Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Four

I was sitting in my flat, watching a movie, when I heard a knock on my door. I paused the movie and went to go see who it was. I opened the door just a touch and saw John's kind face. I opened the door all the way, only to be greeted by Sherlock pushing through. "Hey!" I shouted. "Sorry about him, Emily." John whispered. "Don't say sorry! Get him out of my house!" I shouted, pointing at Sherlock, who was messing with my mother's teapot.

"I can't. He won't leave. Not until he's gotten what he wants out of you." John stated, closing the door. I sighed and went to go apprehend Sherlock. "Don't touch that." I told him, slapping his hands. I took the pot and set it down carefully. Sherlock didn't say anything, he just started messing with my other precious possessions. "I swear," I muttered, hitting him again. "You're like a five year old." Sherlock glared at me. "Don't touch anything." I hissed. Sherlock continued to glare at me while I put everything in order. "What do you want, Sherlock?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"To ask you some questions."

"For the last time, Sherlock, I have nothing to do with your stupid little cases."

"Emily....?"

"Shut it, John."

"It's just a few. Won't take long." Sherlock muttered, looking around my flat. "This isn't about questions, is it?" I asked. "Of course it is." Sherlock lied. "No it isn't, you just want to search my place." I accused. "Hardly." Sherlock lied, again. I took him by the shirt and pulled him down so that I could feel my eye lashes move every time he exhaled. "You listen here, Sherlock," I whispered. "I'm listening?" Sherlock stated. "You better tell me what the hell is going on here or I'll call the police." I told him. Sherlock stifled laugh. "What're they going to do?" He asked. "Oh, I don't know, arrest you." I suggested sarcastically.

"They won't arrest me," Sherlock said. "I have a search warrant."

"A what?" I asked, pushing him away. Sherlock pulled out a search warrant and held it up. "How the hell'd you get one of those?" I asked. "You, supposedly, my biggest suspect in a case they're trying to solve. With my help." Sherlock stated, mildly amused. "Supposedly?" John asked. "Zip it, Johnny boy." I growled over my shoulder. "Since when do you work for the police?" I asked. "Please," Sherlock stated. "I don't work for them. They come to me." I stared at him incredulously. The biggest ads in this entire universe is in my living room, and I can't throw him out.

"Now, how do you know so much about me?" He asked, shuffling through my things. He wandered back to the bedroom and I followed him. "Don't touch anything back here!" I shouted at him. But he didn't listen. He went to my dresser and started shuffling through the things on it. Knocking off pictures and clothes and jewelry. He knocked off one of the only pictures I had of my mum and I. "I told you not to touch anything." I said, picking up the picture and wiping off the broken glass with my hand.

My fingers stung, but I honestly didn't care. I pushed Sherlock away from my dresser and set the picture back on it. "I don't know anything about you, I've only seen you in the papers a few times. That's it. Now get out of my house." I told him.

"But there has to be something."

"I told you to get out!" I shouted.

Sherlock turned and left, along with John.

Third Person:

"Cab for Mr. Holmes." The cabbie said, standing outside of his taxi. Sherlock had just figured out how to track him and now he was being taken away by him.

Now they were in a library in one of the many buildings in London.

"Sit, Mr. Holmes." The cabbie said. And Sherlock sat. "I'm not falling for this. You won't get me." Sherlock told him blandly. "I know that, Mr. Holmes. That's why it's not your life I'm playing with 'ere." The cabbie stated. Sherlock stared at him. What could he mean? That's when he pushed a young girl out of the shadows. A girl with dirty blond hair and icy blue eyes. She was crying. Her mascara running down her face, her eyes red and puffy, her hair frizzy and a mess. Sherlock knew this girl. He knew her as Emily Reynolds, the girl who could read Sherlock Holmes.

"Please, Sherlock. I'm begging you, please." She cried.

Sherlock stared in wonder. How could she be important to Sherlock Holmes, the great? Oh, but she was. He just didn't know it yet.

"You've got to help me, Sherlock." Emily cried.

"I haven't got to do anything." Sherlock whispered.

He couldn't read her. Not at all. He still couldn't read her, not even now. Not even when she was most vulnerable.

"This isn't the time for one of your snarky remarks, Sherlock. I'm begging you to help me?" Emily whispered back.

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked the cabbie, who was holding a gun to Emily's head. He made Emily place two pill bottles on the table in front of Sherlock. "One's a good one, and one's a bad one. Pick one. You take that one and she takes the other." The cabbie explained.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

"Just pick one, Mr. Holmes. We can get this over with if you just pick one." The cabbie said. Sherlock nodded and examined the bottles. Emily was still crying. "They're both identical. There's no way I can choose." Sherlock stated. "If you don't choose, she dies." The cabbie stated, digging the gun into Emily's side. "She's no use to me. Kill her for all I care." Sherlock shrugged. This made Emily cry harder.

"Please, Sherlock....don't do this to me. I'm begging you." Emily cried, putting her hands together as if she was praying. "Kill her." Sherlock hissed, leaning forward. The cabbie pulled the trigger and Emily screamed. But nothing happened. At least not to Emily.

Emily's p.o.v:

The sound of a gun shot rang through the room. Warm, salty tears ran down my face as I screamed, trying to pull myself from the cabbie's grasp. "SHERLOCK!" I screamed at him, my voice shrill. But he just stood there, watching. I reached for Sherlock's hand. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. The cabbie fell to the floor, pulling me down with him. I screamed as the fake gun hit the floor. The cabbie whispered something in my ear.

"Tell him about Moriarty."

Sherlock pulled me up and I held onto his neck, not wanting to let go. I cried into his chest. "Emily?" Sherlock asked. "Shut up, just shut up." I told him. "Can you get off of me?" Sherlock asked, trying to pry me off of him. "Not really." I stated quietly, but I let go anyways. I wobbled and wobbled and eventually almost fell, Sherlock scooped me up bridal style. I was shocked. Why would Sherlock Holmes care if I could get out of here or not? I mean nothing to him. I'm no use to him, just like he said.

I rested my head against his chest as he carried me out. John was waiting for us. Well, more like waiting for Sherlock. He had no idea that I was there before he saw me in Sherlock's arms.

"Emily," John exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" I looked up at Sherlock. "It doesn't matter, John." Sherlock said, glancing down at me. I smiled and kissed his cheek. Sherlock stiffened with surprise. "Put me down, Sherly." I told him. I could tell Sherlock wanted nothing more than to drop me, but he set me down lightly; still staring at me. "You practically saved my life, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you." I told him. Sherlock stared at me and said, "What did he tell you?" I looked down at my hands. "He told me that you have a fan." I whispered. "Who?"

"Moriarty."