c. vii:
"That was rude."
[TRIGGER WARNING : mention of eating disorders and suicide attempt]

The green-wooded 221B door flew shut, kicked by the heel of Emma's boot, as she entered for last. She walked along the hallway while shrugging her dark grey coat off her, and by John, who was hanging his own jacket on the hook on the wall, panting from the run.

Sherlock draped his coat over the bottom of the bannisters, while Emma threw it on the little armchair that stood in the corner of the entry hall, before leaning on the opposite wall of the detective, facing him.

«Okay, that» John breath out «was ridiculous.»

Resting beside Sherlock against the wall, both of them were still panting, trying to catch their breaths. Emma's eyes bounced between them, with amusement glistening in her blue orbs.

«That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done.»

Emma grinned at the doctor «And you invaded Afghanistan.»

John's head fell low and giggles started pouring out of him like a waterfall, Sherlock too chuckling as he looked up the stairs.

His eyes then settled on Emma, as heavy leisurely slowing breaths still ragged his chest. They skimmed over her figure in a fleeting motion, noting certain peculiarities about her demeanor.

She didn't seem to be panting, not nearly as much as either John or him were. Her chest didn't rise up and down restlessly, but moved slowly compared to theirs. Sherlock noticed that, but stayed silent.

«That wasn't just me.»

Both the detective and Emma chuckled again at John's words, he then leaning his head back on the wall, still trying to feed his lungs with the oxygen they needed.

John's frown appeared through the panting, and he looked at Sherlock «Why aren't we back at the restaurant?»

The detective waved his hand dismissively «Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.»

«So what were we doing there?»

Sherlock cleared his throat, eyes flickering to Emma. He noted the sly smirk that curved her lips, as she patiently watched John.

«Oh, just passing the time.» he mused. But a smile had pulled at his Cupid-shaped mouth, his eyes fixed on Emma.

She returned it readily, a knowing glimmer illuminating her look as she spoke «And proving a point.»

John frowned, confused, eyes bouncing between the two with borderline suspicion. «What point?»

Sherlock's, exhaled a big breath.

Emma did nothing to resist the urge to smirk at how dark his eyes looked, but willed herself to slowly tear her gaze away from him and settle it on the doctor instead «You.» she then replied, eyes shimmering with understanding.

«Mrs Hudson!» Sherlock beamed with the same sentiment as he turned and called loudly. «Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.»

John arched a brow at the two, breaths slowing steadily «Says who?»

Emma pushed herself off of the wall and straightened up, fixing her black blazer with a gentle motion of her hands, her hair concealing a satisfied smile on her features. «Says the man at the door.» she shrugged, nonchalantly.

And just as John turned his head towards the front door three knocks echoed in the hallway where they stood.

John turned back to look at Sherlock and Emma in surprise.

But they were looking back with nothing more than silent knowing looks. The doctor's eyes trailed on the detective's for a moment longer, perhaps in a futile attempt to deduce the reasoning behind the infuriatingly confusing behavior of the two. When he got nothing, he pushed himself off his position on the wall and left to answer the door.

The back of Sherlock's head fell softly back against the wall, his lips releasing one final ragged breath. His eyes fell on the profile of the raven haired woman in front of him, who was still watching John's back as he opened the door for Angelo.

Sherlock let his gaze skim over her essence.

She looked frail and tiny, even though she was only half a head shorter than him. Which gave root to numerous possibilities regarding her health conditions.

Chronically ill?

Anorexic?

Eating disorder?

Sherlock's brows furrowed, eyes flickering over her figure, in thought.

Meanwhile, Emma listened absently to the voices emanating from outside, catching John's gaze when he turned to look at her with his cane in his hands, eyes wide. She gave him a smile, a soft chuckle leaving her lips at the look of surprise on his face. 

Then, mimicking Sherlock's motion, she leaned the back of her head against the wall, her eyes moving to encounter the detective's. Exhaling deeply, her smile widened, eyes sparkling with a coveted emotion Sherlock had not yet witnessed her display «The game is on.» she breathed, smiling further.

And Sherlock could not help but return her exhilarated look, chuckling ever so softly under his breath.

Emma found herself shamelessly enjoy that sound, something she allowed herself to indulge in just for that night.

His gaze moved to John, who had long closed the front door and rejoined them with his cane in his hands.

The doctor looked like he wanted to say something, eyes welling up with an unknown emotion that Emma could only decipher as happiness.

But he was interrupted by the hurried steps of Mrs Hudson, as she trotted out of her flat anxiously. «Sherlock, what have you done?» her voice sounded upset and tearful, and Emma noted that her hands were trembling slightly as she fidgeted with them nervously.

A profound frown contorted Sherlock's and Emma's features, the woman's stance tensing as Sherlock questioned, quizzical «Mrs Hudson?»

«Upstairs.» was all the landlady replied.

Sherlock's gaze caught Emma's in a flash, finding her eyes and features hardened, all traces of her smile gone. 

Without wasting a second, the detective spun and sprinted up the stairs. Emma followed suit, skipping two steps in one stride, while John trotted behind, slower.

Reaching their floor, Sherlock stepped towards the living room door and pushed it open, just as Emma plopped in the spot behind him.

The room was swarming with Scotland Yard officers, rummaging about the possessions of the two inhabitants. They didn't bother to acknowledge the new presences in the room, carrying on with their intrusive work without a care in the world.

Emma frowned, catching the eyes of the DI himself, who was casually lounging in Sherlock's armchair.

Her head whipped sideways to skim through the kitchen door, in an attempt to assess the damage there.

John had by then joined her, and was watching the scene unfold with equal confusion.

Coveted anger flashed in Emma's icy eyes at the sight of the police officers, who were rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen.

She specifically gave a hard, sincere glare to Anderson's back and Sally's smug eyes, as their gazes met. The Sargent's look was self-pleased, sneering.

But it was quickly shut down by Emma, who turned her head to face forth once more, purposely ignoring Donavan's stare. Her gaze disinterested, she slowly raised her hand, pointing a middle finger at the Sargent who's face fell at the sight, replaced by a flabbergasted scoff.

John saw this, catching Sally's gaze that glared daggers into Emma's back, as she stepped into the living room and disappeared from Sally's sight. And as the Sargent caught his eye, the doctor could do nothing more than give her a tight smile and a shrug, secretly amused and finding himself supporting the actions of his new neighbor.

