Sherlock Holmes and The New Detective

The Right Answer

"Well", Sherlock started to think about what to say to actually convince her. She wasn't like John, she was smarter. Couldn't just fool her like he did John. Or Molly. Or Lestrade. Or the whole world.

"Just tell her", Mycroft piped up.

"Maybe you should listen to your brother on this one", Emma said this frustrated. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

Sherlock whispered his answer. "I needed help."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. "Pardon?"

He said it only slightly louder this time. "I needed help."

"I don't think Emma can hear you", Mycroft carried on.

"I needed help!" Sherlock practically yelled.

Emma relaxed. "That's all?" She thought it had been more serious.

"What do you mean 'that's all'? I'm Sherlock Holmes, I never need help!"

"Okay. Changing the subject..." she turned around to face Mycroft. "Do you know who it is yet?"

"Oh, Sherlock. You were right about this Emma."

She snapped at him. "That's not what I asked. Answers. Now."

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other as if passing the blame.

"I'm with two of some of the smartest people in the world", Emma whispered her thoughts out loud. "Yet they both act like children. Funny how that works."

She coughed, clearing her throat and getting their attention. "Can one of you answer me?"

"No", Sherlock bluntly stated. "Thats why I came here. I needed... help.... to figure out who it is."

"Okay. May I ask one more question?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Go ahead", he mumbled.

"What are we going to do?"

Sherlock wanted to be strong, but he also wanted to tell the truth. He knew he couldn't do both. Honestly, he didn't know what they were going to do. Realistically, they would find out who did it. But after that? That's what he was unsure of. Some psychopaths and sociopaths are so unpredictable that thinking that you could just arrest them without having any problems is impossible.

Sherlock drew in a wavered breath, obvious that he was still thinking of what to say. Emma sighed. She wanted answers. No. She needed answers. Answers that would either lead to life or death.

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Emma soon after left the warehouse to go home and change out of her gym clothes.

As she was in the cab to go to her flat, she thought about what he had said.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, I never need help!"

And about what he didn't say-- more so what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I don't have an answer to your question."

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Emma opened the brown door to her flat and walked in. She put the keys in a shoebox that hid underneath an old cabinet. Inside the cabinet was hats, gloves, scarves, things normal people have. Inside the front closet was shoes, coats, again, plainly normal things.

The hallway was lined with photographs of nature. Beaches with sunsets, hot air balloons in the middle of blue skies, birds soaring through the wind with their wings spread out as wide as they could go.

Next came the living room/kitchen/dining area. It was simple; there was a green couch against the yellow wall, brown desk beside it, small but efficient kitchenette with a stove, oven, sink, and fridge, and a short round table in the midst of it all.

She walked past all of these and into her room. Her room was right across the bathroom. The walls in her room were yellow, as well. Her bedspread was blue with white flowers on it and had a yellow duvet on top. There was a shelf in her room, since there was a small desk in her living room she wouldn't need one in here, that held different varieties of books .

She stripped from her gym clothes and changed into black tights, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. She walked back into her living room and turned on the TV, waiting for Sherlock to text her to come back. He still needed help, didn't he?

"Yesterday a woman with the name Sandra Jennings was found dead in her sisters flat."

The news was on. Olivia Blaire was reporting, like she did every day. She was wearing a navy suit with diamond stud earrings and a frown where she usually had a smile. Her makeup looked perfect, but the red head didn't look so amazing.

Emma sat up in her chair, wondering what she was going to say.

"We interviewed the family this morning and this is what they had to say."

The image of the newsroom changed to a video clip of the Jenning's household. Mark was sitting with Jack on his left and Kaitlin on his right.

"We have no idea why she would've... killed herself. She always seemed so cheerful, so full of life. She had no mental illness, she was completely fine."

While Mark said this, pictures of Sandra filled the screen. Her from her wedding, when she was taking care of Kaitlin when she was little, and a picture from the day before. Before she died. Right before she died.

Emma ignored Mark's words of sorrow and stopped the program. She rewinded back to the third and last photo, the most recent one, and paused it. She took a good look at the picture as she got out her phone to text Sherlock. She couldn't wait any longer to hear from him.

'Come to my flat ASAP. Important.
- E'