c. iii :
"We're not judging you, Seargent Donavan."

When the sun goes down and the dark rises, the city goes swallowed in pitch black, with no way of return.

When the first light is born and it makes its way through the obscurity, the darkness looses its power.

Yet, even after the light illuminates every bit of it, every little corner of the fit blackness, it still manages to maintain secrets. It still manages to hover over us, little human beings. It still rules over us.

As they rode in the silent taxi, Emma watched out of the window how the houses got swallowed by the never-ending darkness. By the secretive and powerful black.

As the trio climbed in she sat across from John and Sherlock, who sat next to each other, and for the whole silent ride watched how, from a beaming daydream, London transformed into a black nightmare.

Emma loved car rides. The soft swaying helped her thoughts race quicker and when she closed her eyes she could orientate better in her own mind, finding things she needed quicker and easier.

Though not for everyone it was like this. John, in fact, was sitting awkwardly, stealing nervous glances at Sherlock —who sat on his phone for the whole ride— and Emma.

Finally, gaining his courage, John spoke to the black haired girl «So Emma.» She looked at him, and he smiled an almost flirty smile «What's it you do for living?»

«As Mr Holmes so eloquently articulated the other day, I'm a Uni student.»

«Freshly enrolled.» Sherlock spoke, just then turning off his phone and raising his eyes at John but then flickering them to Emma, a knowing smirk playing on his lips all along.

A smile tugged on the corner of her lips too, as she moved her gaze from John to Sherlock «I see you've been busy then.» she shifted in her seat to find a more comfortable position then smiled at the man «How much have you got?»

«Not much.»

Emma narrowed her eyes at the man «Modesty is a color that does not suit you, Mr. Holmes.»

He watched her, silently, causing her smile only to widen. «Come on then. What'd you got?»

So leaning back comfortably in his seat, Sherlock began «Born in England, judging by your accent, somewhere northern. Perhaps West Sussex?»

Emma smiled at this.

«27 years old, university student, not by necessity, but by choice...» he trailed off, as if thinking his words through «Medical field, presumably, unless you fancy yourself lab visits at Bart's as an afternoon activity.»

«If you must now, Bart's atmosphere suits me. Although I do have work to go through.»

«And yet you were reading through my site.» Sherlock swiftly replied «You know the scholastic program – you studied it the first time you were in university. So why would you be studying it all over again? You've got no job, which means you would be spending most of your time indoors. Which makes the answer to my question quite elementary.»

Emma smirked, raising a brow «Is that so?»

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, a slight smirk ghosting his lips «You're bored.»

Emma shrugged, leaning back comfortably «Can't really blame me for that.» she smirked at him, knowingly «You know what its like, don't you?»

«Indeed.»

Emma smiled, loosing herself in his eyes for a moment longer than necessary. Both of them, in fact, seemed to completely forget about John being in the vehicle too, instead looking at each other straight in the eyes challengingly, Emma smirking a little wider than the detective.

The raven haired woman then abruptly sighed, moving her gaze out of the window for a second, before her eyes flickered back to the man before her «Please do carry on.»

«Thought you'd never ask.»

Emma smiled softly, her eyes narrowed.

«You used to travel. The crown on your clock was often used, the scratches your nails left there each time you turned it while changing the time are quite old, yet inflicted in different periods of time. Then there's your English. You have a slight occidental accent when you talk, barely noticeable.»

«Not to you, apparently.»

Sherlock's eyes, which had lost themselves off in space as he spoke, flickered back to her, blue smashing into blue.

Emma sighed, shifting in her seat, biting back a smile «So?»

«You travelled a lot, moved quite often, didn't stay in one place for long, but recently decided to come back and settle here.»

«Bonus question, let's see if you can guess.» Emma joked lightly, leaning forth, her elbows pressing against her knees «How long ago?»  

Sherlock's brow arched, his expression unperturbed, his stance comfortable and relaxed «Three months.»

Emma leaned back into her seat, resuming her previous position, her eyes flickering over the detective's complexion in appreciation. She nodded, glance falling to her lap, an impressed smirk ghosting over the corner of her lips «Not bad.»

«Shot in the dark.» Sherlock fired back, readily, a small self-satisfied smirk settling on his features.

«Quite right, too, really...» She nodded, looking back up at him. «Do go on.»

