The Impossible Game

Chapter 8

Emma tossed and turned all night on the couch in the living room of 221B Baker Street. For the life of her, she could not find a comfortable spot on the damned thing that. She tried every position but to no avail. For a good deal of the time Emma would just lie on her side, looking at the smoldering ashes in the fire place. When she could eventually close her eyes to get some rest Moriarty's leering face would pop into her head, startling her awake. Those dark soulless eyes staring at her endlessly, while sweat dripped down her brow and she breathed uneasily.

And if she wasn't thinking about that, her mind would wander to whatever it was that her and Mister Holmes were about to do when John stumbled in that night. Emma swore she could still feel his lips brushing against hers: surprisingly soft and gentle, but it was the way Mister Holmes went from what looked like almost caring to complete indifference, if not utter disdain when John walked in that confused Emma. Everything about the situation was jarring.

She shook her head rolling on her back and stared blankly at the cracked, pale creamed colored ceiling. Taking the pillow she groaned into it trying to push all of those thoughts from her head, knowing better than to over think any of it. Emma had only been around him for a couple of days. She was just tired, and if Emma was being honest with herself, probably a bit lonely. Granted she didn't really have too many friends or lovers back at home in the states but it's different to be lonely in a country where you feel like you don't belong.

Or wanted dead.

She squinted her eyes shut, avoiding the sun that seeped through the large windows in the living room and also avoiding the fact that she may have gotten two hours of sleep over all. Grumbling to herself she swung her legs over the side to sit up and stretch. Emma looked down at herself seeing that she had tried to fall asleep in her clothes from the previous day, realizing that a shower was sorely needed.

Maybe that would clear my head for a little bit, she thought to herself, Or at least wake me up.

Getting off of the couch Emma meandered her way to the washroom finding it locked much to her dismay. She put her head on the door making a slight thud sound, not really thinking at all, and left her head there. Before she could react the door swung open and Emma fell crashing forward on to something - or rather - someone.

Her face landed on a bare chest, Emma finding herself tangled up with whoever limbs they belonged to. Emma grunted, picking up her head only to be staring at Mister Holmes with his eyes squinted shut still. He let out a slight groan as well, placing his hand on the back of his head.

It took a moment for Emma to realize the towel around his waist was gone and top of both her and Mister Holmes now. She shrieked and tried to jump off of the very naked man, only to slip and only to fall onto her back into the tub. Emma let out another guttural noise followed by a string of profanities as her back and head landed with a loud thud on the hard porcelain bath tub floor.

"Are you okay?" She heard Mister Homes' voice after a few moments, still not up himself. Emma's response was sticking her arm out of the tub and giving him the thumbs up. Her legs hung over the side, dangling over the detective Emma presumed. He pushed her them out of the way, finally making his way up off the ground and snatched the towel to put it around himself. Emma stayed where she was staring up at the pale ceiling of the bathroom. After a few moments of that she finally saw Mister Holmes' head poke over the tub. He raised an eyebrow at Emma. "Are you coming out?"

"I dunno," she said dryly, "I think I found a new place to sleep. It's so fantastically comfortable. You should really try it sometime." Mister Holmes shook his head at her dry remark, and then offered Emma his hand to help her out. She batted it away. "I've got this." She grabbed the side of the white tub, trying to pull herself up. While despite clumsily, she managed to get out with Mister Holmes staring at her all the while.

"You are so incredibly stubborn," he remarked.

"Clever deduction, Mister Holmes," she retorted smoothing herself out. He cocked his head slightly.

"You're angry with me," he stated with no emotion in his voice. Emma let out a forced laugh.

"You really are the perceptive one this morning," Emma replied sardonically, "Sorry for disturbing your shower. I'll leave you to it." She made her way when Mister Holmes stuck out his arm out across the door frame, blocking her only exit. She turn to face him, crossing her arms over her chest while making a face that clearly showed she was not amused with this. He made no notion to move it anytime soon so she tried pushing past him but he kept his arm in the same place, hardly budging.

He's stronger than he looks, she thought to herself almost amused. Pursing her lips in irritation, Emma's eyes were hard and her left eyebrow shot up high in annoyance.

"Are you going to move that?" She asked, gesturing to his arm barricade. Mister Holmes' tall figure loomed over her, but he wouldn't intimidate her; he was just an over sized, spoiled child to Emma and she could deal with that easily. Again, Mister Holmes didn't move. "Alright then. Pretty please will you move your arm?" Emma asked her voice dripping with fake saccharine. She batted her eyes for extra measure.

"Not until I ask this question and you answer it," he stated, "Why do you insist on calling me 'Mister Holmes', when you call John by his first name?" Emma looked at him puzzled.

Is he serious? He's not going to ask why I'm actually perturbed, she thought wearily to herself. She should have known better than to think that. "Does it bother you that much, Mister Holmes? " Emma asked instead.

"You're avoiding the question," he replied.

"And you're annoying me. Now move, please," she said trying to push past him again but this time he caught her arm and didn't let go. "You are being such a child, Mister Holmes. It's far too early in the morning to be playing games like this."

"Then answer my question," he answered coolly, not breaking the eye contact. He loved doing that, she noted to herself. It was a power play for him, the "not-breaking-eye-contact-or-blinking" game he played with everyone. Emma looked down at his hand on her arm and then back to him again, and smiled haughtily.

"You know I can easily flip a man twice your size, but I'd really rather not," she said challenging him, "It's a bit cramped in here." The tall man leaned in closer to her, only a few inches away from her face.

"I'd like to see you try Miss Rose," he said, again something glinting in his eyes while all she did was roll hers. She wasn't about to take the bait.

"If you must know," the petite blonde said to him, "It's because John asked me to call him 'John' and not 'Dr. Watson'. Simple as that." Mister Holmes' expression went from playful to confusion in no amount of time. "You have never corrected me, hence why you're still, 'Mister Holmes', Mister Holmes."

"Now you're just doing it to bother me," he shot back. Emma couldn't help but laugh.

The brilliant detective. The man who figured out the serial killer cabbie driver, the man who figured out that the Chinese mafia used "London A-Z: A Tourist Guide" book to communicate with one another across continents, and among so many other cases that baffled the London police, the Sherlock Holmes, could not even figure out why she insisted on calling him "Mister Holmes" as opposed to just "Sherlock". It was comical to Emma, almost too much so.

"Maybe I am," she said obviously relishing it, "And maybe I'm doing it to prove a point."

"What point?" He asked incredulously, almost not being able to fathom that he missed something. Emma couldn't contain her smugness; she just stumped the one man everyone thought to be un-stump-able.

"That you're not as observant as you think you are," she replied nonchalantly. Emma finally shook herself free, sliding underneath his arm like a limbo bar. Mister Holmes' mouth was left agaped probably not able to fully grasp what she had said. He closed it and then thoughtfully looked at her as Emma left the bathroom, Mister Holmes' head following her down the darkened hallway.

"Emma!" he called quietly after her. She stopped mid stride, turning her head around to look at him. Mister Holmes almost looked like a child, the slightest genuine smile displayed across his lips. She gave him a look that seemed to say go on.

"Um, you can have the shower," he said hastily, and then after a moment added, "And please, call me Sherlock." Emma smiled without sarcasm. She knew this wasn't an apology for what happened last night, but she also knew she had to let that go. She was never going to get an answer from him on that, but this small victory would do for now.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Emma said, turning back to him. She walked back to the bathroom as he walked to his bedroom. She couldn't help but notice how good he looked from behind. Emma smirked to herself as she shut the door behind her.


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