- c h a p t e r   t h r e e -

Emma was making her way to 221B Baker Street. She had been thinking about it so much lately that she had finally found herself a reason to get up and go. Two seperate parts of her life had come together in order to give her the perfect motivation to go visit Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Her father had been murdered, and the detectives assigned to case hadn't been pushed hard enough to find the culprit or to figure out why he had been killed. He simply wasn't at the top of their list. But Emma had wondered about it, thought about it quite a bit.

The only time she had seen murders had been on television shows and movies, and then suddenly it had entered her real life. She was curious to find out what had happened to him, and who better to help her out with that than the famed Sherlock Holmes?

The other part of why she was going to their home was simply because she wanted to. Emma longed to know more about Sherlock and John. She was still perplexed by Sherlock's deductions and still enchanted by her conversation with John on the street. Now she was desperate for more.

Emma was walking down Baker Street, trying to find the address she remembered John telling her. Their conversation just a few days ago had been too short for her liking, but it didn't matter at the moment. One way or another, she would see Sherlock Holmes and John Watson again. She bit her lip as she stopped herself in front of the door which she could only assume was where the two of them lived.

Emma knocked on the door, staring at the golden numbers (and a letter) spelling out "221B," contrasting deeply against the dark door. Yes indeed, unless Emma had managed to get herself extremely lost, she was in the right place.

Or maybe Emma had remembered the address wrong. After all, she had been drinking as soon as she got home that same day John had told her the address. Now terrified that she was at the wrong place, she got out her phone and prepared to send a text to John.

But then she heard voices from behind the door, and she was able to let out her breath that she hadn't even known she had been keeping in. She reached over to her purse and slipped her phone back in, but continued keeping her hand close by just in case.

"John, someone's at the door," a familiar low voice said. Emma's lips curled up. She would never forget Sherlock's voice, what with all of those deductions. Without a doubt, he was inside.

"I have ears, Sherlock, I heard it just as well as you!" John sounded sort of irritated with his friend.

There was a moment of silence. Emma stood outside, hearing the echoes of their conversation leak through.

"John, why aren't you getting the door?"

"Because I'm in the middle of a blog post, that's why." Blog post? Now, this was something no one had told Emma about yet. This is what she had been hoping for, finding out new things about the two of them.

Even from outside Emma could hear Sherlock's enormous sigh. "I don't see why you're so obsessed with that blog."

"I'm not obsessed, it's just-" John started to protest, but he was cut off by Sherlock.

"I would call it an obsession. Must I get a dictionary and look up the definition?"

"No, Sherlock. Just...just get the door!"

"Fine." There was the sound of footsteps, and Emma's breath caught in her throat. Trying to stay calm, she straightened herself up. Soon the door opened, Sherlock Holmes standing in front of Emma.

"You again," Sherlock said, his tone flat.

"Oh," Emma said, "so you remember me!" She was actually pleasantly surprised by this, trying to ignore the obvious derogatory tone in Sherlock's voice. John, on the other hand, welcomed her in with a warm wave of his hand.

"Of course I remember," Sherlock said as Emma walked straight past him and into the flat. She tried to soak in each and every detail as quickly as possible, turning around to see it all.

"I just thought that you wouldn't, being that you hardly looked at me."

Before Sherlock could say something that would shatter Emma's emotions, John jumped in to change the subject.

"Welcome to the flat," John said with a smile.

"It's lovely," Emma said, her voice sincere. She adjusted the large, seemingly real leather bag that was hanging off of her shoulder. "Wish my flat looked a thing like this. If I could even see it in the first place."

"What do you mean?" John said, becoming engaged in their conversation. Within a matter of seconds he was hooked on Emma's words.

"I mean that the lights go out so often that they might as well not even turn on in the first place. It's starting to get unbearable. I can't do anything, and I need to get my resume together!" Emma said, exasperated. She slid her enormous bag off of her shoulder and then quickly moved her shoulders around to stretch them after the weight being released.

The bag was heavy enough by itself, but Emma had decided to store a lot of things in it. It was brand new and already it was an absolute mess on the inside. It just went to show Emma how quickly her state of disarray could spread.

