine. But John can help me, since you're hurting me." He wasn't actually hurting her, but he didn't need to know that. She managed to release herself from his grasp and moved back towards the Doctor. She assisted him in standing, but only so she could be held by him and not the Detective.

"What do we do now?" John asked, choosing to ignore the lovers tiff he had just witnessed and the hurt look Sherlock currently wore. "We can't just leave that here." He nodded his head at the explosive vest, not daring to look at the thing.

"We need to phone bomb squad, get them to deal with that." Sherlock waved his hand in the vague direction of the vest, moving his head around to search for anyone still left.

Emily wondered what had happened to her companion that had apparently bought her here. Perhaps, he had only been needed to make sure she didn't go anywhere and after pushing her out of the changing room had made his exit without them noticing? Not that she particularly cared, she just didn't want to think about the reunion she had just experienced.

"Em?" John turned her so she was standing before him, and though his breathing was still a little fast, it seemed as if he'd gone into Doctor mode. He studied her eyes for a moment before turning back to Sherlock who was now holding his phone up to his ear. "I'm taking her home."

"What?" The phone was quickly lowered and he moved closer to the pair, "No, you both need to stay here."

"I want to go home." Emily informed him, her voice the strongest it had been since before she had been knocked out. "I want to go home and sleep this out of my system."

"You need to answer some questions first."

"Do you think that I could possibly clear my head before you make any sort of inquiries and deductions about my childhood please?" She snapped, it was her turn to sound venomous. She didn't dare make eye contact with the Detective, but continued to look at his chin for fear she wouldn't be able to speak her mind. "John is taking me home. Where we may, or may not, have a cup of tea to calm ourselves down. We might have to stop to get milk on the way since I was injected with only god knows what a few hours ago and didn't get the chance to go shopping, then I am going to tuck myself up into bed. I am going to get a jolly good nights sleep. I am going to call Roid in a few hours to tell him I can't come in today; I nearly got blown up by my childhood best friend. Then and only then, can you sit me down and ask me everything."

Sherlock, too stunned to speak, could only watch as the blonde turned away from him and headed towards the door he had come through. John kept glancing over his shoulder at him, an astonished look plastered on his features at their friends outburst.

Had she not already made it to the door and he had he not heard the voice of someone shouting from his phone, he would have marched up to her and planted his lips firmly on hers.

As it was, the voice yelling 'Hello' at him caused him to return the device to his ear. He could only watch as his two flatmates disappeared round the door. He thought he hard John ask her where her shoes had got to, but they were too far away for him to hear properly.

Upon arriving home, Sherlock had been met with John, but no Emily.

"All sorted?" John questioned as Sherlock hung up his coat. He sounded - and looked - exhausted but he had stayed awake to speak to the Detective. He only received a nod in return. "She's downstairs, sleeping on Mrs Hudson's couch again." He supplied before he could even be asked.

"What has she told you?" Sherlock took his usual seat opposite John, taking note of the empty mugs resting on the floor. Evidently they had been sitting here before she had gone downstairs and the image of her choosing his seat over John's filled him with warm feelings despite the never ending thoughts swirling through his mind.

"She has told me nothing." John leaned forward now, trying to convey how important his next words would be. "And you need to take it easy on her. Now I don't think for a second you'd get angry with her, or at least I'd hope you wouldn't, but you need to make sure that you don't." He was met with a frown. "I'm assuming you heard what they were talking about?" Sherlock took a moment to think back to the events that already felt like they were a lifetime away.

"I managed to hear most of it, but without context, I won't jump to conclusions." He tried not to picture how comfortable she had looked in his arms as they conversed.

John scoffed, but chose to ignore those words. "By the sounds of it, that man, not only had her injected with something a short while ago," He began to count off the list with his fingers, "he also had her Gran shot, helped raise her, take her Mother somewhere and to top it all off, she had to watch Carl Powers die." He had run out of breath by the time he had finished talking. He lowered his hand to his face in order to rest his chin on it.

"That explains the shoebox." Though he would have rather heard this from her own mouth.

"Shoebox? Sher- where are you going?"

