- c h a p t e r   t w e n t y   e i g h t -

"Thanks for coming around, Mrs. Hudson," Emma said, mustering her sweetest smile. Her landlady deserved good treatment, after all. She had been late on so many payments and complained a fair amount, and yet Mrs. Hudson had always put up with her. That was what made her so special. At least in Emma's mind.

"Not a problem at all, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied. Sometimes Emma was suspicious of how kind her landlady was - how many people had she met who were just so unconditionally nice? She tried to push aside these sorts of thoughts as she welcomed her into the flat.

"I've already got the tea made," Emma proclaimed as she walked over to retrieve it from the kitchen. Her hands were shaking slightly as she hadn't taken a drink in a while - she wanted to attempt to be sober for this.

She set up the tea and refreshments on the table that Mrs. Hudson was sitting at, keeping a smile on her face at all times. As far as she was aware, Sherlock hadn't divulged the tale of her addiction to the landlady yet.

As Emma was about to sit down and start an actual conversation, she felt the vibrations of her mobile in her pocket. Unable to resist the call of socialising, she immediately took her phone out to look at.

Sure enough, there were multiple texts. All of them were from Owen, of course. But as Emma glanced down to skim over them, she found that it was nothing like what she was expecting.

"Oh, what is it?" Mrs. Hudson said, reading the look on Emma's face.

"I'm not sure yet," Emma replied, trying to be honest and also attempt to have a positive outlook on the situation. "He's sent a bunch of texts, I haven't seen them all yet."

"He?"

"My boyfriend," Emma replied. "His name is Owen."

"You have a boyfriend and you never introduced me to him?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"He doesn't come over here all that often," Emma answered. "We spend most of our time together over at his place ...." She was doing her best to focus on the conversation, but the parts of the texts she had seen were distracting.

"Can you give me a moment to read over these?" Emma asked. "I know I invited you over and all, but this seems to be rather urgent."

"I don't mind," Mrs. Hudson replied. "Go right on ahead."

Emma nodded to acknowledge she had heard this answer, and then really began to look over the text messages. Not a single word escaped from her eyes. She had to keep scrolling and scrolling to read it all.

"He's practically written up a novel here," Emma murmured to herself, trying to make the situation seem a bit better.

But she couldn't deny what the text messages said as she continued staring down at them with a twinge of despair in her gut.

I'm sorry that this has to be the case. But it was difficult enough trying to compete with Sherlock when he was dead.

Emma found herself taking a deep breath before she could keep going. This was one of the middle in a long chain of texts, but it was certainly the one she found to be most interesting at the moment. She didn't want to read any more than she had to.

Now that he's alive, he's taken my girlfriend away. I don't want to deal with you and him and anything of the sort.

She nearly laughed out loud at this one, despite how empty it made her stomach feel. It was just so absurd, almost like Owen had never paid attention to her past behavior.

I know you're just going to come along and claim that he's only your muse or something, but I can tell there's more to it than that.

For a moment, she could do nothing more than stare blankly at the words like she didn't understand them. There was only one more text message below that one, and she was dreading to look at it. Nevertheless, she still went on to read what it said.

I'm sorry, Emma. But we shouldn't see each other anymore.

Her eyes ran over the words several times as if their meaning would suddenly change and she wouldn't have to face the reality of the situation. But of course, the words stayed the same. There was nothing she could do.

"He ... he broke up with me," Emma said numbly. Her voice gradually crescendoed in emotions as she shrieked out, "He broke up with me over a text message!"

"Are you sure that he broke up with you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, trying to help diffuse the situation in her own way. "Perhaps you just read the words a bit twisted. I know that I have a problem with that sometimes -"

"No. No, I'm sure. I know what it looks like to get broken up with. I know what it looks like to break up with someone."

"Oh .... I'm very sorry, Emma. But there are always other fish in the sea."

"Not like Owen," Emma said. "I would know. I would know. I would know, wouldn't I?"

"Well, I wouldn't know myself," Mrs. Hudson said, her eyebrows rising. "I'm just not sure."

"Oh, God," Emma sighed. "This just had to happen to me. Why couldn't I just be happy!"

"It's not your fault -" Mrs. Hudson began.

