The past few nights, Emily had barely slept and she silently thanked Roid for giving her this week off as holiday. No way would she have been able to stay awake at her desk, or manage to keep her temper under control if her boss managed to irritate her.

Instead of sleeping, she had kept Sherlock company (or had it been the other way round?) as he didn't seem to be sleeping either. The pair reading in silence or having the telly on with the volume lowered (more Emily than Sherlock) very aware of the sleeping Doctor above their heads. Sherlock playing his violin (a different piece than the one he had been playing a few months ago and had played a few times just for her) whilst she played solitaire on her phone. If she did manage to fall asleep, it was only ever a light nap; fully aware of everything going on around her and easily awoken

Emily hadn't asked what had kept him awake, Sherlock never questioned why she wasn't sleeping. She wasn't sure she would have told him anyway. She found his presence a comfort and somewhat of a distraction and found herself hoping he felt the same about her company.

When she wasn't somewhat distracted, she could not stop thinking about the article. As she had known she would, she had flattened it out - still not reading the words - before folding it up as small as it would go and hiding it away in the box.

At every chance she had, she had scoured every newspaper available to search for any hint of another one, but had so far, been unsuccessful. She was unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

The lack of sleep had caused her an awful headache, one that didn't seem to ease no matter how many painkillers she took.

Along with not really getting any sleep, Emily found herself - unconsciously - withdrawing from the small social life she had. Too deep in thought to listen to what anyone was saying and not being able to think of anything to say in order to engage in the conversations she had heard.

Though she had managed to overhear John talking about it with Sherlock and the unspoken words shared between them were far louder than the ones that weren't.

John - and perhaps Sherlock, she wasn't one hundred percent sure - thought she was missing Irene. John - therefore no doubt Sherlock - was aware of the two women talking. Emily had made no secret of it.

But she only wished that were true.

She even heard them wonder if maybe she was missing her Mother, but Sherlock had quickly shut that down.

The morning of New Years Eve, found her sat at the windowsill, forehead pressed against the cool glass with the net curtain resting on top of her head so it wasn't in her way - moving positions every few minutes as the coolness warmed under her skin. The coolness eased her pain for only a few moments, but she would gladly take them.

She registered her flatmates having a conversation behind her, but paid them no attention, only turning her head away from the window when she felt a hand on her back. She had just watched a woman stop outside the flat and looked as if she was waiting for someone. Surely John hadn't moved on from Jeanette already?

"I'm off out Em." He moved his hand but only so he could run it gently over her hair. "Try and get some sleep today, yeah? If you still can't I'll prescribe you something to help." She hadn't looked in the mirror lately so she could only guess how exhausted she looked.

She sent him a tired smile and a nod. "Bye John." She spoke as he pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.

How wonderful he was. Some sleeping tablets sounded amazing.

"See you later." He cast a quick glance at Sherlock, too busy standing before the other window playing on his violin to take any notice of what was going on.

As Emily - and she assumed Sherlock - watched John stop to chat to the woman, the music ceased. She could feel the Detectives gaze fall upon her as he turned to look at her as the car pulled up.

"Mycroft?" She questioned, not looking away from the scene below them.

"Not this time." Sherlock answered coming to stand behind her.

"You're going to follow them, aren't you?"

"Of course." She glanced over at him to find he'd moved away and was already getting his coat on. "Are you coming?"

"No thanks." It was a testament to how awful she must have looked as Sherlock only nodded at her reply instead of dragging her up to get dressed. "You should be quick. He's just got in the car."

"Try to sleep." He instructed as he made his way downstairs. She watched him leave, hailing the first taxi that was going by, only a few seconds behind John, the vehicle moved off before Sherlock had even closed the door properly behind him. She sent him a shy wave as he glanced up at her.

She could just about hear her landlady moving around downstairs, getting everything ready for her day of cleaning. Perhaps she would appreciate the extra pair of hands?

"Mrs Hudson?" Emily called down the stairs.

"Yes love?"

"Do you want a hand with the cleaning?"

"Don't you want to try and sleep?"