While this was unfolding behind him, a fuming Sherlock stormed his way towards Lestrade, the DI's innocent look doing nothing to calm his anger. «What are you doing?» he growled,  lowly.

It earned him nothing but a shrug from Lestrade. «Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid.»

«Careful with your choice of words, Greg.» Emma rose a sarcastic eyebrow at the Inspector, her eyes radiating anger as she stared him down.

«You can't just break into my flat.» Sherlock spoke, angry disbelief tainting his voice.

Lestrade's eyes, who had momentarily looked conflicted at the sight of the glare Emma was sending his way, flashed to Sherlock, hardening «And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat.»

«Well, by all means, what do you call this then? A surprise birthday party??» Emma seethed.

She didn't like the smugness radiating off the Inspector. He seemed completely unbothered and at ease, as he glanced about at his officers. Which only caused her to grow more suspicious and angry, emotions that high tended at the innocent he gave her.

He shrugged, and Emma's eyes narrowed further, her patience running thin. But when he spoke, her defensive stance fell «It's a drugs bust.» 

That shut her up.

Her eyes flew wide, and she nearly stumbled back, startled at the information. They flashed over to Sherlock's back, flickering over it in question, as if attempting to gain answers from the curls of his head alone. 

He too, was silent.

John, on the other hand, went into the opposite direction with his reaction «Seriously?!» he questioned, brows furrowed and eyes blown in disbelief «This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!»

Emma's eyes didn't leave Sherlock's back, watching as his stance suddenly stilled. She observed him, wide eyed, waiting for any sort of movement. When she saw his shoulders shift slightly, a movement which would've gone unnoticed by anyone who didn't look close enough, her face fell. He felt uncomfortable. Jittery.

Emma knew what those signs meant all too well.

She swallowed, thickly. «John...» she called softly, a hard warning lacing her voice.

John didn't seem to hear or care to acknowledge it, as he continued, glare pointed at Lestrade «I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational!»

Suddenly, Sherlock spun around, stepping closer to John in a swift step «John, you probably want to shut up now.»

John scoffed «Yeah, but come on...» as his eyes caught Sherlock's, though, his voice faded.

Slowly, his angry expression melted and his eyes turned from angry to confused.

His irises flickered over Sherlock's face in calculation, mouth falling open as he stared at the defective, who's jaw was clenched and expression unreadable.

Meanwhile, somewhere behind Sherlock, the wide eyed Emma watched him. 

Her eyes shifted to Greg.

The DI caught her gaze, noting her flabbergasted expression. His smug one melted at the sight, his tired features hardening, unreadable still. He glanced away shortly after that.

Causing Emma to suck in a silent breath, before locking her mouth shut and looking at her own feet, in understanding.

«No...» John's disappointment caused Emma to grimace inwardly. If this is how his tone affected her, she couldn't imagine Sherlock's own feelings on the matter.

«What?» annoyance laced the detective's voice.

John did not falter in his surprised, staring at Sherlock with unblinking eyes «...You?»

«Shut up.» Sherlock growled, before spinning around to glare at Lestrade «I'm not your sniffer dog.»

The detective seemed on edge now, seizing the DI with a hard stare. Furious would be an exaggeration, but he was definitely agitated, Emma noted. His tone, which had risen in volume by then, betrayed him.

She wondered what exactly troubled him, but couldn't get herself a satisfying enough answer.

«No, Anderson's my sniffer dog.» the DI nodded to Sherlock's statement, motioning towards the kitchen with a shake if his head.

This seemed to snap Emma back to reality, her eyes widening before outrage filled them to the brim. Her head snapped around just as fast as Sherlock's and John's did when the closed doors leading to the kitchen slid open, revealing the particularly painful member of the Scotland Yard team along several other officers.

«What, An...» the dark haired detective oozed anger at that point. Anderson turned towards the living room and rose his hand in sarcastic greeting, Emma's eyes narrowing at the gesture.

Her patience was definitely running thin.

«Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?» Sherlock demanded, eyes raging as he stared down the policeman.

«Oh, I volunteered.»

Emma desperately wanted to remove his smug smile off his face, possibly with a scalpel.

«How very noble of you.» she hissed through gritted teeth, which merely earned her a disinterested glance from the man.

Meanwhile Sherlock turned away, pressing his lips together angrily, jaw clenched and movements erratic.

«They all did.» Lestrade quipped, unbothered, watching Sherlock as a father would watch a child throwing a tantrum. «They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen.»

«Are these human eyes?» Donavan voice echoed from the kitchen, all eyes turning to her to see her holding a small glass jar.

At that point, Emma sighed in utter defeat, bringing her hand to her face as slowly as possible, attempting to physically stop her hand from colliding against her forehead in a painful face-palm.

There was no way this looked good for any of them. Emma realized this and suddenly felt very tired.

«Put those back!» Sherlock barked.

«They were in the microwave!»

«It's an experiment.» he seethed in response.

«Give Holmes the bloody eyes, Donavan, I am in no mood for another lasagna coated in aqueous humor when he repeats the experiment.» Emma drawled from her spot in the living room, tiredly pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, keeping her eyes shut.

She didn't look at Sally, keeping her eyes shut and her back turned to her. But even from her concealed position, she felt the dirty look the Sargent threw at her back. Sally had scoffed, venomously, eying the woman up and down in judgment, eyes clawing at her form «Who the hell do you think you are?» she seethed, loudly.

«That's quite enough, Sargent Donavan.» Lestrade stepped in at once, his tone weary but cutting. From where she stood, rubbing her eyes in dismay, Emma could hear that Lestrade suddenly sounded very tired. But then again, she figured that dealing with a room full of bickering children at ungodly hours of the night, would be quite exhausting.

Donavan blinked, outraged «But Sir—»

«I said, that's enough.» his voice cut her off, accompanied by a hard, pointed look he gave his Sergeant.

Infuriated, she huffed a breath of disbelief, her eyes flickering from her boss to the unmoving dark haired girl. An incredulous smile was contorting her features, as she glared holes in the younger woman.

Emma eyes were still sealed shut as she faced her back to Sally, the bridge of her nose still being massaged by her digits.

