The Impossible Game

Chapter 10

Giving one last go at fending off her attacker, Emma thrashed around violently but to no avail; she just was getting too weak, her body was becoming limp in his arms. Breathing became harder, and her vision became more blurred.

Maybe, she thought morbidly to herself, if he has to drag me it would at least slow him down, having to drag my sorry ass and all.

As soon Emma resigned to giving up, she felt a tremendous force that sent her flying to the ground, barely missing the pavement with her head. Groaning she tried to turn to see what was happening now. Emma coughed and gasped for air as John entered her blurred line of vision.

“Emma,” he frantically said, “Can you hear me? Emma!” She squinted at the sound of her name and tried propping herself up on the pavement with the help of the doctor. She was slowly getting her breathing under control. “That’s it, good. Just take it easy okay?” Emma nodded, then looking towards where the assailant was and she was shocked to see the detective kicking the absolute shit out of the Eastern European man. Sherlock’s blows were messy but powerful, blood and spit splattering across the pavement like a Jackson Pollock painting. It was more than likely the detective broke the man’s nose. Emma couldn’t help but smile, maybe a tad too vindictively perhaps but she didn't care.

The man in question was pinned underneath the willowy man with the mess of black curls, pitifully trying to block each hit but he couldn’t keep up; Sherlock continued to swing again, and again and again. Emma had a slight idea how strong he was but this surpassed everything she thought. John even remarked that he had never seen the man fight like this before. Emma was thoroughly impressed.

Stopping for a moment, Sherlock grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and brought the broken face of the Eastern European man closer to his.

“Do you work for the Kosevos?” Sherlock asked with quiet fury. Standing up with the help of John Emma made her way towards the two men on the ground. Although slightly dizzy still she felt the anger begin to rise in her blood and could feel it rushing through her veins, her adrenaline following suit. Her stride matched only to a wild cat stalking its prey; purposeful with feeling of the impending hunt and kill wafting in the air.

The man at hand- or rather Sherlock’s hands- spat out a mixture of blood and saliva at Emma’s feet as she approached. Making a disinterested face, she continued to slink her way to him. It looked like as though he was going to say something but Emma didn’t give him a chance. She planted her foot square onto his upper torso.

She stepped hard, twisting deeply with her entire body into his chest cavity causing him to gasp as she tightly smiled. Sherlock backed off just enough, seeing that she had a handle on the situation as the man cried out in pain.

“Doesn’t feel too good, does it?” Emma asked condescendingly, retribution raining down from her brown eyes.

“Fuck. You.” He managed coughed out. Without warning Emma dropped to one knee in the same spot; it wasn’t enough to break his sternum but she was getting closer. He yowled in pain as Sherlock watched in sheer fascination by Emma’s interrogation practice.

“Now,” she continued sweetly, “If I’m not mistaken, I believe the gentleman to my left asked you a question. And if you don’t want a shattered sternum in the next two minutes I would suggest answering the question.”

“Are you working for the Kosevos?” She dug her knee even deeper while he made another pitiful attempt to wriggle himself free but he soon gave up.

“You’re such a bitch. No wonder people want you dead,” wheezed the man. Emma was so close to just breaking him in half but as soon as she thought about it, another black van came screeching down the street towards them all.

Emma had the hunch that they, whoever they were, wouldn’t kill any of them. At least not just yet so Emma, John and Sherlock were at an advantage. She stayed where she was, with one knee on top of the bloodied man sprawled on the pavement and her other foot planted firmly on the ground; Emma didn’t want to let the guy underneath her to escape. It was a bit of a gamble but she was feeling pretty lucky.

Unfortunately Sherlock didn’t let her finish her game of chicken with the van. He tackled her out of the way onto the grass across the street, John running towards the two of them while other men grabbed the bloodied Eastern European man and tossed him into the still driving van. Emma watched in anger as they drove away, and shoved Sherlock off herself.

“What the hell was that for?” She demanded, brushing herself off. Sherlock got up and stared blankly at her.

“I just saved your life?” He replied back, confused.

“You let him get away!” She started to run after the van but gave up only after a few steps. How could Sherlock let him go like that? He was smarter than that. Emma let out growl of frustration. Sherlock stalked over to Emma, getting right into her face.

“Had I not pushed you out of the way, you would have been flattened on the pavement,” he snapped back. John just stood in awkward silence as the verbal tennis match raged on.

“You know full well that wouldn't have happened! They don’t want to kill me just yet,” Emma retorted, “At worst if they did get to me, they would have just taken me back to wherever-”

“And then they’d kill you. Or worse.” Sherlock flatly said. Emma began to say something but he cut her off with a glare. She huffed and glared right back at him, challenging the detective. John could have cut the tension in the air with a butter knife but he remained out this fight.

“Oh I get it. Here you go being the heroic martyr again, thinking you could take them on by yourself. Get off your moral high horse and think for once,” Sherlock continued his voice rising, “If you would have died, then there would be no more case! We’d be done here.”

Emma felt the hurt ripple like a wave, crashing in the pit of her stomach. Was she only just a case to Sherlock, and nothing more? Of course she was only that to him. One more puzzle to solve so he wasn’t "bored". The hurt and anger began to swell up inside of her.

Emma stared coldly back at him. “Where do you get off saying any of that to me, huh?” She shot indignantly back, both her voice and anger rising, “You don’t know me at all. I’m just another case to you, aren't I?” Mister Holmes was about to say something but Emma held her hand to stop him from saying another word. “Save it. I neither want to hear your cross examination of myself, nor do I want to hear you to even hear you speak at this point and time. This was a funny time for you to start caring for anyone besides yourself.” And as soon as she said that, she immediately regretted it and wished that she could take it back. Emma had let her emotions get the best of her, and she wanted to kick herself while simultaneously patting herself on the back for standing up to Sherlock in what she believed in.

Even if what she said was out of line, albeit it somewhat true.

She wrestled with her own emotions but then she thought solemnly, Why do I always have to swallow my pride? Why can’t he for once? She let out an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just meet up with Lestrade at the museum, okay? I think we’re all a little worked up.” Emma meant that statement as a sort of apology but knew that it was half-hearted at best, bull shit at worst.

Sherlock said nothing, only looked Emma up and down and walked away to the street to hail a cab. “Fuck,” Emma muttered underneath her breath. John looked just as awkward as before but tried to give Emma a smile, which also was half-hearted at best, bull shit at worst.

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