"Please," John said, gesturing to the sitting area, "sit down."

"Oh," Emma said. Without another word, she immediately fell down into the nearest seat and resisted the urge to slip her shoes off. She was wearing high heels again, and they were almost painful enough for Emma to forget about how cute they were and just get rid of them.

But the key word was "almost." She had spent good money on those shoes and was determined to get some wear out.

"What brings you to our home?" John asked, smiling over at her.

"Actually," Emma said. "I'm here to talk to Sherlock. I have something to ask."

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, but then sat down in a seat across from Emma. She readjusted herself and began to speak again.

"The Consulting Detective, yeah? Boffin Sherlock Holmes," she said, letting out a chirpy sort of giggle. "I think I would have recognised you sooner if you had been wearing the hat," Emma said.

"Hm," Sherlock said. He immediately turned around to John, saying, "John, please tell me you got rid of that hat."

"It's your hat, the Sherlock Holmes hat," John said. "We can't just get rid of it."

"I say we get rid of it because it serves no use except to torment me."

"Oh," Emma said, butting into their conversation. "I thought you liked that hat, you're wearing it in all of the pictures."

"I'm wearing it in one picture that they use over and over again. Not the same thing," Sherlock replied, obviously irritated. Emma was quiet for a minute, feeling a bit embarrassed that she had been so dull. Somehow, this one particular feeling always seemed to come back to her.

"Anyways..." Emma said, biting her lip. "I'm here because I have a mystery for you." Everything in the room was now so much quieter and more intense, she was sort of afraid to raise up her voice. But Sherlock just nodded and leaned forwards to hear her words better.

"Your father's murder, I assume."

"Yes," Emma said. This was one of the few things Sherlock had said about Emma that hadn't shocked her or surprised her. She had brought it up the other day when she had first met the two of them.

If Emma was going to be honest, her father's death hadn't affected her that much. Her parents had divorced early in Emma's life and she had gone to her father in the custody battle. She had grown up mostly with her father, and although that made her closer to him that also revealed more of his weak points and things that made her hate him.

She had moved out as soon as she was old enough, but had to stay close by. She chose to stick with her father because her mother really bothered her as she grew older. After Emma turned twenty, her mother had been obsessed with trying to get her married. Emma tried to make as much space between them as possible.

In the end, when Emma's father had been killed, she had cried and gone to the funeral, and then it was like it was all over. But something still pricked at the back of her mind. Someone had killed her father, and it didn't seem like an accident. She wanted to know how that had happened.

"I've got papers about it," she said. "I was his next of kin or whatever they call it, so they gave me all of this information," Emma said, pulling a folder out of her purse.

"Well, go ahead and tell us what this is all about," Sherlock said, starting to get bored already.

Emma hurried herself up and pulled out a sheet of paper, running her eyes over it to make sure it was the one she wanted.

"Blunt force trauma to the spinal column was the cause of death," Emma said, squinting as she read it off of the paper. "Haven't the foggiest what that means. And, of course, they don't know who did it, and why. I suppose they don't care enough to find out. The case is technically still on, I guess, but no one is really doing anything."

"What?" John said. "Why wouldn't they care that someone was murdered?"

"He wasn't influential or anything of the sort," Sherlock said. "At least that much should be obvious to you, John."

"Well, I'm sorry if the things that are completely obvious to you aren't obvious to me, Sherlock."

Emma's eyes flicked between the two men for a moment, trying to decipher what was going on. But she wasn't able to figure out much of anything important, her brain just couldn't function well enough for the moment. She had stayed up rather late the last night, quite a bit of spent drinking whisky. Sure, it was good at night, but it hurt in the mornings.

"So...?" Emma said, trying to prompt a response out of either one of them. Luckily, John picked up on it.

"Sounds like a nasty murder to me," John said. "Sherlock, you like those kind of things, right?"

Sherlock didn't respond, at least not visibly. Emma's heart droppedm a sigh coming towards her lips.. She had been hoping that Sherlock would be more engaged in it all by this point. But Emma had planned for this, she had an ace up her sleeve to help her out.