Nevertheless, when Sally shook her head in disbelief and muttered a silent «Freak.» under her breath, drilling holes into Emma's back, the young woman seemed to hear her just fine from her position. Surely enough, she proceeded to raise her hand and openly point yet another middle finger at the Sergeant that evening.

Sally's eyes darkened at the sight, then widening in pure angry astonishment. Her mouth fell open, but she hurried to close it, clenching her jaw as tight as her muscles would allow her.

Greg's pointed look from across the flat reminded her to stay silent and, shaking her head, she reluctantly went back to her job.

The DI sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment before rose from his position in Sherlock's armchair and called «Now then, keep looking, guys.»

As he readjusted his jacket, he glanced up, finding that most sets of eyes within the flat were pointed at the raven haired girl, curiosity emanating both from his male and female officers.

John watched her, astonished, observing as she dropped her hand by her side, straightening up at once and dusting her hands down her sides, before crossing her arms over her chest.

Sherlock too gave her a brief glance, but his eyes did not linger on her figure, as they proceeded to roll in their sockets instead, the detective annoyed at the situation. Although Greg was uncertain whether it was due to their presence in his flat or the sudden attention of his officers towards his bold neighbor. 

Regardless, Lestrade too sighed, frustratedly. He proceeded to pointedly and loudly clear his throat. Which made most flinch or jump,  before everyone hurriedly scurried back to their work.

Lestrade turned back to Sherlock, finding him already staring back at him with venomous eyes.

«Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down.» The DI offered the detective, causing him to scoff and set off on an angry back and forth pace.

«This is childish.» Sherlock growled.

«Well, I'm dealing with a child.»

«Greg—»

«This is our case.» the DI's voice caught Emma off, the DI's eyes finding hers sharply, his tone holding an edge to it. Registering the change in his demeanor, Emma pressed her lips shut, her words dying in her throat but her eyes never loosing their sharp edge to them. «I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own.» the Inspector spoke, his eyes flickering between the young woman and Sherlock, who's glare was still pointed at him «Clear?»

An incredulous laugh skipped past Sherlock's lips «Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?»

«It stops being pretend if they find anything.»

«I am clean!» Sherlock spoke, loudly, exasperated.

«He's telling the truth.»

Emma's voice caused Sherlock's eyes to fall on her for the first time since they've entered the flat.

He snorted, rolling his eyes over-exaggeratedly as he turned away from the girl as quickly as he had looked over. «Give her a medal, someone.»

Emma shot a glare to his back «You're making me regret helping.»

At this a venomous laugh rumbled Sherlock's chest, one that caused Emma's eyes to narrow in his direction.

She was astonished at his audacity. Luckily enough, she didn't expect a better reaction from his end and was not about to make it a matter of her own pride. Not when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Turning her attention to John sharply, startling the doctor with the speed she had done it and causing him to blink out of his stupor before his eyes registered her and focused on her completely.

«You're a doctor, John, what are the side effects of a cocaine addiction?» She questioned head-on, eyes boring into his.

John blinked, surprised «Cocaine?»

«That's right.» she nodded, arms crossed over her torso, which provided her with a certain air of authority «Cocaine increases the availability of dopamine in the brain. In other words, faster deeds, faster thoughts. Now, if I presume correctly, even if Holmes were feeling a bit frisky, he'd be using drugs that stimulate his senses.» she looked at Greg, narrowing her eyes, sarcastically «Don't think he'd be the type to be into shrooms, if you'll allow me to make a quick assumption. So John, what are the side effects?»

John's mouth was slightly parted, confusion radiating off him in waves. Emma knew he felt slightly out of his depth in the situation. After all, there he was, having only spent a day with the man and was already being asked to testify for matters regarding his drug addition in a room swarming with police officers. But time was a pressing issue on their hands.

«John?» Emma she called softly, but a demanding edge was weaved into her tone.

«Yeah, um...» John cleared his throat, suddenly conscious that all the eyes in the room were pointed at him, at the exception of those of the brooding detective. «Well, um...» he began, looking down in thought «...long term side effects would be inflammation of heart muscle, possible rupture of the aorta... um... severe declines in health and quality of life due to reductions in cardiac function... severe blood loss if subjected to physical strain..?» He shrugged faintly, his eyes returning to Emma.

At this information, Emma gave him a tight lipped smile «Thank you, John.» her gaze then shifted to Lestrade, voice loosing the faint gentleness it held when she regarded the doctor «As it happens, Detective Inspector, you just caught us back from our bonding evening jog. I assure you, that Mr Holmes demonstrated none of the symptoms even after a good 40 minutes spent running.»

«Well, I can't really confirm that, can I?» the DI replied, hands on his hips, eyes pointed directly at her with a twinge of authority.

But hers burnt into him with a demeanor far superior than his, powerful enough to make them all momentarily forget who truly was the figure of relevance in the flat. «You are being confirmed this, right now, by an experienced professional with a valid license and a medical degree.»

When he didn't reply, shaking his head instead, she sighed, dropping her arms by her sides and taking a step closer to him «Greg, if Holmes was high in the past week or two even, he'd most likely be on the floor right now, lying in his own pool of blood.» the crude image made John grimace inwardly. But he was alone in his endeavor, as Greg seemed to simply stare back at Emma with steely eyes.

«Now, could we stop with these charades and focus on the bloody serial killer that's on the loose?» she growled. Her expression melted into that of pure cynicism, head tilting and eyes narrowing at the DI. «That's your job, isn't it? Your division? Or are we into narcotics all of a sudden?» her eyes widened in feigned surprise. «In that case, we'd better update our résumés.»

The Inspector gave her a pointed glare, but replied nothing. His hands were still placed on his hips, and his eyes flickered downwards, in contemplation.

Emma snorted at this «Oh, for God's sake, look at him!» she tossed her arm, absently, into Sherlock direction, eyes never leaving the man in front of her «He's clean!»

«But is his flat?» Lestrade pressed, jaw squared. His eyes then flickered to Sherlock, a hard edge to them «All of it?»

Sherlock's sighed in annoyance «I don't even smoke.» he growled, as he ripped open the button of the cuff on his left arm and pulled it up to show a nicotine patch on his pale skin.

Emma made sure to carefully glance over it from the corner of her eye. She was pleased to see that he had removed the other two he was over-indulging in, earlier.

«Neither do I.» Greg pulled up the right sleeves of his own jacket and shirt to display a similar round plaster on his arm.