«With that busy schedule, of course, friends were out of the question, and your family, well... let's say neither of the parties is welcomed at Christmas dinners. Otherwise you would've stayed with them, why bother renting a flat.» He spoke quicker now, making it almost hard for John to comprehend his words. He tsked his tongue, loudly «So no family, no friends. And while the watch on your wrist is clearly a couple of years old, you perfectly manage to pay rent. So, no family, no friends.» his eyes glistened with sheer delight. «Except one.»

Emma chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. «Mrs. Hudson.»

«Sorry what?» John, who was for the whole time listening to the duo with his mouth slightly ajar, finally spoke up. «She pays the rent for you?»

Sherlock snorted «No, of course not. When I first came to see it, Mrs. Hudson told me about the neighbour I would've had if I were to take the flat.» Sherlock explained, never tearing his eyes from Emma as he carried on.

«Sorry but... what?» John questioned, confused.

A small, guiltily satisfied smirk curved the detective's lips. «She told me how a friend of said individual got her a flat. Although I wouldn't classify him as a friend. He got you a flat and he even pays for it, meaning he cares about you. Sentiments are involved, so maybe something closer to a...»

«Brother?» Emma spoke up, rising a brow in the slightest, a concealed smile playing in the corner of her lips.

«For him it's something more.» Sherlock's dark and mysterious smirk winded. «He has feelings for you.»

Emma burst out, causing that smirk of his to drop and his eyebrows to fly frowned. No one has ever laughed at his deductions. People usually called him names, sent him straight to the Devil himself or sometimes even punched him. But never has anyone laughed.

Emma's laugh quietened in a short moment and she looked back at the young man, keeping that smile on «Believe me, he is not. He is a man whom for sentiments are an archaic concept. He puts them in the section under name 'animalistic', between nudism and cannibalism.»

John silently laughed at this, moving his gaze to look out of the window. Earning like this a look from the two 'detectives', Emma smiling at his back softly. She then looked back at Sherlock, smiling. «Something else?»

Sherlock looked at the girl. Her smile was starting to annoy him.

So he narrowed his eyes, raising his chin and leaning it up on his indexes that rested pressed together, as he studied the girl, trying to find a spot. That spot.

Then he opened his mouth «You suffer from sleep disorder.»

That was it. He hit it. He hit that one, painful spot. And he knew it.

Emma's smile dropped and she stared at Sherlock, eyes ever so slightly widening.

Realising he found it, the young man smirked, leaning back on the seat. «From the bags under your eyes you can deduce that you haven't slept in days. Perhaps even weeks. And your bed just confirmed it.»

«Her bed?» John asked, frowning at the black haired man, while Emma stayed silent, watching him too.

«Yes, she's never touched it.» Sherlock said, eyes fixed on Emma. «Her flat says loud and clear: young woman, 27 years old, traveler, moved recently. But her bed, her bed was barely touched. She had never even sat on it in the two months she's been living in the flat. Conclusion – sleeping disorder.»

«Yes, but how would you know that if you've never been in her flat?» John asked, confused.

Emma smirked looking over at him «Mrs. Hudson is quite easy to pickpocket. Especially when she's making tea.» bitter sadness was clearly present in her voice, even if she tried to cover it up with a fake happy facade.

John looked at his new flatmate, wide eyed «You–?»

«Took the keys? It was quite easy really.»

«I bet it was.»

Sherlock turned his gaze back to Emma when she spoke the last sentence, only to find her looking back. After a short minute of silence, the girl inhaled deeply, almost tiredly, forcing a little smile «Not bad.»

Sherlock raised a brow.

«Be happy I said at least that! I bet usually people just punch you in the face.» Emma defended, this time truly chuckling.

Sherlock glared at her, resulting in a sigh for the girl as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her crossed legs «Prove me wrong.»

He couldn't. It was true. He dropped his bottom jaw a little with a loud tsking sound, his narrowed eyes fixed on the girl who sat across from him, staring back at him, challengingly «Doctor Watson.» Emma smirked when he spoke and, satisfied that she had won the argument, leaned back in her seat and returned watching out of the window.

Meanwhile John looked questioningly at Sherlock, blinking rapidly since he was still stunned by what had happened just the moment before between the two young people.

«You've got questions.» Sherlock stated.

«Yeah, where are we going?»

Sherlock sighed, clearly having expected something more «Crime scene. Next?»

«Who are you? What do you do?»

This time a little smirk appeared on the corner of his cupid-shaped lips «What do you think?»

«I'd say... private detective...» John spoke slowly, hesitantly.

«But?»