She paused as she took a moment to think it over. She really did not enjoy cleaning but perhaps it would help clear her head. "Cleaning might exhaust me enough to get me to sleep?"

There was a brief pause as the older woman gave the offer some thought. "Well, alright then. But put some old clothes on that you don't mind getting dusty."

"Alright." So definitely not her lovely new dressing gown then. She had barely taken it off since she'd donned it for the gathering and had - by some miracle - manged not to spill anything down it. The pyjamas she still wore were probably not suited for cleaning in either.

She moved up the stairs to her room, not bothering to rush and began to search for clothes she didn't particularly care about. Which, if she was honest, was all of them. Would her landlady complain if she went down in her pencil skirt? Maybe if she was knelt down in it she would make a tear in it and she would never have to wear it again. She really needed to go shopping for trousers to wear. Though she would go by herself this time. Not that she would have much choice with that since Molly wasn't talking to her.

She sighed deeply and grabbed the first t-shirt that appeared when she opened the drawer. She really did not feel like getting dressed, but perhaps even this simple act would help her feel at least a little better.

But as she rearranged a twisted bra strap, she came to the realisation that this probably wasn't the best idea (what if she fell asleep mid cleaning and fell face first into some bleach?) and noticed how tempting her bed looked.

An odd sound that Emily couldn't place sounded from downstairs, making her pause in her actions. What the hell had it been? She kept as still as she could while she waited to see if it would happen again. She didn't have to wait very long at all as she now heard her landlady shout for Sherlock.

She slipped her silk dressing gown back on so she wouldn't be returning downstairs in just a bra and pyjama bottoms, picking up the torch that sat on her bedside table she had used on the way home on boxing day and tip toed down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky patches she had grown accustomed to. She watched from the doorway - unnoticed by the smartly dressed men - as they forced her lovely landlady into a chair. The poor woman looked terrified.

She flinched as one of them (the leader she supposed) backhanded her around the face. She felt a rush of anger overtake her.

"Excuse me?" She spoke up through gritted teeth. Four pairs of eyes turned to face her.

"Oh, Emily." Mrs Hudson cried from the chair.

"It's alright Mrs H. They won't hurt you anymore. At least not with a witness. Can I help you?" She wanted to cross her arms over her chest but recognised it would be a little difficult to do so with the heavy torch in her grasp. "Oh," She had finally looked at the intruders properly and instantly recognised them. Well...two of them anyway. But especially the one with the crooked nose. "It's you." It seemed as if the man who had held a gun to her head all those months ago was anything but pleased to see her. If she was honest she'd never seen anyone looking so angry. Apart from Jim.

"You." He started, uncaring that he was more than likely breaking the rules for speaking to her. "You broke my nose."

"I know." She replied, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"You did this to me!" He indicated to his nose.

"I know." She repeated. "I thought it was rather an improvement." She cautiously moved into the room to stand in front of her landlady, just in case they tried to lay a finger on her again.

"Gonna fight us one by one with your pathetic torch?" He tried to provoke her.

"I might." She shrugged, bringing it round so it rested against the side of her leg. "Maybe I'll manage to smash your skull in with it? I think I'd enjoy that." She sneered.

"We didn't come here for a fight with you, Miss Cooper." The leader - the American - finally spoke up, breaking her focus on the one who had almost killed her. What had his name been?

"Oh? So you came here to beat up innocent old ladies then? Not that your old Mrs H." She righted herself before she would land herself in trouble with the woman.

"This is getting out of hand." One of the other men commented.

"Where is it?" The american asked, getting back on track.

"You'll have to be a little more specific I'm afraid." Emily answered.

"I think you know, Miss Cooper."

"I don't think I do." She felt Mrs Hudson rest a hand on her back and she reached her free hand back so she could hold it. She felt as if her landlady was trying to communicate with her but without turning round, Emily wouldn't be able to decipher what it was. And she most certainly wasn't going to turn her back on the man who was still glaring at her. If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under.

"No? Well - "

"Enough of this." Her almost killer hissed and backhanded her. Hard. The force sent her tumbling straight into the table next to John's chair. Unfortunately for Emily, it collided with her head rather forcibly. She heard the older woman cry out before the world turned black.