This did nothing for Sherlock's annoyance, only causing him to roll his eyes once more as he turned away, both of them pulling their sleeves down.

Emma's expression contorted into distaste, her tightly pressed lips showing just how impatient and annoyed she was growing «For the love God, Greg, there's been four murders and a psychopath is out there on the loose. Are we finally going to do something about it or not?» she growled, glaring holes into the Inspector's eyes.

At that point, the officers in the flat had long halted their work, all heads being pointed to the direction of their boss and the unusual woman. Their eyes bounced between the two, awaiting orders, curiously.

John too seemed entranced by the stare off, remaining silent, mimicking the other presences in their accommodation.

Sherlock's eyes, however, remained imprinted into the Inspector's, staring at him where he stood a few steps behind Emma.

She didn't back down, or falter for a second. She stared up at the Scotland Yard authority with a cold, steely gaze, unmoving.

Eyes flickering between her and the detective behind her, who had straightened up and was looking at him expectantly, Greg heaved a breath through his nose, jaw tightening. Before he finally looked down, in apprehension.

Noting this, Emma's lips stretched out into a tight, cynical smile. «Now then.» she spoke, cuttingly «Shall we begin?»

Every single person at the exception of Sherlock Holmes gulped, fearfully.

~

«We've found Rachel.» Lestrade spoke soon after, his hands remaining placed on his hips.

Emma had by then retrieved to the sofa, a place she was planning to make her own within the walls of the men's flat.

Her leg was bouncing up and down restlessly, her mind only distantly registered the DI's voice.

Now that she had a moment to reflect, her previous interaction with the cabbie plagued her mind.

His audacity.

How dare he threaten her? From the information he had given her, she assumed he knew who she was.

In comparison to her, he was merely a flea in the criminal underworld.

Her jaw tightened at her own vile thought, her leg stilling as she stared at the table from under furrowed eyebrows.

She shouldn't think those things. That is a life she's left behind. Not a trophy or a matter of vanity.

She drew in a silent breath, swallowing.

She had her suspicions about the unnamed employer the cabbie had mentioned, but she refused to give it, him, any thought. Today was not the day she revisited that name and everything that was associated with it.

There was something else that nagged her profoundly, however, which had brought about the bouncing of her leg in the first place. Question was, what had it been exactly? She pressed her lips shut, in thought. Because Emma had a bad habit of getting lost in the labyrinth of her own mind and be completely unaware of what made her feel the way she did.

And to say that it annoyed her, was an understatement.

«Who is she?» Sherlock's baritone brought her back to the present and drew her eyes to his form. His back was facing her as he was speaking to the DI and she allowed her gaze to settle on the back of his curly hair.

«Jennifer Wilson's only daughter.» Greg's eyes meet hers briefly, as if to inform her that the detail was also meant for her.

Sherlock frowned at this, or so Emma presumed, as she couldn't see his features «Her daughter?» he questioned, then descending into a conversation with himself and himself alone «Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?»

«Never mind that, we found the case!» Anderson voice echoed from the kitchen, and Emma was glad that his face was not in her trajectory, allowing her to indulge into an over dramatic eye roll. Not that she would have minded if he had seen her, in fact, it was rather the opposite. «According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.»

Emma scoffed at this, in disbelief.

She would have spoken if Sherlock hadn't preceded her, turning to look at Anderson with little to no interest «I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.»

Emma had smirked at this, watching as he brusquely whirled back to face Lestrade.

She'd presumed Sherlock had heard worse.

«You need to bring Rachel in.» Sherlock proceeded «You need to question her. I need to question her.»

Emma rolled her eyes at that too, his inability to be subtle amusing her.

But that disappeared and Lestrade's next words.

«She's dead.»

Apprehension settled on the young woman's features.

«Excellent!»

At Sherlock's exclamation, even Emma's eyes widened, her head whipping towards John to see his rather startled expression.

«Holmes.» she barked, warningly.

But he barely spared her a glance.

This behavior was starting to annoy her thoroughly. Although she wasn't sure whether that was because it was plainly rude or because she was bothered by the fact that he seemed to be ignoring her altogether.

That was a more disconcerting thought, and she pushed it further down the labyrinth of her mind, shoving it as far away as possible.

«How, when and why?» the detective meanwhile shot at Lestrade «Is there a connection? There has to be.»

«Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years.»

«What?» This did peak Emma's attention, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Lestrade's eyes found hers «Well, yeah. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.»

Emma bit the inside of cheek, in understanding, eyes narrowing into a calculating gaze.

This was an emotion she apparently shared with Sherlock, who slowly whirled around in his place, in thought, eyebrows drawn together in confusion «No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?»

«Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?» Andrson's scoffs echoed from the kitchen «Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now.»

«That's a big word there, Anderson, you sure you know what it means?» Emma uttered, absently, finally pushing herself off the couch and moving closer to John.

He had been standing aside, observing, a rather quizzical expression sitting astride his face. Emma presumed this was due to the situation at hand, the doctor attempting to follow the new bits of information they were given by the DI.

He acknowledged her with a small smile when he saw her fall into the spot next to him, with her arms crossed over her chest to mimic his own stance.

She returned it, a gentle look present in her usually distant eyes. One he greatly appreciated.

As they both turned to watch the scene before them, they saw Sherlock turn towards Anderson, an exasperated look plastered on his face «She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt.» then he was back to pacing across the room.

Emma hummed, eyes falling to the floor «What'd you think?» she asked John quietly.

But that seemed to attract Sherlock's attention, as he spun around to face his companions with such hurry that it startled the doctor.

Taken aback, John swallowed, eyes meeting Sherlock's expectant ones before they acknowledged Emma, whose gaze also seemed to be focused solely on him.

«Well.» John shuffled the weight from one leg to the other «You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.»

Whilst Emma seemed to take into account John's contribution, Sherlock turned away, dismissively «Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?»

The whole room plummeted into a deadly silence at his words.

Everyone halted their movements, the officers pausing mid-job to stare at the detective in disbelief.

Sherlock realized this, and a confused frown contorted his lineaments. He hesitated in his words, giving an awkward glance to the room before clearing his throat, softly.

Turning around, his gaze found that of the startled John and the unhappy Emma beside him, her brows furrowed as she stared at him.

He frowned at her expression, confused.

