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

Waking up to the sound of knocking at the door seemed to have become a staple of Emma's life ever since Sherlock had died. It just seemed to keep on happening and every time she liked it less and less. This time she had been fast asleep on one of her chairs, too lazy to even bring herself to her bed the previous night.

With only a slight headache making Emma miserable, she dragged herself up out of her seat and towards the sound of knocking at her door. She really needed to install something that would allow her to be alerted without the constant banging. There had been far too much of it around lately, she decided.

She whipped open the door, already sure that she was going to be irritated by whoever was coming to visit her. Whoever was standing outside was likely not going to be getting the best introduction to her. She didn't mind. She didn't want anyone coming back to her. Right at the moment, she just wanted to be alone. She also just wanted to be asleep.

As Emma stared at her visitor standing outside, it only took her a moment to process that she did not know who they were. It was a he, and he looked to be about her age. He was tall, - at least tall enough for her standards - her head made it just about up to his shoulder. She couldn't deny that he was rather attractive, but she wasn't exactly in the mood for flirting.

Instead she stood there with a single hand on her hip, trying to think her way through way this random stranger would be appearing at her door. Only one thing came to mind, and it was fairly logical as well. She was proud of herself for thinking it over - but she didn't want to waste time celebrating.

"Um, who are you?" Emma asked, trying to widen her eyes to avoid them drooping shut from her grogginess. "If you're looking for the flat of the false detective or whatever the hell they're calling it, it's not here. It's upstairs. Not sure how you missed that, but I can walk you up there if you'd like."

"Oh, no no no!" the man replied, holding up a hand. "No, I meant to come down here."

"You did?" Emma said, feeling very skeptical. She had no clue what this man's motives were, and at the moment she was a bit frightened to find out.

"Yes, yes. You're Emma Newman, right?" He held out his hand to shake hers, but she kept her arms crossed. He waited for her to do something, but she wouldn't budge.

"Who are you and how the hell do you know my name?" she replied as he retracted his hand, looking rather sheepish.

"Oh, sorry!" he said, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. "I forgot the introduction, I always do that. The name is Owen Ellis. I've read about you on Dr. Watson's blog, and in the papers, and ... um ... I'm a big fan."

"A big fan," Emma said, her voice flat. "Of me." Needless to say, she found this rather difficult to believe.

"Well, of the now deceased detective and of the doctor as well, but yes. Of you. I knew you'd be the only one of the three willing to talk to me." Emma had to ponder over this for a few moments. She started speaking before she was done thinking over his words. Obviously he was talking about Sherlock and John - but why was she included in the same group as them?

"Yeah, well, one of them is dead, so - wait, did you say in the papers?"

"Um, yeah," Owen replied, looking like his stomach had just dropped like a stone. "Is there something wrong with the papers? I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it -"

"No, I just want you to explain to me what you're talking about," Emma replied, crossing her arms. She felt somewhat exasperated, but she wanted to keep that down. "For all I know, you could be just another reporter trying to get some sort of information out of me. Well, I can tell you this - I don't have any exclusive information about Sherlock Holmes, or John Watson for that matter."

"No, it's nothing like that," Owen said, shaking his head. "It's more like ... well, I saw you in the papers. They took a lot of pictures about you and had short statements from you. It was from a few weeks before, well, the fall."

"The fall," Emma echoed. It sounded so stupidly melodramatic. Usually she'd go for that sort of thing, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was still too tired from waking up too soon.

"You know, when Sherlock jumped off of the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, falling down and dying. Except - no, never mind. It's not important. But you were in the papers and I saw you in them."

Emma thought back several months. Everything had turned into such an enormous blur after the whole incident with Sherlock being called a fake and such; the note, the man with the gun....

"So they actually put in the papers," Emma murmured to herself. "So people actually saw me and read things about me?"

Owen, despite the fact he wasn't meant to hear what she said, replied to her with, "Well, I don't know about other people, but I did."

Emma glared at him slightly for making the conversation carry forwards - while she wasn't particularly disliking it, she wasn't exactly liking it either. Her irritation from the very beginning of their meeting had carried over. But soon her curiosity got the better of her, forcing her to ask the question that was lingering in her head.