"Of course it's not my fault! It's Sherlock's."

"What?"

"Damn Sherlock," Emma said in a sudden burst. "Damn him!" She let out a cry of anger that ended up fading almost immediately. There was just too much sorrow in her to sustain any other emotion. Sure enough, tears started welling up in her eyes.

She didn't want this to be all about Sherlock. Everything was always all about Sherlock. Maybe she just had to end it right then and there.

But for the moment, all she did was find the choking sound of crying escaping from her mouth.

"Oh, oh dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "Don't cry, everything is going to be just fine. It always is in the end, I've learned that much over the years."

"I don't believe that," Emma sniffled. "I've been through so much, and it's never turned out that way, ever."

"You were really expecting this to turn into something bigger, weren't you?" Mrs. Hudson said, not expecting an answer.

"I thought he was going to propose to me," Emma squeaked out. "I thought I was going to be Mrs. Emma Ellis. I could feel it. I've never had a bloody relationship like this before, where I felt like it was mutual and like I could stay put. I thought I was falling in love with Owen!"

Now this was certainly enough to shake Mrs. Hudson - but she tried to continue being a rock of sorts and help Emma out.

"Hush, now," Mrs. Hudson replied. "It's going to be okay."

"No, it won't be," Emma said, shaking her head stubbornly. "There's absolutely no way it will be 'okay.'"

"Come on, dear. Just sit down and have a cuppa, and we can talk through this-"

Emma didn't even think to reply. She was already making her way out the front door, her feet carrying her up the stairs straight to the door of 221B.

She didn't bother to knock or ring, nothing. No, she just pushed down on the door knob until she made her way inside.

There he was. Sherlock, sitting there as if nothing were wrong. How dare he, after everything he had just done!

Of course, he had no clue what he had done - but that was the last thought in Emma's mind at the moment.

"Sherlock, you bastard!" Emma shrieked as she stormed into the flat, heading right towards him with a vicious fervor. "How is it that without moving a muscle you've managed to ruin my life?"

"Well, it depends on what the life ruining has come from," Sherlock replied as calmly as ever.

"Owen," she stated, as if that single word would explain everything. When Sherlock made no reply, she scoffed and continued. "My boyfriend just broke up with me."

"I don't see the connection this has with me," Sherlock said. "Aside from the fan group he was a part of, of course."

"It's because you're my muse," Emma continued. She didn't understand why he didn't understand - wasn't he supposed to be a genius?

"That is the only reason he broke up with you, then?"

"He didn't mention anything else," Emma replied, shaking her head. "He would have mentioned something else if there was anything else. Owen would've done that. He does do that."

"What I am gathering here is that you never actually told him about your ... problems."

"Well, no!" Emma exclaimed. "I finally found a man who would accept me, and I was not going to spoil it by telling him I'm a psychotic depressive with a drinking problem."

"He was bound to find out," Sherlock said. "In fact -" He was cut off by Emma's tirade. Frankly, she didn't care what he had to say at the moment. This was all about her.

"No, no he wasn't," Emma countered. "Because unlike you, Sherlock, Owen is a normal human being. If I want, I can lock my secrets away from normal people. That's what makes them secrets. Whereas you, you can just go along and figure out everything about everyone at a glance, while other people have to work at it."

"Then I'm guessing your problem isn't what caused him to break up with you," Sherlock said.

"I already told you, it was your fault!" Emma replied. "You being my muse. That's what this is all about. He's a Sherlock Holmes fanatic and he somehow believes I'm obsessed with you to a point where he'd be threatened by it!"

"I doubt a fear such as that would come unprovoked," Sherlock replied as calmly as ever. "Surely he must have some reason for these thoughts."

"One painting," Emma sighed. "I made one painting with your face on it, and he must've ... must've thought ...."

"Then he did have a reason," Sherlock said. "You're going on like this came out of nowhere, like you have no fault in this."

"Why can't you just see this isn't my fault?" Emma said. "I shouldn't have even come up here. I'm leaving. I'm going back to Mrs. Hudson."

The moment Emma turned around to storm out of 221B, however, she found Mrs. Hudson standing there already. Apparently she had only witnessed the past few moments of the argument, but it had been enough to make her feel concerned.