"The shoebox John." John rolled his eyes as the Detective ascended the stairs, leaving him with no answers. He wasn't left for long however as he returned in a matter of seconds, with a tatty looking box in his hands.

"And, where did you pick this up from?" Though he felt he already knew the answer.

"Her room. Obviously." He stated as if it should have been apparent.

"Obviously." John sighed to himself. "I think if she knows you've been in her room she will go ballistic."

"She knew our friendly bomber, she's clearly full of secrets John, how else was I supposed to find them out?"

"Oh, I don't know? Maybe wait for her to tell you? To tell us! Look, I've been thinking, and every time she attempted to talk to me, we didn't have the chance, something always came up. It's not that she didn't want to, it's that she couldn't."

"So why did she never try telling me? She had plenty of chances." He was unsure if he had managed to keep the hurt from his voice.

"Probably because you would have gone Detective on her and started deducing things." John reasoned.

"And why shouldn't I have done that?"

John was rapidly loosing his patience. "Because first and foremost, Sherlock, she is our friend. Though judging by all that jealousy you wore on your face back at the pool - not that I really needed to see that anyway because I see the way the pair of you look at one another - she is much more than just a friend to you, and probably didn't want you to go all...Detective and smart arse on her. She wanted to tell me first before telling you because she knew I wouldn't do that, whereas you just can't seem to help it." He deflated and sat back against the back of the chair.

"But for a case - "

"Sod your case." John shook his head and decided to change the subject, if only slightly. "What's in the box then?" He muttered.

Sherlock took the lid off and handed the box to the Doctor. Immediately John tipped the contents carefully onto his lap and looked through the collected pieces of paper. "My God." He mumbled upon noticing the headlines. "This has been bothering her since - "

"Since she was a child." Sherlock finished, his voice soft.

"And she never told anyone."

"So it would seem."

"What else don't we know about Emily?"

"I don't know." Sherlock sat back in his chair, watching John place the paper clippings back into the box. "I don't like not knowing."

The few hours sleep she received had helped more than she thought it would. She only wished she hadn't had to get up in order to call Roid. She could have stayed tucked in on her landlady's sofa all day. But, she reasoned she needed to explain things to her flatmates, and that she should get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Morning." John mumbled to her from the kitchen table. He looked like he'd not been up long himself and Emily wondered if Sherlock had dragged him from his bed in order to get this done and out of the way.

"Morning." She grumbled back.

"Good." Sherlock stood in the doorway to the kitchen, typing something into his phone. "You're up." He finally looked away from the device in his hands to her. She was staring so intently at a spot on the table he wondered if it would catch fire. Evidently she was worried about the events of last night - early that morning - and he couldn't exactly say he was feeling calm about the conversation they were going to have. "Eat first. Then we can talk. I've called Roid, he's fine with it."

She snapped her gaze up to meet Sherlock's. "What did you tell him?"

"That you had a family emergency, but you'd be back tomorrow."

"Eugh." She sighed and slumped down in the chair beside John. "That just gives him a reason to annoy me in my office while he tries to stick his ugly nose into my business and find out what's gone on."

Sherlock chuckled to himself, something that surprised both the occupants at the table. After her outburst a few hours ago - not to mention the events that had led up to said outburst - she was sure Sherlock would be in some sort of mood with her. "Eat." He repeated and moved back into the living room to sit in his chair and wait.

John had sat with her the entire time she had eaten and followed her now into the living room to take his seat.

Sherlock had moved a chair from the table and placed it facing the fireplace so she would be close to them while she spoke. When she paused to look at it, John patted the cushion with his hand, inviting her with a warm smile. She felt as if she didn't deserve it.

"There's something I should - " Sherlock reached down underneath his chair and took out her shoebox. "Been in my room then, I see." She took it from him, trying not to let her fingers graze against his. She managed it but barely.

"What does it mean?" Sherlock didn't waste any time.