"What exactly did it say about me in that newspaper article, anyways?"

"Er, not too much - it was just mostly what you said. Are you still in a relationship with Dr. Watson?" He glanced down to her hand, making her feel even more perplexed than normal. "Well, I guess you're not set up to be Mrs. Watson."

"What?" Emma said, startled. "Oh, oh no. We're not in a relationship anymore. It ended a long time ago."

"Oh. I see," Owen replied, nodding. They fell into silence - something that Emma found disturbing but she felt like she had no power to change at the moment. This was strange for her. She didn't like it, not one bit.

Finally, Owen decided that he was going to make a move to keep the conversation moving forwards. After taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm a big fan of your artwork."

"How have you seen my artwork? As far as I'm aware, I didn't give anyone permission to put in the papers or anything," Emma said, creasing her eyebrows. As much as she slightly enjoyed being in Owen's company, he was starting to scare her.

"Oh, yeah, sorry ... I should have probably mentioned that. You see, I go over to Sherlock Holmes's grave every now and then to pay my respects like the rest of the group and I saw that there were drawings there."

At this point, Emma felt heat starting to rise up into her cheeks. She had thought her pictures would be undisturbed, left there alone for no one to see. It was just a little memento sort of thing she had left behind for the fallen detective. But now Owen had apparently seen it.

"Signed E. Newman, every last one of them. I knew it had to be you, I ... it had to be."

Emma nodded, biting her lip. She was afraid that opening her mouth would cause her to say something wrong. Even if Sherlock was gone, he had caused quite a lasting effect on her. She had never considered the possibility that someone else would see the drawings she had made of him.

"Those drawings were incredible," Owen said, putting his hands in the air for emphasis. "I mean, that looks like something you would see in an art gallery or something."

"Hm," Emma said. She was having much difficulty in deciding whether he was being sincere or not.

"You could be an artist," Owen said, looking towards Emma with excitement in his eyes. But the energy softened and faded quite a bit as he rethought what he had just said. "No...no, you are an artist." His eyes now glimmering gently under the light, Emma realized with a start that he was indeed being sincere.

"Do you really think so?"

"Well, yeah. 'Course I do," Owen replied. Their gazes met for a moment, Emma swallowing as she saw his eyes blinking repetitively.

"Thanks," Emma said, running her fingers through her hair and then shaking it out. "Literally no one has ever said that to me before."

"Really?" Owen said. "That's just mad, really. I've seen what you're capable of."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," she laughed. "You see, I'm working on a bigger painting right now. I haven't told anyone about that ... mostly because no one cares. No one but Maddie, that is."

"Who's Maddie?" he asked, seeming legitimately interested in what she had to say. She had to stop and look at him for a moment, wondering if he was just messing around with her. But she couldn't find anything false in Owen's eyes. They were bright and completely sincere - something she hadn't seen anywhere, not in her entire life.

Now she was somewhat motivated to keep this conversation going. She was interested in him, and he was even more interested in her. Now it was just a matter of her finding something to keep their conversation going.

"Maddie's a good friend of mine," Emma said. "Probably the only good friend I have left."

"You only have one good friend left?" Owen asked, his eyes now turning sympathetic. "If you don't my asking, what happened to the other ones?"

Emma's mind drifted away to Molly first, and then tracked along to some of the others who she had messed up her friendship with. "We lost contact," she decided to say. She wasn't going to make Owen think that she was a horrible person that everyone hated.

"Oh, I see," Owen replied. "Yeah, I know how that feels. It's happened to me a few times before."

Emma had seen this coming - Owen was attempting to close down their conversation, whether he knew it or not. She had to salvage it at that point, bring up something so that they could continue talking. All of the grogginess from before seemed to melt away.

"You were talking about a group," Emma said, trying to tread carefully around the subject. She was able to pick up on some of the finer details that Owen went over.

"Oh - yes, yes, yes. I'm part of a group - it's a bit strange. I'm not sure you'd want to know about it. I mean, you seem like you have plenty to do yourself. Maybe I should go."