«Not good?» he then asked, softly, causing her to sigh.

«A tad not good, yeah.»

He sucked in a silent breath, giving a brief awkward look to the people around him, before turning it back to Emma, expectingly.

This surprised her, the emotion registering on her face. He was acknowledging her existence for the first time in what seemed like hours and it threw her off.

She raised a brow «What's with the look?» she asked, awkwardly, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt like this. Small and put on the spot.

She wasn't a fan of the feeling.

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly at her statement, which caused her brow to fall back into a knot astride her nose, a glare replacing her surprised look.

But then he took a big stride toward her, suddenly placing himself right in front of her. She willed her legs to stay still even when they wanted to back up, the new proximity startling her. What made her even more unsettled was the intense look in his eyes, that bore directly into hers with complete disregard to the surprised John beside her.

She swallowed, thickly as he opened his mouth to speak.

«If you were dying... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?»

Emma's eyes widened, her heart catching in her throat.

It's surprising how simple actions or words can provoke automatic reactions in a person's body language.

A lover would melt at the touch of their significant other. Similarly, Emma unconsciously clutched her hand tighter around her wrist.

She didn't register her own movement before Sherlock's eyes shot to it.

When she had, she realized with horror that it was too late.

An apprehensive look suddenly lined his features, his eyes fixed on where her hand had gripped her skin. Realization shimmered in his eyes and Emma wanted to hurl at the sight of that.

He now knew.

She desperately attempted to cover her discomfort by shifting the position of her arms, but that only added to the damage.

Sherlock's eyes flickered up to hers and for once, she was uncertain about what exactly the emotion swimming behind his darkened onyx orbs was.

She swallowed, thickly, feeling smaller and smaller under his gaze but refusing to back down from it.

She was saved by John's next words, which caused Sherlock's head to snap towards him.

«"Please, God, let me live."»

As she was released from his look, Emma visibly relaxed, blowing a shaky but silent breath of relief. He was still right in front of her, but somehow not having him stare directly at her made her feel more at ease.

The detective proceeded to give a silent exasperated sigh «Oh, use your imagination!»

John's jaw clenched, and a painful look suddenly contorted his face. With his gaze pointed at Sherlock, he swallowed before replying «I don't have to.»

And that was the moment two things became very clear to Emma Swan.

One, the inhabitants of 221 Baker Street had all very much been broken by their own pasts. She had her demons to wrestle with, an activity she was subjected to every day of her life. But so did John, and so did Sherlock. Three adrenaline junkies afflicted with too many mental disorders to count. Which lead her to her second realization, which left her rather startled — she strangely, for once in a very long time, felt very much at ease there.

She swallowed, her breath suddenly short.

Emma watched Sherlock, noting how an uncharacteristic apologetic look contorted his features as he looked at the doctor.

Emma pursed her lips, thoughtfully, willing herself to regain focus, conscious of the fact that a whole Scotland Yard team was closely watching their interaction.

«Yeah.» she breathed out, softly, catching the attention of two men. She frowned a little, eyes stuck on the floor, before she straightened up slightly. «But if you were clever, really clever... And Jennifer, running all those lovers, she was clever, very clever.»

Her eyes suddenly lit up in realization, a look she shot at Sherlock before maneuvering past him and striding over to the pink suitcase. She flew it open in one quick movement before crouching on the ground before the chair it was laid out on «She was trying to tell us something.» she spoke, hands hovering over the bag as her eyes scanned its contents swiftly.

At that moment, a new presence appeared in the flat. Mrs Hudson gingerly stood in the doorway of the living room, eyes fixed on the detective who had looked at her from the engrossed woman on the floor «Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock.»

«I didn't order a taxi.» he dismissed, setting off on yet another pacing spree «Go away.»

Mrs Hudson sighed, exhasperatedely, before giving a look at the flat «Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?»

«It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.» John replied rather stiffly, while Sherlock paced restlessly and Emma sat still, with her eyes closed in thought.

«But they're just for my hip.» Mrs Hudson quipped, eyes widening as she patted it softly «They're herbal soothers.»

Emma clenched her jaw in contained irritation at the intrusive voices. «Mrs Hudson, could you--»

«Shut up, everybody, shut up!» Sherlock's voice suddenly boomed throughout the whole flat. Many flinched, many, like John, looked over at Sherlock's back in surprise. Even Emma's eyes flew open, her head snapping to look at the detective in bewilderment. She could see the side of his profile from where she was sitting on the floor, his eyes wide, his hands waving about in the air. «Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off.»

«What? My face is?!» Anderson scoffed, which caused Emma to breathe out a silent astonished smirk, wide eyes staring at Sherlock with utter curiosity.

«Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.» Lestrade called into the flat, his arms crossed over his chest.

Anderson gaped at the DI, while John shuffled to his armchair, giving a brief glance to the unmoving woman on the floor next to it

«Oh, for God's sake!»

«Your back, now, please!» the DI spoke sternly, which lead the man to comply, though an incredulous look remained engraved into his features as he whirled around.

Yet again that evening, Emma willed her eyes to move away from the figure of the detective, focusing her gaze back on the contents of the suitcase instead. She didn't touch the items inside, having drooped her hands into her lap. Instead, she stared down at the clothes without really seeing them, her eyes unblinking and still, her form rigid, her lips parted.

She barley registered the muttering of the pacing detective, as he seethed «Come on, think. Quick!» to himself.

«What about your taxi?» Mrs Hudson's voice caused Emma to exhale deeply.

She did so until her muscles were forced to relax, her shoulders slumping, her limbs going limp.

Her eyes fell shut and her head rolled back to face the ceiling, a rather peculiar motion that John frowned at in confusion.

And as Sherlock spun around abruptly, shouting a furious «MRS HUDSON!», making the landlady jump slightly before hurrying down the stairs, suddenly all the pieces clicked into place.

Emma's eyes shot open, being met with the ceiling above her, a glint of understanding shimmering in them. Slowly, tentatively a smile stretched its way across her features, transforming into the most exhilarated grin that had ever graced her face before.

«Oh.» she breathed out.

Funnily enough, her light voice was mirrored and synced with a certain baritone.

She whipped her head up and towards him, looking at him from the floor with the widest of eyes and smiles. Their gazes met instantly, the same look of realization playing on both their features. A smile had made its way on Sherlock's face too, the two looking rather startlingly in sync to John, the DI and everyone around them.

