- c h a p t e r   t w o -

John was going out to get some milk, or at least that was the plan. They always seemed to be out of milk at 221B Baker Street. The few times he had succeeded in going out and getting milk, it had mysteriously disappeared hours later.

Upon questioning Sherlock on what had happened, John was able to divine nothing. But it had been fairly obvious that Sherlock had gotten his hands on it because the smell of sour milk soon spread throughout the flat. John wasn't sure what he had been doing, and he wasn't sure that he ever really wanted to find out. One day, maybe, he might ask again. Especially if the milk disappeared again.

But as John was walking along down the street, he spotted a familiar face.

It was none other than Emma Newman. You would think that in a city like London you wouldn't see someone you knew so quickly and so soon after your first meeting.

Her high heels caused her to sort of stumble around on the streets of London. Her outfit was not meant for walking, that was for sure. The skirt she was wearing was so tight that she could hardly move her legs. She evidentally had not prepared well for this at all.

"Oh, hello!" Emma said, coming forwards, bringing up one arm in greeting. Apparently she could not do this as well as walk along, because she nearly tripped. She let out a little whoop and then stumbled on forwards. "John, John Watson, yeah?"

John nodded and took a few steps towards her. He then stopped again as she continued.

"Emma Newman?"

"Yes, indeed."

"What are you doing?" asked John, watching her teeter around dangerously. She was in imminent danger of a very badly twisted ankle, he could tell.

"Looking for a job," Emma said as she scrunched up her face and continued onwards. As if the constant shaking from the uneven ground wasn't enough, the heels were far too high and stiff and they were making her feet hurt. Yet she kept moving forwards, nearly passing John..

"Looking for a job," John repeated, a bit surprised. He was still standing there, staring straight ahead as if Emma was still walking towards him. He turned himself around and started walking next to Emma. It was a bit awkward because her heels made her tower over him. "You're looking for a job on the streets of London?"

"Mm-hm," Emma replied with a nod. "They post out those signs that say if they're looking to hire someone."

"And you think you're going to find the job you want?"

Emma heaved a sigh. "Well, I want to find a job that I actually can do and that pays well, well enough, that is. Liking it is a different story."

"I know where you're coming from," John replied.

"Doesn't seem like it," Emma said with a slight eyeroll. "What with you and Sherlock sitting pretty at your place while I'm at a flat where the lights go out half the time and I can't do anything. Speaking of that..."

"Yes?"

"I need to write my resume and I can't when the lights are constantly flickering. Any chance I could head over to your flat to write it...?" Emma bit her lip and took a deep breath. She started blinking a little bit faster, sending her eyelashes aflutter. Her eyes grew to the size of a doe's.

"Oh, well," John began, faltering a little bit. "Not today. But some other time."

"Oh," Emma replied, a bit offended. She had thought it was going to work out the first time. Men typically did what she asked. Emma didn't exactly understand why that was, except for that was just how it worked.

"Why not today?" she asked. She really did need a place to get a good resume together. Right now she was just hunting for jobs. She was completely unprepared to actually apply for one of them.

"Well, Sherlock's working on a case and if you get too close to him when he's trying to think, well...just don't do it."

Emma was completely curious about what it was Sherlock did when you interrupted his thinking, but she could tell that John was done with the whole subject. She supposed from what she had seen of Sherlock that this was a fairly good excuse for why she couldn't come.

"But that's almost a yes, right? I can come over to your flat sometime?"

"Uh, yeah!" John said. "Here, give me your number. We live at 221B Baker Street, in case you're wondering." The two of them exchanged numbers and then it seemed like they should be heading off on their way, but Emma didn't want to for some reason.

Apparently she really needed someone to talk to. She just stuck next to him as if she would never go away. But John had things to do, so an idea flicked into his mind.

"Do you live far away?"

Emma grimaced, looking towards the ground. "Pretty far, yeah."