"Perhaps if I started from the very beginning?" She asked, clutching the box to her chest though she knew it was likely they'd both already seen the contents of this box. Thank God her younger self hadn't used the same brand of shoebox for her other collection. It meant she could tell the boxes apart and felt only the tiniest amount of relief that it was the Carl Powers box and not the Timothy Pecker one. She wondered if that box had been found but it seemed the only one who would be revealing things would be her. She would just have to wait and see if Sherlock said anything about the second box.

She sat down on the chair, placing the box on her lap. Took the lid off and rested it on the floor.

"I think you both know Mum wasn't very keen on me. That she still isn't" She began and waited for them to both confirm they already knew this. "And that the feeling was mutual." Another set of nods. "Well, it never really seemed to matter then, because I had my brother Sebastian and - "

"Half brother." Sherlock interrupted, causing John to give him a stern look, telling him not to keep doing it.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Because I had my half brother Sebastian and his best friend, who also ended up being my best friend - "

"Jim Moriarty." John exhaled loudly in warning at Sherlock, who only sent him a shrug in return before turning back to face the blonde.

"Yes." She spoke through gritted teeth, but took a deep breath to try and help herself not get angry. "As far as I'm aware they taught me how to walk, talk, read, probably write. Gran couldn't visit too often, she had her own life to lead, but when she could she made sure I was looked after and that the boys could have time to themselves. So she also had a hand in it." Sherlock watched as she reached up for her necklace to fiddle with the elephant.

"I don't understand." John spoke softly. His friends faced him, Emily in encouragement to continue, Sherlock in slight annoyance that John could interrupt, but he couldn't. "Why could you're Gran not have taken you out, away from your Mum? Even if she hadn't been able to look after you all the time, could she not have found help?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked before Emily could finish opening her mouth. "Emily adored her brother - "

"Half brother." She smirked to herself that she had been able to do what he had done to her moments before.

"She adored her half brother and it seems that feeling was also mutual." He paused for confirmation, not that he truly needed it. "Her Gran didn't want to take her away from her half brother, but he was being cared for. He was a wanted child, it was Emily that was the mistake." She rolled her eyes at his bluntness but couldn't argue against it. He was, of course, correct. "So long as Emily was cared for by someone her Gran was content to let her be at home."

"Gran never liked Jim. Jim never liked Gran. I've never understood why, but where Sebastian was, Jim was surely there too. The same vice versa as well."

"We can come back to your Gran." Sherlock was careful to speak softly, knowing now the circumstances surrounding the woman. "Go back to where you were going before we mentioned her."

"One day Seb must have offered to take me swimming, so I could learn. I don't think I was particularly fussed about learning, just excited to get out of the house, so I said yes. I remember...I remember seeing Jim before we went in and I was so excited that he was there, that they would both be teaching me. And I remember Seb taking me into a changing room to help me get ready. We couldn't go in straight away because the pool was being used for something that wasn't open to the public so they decided to take me up to the balcony so I could 'watch how it was done'. Only - "

"Only it wasn't so you could see how it was done." Emily wasn't sure if she could recall ever hearing Sherlock sound so gentle. She shook her head and focused on a spot in the fireplace. "It was so he could watch what he'd done to Carl."

She nodded slowly. "My brother held me on his side, I...I wasn't tall enough to see over the edge. It was loud. There were so many people who'd turned up to watch, I didn't like the noise, but I watched, wondering how they weren't drowning without armbands on." She could just see the memory play out like a film in her head. "I have no idea how long it took before the splashing started. I know it didn't take long for it to become...urgent." She looked down at the box in her lap, and lifted a clipping from it. This particular piece contained a photo of the boy, "By the time they got him out of the water it was too late."

"What made you collect these?" John nodded his head to her hands.

She took a moment to reel her thoughts together, moving away from the day at the pool, to the days that happened after. "Neither of them would explain what had happened. They thought I was too young to really know what went on, despite having just witnessed it." She lifted her head up to look at the Detective. "Did you know I always smell chlorine when I see a dead body? I don't think I ever told either of you." She shook her head and looked away before he could reply, wanting to keep on track of what she was saying. "I wasn't a complete idiot, I knew what it was I'd just witnessed. I might not have known it was a murder I'd watched but I knew something didn't...didn't feel right. They never offered to teach me again, they clearly hadn't been interested in teaching in the first place, so why would they have taken me? I just...found it odd that the day we went, was the day that boy passed and something seemed different about Jim." She held up a hand as Sherlock opened his mouth to ask a question. "Please don't ask me how he was different, I've got no idea. Christ, it's a miracle I even understood why they really took me to the pool." Sherlock closed his mouth again, not quite satisfied with that answer, but he knew that would have to suffice.