It didn't seem to matter to the two, however.

Emma breathed out a chuckle «She was clever.»

«Clever, yes!» Sherlock exclaimed, turning to walk across the room before he spun around to face the others. «She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead!»

Emma snorted at that, in disbelief. But the smile never left her features, even as her eyes returned to the suitcase and her hands flipped the lid closed, digits reaching for the label on the handle.

Sherlock appeared euphoric, waltzing around the room, delighted while speaking «Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.» He began pacing again. «When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.»

«But how?» Lestrade, who had been frowning in confusion the whole time, inquired.

Sherlock paused to stare at the DI «Wha— What do you mean, how?»

Lestrade shrugged, confused.

«Rachel!» Sherlock exclaimed, smiling triumphantly. But his enthusiasm was rather short-lived as the room look back at him blankly. «Don't you see? Rachel!»

That did little to change their confused expressions.

Sherlock breathed a disbelieving laugh. «Oh... look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing.»

«Not if you have a say in it.» Emma muttered readily, causing his eyes to flicker to her. Without turning around, she held out her index and middle fingers in the air. Tucked neatly in between them, was the label of the suitcase, Emma having effortlessly worked it off the handle while Sherlock was speaking.

Readily, the detective strode over, taking it from her as he spoke «Rachel is not a name.»

«Then what is it?» John snapped, annoyedly, eyes flickering between his flatmate and his neighbour, his patience running thin.

«Oh, I've been too slow.» Sherlock seemingly ignored it, absently twirling the label between his fingers as he walked to the desk, shifting a stray chair to it before sitting down front of his computer «She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled.»

«Jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.» dictated Emma, more for the room than Sherlock himself, the eyes in the room turning to her before flickering back to the detective.

«So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address, and all together now, the password is–»

«Rachel.» John realized out loud, having risen from his position and moved to stand behind Sherlock, watching the Mephone website flash on the detective's screen.

Effortlessly, Emma leaped from her seat on the floor, then striding over to Sherlock with her eyes fixed on the screen.

«So we can read her e-mails. So what?» Anderson's voice came yet again from the kitchen, which caused Emma to sigh loudly in utter exasperation.

«Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street.» Sherlock's deep voice dismissed, making Emma smirk lightly at his words as she folded her arms over her chest. «We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her.»

Emma hummed, smiling softly «Smart girl.»

«Unless he got rid of it.» Lestrade offered, standing behind her and John.

«We know he didn't.» John differed, smiling delightedly at the Inspector.

Sherlock eyes watched the screen impatiently, as the website worked on locating the device. «Come on, come on. Quickly!» he muttered, glaring at the three minute timer.

Somewhere in the corner of her mind, Emma heard someone hurriedly yet lightly trot up the stairs «Sherlock, dear.» Mrs Hudsons voice then invaded the room «This taxi driver...»

Sherlock pushed himself off the chair before walking towards her, his fingers doing up the only button of his blazer. «Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?»

And that's when the landlady's voice fully reached her, the words registering in her mind.

Realization hit her and Emma's eyes widened.

And as John took Sherlock's spot in the chair, she darted off towards the nearest window.

Surely enough, her eyes fell on the same taxi she had seen prior that evening. «Fuck.» she cursed under her breath, spinning to look at Sherlock, who was speaking to Lestrade in the doorway of the kitchen.

Her harrowed eyes then shot to Mrs Hudson, wide and panicked. Her lips fell shut and her gaze darkened, however, when she spotted the cabbie behind her. Emma's jaw clenched tightly.

It was then that John's voice called out, confusion imminent in his tone «Sherlock? Emma?»

Emma didn't move nor shift, her eyes glaring holes in the murderer standing behind her landlady. He made no sign to move, concealed by the shadows. Yet, she saw a slight smirk make its way onto his features, which only deepened her anger.

«Emma...» John once again called, but she barely heard him.

«What is it? Quickly, where?» Sherlock meanwhile questioned, hurrying across the room to look over John's shoulder, placing one hand on the back of his chair while the other flat on the desk.

Emma only faintly registered John's next words, swallowing thickly «It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street.»

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Sherlock's head slowly raised «How can it be here? How?»

«Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.» Lestrade offered, tiredly.

«What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?»

But all these voices became muffled to Emma's ears. She stood, unmoving, staring down the man with her blue eyes burning with rage. She could see the cardigan he was wearing, the faint outline of his cap in the shadows, as well as the badge in a leather holder on a cord around his neck, his card to a licenced cab driver.

«Swan?»

Her head shot up at the voice, alert. Her eyes moved up to encounter Sherlock's, who was now standing directly in front of her. She hadn't registered that he had walked up to her and was surprised, to say the least, by the fact.

She blinked quickly, eyes tracing his frown and his narrowed orbs.

His torso concealed her from the bustling room, hiding her fully from the living room behind him. Which was a good thing, considering how tightly her jaw and fists were clenched, as she radiated uneasiness.

No one, not even John seeming to notice their exchange or her state.

So, taking a sharp breath, Emma spoke quietly, eyes boring meaningfully into Sherlock's  expectant one's «Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?»

Sherlock matched her gaze equally. For once, there were no mocking traces behind his look, nor hatred or annoyance.

His eyes were serious, deadly in fact, rigid and unmoving, calculating.

They narrowed further at her words, comprehension slowly starting to settle in them «Who haunts in the middle of the crowd.» He drawled, eyes boring into her own. 

She didn't nod, but her eyes told him everything he had to know.

Clenching his jaw shut, he released her from his gaze, looking down.

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, in which he pursed his lips, thoughtfully. He then looked up at her, conviction engulfing his features «I'll need an hour.» 

«He's going to try to kill you.» Emma hissed, silently, squaring her shoulders «In case you haven't figured it out, this is all for you. This is your little test.» she stepped even closer to him, a menacing air adorning her features regardless of her height compared to the detective «You either stay for the long game, or you get eliminated, end of.»

«50 minutes.»

She huffed in disbelief, looking away «This is ridiculous.»

His eyes, however, never left her face «I'm trying to prevent more murders.»

«No, you're trying to feed your pride.» she growled, facing forth to glare at him «Don't bullshit me, Holmes.»

His hardened features remained unmoving. «50 minutes.»