"Emily?" She heard her name being called as if from a distance. Feeling a gentle hand on her cheek she blearily opened her eyes to find Sherlock's face right in front of hers. A part of her mind wondered if he was finally going to kiss her but she noted the look of pure worry on his features and remembered what had happened.

"Mrs Hudson?" She asked, her voice croaky.

"Oh, Emily love." She felt another set of hands on her back. Together, the hands gently raised her into a sitting position. Sherlock taking a moment to close and tie her dressing gown up again before they eased her to stand up and help her to the sofa. She was fairly certain she could still hear their landlady snuffling and spotted the American tied to a chair, duct tape across his mouth.

"What's happened?"

"No need to worry about that now. I need to check for a concussion." He began going through the motions that she had, rather annoyingly, become accustomed to since she had been living in Baker Street.

"I think I'd know what a concussion felt like by now." She mumbled more to herself, though she heard Mrs Hudson release a watery laugh. She raised a hand to her forehead, wincing at the pain she felt when she prodded the tender area. "Why didn't you wake me sooner? I would have enjoyed taping him to the chair."

"Perhaps best not to touch it. We couldn't wake you until now. Didn't want our friend here to make a run for it if he woke up first."

"Oh." She uttered at the sight of bloodied fingers. "Will it need stitches?"

"Perhaps. I'll get you something to put on it for now. Maybe best not to go to sleep for a while, but no sign of one." She was unsure who he was actually talking to; her or himself. He moved away from them into the kitchen, taking his phone from his pocket. Emily leaned against the older woman, who then wrapped an arm around the blonde, gently stroking her hair.

"Where are the others?" Emily asked, only now noticing that it was just the four of them in the room.

"Sent them off." He mumbled to her as he handed her some wet kitchen roll, only to have Mrs Hudson snatch it from him and hold against her head instead. "Which one?"

"Which one what?" She winced as the cool kitchen roll was dabbed against her injury.

"Which one did that to you?"

"I don't know why you're bothering to ask. You probably know already."

"The one with the crooked nose. Thompson." Sherlock immediately replied.

"I did that." Emily stated proudly, a smug smile lifting the corners of her lips, though she winced again when she felt a stinging in her cheek. More than likely where he'd backhanded her.

"No doubt why he hit you so hard." She watched him scribble on a piece of paper before darting down the stairs.

"Are you alright Mrs Hudson?" Emily questioned, her head still resting against the older woman as she was still being tended to. "Did they hurt you after I'd been knocked out?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with." It sounded as if she was still crying and Emily could only pat the woman's arm in comfort as the feeling of being tended to was rather enjoyable if she ignored the pain that came with it.

Sherlock was quick to return and took from his pocket a gun and his phone. "Who are you calling?" Emily asked him, watching as he sat down in the chair next to the doorway.

He aimed the gun at their intruder before he answered, not bothering to glance away from the man. "I'm not calling anyone yet. Not until John gets here at least."

"Who will you call when he does get here?"

"The police. Obviously. We've had a break in."

"Obviously." Emily rolled her eyes and relaxed a little more into her landlady.

As the minutes ticked by, the only sounds to be heard were the occasional sniffle from Mrs Hudson and the traffic outside. Emily was certain they would have been able to hear a pin drop.

Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long. A car door closed and it sounded as if it was right outside the flat. Sherlock pressed a button on his phone and raised it to his ear.

Sure enough it only took a matter of seconds for the front door to slam behind the Doctor, followed by his footsteps on the stairs.

"What's going on?" John marched into the living room, though stopped at the sight of the man bound to the chair. Emily only noticed now that she properly looked at the American that there was blood dripping down his face and onto his clothing. "Jeez. What the hell is...happening?"

"Emily and Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe."

"Though, technically, I wasn't actually attacked by an American," Emily interrupted. "I was attacked by one of his goons."

"So pleased to hear your sense of humour hasn't disappeared." Sherlock turned to glance at her briefly and the pair shared sarcastic grins.