"Here, I'll, uh, get a cab for you. Does that sound good?"

"Oh, but I don't have any money to pay, I had assumed that I would just walk home," Emma said. But John's eyes flicked down to her enormous heels and thought about how much she had been shaking back and forth during her ventures down the street. No, Emma would be bound to trip and break her ankle, and she would be lucky if that was her worst injury.

John sighed slightly and pulled out his wallet. He handed a few pounds to Emma, who looked down at it as if she had never seen money before.

"That should be enough, I think," John said.

"Thank you," Emma said, her eyes suddenly wide and only blinking on occasion. It was like everything was slowing down for her. She took a step forwards as John went out to the street and held out his arm and nearly planted herself face first on the ground.

Yes, John really needed to give Emma a way to get home that was not walking. If she had to walk even half a block more, he would probably end up having to call paramedics instead of a cab. No, he could spare a little bit of money for her. He would still have enough money for milk.

A cab pulled over to the side and John gestured for Emma to go along. Emma stopped and stared at John for a moment before getting into the cab, smiling slightly. But as soon as she realised that she was likely going to make her cab driver angry by making him wait, she quickly slid in. Then as they began to drive away, Emma gave a little sigh. John. John was so kind, so sweet. How had he managed to become such good friends with someone like Sherlock?

But John quickly realised as the black cab drove away that even though he had enough money to buy milk, he didn't have time. Time had been wasted like mad when he had been helping out Emma with everything. He let out a big sigh. It was like 221B Baker Street was destined to be eternally out of milk.

In the cab, Emma just sat around quietly, trying not to let her thoughts get to her. If Emma allowed that to happen, she would probably find herself weeping or screaming. It was hard enough to hold it in while she was around other people, but when she was alone-well, alone as she could be with the cab driver right in front of her-there was nothing holding her back except for herself. Emma knew better than anyone that her willpower and just mind in general wasn't that strong.

Trying to distract herself, Emma stared out the window. Sure, there were lots of sights to see in London, but once you had seen them they weren't quite as interesting anymore. Since Emma was now living in London, it was going to become less and less special each time.

But there was still one sight left in London that Emma was still dying to see. She had been trying not to think about it, as it would probably trigger something, but it came up in her head nevertheless.

Emma wanted to go see where Sherlock and John lived.

Something about it was just so interesting. What part of it was the fascinating one, she didn't know. Maybe it was because of Sherlock. Maybe it was because of John. But curiosity bubbled within her, and so she was going to get her way into 221B Baker Street one way or another.

She already had John's word that he would let her come over one day. But as she was planning, almost scheming, on how exactly she could get John to follow through on that promise, the cab stopped. They were at her flat, already.

She sighed and looked up at the meter. John had given her far too much money for the ride, but she paid what was needed and then just clutched the leftover in her hand. A girl always needed a little extra bit of money.

It was really stealing, not in Emma's book. John had given the money to her out of his own free will. Just because the main intention for the money was for a taxi ride that didn't mean that it wasn't still technically hers.

Emma stumbled her way out of the cab, stepping out onto the sidewalk in front of her flat. She sighed deeply staring at it. She supposed it wasn't that bad, especially because she could afford to live there on her own. But there always seemed to be maintenence problems, and that scared her. It was yet another thing that Emma tried not to think about.

The lights flickered as Emma entered her flat, causing her to let out a puff for a sigh. They were going to go out again, and it was going to be whenever Emma was least expecting it so that she would end up screaming.

Then the people around her would yell at her to be quiet. Then Emma would silently admire the silverware she had and think about how he knife would feel being pulled across her fragile skin...

No. Emma needed to stop thinking like that. She hadn't cut herself in years, and she was trying her best to keep her streak up. It was more than a bad habit, it was her way of life. Stopping it was going to be difficult, and Emma wasn't sure that she was up to the task, at least not in her current condition. Forcing certain types of thoughts was hard for her.