«...but the police don't go to private detectives.»

«I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.»

John frowned «What does that mean?»

«It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.»

John smiled in disbelief as he spoke «The police don't consult amateurs.»

Sherlock threw his new flatmate a look. Then looked off, out of the window «When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised.»

«Yes, how did you know?»

«I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists.

You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.» He said, loudly clicking the q at the end.

«You said I had a therapist.» John spoke, trying not to drop his jaw from the shock.

«You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist.» Sherlock spoke «Then there's your brother.»

«Sister.» Emma corrected, while looking out of the window.

Sherlock glared at her, while holding his hand out for the phone John had in his right pocket «Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat-share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then.» Sherlock spoke, turning the phone John has given him over as he talked. «Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already.»

John nodded «The engraving.»

On the back of the black phone there was, indeed, an engraving, saying

Harry Watson
From Clara
xxx

«Harry Watson.» Sherlock spoke again «Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is.»

«Sista'.»

Sherlock glared at the girl.

Emma grinned, not looking away from the window.

«Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it.

People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking.»

John scoffed «How can you possibly know about the drinking?»

Sherlock smiled «Shot in the dark.» Emma looked at him, accusingly, a smile though tugging on the corner of her widely open mouth. Sherlock smirked at her «Good one, though.» she playfully glared at him, returning to watch out of the window «Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them.» With that he handed the phone back to John, Emma watching the duo now.

«There you go, you see – you were right.»

John, shocked, stared down at his own phone «I was right?» he frowned, then looking up, confused «Right about what?»

«The police don't consult amateurs.»

There was a moment of silence in which Sherlock looked out of the side window, pressing his lips in a tight line. But even by that small gesture Emma could see how actually nervous the black haired man was, while he attended his new flat mate's reaction.

She looked at John who, eyes stuck on the phone in his hands, was frowning confusingly, trying to process all the information that was previously given to him.

«Okay, fine!» Emma spoke up, causing both man to look at her. She sighed «I have to say it, won't deny it.» She took a sharp breath in as she looked up at a confused and nervous Sherlock «That... was amazing.»

John nodded, chuckling to himself «I'll have to agree.»

Sherlock looked between the two, apparently so surprised that he couldn't even reply for the next four seconds. And even when he did, he was still hesitant «Do you think so?»

«I do, yes. Brilliant.» Emma nodded, smiling toothily at the detective.

«It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.» John added.

Emma smiled at the army doctor, gently, before her gaze moved to the detective.

Sherlock looked out of the window «That's not what people normally say.»

«Why, what do people normally say?» John questioned, eyes flickering between Emma and Sherlock.

The young man looked at him, pausing for a moment «Piss off.»

John grinned, turning to look out of the window as the journey continued, while Emma giggled to herself, Sherlock smiling briefly before turning to look out of the window too.

Emma shook her head and turned to watch the London that slowly rolled away from them, as the cab drove by houses. The night had by now completely consumed the city, and lights were shining everywhere. Put there to give people a beautiful illusion that they were safe.

The dark saved no one.

London, that cold dark dream. Though a bad day there is still better than a good day anywhere else.

«I've still got a question though.» John spoke up, causing Sherlock and Emma to turn and look at him. «He had my phone in his hands, yes, but you. You didn't.» the doctor spoke, eyes pointed on Emma «So how did you-?»

«Know it was a sister?» Emma asked, smiling, trying to resist the urge to look at Sherlock's face.

The detective rolled his eyes, sighing, and opened his mouth to speak but was shushed «Shush, Holmes, it's my turn to have fun.» The girl said, turning to face Watson better «You're right, I was sitting quite far and it would've been quite difficult -maybe even impossible- for me to see the engraving. Right?»

«Right.» John nodded curtly.

«Right.» Emma cut «But, that's what the problem is with people these days: they see but they do not observe.» John could swear he saw the corner of Sherlock's mouth turning up slightly, but he was too concentrated on the girl and her explanation to care. She shrugged, a wide smile appearing on her lips «I just observed.»

Sherlock snorted.

Emma ignored him visibly. «Saw the name on the back when I approached Sherlock. The rest was easy really.»

John frowned, looking at her with his jaw left slightly ajar «....how-how was it easy??»

Emma smiled, leaning back in her seat «A magician never reveals their tricks.»   

Sherlock rolled his eyes a little, which caused Emma to grin, noticing it as she watched John.

The doctor shook his head, astonished «And yet it still was amazing.»