The Doctor hurried over to the two women and squeezed himself between them both, though pushing Emily more out of his way than anything.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, my God. Are you all right?" He turned a glare to the American as he put an arm around the landlady's shoulder. "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs Hudson broke down in tears again, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, I'm just being so silly."

"No, no." The Doctor pulled her closer, and partially turned to look at the blonde, who had taken to sulking now that she was no longer being looked after. With his free hand, he turned her chin so she was looking at him. "Jesus Em, looks like you need some stitches." She attempted to rest her head on his shoulder but quickly moved away again when the stinging restarted. He seemed to understand what she wanted and wrapped his other arm around her to bring her as close as he dared.

Sherlock stood, phone still held against his ear and gun still pointed at the intruder. "Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her." He ordered John.

"Her?" John questioned.

"Mrs Hudson." The Detective replied.

"I'm taking Emily too."

"No. Leave Emily up here. We'll be down shortly."

"She needs medical attention."

"And she'll get it."

It took him a few seconds, but John released a sigh, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere, and stood, helping their landlady to her feet after giving the blonde one last squeeze. "All right, it's all right. I'll have a look at that."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Mrs Hudson muttered as she moved. Emily threw the kitchen roll, now slightly bloodied, onto the table with a sigh as John stepped over to the Detective.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"I expect so. Now go."

"And you'll bring Emily down as soon as you've finished?"

"Obviously."

Emily could clearly picture the murderous expressions that was being aimed at the American and found herself lucky that she wasn't on the receiving end of it. John sent her one last glance, checking she was fine with staying. She sent him a tiny nod and watched him follow Mrs Hudson down the stairs. Part of her wished she was going with him but a bigger part of her was thrilled to be staying to see what would happen.

"Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Sherlock walked over to the dining table and lay the pistol down. "Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. Though Emily may need a few stitches. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured." Emily frowned as much as her injury would allow. "Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull... suspected punctured lung...He fell out of a window." He hung up, not breaking eye contact with their burglar.

"Which window in particular?" Emily questioned.

"Any will do." Sherlock answered, swiftly sliding his phone back into the pocket of his blazer.

"Will he fit out of the kitchen one?"

Sherlock spun on his heel to finally face her properly and sent her a beaming grin. "Let's find out."

Emily found it rather laughable that according to Lestrade, Lestrade was the least irritating officer. But then she was feeling rather exhausted to the point where almost anything would have been hysterical. She wanted nothing more than to go back inside the flat and check on her landlady.

Instead, she was sitting on the back of an ambulance being checked over by a paramedic who she was fairly certain had better places to be on New Years Eve. Though she did not voice this opinion she found herself wondering if the woman in front of her thought so too.

"Well, Miss Cooper, looks like you won't be needing any stitches this evening. But I am going to need to bandage it up."

"Thank you." She mumbled with a tired smile.

"You look as tired as I feel." The woman who was gently taking care of her chuckled.

"Busy night?"

"You have no idea. Though this is probably one the nicer jobs I've done on a New Years. Got any plans for the big hour?"

Emily greatly appreciated the distraction from the pain she could feel. "No. I usually try to be asleep at midnight but I haven't been sleeping well. And now with this I doubt I'll be allowed to sleep for a few hours at least. Just to be safe."

"You've no signs of a concussion, Miss Cooper, but I would feel better knowing you weren't going to sleep for a while. Just to be safe."

"Don't worry." John came to stand just outside the doors. Did this mean that Mrs Hudson was all by herself? "I'll make sure she doesn't fall asleep and I'll keep watch for any delayed symptoms. I'm a Doctor." He elaborated when the woman gave him a confused look.

"Did you not feel like bandaging this up yourself?"

"He was looking after our landlady." Emily answered for him, feeling as if the woman's tone had taken on a flirty edge. She tugged the blanket she had been given a little tighter around her shoulders, sending a glare to her flatmate telling him to not bother flirting back.

It only took a few minutes before the paramedic had finished, helping her down out of the ambulance and taking the blanket back when Emily offered it. "Get yourself wrapped up Miss Cooper and put on some fresh clothes."