Logic hurt her brain. Anything vaguely academic made her feel at least dizzy. But emotions came easily, almost too easily.

Emma supposed she needed to make herself some tea. That's what everyone else always did when they needed to calm themselves down. But, then again, Emma wasn't exactly "everyone else." It didn't matter. She still had tea in the house and she planned on using it. That is, as long as the power didn't suddenly go out as she was heating up the water.

Before she knew it, Emma suddenly had a hot mug filled with tea sitting in her hands. It was nearly burning her skin just holding it. Sometimes having something hot in your hands would be calming, might even make you a bit sleepy.

But the hot liquid's temperature went right through the mug and carved its way into Emma's skin. Before she went any further with it, Emma set it down and waited a few minutes for it to cool down and for the steam to stop rising like smoke from a burning building.

Emma sighed as she looked down into her mug of tea. There were still ripples in the liquid from when she had set it down. She was half tempted to push it away and just go to sleep even though it was exceptionally early, but then Emma had an idea that would help everything move along a bit easier.

With a breath, she got up and found what she needed. A few seconds later, everything had been put together quite nicely.

Emma tipped the still steaming tea into her mouth and then shuddered as it burned on the way down. But this wasn't the kind of burning that came with something that was physically hot, like the tea. No, this was a different type of burn.

It almost seemed to scrape Emma's throat, pulling and ripping wherever it could. There was a sort of stinging to it, but as soon as it was there it seemed to move along. Emma had gotten used to this kind of burn over the years. Typically she hadn't even had tea to break it up, she would just drink it straight on.

Whisky. It was the unmistakable burn of whisky sliding down her throat and pulling out as much pain as it could. Sherlock had been right, that's exactly why she drank it. As much as she tried to keep her drinking problem a secret, it was totally obvious to Sherlock along with everything. That was the reason she had pulled the bottle out in the first place.

When it had all been playing out in front of her, it hadn't hit Emma quite as hard as it was hitting her at the moment. She had been too stunned to do much of anything than occasionally make a comment that inspired Sherlock to go further into her soul and dissect it. Maybe he did do it to everyone, but that wasn't the problem.

It hurt Emma, on such a deep level. Emma was pretty sure that "everyone" didn't feel the raging emotions under everything that she felt. Over the years she had found ways to hide it best that she could. But that hadn't stopped some edges from fraying. Molly knew this entire story, all of that had taken place when they were friends in school together.

Emma tried not to think about all of that, much less talk about it. People always said that talking out things made them better. But if Emma talked about what had happened in school then it only ended up getting stuck in her head and making her obsess over it.

How was that supposed to help her? She had to think about something else, and she knew that there was so much locked up in her head that she could obsess over that she wouldn't have a problem.

The switch to the next subject came almost naturally, as if the new subject had been waiting its turn to consume Emma's mind with emotions.

John, John, oh John. Emma found herself thinking about him almost as much as she thought about all that had happened with Sherlock and his deductions. That was definitely saying something, especially because Emma had worked herself into such a mess over what he had said and done. But when she thought about John, everything sort of blanked.

Now that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Emma's mind just seemed to be a blank white sheet when it came to John. Everything literally faded away, except for his name. His face. She tried to see this as a good thing, but all she could think about is the pain that it would eventually cause her.

Emma liked John, she liked him a lot. Liking people was just another path that would in the end make her hurt. But still, John consumed her mind.

At the same time, the thought of Sherlock's deductions came back to her. John had seen it all, known that his friend was right about every last thing he had said about Emma. Would John even want to be friends with her, now knowing just how messed up she was?

A bigger question still made Emma's head ache, though.

How was it possible that Sherlock Holmes knew Emma Newman better than she did?

A/N Chapter Two, in which we finally get to see inside of Emma's mind and her messed-up-ed-ness. Because that's a word that exists. But, oh, I am so excited for what's to come in this story! If you're excited already because you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and comment! Every little bit means so much to me.