"But wait, there's more," Emma said, sounding almost like a rehearsed salesperson. Evidently she had heard from someone that Sherlock only took on a case if there was something interesting about it.

"I found this at the scene of my father's death," Emma said. She reached over to her bag and pulled out a piece of paper that was folded up, slightly crumpled from its trip. A corner had been folded over by accident, and Emma did her best to try to straighten it out. When she realised that there was nothing more she could do, she handed the paper over to Sherlock with a somewhat forced smile.

Sherlock unfolded the paper, and John moved over to see what was on it. He peered over Sherlock's shoulder down at the piece of paper.

It was a letter, handwritten as if someone was in a rush to get something down. All of the words were understandable, but the handwriting was somewhat messy because of the speed they had taken in writing it. Sherlock's eyes scanned over it. From what Emma saw, it looked like he had read through it several times in the thirty seconds he had been staring at it.

When Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, Emma's heart began to beat faster. What was he going to say? Was he going to take the case, or just dismiss it like all of the other detectives?

She was quite disappointed to hear what he did say. "John, please stop breathing in my ear. It makes it more difficult to think," Sherlock said.

"Sorry," John said, sounding more irritated than apologetic. This nearly made Emma giggle, but she kept it in for the sake of Sherlock taking up the case.

"So, what do you think? Will you take the case?"

Again, Sherlock was silent. Emma was now getting nervous. She had been counting on that letter to be her ticket, to get Sherlock interested in the case. But now it seemed like that was going to fail. It wasn't looking good for her case, not at all. Maybe the mystery of her father's murder would just have to stay a mystery.

But just as Emma had lost all but a sliver of hope, Sherlock spoke up.

"I'll take it."

"You will?" Emma said, her eyes widening in excitement.

"Sounds interesting enough, although the solution is likely to be simple and obvious," Sherlock said.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Emma said, sounding almost like a bird chirping along. This strange illusion was only carried on when she clapped her hands together lightly at high speed, giving the sense of a hummingbird's wings. She just sat there quietly for a moment before she decided that it was time for her to go.

"Well, I suppose I better head back to my flat now. Althought it's much nicer here," Emma said, taking one last look around before she headed off. Emma picked up her bag from the ground, putting all of the papers back inside. At first she tried to make them neat and all, but it ended up just being a huge mess.

"Oh," John said, sounding slightly disappointed that Emma wouldn't be staying longer. Emma looked up to meet his eyes and sent him a little smile. "Goodbye, then!"

"Bye, John! And you too, Sherlock," she said with a little laugh. With that, she made her way to the door.

"Don't trip on the way out," Sherlock said, not looking up.

"Huh?" Emma said, right as her high heels caused her to get twisted up and confused. Just as Sherlock had told her not to, she ended up tripping.

"Hm," Sherlock said, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. "You're more predictable than I initially thought." Emma stopped and stared at him for a moment, but then just sighed and walked out. For her, it just wasn't worth it to figure out just what Sherlock was saying.

Now that Emma was gone, Sherlock was left with a much quieter enviroment to think in. Lovely, only John's voice would be able to bother him. For a moment, Sherlock looked at the letter again. John saw the look on Sherlock's face and was immediately concerned.

"Sherlock, what is it? Don't you think the letter's important?"

"Hm, well," Sherlock responded. He let the letter fall out of his hand and onto the chair. "Not really."

"But..." John was trying to work up some sort of protest, but nothing clever enough was popping in his head.

"Oh, we're keeping it, running a few tests and all, but it's not the clue that Emma's trying to lead us to believe it is."

John blinked a few times. Sherlock had resorted back to speaking cryptically again, which never ceased in being annoying. It was almost as if he was implying that Emma had been the culprit in the murder. John shook his head. It would all make sense eventually, as it always did. Or at least that's what John hoped would happen.

A/N And so, the mystery part of the mystery begins! I have some interesting ideas coming up for this whole murder, but you're just going to have to wait and see them. I must say, I enjoy the interactions between Sherlock and Emma. They're just so different, you know? Well, enough analyzing my own story, hehe. All that matters is that you enjoyed it. Yes. You. You, right here, reading this. If you did enjoy it, please vote and comment and add to your library.