Emily glanced down at herself. Her lovely dressing gown had blood on it and already she could feel the cold as it quickly seeped in through the thin fabric. "Thank you. Happy New Year."

Not wanting to watch John flirt, the blonde immediately headed back into the building, quickly feeling the warmth wrap around her like a comforting hug. She didn't get very far when John came up behind her, taking hold of her elbow to stop her moving.

John stepped up onto the landing that led to the kitchen and left only a little space between them. Leaning down somewhat so he could look her in the eyes, he spoke his next words. "Did you know?" He questioned gently.

"Know what?" She was all the more confused.

"She's alive."

She rolled her eyes. "Who?"

"Irene Adler."

"What?"

"Alive and kicking." John nodded.

"No. I- I didn't. Sorry to disappoint." John studied her face as if checking for a lie and finally moved away when he found none.

"Alright. Go and change." He nodded his head to the stairs. "And when you're finished, if we're not back up here come down to Mrs Hudson's."

She nodded obediently, ascending the stairs slowly to as not to aggravate her head.

She flopped down on her bed as soon as her door was closed behind her - instantly regretting it. It only felt as if a few minutes had passed since she was last in here trying to decide if she should really help her landlady clean. An overwhelming sense of relief that she had decided to stay home - even if that had meant she'd been hurt - overcame her and though she didn't quite feel the urge to cry, she felt the closest to letting tears form for as long as she could remember.

Irene was still alive. Perhaps Sherlock would stop moping now. Was he even moping? Would that also mean she wouldn't have any company in her late night boredom. Would she be left alone in solitude to panic about a newspaper clipping? She stood with a huff, fighting off those thoughts and threw the dressing gown into her wash basket. She would need to check the washing instructions on it to make sure she didn't ruin it. The bra she had put on earlier came off again so she could sit in her pyjamas in comfort as the New Year rolled in. She threw on a fresh pair of lounge pants and a hoodie before making her way back downstairs.

"Oh, there you are." John greeted her as she entered the living room. Both her flatmates had turned to watch her plod over to the sofa. "Thought you'd dozed off."

Had she really taken that long? "As if either of you would have let me." She rolled her eyes and grimaced at the bloodied kitchen roll still sitting on the table. "Mrs Hudson alright?" She called over her shoulder as she moved to the kitchen to throw it away.

"More than alright I'd say." John answered her before turning back to Sherlock.

Emily opted to get herself a much needed drink as she let them converse, not really wanting to be a part of what she knew they would no doubt be talking about. Filling a glass with water, she could think of nothing else to help make her look busy and stood in the doorway to watch her friends. She didn't have to join in the conversation. Did she?

"So, she's alive then." Emily felt a little awkward, being privy to this conversation, but she found she desperately wanted to know how it continued. "How are we feeling about that?"

There was a pause, that made the blonde wonder if Sherlock was trying to evade answering. He was saved from doing so when they heard Big Ben toll the hour.

"Happy New Year, John." He replied instead.

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?"

Sherlock turned, not meeting the Doctors eyes. Instead looking to Emily, leaning against the door frame, glass of water clutched tightly against her chest. "Happy New Year, Emily." He picked his bow and flipped it in the air. She hadn't noticed he was holding his violin until he bought it to his shoulder and began to play Auld Lang Syne.

"Happy New Year." Emily mumbled back to him, not breaking the eye contact until the Detective himself had done so.

"Em." John turned to face her and patted his seat as he sat down himself. "Come and sit with me." He left enough space so she could tuck herself into his side, an arm wrapped around her to hold her close. "Happy New Year." He raised his own glass up to her and she clinked her own against it.

"Happy New Year John."

"I hope that's not gin." He teased.

"It's just water. If I hadn't been battered around today I'd be on the gin though. Or maybe just in bed." John chuckled at her, squeezing her tightly as they settled in to listen to Sherlock play his violin.

Though she wished she had been fast asleep in bed at that moment, there was a part of her that was grateful to be sitting with her friends, seeing in the new year with them, even if it wasn't under the best circumstances. Though she felt exhausted, head hurting and wishing she knew what was going on in the Detectives head, she felt she wouldn't change this moment for the world.

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