"The clippings, Em?" John gently reminded her.

"Oh, sorry, um...Gran came over a couple of days after and she'd bought a newspaper with her. She always loved reading them. The front page, it caught my eye. The boys... they'd started to teach me how to read, so I understood that the front page was telling people about what happened at the pool, but I didn't know anywhere near enough to actually read it myself, so I asked Gran to read it for me." She shrugged. "She did, albeit reluctantly, and that evening when she put it in the bin to throw out I tore it from the rest of the paper and put it in one of Mum's empty shoeboxes. I think Gran must have seen me do it because from that day on, when I'd go in my room, there would be a couple of new clippings sat on my bed. It was only when I got older that I read them myself. I guess, maybe I thought one day I could help out, but it never really came into focus. Until the other day." She finished this part of the story with another shrug.

"Why didn't you tell us straight away?" Sherlock inquired. It took everything in him to not release the anger he was currently feeling into his words. He opted to stare at her knees instead of into her eyes until she spoke.

"I thought about it all afternoon. Should I tell you? How would I tell you? I bumped into John when he was just leaving to visit Mycroft and thought about it some more and decided to tell him first so I wouldn't have someone going all... Detective on me." John made a point of sending Sherlock a look. It was ignored. "I figured he'd help me explain it to you."

"Your Gran?" Sherlock prodded now, changing the subject.

Emily let the paper flutter down into its box. She felt she should place it down on the floor as that part of the questioning appeared to be over, but she wanted something do to with her hands, something to hold onto. "What about her?"

"What happened to her?"

"The start of the Summer holidays - no. I should probably go back further. I guess...a few months before the summer holidays, she invited me to go away on holiday with her. I'd never been on holiday before - still haven't - so I was excited. She said it was only going to be a caravan at the seaside, but I couldn't wait to get away from Mum. For six whole weeks! I couldn't have cared if it rained the entire time, I was getting away from her and actually out of the house."

"For six whole weeks!" John's excited, teasing tone made her giggle.

"But it never happened?"

"No." She shook her head. "I was packed and ready to go. Only had to say bye to Seb and we would have been off, only...only Jim turned up to see me off as well. I went downstairs to see him, we were talking and there was a noise from upstairs." She could still hear it in her mind. As clear as day. "The pool of blood grew steadily bigger as we phoned for an ambulance. She'd been shot, and for some reason, the Police have never worked out who'd done it."

"But you suspected?" John questioned.

"Seb had no reason to not be downstairs waiting for me to come and say bye. Had no reason to not be in the house at all in fact. Jim was always a good actor, but I saw straight through him."

"You never went to the Police?"

"Would you have believed a child coming in with some story that her half brother had shot his own Gran and the whole thing had been organised by their best friend?" She cocked an eyebrow at them both, only John nodded his understanding, Sherlock remained studying her, fingers in the prayer position resting just under his chin. "So, no, I never got to go on holiday. You probably heard back at the pool it was because she was actually planning on taking me away permanently."

"Your half brother - Sebastian?" Sherlock asked.

"Sebastian Moran." Emily nodded.

"What happened with him?"

"I grew more distant with him - and with Jim after...after Gran...eventually he left me. Not that I could really blame him. He needed to go and live his own life. But he left me with her." She essentially spat the word. "Neither of us had any idea where he'd gone. We used to get a letter every week but that was it. Even they stopped after a while. Drove Mum to become more dependant on the booze. Jim left too so I only had myself."

"Was he there? Last night?"

"I wasn't sure at first it was him, but yes. Yes he was." Her vague answer allowed her not to admit out loud that her half brother had been one of the main snipers aiming at her flatmates, she felt she had no need to say it anyway.