She shook her head, flabbergasted, crossing her arms across her chest. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, she bit her lip in thought. Her foot was now lightly tapping the ground, giving away her nervousness and contemplation. Sherlock stared at her, silent and still, waiting. Until she eventually blew an incredulous breath «I'll give you 40.»

«45?»

«40.» she growled, louder, which didn't go unnoticed by a certain doctor.

«Hey, you okay?» John called behind them then, causing her flaring eyes to flicker over to his, which widened in confusion at the sight of her.

She sighed, looking away, attempting to regain her cool.

Meanwhile, Sherlock spun around, brusquely, striding off with a vague and dismissive air «Yeah, yeah, we're fine.» 

John's eyes flickered to Emma, expecting her to remark, but was surprised to find her not paying minimal attention to the conversation. She was staring off at the floor in thought, her teeth chewing at her bottom lip.

Sherlock's eyes by then had found the taxi driver, who was still concealed by the shadows. They followed the murderer's every move, watching as he pulled out the missing pink phone out of his pocket and pressed a button on it briefly. His gaze remained fixed on the killer even when his own phone trilled with a new message, even when he took it out to fleetingly scan the text and saw the cabbie retreat down the stairs.

«So, how can the phone be here?» John inquired, watching Sherlock's retreating back.

«Dunno.» came the detective's absent reply.

Sighing, Emma rose her eyes forward, aware that she had to keep her end of the bargain «Let's just try it again, shall we?» she told John, quieter than intended, as her arms dropped to her sides and she moved towards the computer.

«Good idea.» Sherlock agreed nonchalantly, picking up his coat.

John frowned at that «Where are you going?»

«Fresh air.» Sherlock called after him, striding out of the flat «Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long.»

The doctor frowned after him «You sure you're all right?»

«I'm fine.» Sherlock called back, as he trotted down the stairs.

Sighing in exasperation, the military doctor glanced over at Emma, whose back was facing him as she resumed her position in the chair and was busying herself with reloading the screen. She felt his gaze on him and got up, leaving her spot «Keep an eye on this, will you, John?» she asked, quietly, the disinterest clear in her voice.

And as John shook his head at the detective, returning to the laptop with a tired sigh, Emma slowly neared the window.

She peaked outside, her eyes landing on Sherlock's figure. He was standing tall, hands in the pockets of his black coat, staring challengingly at the old, ragged cabbie.

She didn't concentrate on reading the conversation off their lips, instead she watched as the cabbie twirled the pink phone in his hand, pressing a button before he stuffed it back into his cardigan.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the motion, but before her thoughts had the time to swirl in her mind for too long, her own phone trilled. Eyes fixed on the duo outside, Emma pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, giving it a glance once it was in front of her.

What she read made her jaw clench tighter, all emotion draining from her features, replaced by void and coldness.

– Have a good evening, Miss Wans.

That name.

He knew.

There was only way he could, which would mean that her assumptions about his employer had been correct.

Her eyes shot down to the cabbie, meeting his own from where he watched her on the street. A tranquil but knowing smile was dancing on his lips, and he gave her a long look before he returned his gaze to Sherlock before him.

He spoke words Emma could not decypher, then made his way around the cab and entered the vehicle through the driver's seat. Sherlock followed soon after, climbing in the back.

And just like that, they took off.

Emma watched after them until the cab rounded a corner, her gaze heavy. Sighing in defeat, she spoke silently under her breath. Then, straightened up and set the plan into motion «He just got in a cab.» she announced loudly, informing the others in the room.

And as John, with his phone held to his ear, approached the window to look out of it with a disbelieving look on his face, she stepped back from it and moved towards the centre of the room, hands in the pockets of her jeans, her gaze absent.

«I told you, he does that.» Donavan scoffed in irritation in the meantime, turning to Lestrade. «He bloody left again.» she stomped back into the kitchen, professing loudly «We're wasting our time!»

Emma's empty gaze slowly rose to catch hers, devoid of emotion «I do believe the phone is still ringing. A bit unprofessional to simply ignore evidence, Seargent. Even with your record.»

Sally's eyes narrowed at the woman, who reciprocated it in double. The Seargant opened her mouth to say something, only to be preceded by John.

«I'll try the search again.» the doctor spoke, stepping in closer to Emma, eyes flickering from the Seargent to the DI, who nodded, solemnly.

«Yes.» Emma tore her gaze away from Sally, glancing at John with a soft, tired smile «Lets.»

«Does it matter?» Sally interrupted, loudly, eyes on Lestrade who looked back at her. He too was conflicted, Emma could see it. But she had a timer on her hands and she couldn't risk the younger Holmes dying on her. «Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time.»

Emma rolled her eyes, pointedly «Sargent, if you have better things to do with your night, then by all means, leave.» Her voice was sharp, cutting, booming within the walls of the apparmnet with a menacing aura. She stood there, hands in her pockets, eyes cold and empty, pointed at the woman in question «Your presence will not be missed.» she said, before whirling around in her spot and leisurely making her way back to the laptop.

«Oh, you, don't start.» Sally's voice suddenly addressed her, and Emma sighed, frustratedly, pausing «What even is this? Who the hell do you think you are? And why the hell are you allowing her anywhere near a high-profile case?» she spoke to the DI, motioning towards the young woman with a jerk of her hand.

John's stance went rigid at that, his posture now more alert. Emma saw him glaring at the Seargent from the corner of her eye and resisted the urge to smile slightly at the doctor's steadfast nature. But, she reminded herself, now was not the appropriate time for those kinds of sentiments.

Slowly, she turned around in her spot, eyes devoid of emotion as Sally kept talking. «I don't know who you imagine yourself to be, bossing people around like that.» She smirked «Frankly, I'm not surprised you and the freak get along.»

Emma raised an unbothered eyebrow at that, feigning curiosity. Meanwhile, both John and Greg seemed to be pushed to the edge by the second, both glaring holes in the woman.

«Seargent.» the DI's voice warned.

But Sally only smiled, her venomous gaze seizing Emma up and down, watching as the woman turned around fully to face her. «Friendly advice.» the Seargent then spoke «If you just want to get into psycho's pants, gain some self-respect. And maybe a therapist while you're at it, really. No need to be running about playing pretend and wasting our time.»

«Donavan, that's enough.» Greg commanding voice made a few in the room flinch. Sally, however, did not look bothered, her sneering look fixed on Emma's emotionless face.