"Is everything all right between the two of you?" she asked.

"It's all his fault," Emma grumbled, pushing right past her landlady as she started making her way back down to her flat. She didn't know what else she could possibly do.

For once, she didn't want to speak to anyone. Emma didn't want interaction of any kind, whether it was in person or online. Not even Madison could help her at the moment.

No, of course, the only friend she was willing to utilise in her time of need was the whisky that sat impatiently in her cabinet. She tried to avoid it, but there was just far too much bringing her back to it.

"At least Owen never actually found out about my drinking problem," she mumbled, pouring herself yet another glass. She hadn't binged on whisky for several years, not since the day when there was a gun pressed against her head and Sherlock "died."

Now she wished he had actually died. But apparently there was nothing more to be done in her part of this situation. To Emma, it felt like her only choice was to drink and weep over Owen.

Everything she had said about Owen was true. Throughout the day, she had avoided saying an ill word about him. She didn't hate him. Emma couldn't hate him, even if he were completely wrong about the painting.

Already tipsy, Emma walked over to her easel to glance over the half painted picture. A part of her felt a desperate need to destroy the entire thing. Maybe she could set it on fire, send it up in ashes.

Or maybe it was the only decent thing she had created in years. No, she wouldn't dare destroy it, no matter how upset she was. What Emma would do instead was turn it around so that she never had to look at it. It would just make her sick, she was sure of it.

Emma couldn't even remember when she had first started her relationship with Owen. It had been a few years, yes, but it felt like it had lasted forever.

Throughout her years, she hadn't really understood the concept of love - she hadn't needed to, after all. But it seemed like when she was with Owen, she was as close to reaching it as ever.

But all of this was rather difficult to comprehend with such high levels of alcohol now coursing through Emma's system. Every last thought spiraled around in her head as she tried to grasp each one and have it make sense.

For instance, she was worried because she had never actually texted Owen back. Or maybe Mrs. Hudson was right, and it had been some mistake. No. It couldn't possibly be a mistake. It was too specific and coherent to be a mistake.

Emma felt more stuck and perplexed than ever before in her life. She could always do something, except for now. There typically was a way for her to take the reins and turn a situation her way. At this point, however, she was rendered practically helpless.

Of course, this was the moment where Emma could've used Owen's support the most. In any other situation, she would've called him. He would have taken her out for dinner as a treat of sorts and would talk her through whatever she was having a problem with.

No matter how wonderful Madison could be, she wasn't there for her in real life. She was just a collection of letters on the Internet. Emma let out an melodramatic sigh as she looked down to the floor. There was Florenz, the only man who hadn't snapped her heart in half like a toothpick yet.

Emma looked down at her phone - she had slapped it down on the table after storming out to 221B. She hadn't called her mother for their monthly talk. Of course, she hadn't called in several months anyways. Maybe she just needed to speak to a family member in order to feel better.

Then Emma shook her head, pushing those thoughts out of her mind. Surely she couldn't be that drunk already to think that calling her mother was actually a good idea. No, she'd just be lectured on how she was about to be married and then she just let him go.

For once, Emma was completely alone. For once, Emma almost felt like she wanted to be alone. No, no one could possibly understand the pain she was going through. It was the world against her in every way possible.

Everyone was to blame for this catastrophe. Everyone was out to get her. Everyone except for the cat, of course. She picked him up, starting to spout out gibberish to the little Florenz. But then he reached out a paw and batted her across the face.

"Oh, God," Emma sighed as she just about dropped Florenz back on the ground. "I give up."

A/N ...my characters always seem to have cats for some reason. Sorry, just noting that...but anyways, I am so very proud of how this story is going! I enjoy writing it, and then I go on to get lots of votes within the first 24 hours of posting? That's amazing, you guys! Now, for the dedication. This chapter is dedicated to Nonja18. 

Oh, Monkey. We fight (or rather, fought, we've actually been fairly peaceful as of late) far too much. You give me criticisms on my story, particularly this story, and I never react well. But at the end of the day, you are an amazing friend who is trying to help me make this the best it can be. I mean, one day I'm going to end up rewriting this story because of you - and then it might actually deserve the over 9000 reads it has. Thank you so much, Monkey!