Emma smiled a little, almost nervously «Thank you.»

«It's just the truth.» John shrugged.

Emma smiled, thankfully, then turned to Sherlock, as if this was X-factor and he was that one mean judge who everyone feared. Sherlock looked nonchalant, like he really didn't care. But «Not bad.»

Emma smiled wider «Thank you, Holmes.»

«Sherlock.» he courtly cut, his face expressionless «Just Sherlock.»

But she smirked «Nah.» leaning her elbow on the car window, she pressed her cheek to her fist, her eyes returning to watch the city outside as she sighed with a little content smile, with Sherlock's eyes watching her from the corner of his eye «I think I like Holmes better.» she then spoke.

Sherlock just watched her.
~
It didn't take long for the cab to arrive at it's destination. As it pulled by Lauriston Gardens Sherlock, John and Emma got out. As Emma climbed out into the darkness, Sherlock holding the door open for her, she straight away got struck by the freezing air, causing her to shiver as she wrapped her scarf and coat better around herself.

«Did I get anything wrong?» Sherlock asked, doing the same thing, as they began walking towards the police cars and tape that strung across the road. 

«Harry and me don't get on, never have.» Limping beside him John replayed «Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker.»

Sherlock looked impressed with himself «Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything.» he gave Emma by his side a look, and she just rolled her eyes, opening her mouth ready to admit her mistake.

But then John spoke «And Harry's short for Harriet.»

Emma and Sherlock stopped dead in their tracks, while John continued limping forward. Other than their wide blue eyes, two different emotions were drawn on their faces: on Sherlock's there was complete defeat, while on Emma's a grin that was slowly spearing and becoming larger.

«Say it.» Emma, her wide eyes pointed forward, breathed out.

«Harry's your...» Sherlock gulped, begrudgingly «Sister.»

«Oh, you were right.» Emma chuckled out, her soft giggle slowly transforming in a laugh «It is Christmas.»

John just then stopped, turning to look at his two chaperones «Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?»

«Sister!» Sherlock spoke furiously, through gritted teeth, while Emma laughed out loud.

«No, seriously, what am I doing here?» John asked, glancing between the two.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, a satisfied grin plastered on her face, Emma started walking forward «There's always something.» She told John as she passed by him. «Come along!»

Sherlock glared at Emma's back before, exasperated, started to walk again.

As he passed by John, the doctor frowned, looking down at his feet «No, wait, how could've you possibly known that too?» he called, looking up after Emma.

«It's the phone!» she called back, walking with her hands in her pockets.

Sherlock cynically laughed «The phone?»

Emma spun around, continuing to walk backwards as she took out of her pocket a phone identical to Johns. Sherlock's self fond smirk fell, being replaced by the same blank face he had on earlier when John told him Harriet was his sister. While Emma just grinned and –turning back around– stuffed her hand back in her pocket.

His look quickly turned into a glare and he huffed an annoyed breath, before following.

Emma stopped a few feet from the tape, waiting for Sherlock to walk past her and before, since she remembered that she knew no one and wasn't even supposed to be here.

When he did, she proceeded walking, shooting a knowing look to his back. As they approached the police tape they were met by a darkly skinned woman, a year or two older than Sherlock, who cynically smiled at the black haired man when she saw him.

Emma straight away had the feeling she wouldn't have liked this woman. And, after what she spoke next, the girl had even the confirmation. «Hello, freak.»

Emma figured out Sherlock was used to the nickname since he just ignored it. But she couldn't. Hearing someone saying that, even if it wasn't directed to her, reminded her of her past. She clenched her jaw, staring down on the ground, trying to calm her rage by taking slow, deep breaths.

«I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.» meanwhile Sherlock spoke.

«Why?»

Sherlock look at her as if she was stupid «I was invited.»

«Why?»

«I think he wants me to take a look.» sarcastic, the young man replayed.

«Well, you know what I think, don't you?»

Emma resisted the urge to snap a not so polite sentence, but decided not to and instead pressed her lips together. Sherlock meanwhile lifted the tape and, ducking underneath it, passed on the other side «Always, Sally.» he smiled, sarcastically. Then he took deep through his nose «I even know you didn't make it home last night.»

«I don't--» Emma rolled her eyes and went to step forward, but was stopped by Sally's hand. She eyed Emma and John, confusingly «Er, who's this?»