"I never said I wasn't interested," she replied, smiling slightly. "To me it sounds like you're embarrassed about whatever is going on. Now, that only makes me feel more interested."

"Maybe some other time. I actually do have to go now, I swear," he said. "But it was very nice meeting you, Emma. I'm sure I'll be heading back here sometime soon."

"Oh, don't leave now!" Emma said, pouting slightly. "We've just hardly begun our conversation. Why don't we keep going?"

"I really have to go. I swear on it - I don't want to leave, but I have to. If it were my choice, I'd stay here much longer ..."

"But why?" Emma asked. "Why are you going, especially in the middle of such a good conversation?"

"I'm going to be late for a meeting," Owen replied, hesitating slightly.

"Like, a group meeting?"

"Yes, a group meeting."

"I'm guessing that this is the group you've been talking about before," Emma said, feeling very pleased with herself for making these connections. The fact of the matter was, it seemed like she was getting them correct.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Owen hastily pushed out as he made his way for the door.

Emma took this moment as her opportunity to do several things at once. She threw herself in front of the door, latching her fingers on the door frame. Owen stopped short right in front of her, closing his eyes as if pained him to be stuck.

"Come on, why don't you tell me?"

"I can't be late," Owen replied, starting to bounce on his heels. Emma stared up at his worried face, the hint of a smile gracing the edges of her lips. "If I'm late, they might kick me out of the Empty Hearse, and I can't -"

"The Empty Hearse!" Emma cried. "That's what it is, what you've been talking about!"

"Wh-what?" Owen stuttered, realising what he had just done. He sighed, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling somehow.

"How about you explain it to me and then I'll open up the door and let you go?" Emma proposed.

"I don't think there's enough time to make it all make sense," Owen said. "I would love to tell you. Some other time."

"Fine," Emma replied. "But you better come back. I'll be waiting." She started slipping her hands off of the door frame, removing herself from being a barrier. But before she could let him head off to the Empty Hearse, there was something she had to do. She moved her palms to the side of his face and pulled his head down so that she could kiss him on the cheek.

Owen was completely unable to form any sort of speech on his way off, so their conversation had ended just like that. Somehow, Emma didn't mind. Usually she would start grappling around for some way to get him to stay and keep talking, but she did nothing of the sort this time around. She just watched him with with a slight smile on her lips as he rushed out of her flat.

As soon as he was gone, she went over to her laptop and reported the entire experience to Maddie. Of course Maddie, being as computer savvy as she was, looked up the Empty Hearse and started reporting information to Emma. If she wanted, she could go out and find Owen again.

But that was unnecessary, because it wasn't long before Owen ended up coming back to her flat. Then again. Then again. He just kept on coming back, and Emma was always ready to admit him in 221C. Their conversations started drifting away from the matters of Sherlock Holmes and more towards themselves. He started getting more comfortable around her.

Despite feeling that Owen was trustworthy, Emma couldn't help but make sure to be as sober as possible when he came around. Any alcohol she had would be hastily thrown to the back of the cabinet where he couldn't find it. If he didn't already know about her little problems, then he didn't need to know.

The funny thing about it all was that Emma felt happy. She never would have thought that the death of Sherlock would bring her something that could make her feel consistently good. But, then again, who was she to complain?

A/N Ah, the introduction of Owen Ellis. I wish there was enough time for me to write more for him...but we've only got five chapters left! I've decided that I'm going to have a little tradition for some of my books when it comes to the last few chapters...just like I did for The Child's Mistakes, I'll be dedicating it to significant people to give thanks!

This dedication is for ErinThorpeDowney! I've got to say, I can't remember when and why I followed you in the first place. It doesn't really matter, anyways. What does matter is when we were assigned to one another's works in the Something Blue contest, I think we gained something lovely. I got to read The Detective and write a fanfiction for it, and you did the same for this story. And you did a wonderful job. 

Then the other day when I asked for 7500 reads on this story you went ahead and let all of your fans know about it? That was amazing and unneccessary. I know that this is just a little dedication, but I just want to thank you so much for supporting me in this way!

-Rain