Sherlock didn't bother to ask for a reason as to why her half sibling had been in the building. He could deduce from the story he had just heard about her Gran. Instead of dwelling on the fact that her brother had been one of the people pointing weapons at him and John, he opted to change the subject. "Your Mother." Emily looked up to meet Sherlock's stare. She noted there was no warmth in them. "Where is she now?"

Emily could only shrug. "I've no idea." She thought back to the past few days and the phone call, the sound of her Mother's rings clanking against the phone as she held her hand over it to talk to someone. "She rang the other day, said Seb was with her and that she'd pass me over, but she came back and said he couldn't talk right then. I didn't think much of it, thought she was just drunk. Again. But judging by the fact I saw him at the pool, I guess it really was him there." Sherlock opened his mouth to ask something else, but he never got the chance. "Look, I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to tell the pair of you about Jim and I'm sorry I shouted at you this morning, whatever I had in my system made me want to sleep and I was a bit upset that my brother had disappeared again after all this time.

"Not on edge then, that we almost got shot, or...I dunno, blown up?" John teased. Emily smiled and rested the box on the floor, gently placing the lid back where it belonged, hiding the smiling face of Carl Powers once more. She felt better now that they knew she had been there. And about most of her childhood.

"Whatever was in me made me feel rather calm actually after I'd made it out of the changing room. Or was it just sleepy?"

"How do you feel now?" John leaned forward.

"I don't feel so tired, and my limbs certainly feel normal again. Do you have any idea how long it will be in my system for?"

"Judging by how much better you seem now I'd say it was already out of your system. Let's not risk it though. A day of resting, yes?"

"But we have things to do."

"But you need rest, me and Sherlock are more than capable. Aren't we Sherlock?"

"Anything else you need to tell us?" He asked instead of answering John's questions, watching her face carefully. She was cautious to keep it straight. "Anymore secrets we should know?"

Timothy Pecker ran through her mind. His face and his awful bullying of her that had ruined her childhood. But she wasn't ready to tell this part of her childhood yet. She doubted she ever would be, but she reasoned she had kept Carl a secret for so long, would it hurt for her to tell them what had happened to Timothy?

She opened her mouth to talk, but a voice beat her too it. "Cooee." Mrs Hudson appeared at the top of their landing, knocking on their living room door. "I've got that phone number for you Sherlock." He finally looked away from Emily, who took this as her chance to leave. "The one for the window replacement."

Mrs Hudson moved over to the three and handed over a piece of paper as Emily stood, picked up the shoebox and tucked the chair back under the table. Slowly, so as not to make the boys believe she was in a hurry, she moved towards the staircase and began to ascend. Only when she was out of sight did she speed up her movements.

When she reached her room she instantly knelt down on the floor and shoved the box away from her. Making sure it was placed in front of her other shoebox to hide it a little more. She would have to make a collection of things to place under her bed to make them all the more concealed. But she would have to do this slowly so as not to arouse suspicion in case Sherlock decided to come back into her room and have a another nosey round. It would look dubious if she were to suddenly have things under her bed the day after Sherlock had discovered her shoebox.

She stood to get dressed but found her gaze landing on her photo frames beside her bed. Specifically the one of her with Jim.

It was only now that she really studied it that she realised: since Jim and her brother had left her, whenever she allowed her memories to play in her mind, she always pictured the Jim she had walked away from all those years ago. The Jim that had been on the phone to someone and instantly turned angry. Even when her very early memoires came to her, it was never a young, fresh faced boy she saw in her minds eye.

She knew for a fact, that this would have changed now. Whenever she thought back to her childhood, she would only be able to see the Jim she had encountered the night before. Westwood suit and tie, dotted with skulls. His smart shoes looking odd against the dry tiles. The glimmer from the water moving across his features.

She climbed under her own covers now, relishing in the coolness of them. She didn't bother to take her dressing gown off, it would add another layer of warmth that the missing windows could not.

Before her mind could begin racing about any details she may have missed, or indeed about Timothy Pecker, she relaxed and closed her eyes. She would save those thoughts for later, For now, she would follow her Doctors orders.

Season 2 is go.

FB