Pursing her lips in thought, Emma looked down at her shoes. «That's alright, Greg.» she spoke, conscious that every set of eyes was now turned to her. They watched her take a slow step forward, towards the Sargent. Sally didn't move, but her air of confidence seemed to falter momentarily. Regardless, she stood her ground as the raven haired woman walked leisurely towards her «Sargent Donavan.» her melodious voice came through a smile «I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let me make things very clear once and for all, so there are no future misunderstandings.» she stopped right in front of Sally, eye to eye with her, almost chest to chest. Her smile dropped then and a derisive look morphed into her fetures «I am not your friend, your colleague, or anything that comes close. When it comes to matters regarding my self respect, I will kindly avoid listening to you, considering your life choices.» she motioned to Anderson with her head, causing the man to gulp and Sally's stance to falter further, her jaw clenched «Assume what you wish about my relationship with Sherlock Holmes, as childish as those assumptions of yours are. If belittling me somehow rises your self esteem, then by all means, do carry on. But, frankly, I barely register your voice when you speak as it is. Your opinion is of little to no relevance to me.» Emma stared down at Sally, her stance relaxed and unbothered.

Sally glare, meanwhile, grew harder by the minute.

Big mistake to let her emotions show so freely on the outside before someone as observant as Emma Swan.

The young woman cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips as she let her eyes trail over the Seargent's figure. «I do pity you, though.» she then spoke, and Sally's eyes widened a fraction before they turned firey with anger. That didn't bother Emma, who carried on «You could be someone big. Yet you waste away, giving people dirty looks and badmouthing someone smarter than you.» she narrowed her eyes «With such dedication as well. Why?»

Sally squared her jaw at that. Which only caused Emma to smirk, as she raised her chin domeneeringly «But of course. Allow me to give you some friendly advice, then.» she said and took a step past Sally, her left shoulder almost touching hers. Then she leaned closer to her ear, and uttered «If you want to get into his pants, Seargent, actually do something with your life.» Sally's eyes widened, which only confirmed Emma's theory «He'll notice you, then.»

«Screw you.» the Seargnet growled, whipping around to face the young woman.

Emma hummed, pensatively «You're not my type.» which only caused Sally's flabbergasted expression to contort further «Do think about what I said. That's as friendly as my advice gets.»

With that, Emma stepped away from Sally, and whirled around to face the living room once more.

The expressions on both John's and Greg's faces were truly a sight to behold. They were both visibly wrestling with uneasiness, amusement and shock, both knowing the atmosphere had to stay as professional as it could under those exact circumstances.

Their eyes flickered to Sally, who was standing there, bright red, eyes pointed to the ground and fists clenched tightly by her sides. She was staring into nothingness, visibly shaking in anger. Which was a stark contrast to Emma's demeanor, a small smile sitting comfortably on her lips.

She turned towards the kitchen, calling loudly to the silently gaping officials «I assume we're done here, ladies and gents?» she narrowed her eyes at them, all traces of friendliness disappearng «Don't let the door hit you on your way out.»

They gulped collectively, before their eyes flickered over to the DI in question.

The man sighed, hands on his hips. Then nodded his head, slowly «Okay everybody. Done 'ere.»

And just like that, everyone started collecting their things, and one by one vacating the flat, shooting an astonished look to the raven haired woman as they walked by.

Emma turned around and made her way into the living room, eyes fixed on the computer.

Before she could reach it, however, Greg stepped into her trajectory «You alright?» he asked, lowly. He had picked up his own coat and was shrugging it on as he spoke, eying his departing squad with a hard gaze.

Emma drew a silent breath through her nose «Nothing I haven't heard before.»

«Don't let it get to you.»

She smiled at that, looking over at him with a grateful look «Nothing ever does.»

He nodded at that, in understanding, hands busying themselves with his scarf.

«Why did he do that?» He then asked, glancing between her and John, who stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest «Why did he have to leave?»

John shrugged, while Emma pursed her lips, in thought. «You know him better than we do.» the doctor spoke.

But the DI shook his head «I've known him for five years and no, I don't.»

«So why do you put up with him?» John asked, confusion and curiosity lining his features.

A tired sigh heaved Greg's chest, as he dropped his arms by his sides and looked at John, tiredly «Because I'm desperate, that's why.» he shrugged, before stepping past Emma and making his way towards the door «And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man.» he spoke, turning to give them a look «And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.»

John nodded with a tight smile, while Emma merely watched the DI with an apprehensive look. Giving them a saluting nod, the DI turned around and made his way to the stairs.

«Greg?»

Lestrade looked back, surprised to hear Emma's voice. She had followed him to the doorway of the living room, and stood there with her arms crossed on her abdomen, her long, black hair falling on her shoulders.

She had grown up, that's for sure. Yet, he still recognized that same fire she had all those years ago. Things like that never changed in a person's character.

Emma Swan then smiled at him, softly «It was nice seeing you again.» she spoke, and her tone was sincere, something the DI noted and smiled at.

«You too, Emma.»

With hope in his heart, the Inspector turned and he left. That maybe one day, he would be able to witness true happiness and ease on the face of his old acquaintance. And who knows, he thought to himself with a smile, as he descended the stairs and stepped out of the building into in the chilly London air, maybe Sherlock Holmes will be able to make that happen.

In the flat, Emma stood still in the doorway, arms crossed on her chest as her eyes stared unseeingly at the spot where the Inspector had disappeared to. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and John did not even begin to speculate what exactly her thoughts were.

He merely gave her a brief glance when walking over to collect his cane from the armchair.

Emma drew a silent breath, straightening up. Before she slowly turned around and walked through the flat, to the window.

She had looked up then, at the night sky.

Her chest felt tight, anxiety and adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She had a job to do.

And she only had 35 minutes left to do it.

Sighing, her blue eyes scanned the dark sky above.

And spoke softly, under her breath «Your move, Napoleon.»

###

So guys, I changed Emma's first name. It's not Jessica anymore. Up to now {in chapter 3, if I'm not wrong} Lestrade has referred to her as D and Didi. Her real name will be revealed in the upcoming chapters, as it will also be revealed why the cabby had called her Miss Wans.

So stick around ;) Love you, guys.

Vote and Comment.

[edited, 2022]