«Colleagues of mine, Doctor Watson and Miss Emma Swan.» Sherlock presented, turning to John and Emma «Doctor Watson, Miss Swan, Sargent Sally Donovan.» His voice then dripped with sarcasm «Old friend.»

Sally looked at the black haired male with a scoff «Colleagues? How do you get colleagues?!» she turned to John and Emma «What, did he follow you home?»

Emma took a deep breath in, glaring wholes in the Sergeant, while John shifted on his place uncomfortably «Would it be better if I just waited and--»

«Well, you'd know what that's like.» Emma spoke up, calmly, directing a steely look at Sally. «Following someone home.»

The woman frowned «Excu-?»

«Come along.» Sherlock interrupted her, lifting the tape for John and Emma, hiding a smirk at what the black haired just insinuated.

Emma smiled a tight, sarcastic smile at Sally then ducked under the tape Sherlock held up for them. She heard Donovan leave out a halfhearted chuckle of disbelief, then –as John walked under the tape– lifted a radio to her mouth. «Freak's here. Bringing him in.»

And again, as she passed by Emma, the girl took a deep breath in clenching her jaw. Oh no, the Sergeant wasn't going to get away with it. As Sally leaded Emma and the boys towards the house, Sherlock took a look all around the area then at the ground as they approached. When they reached the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall came out of the house.

«Ah, Anderson.» Sherlock spoke, making Emma understand that this was the man Sherlock so much despised «Here we are again.»

And Emma didn't blame him. The look Anderson was giving the black haired man was more than just distaste. It was disgust. Like if Sherlock was some kind of alien. And Emma didn't like that at all.

«It's a crime scene.» Anderson glare at Sherlock.

"A for observation." Emma thought to herself, sarcasm burning her insides.

While Anderson continued walking «I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?»

Taking in another deep breath through his nose, Sherlock replied «Quite clear.» he opened his mouth to say something else but

«Emma Swan.»

Anderson looked past Sherlock –who too looked around in confusion– only to see the black haired girl sticking out her hand for Anderson to shake. 

Anderson raised a brow «And you are...?»

«A colleague.» Emma replied, hand still outstretched «He talks about you a lot.»

Anderson looked at Sherlock, surprised «Does he?» then, smirking at a glaring Sherlock, he reached for Emma's hand and shook it. «Philip Anderson.»

«Pleasure. Now, tell me, Philip. Is your wife away for long?»

Anderson's brows frowned and he stared at the girl in confusion, slowing down their handshake, while a grin started slowly making it's way on Sherlock's face «I'm sorry?»

«Oh, I do believe I'm not the one you should say sorry to.» Emma spoke, taking back her hand and dropping it in her pocket, maintaining a little smile on her lips.

«Did he tell you that?» Anderson asked, looking over at Sherlock who –grin on his face and hands in his pockets– just shrugged.

«Actually your deodorant told me that.»

Anderson looked at her, confused «My deodorant?»

A quirky expression appeared on the girl's face «It's for men.»

«Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!»

«I guess we should ask confirmation to Sergeant Donovan on the matter, since she is wearing it too.»

Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan, who's eyes were wide.

Emma sniffed pointedly. «Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. Colleagues, I do think we better get in.» she looked at Anderson and gave a smile «Excuse me, Philip.» then she walked pass him, to the open door.

«Now look: whatever you're trying to imply--»

«I'm not implying anything.» Emma simply replied, while Anderson pointed at her back angrily. The girl spun around as she passed by Donovan. «And I'm sure not judging you, Miss Donovan.» she looked at Anderson «I'm sure Sargent came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.» Emma spoke «Many people absolutely love scrubbing their colleagues floors on Thursday evenings.» she looked pointedly at Sally «I suppose that's what you did going by the state of your knees.»

Anderson and Donovan stared at Emma in horror. She just smugly smiled up at them. «After you, colleagues.» she then spoke, stepping aside for John and Sherlock to enter.

Sherlock jumped up the stairs and walked past Donovan, hiding a grin. Then went John, who walked past the woman, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, following Sherlock inside afterwards.

But Emma didn't follow. She leaned closer to Sally, any signs of a smile disappearing, as she glared wholes in the scared eyes of the Sargent «You dare call my neighbor a freak again and, I guarantee you, what just happened will seem like a walk in the park.»

Then she leaned back, smiled at Anderson and, smiling satisfied, followed the boys inside.

As she passed through the hallway she spotted Sherlock standing there, waiting for her with a little smirk, arms behind his back.

She smiled forward.

###

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