- c h a p t e r   t w e n t y   f o u r - 

Mrs. Hudson wasn't the sort to get frightened, simply because she normally had no reason to get frightened. But before her at the moment were men who made her feel as if she were drowning under a wave of anxiety and desperately fighting for her life. However, she couldn't simply stand there.

"Mr. Holmes said you can go right up," she said. As the a group of four men passed by her to go up to the stairs, she flattened herself up against the wall, unwilling to let herself be touched by them. She felt alone, an opposing side to these men who stood before her, and it might even be worth her while to let herself faint.

Mrs. Hudson didn't have to stand alone for much longer, as Emma soon came to join her. Despite this extra presence, very little was done to make her feel any better about the way the fourth man seemed to crack right through her skin and unearth every secret which lay within her.

Emma nearly asked what was happening, but before she could speak she found herself just as paralysed as Mrs. Hudson. The fourth man had turned his gaze over to her and now seemed to be rustling through the troves of secrets she tried to keep close to her and as hidden from the world as she could possibly manage.

How interesting she was, and yet so unimportant.

EMMA NEWMAN

WAITRESS

SINGLE

SEMI-REFORMED ALCOHOLIC

HISTRIONIC PERSONALITY DISORDER

SUICIDE ATTEMPT, 2011

FINANCES: 60% DEBT

STATUS: UNIMPORTANT

PRESSURE POINT: > SUICIDE

PROSTITUTION (SEE FILE)

The moment soon passed as the three men proceeded to make it into the flat upstairs, leaving Emma alone. She never thought she'd be so glad to be alone...except for Mrs. Hudson, of course. Mrs. Hudson still stood there, obviously terrified by what had occurred.

The fourth man waited to go upstairs, lifting his head up and wearing a mortifying smirk on his face. He knew precisely how much fear he was causing, and he didn't care. If anything, he enjoyed it. He loved the way that he managed to make everyone quiver just by looking at them, obviously.

But as he finally started to ascend the stairs, Emma knew that she couldn't just stay petrified at the bottom of the stairs. She refused to be entirely unaware of what was happening in the flat just above her. Certainly they were simply there for Sherlock - he always manage to get himself into trouble. It wouldn't surprise Emma to think he'd attracted someone else. Emma, in the same way she'd seen Mrs. Hudson do just a few minutes ago, flattened herself up against the wall. She didn't want to be seen by any of the men - they would most likely know that she was eavesdropping to hear whatever was going on within. And, most of all, she didn't that one man to look at her again. Magnussen.

She loathed the way his eyes had burned right through her, and she refused to let such a thing happen to her again if she had any say in it. She'd felt all sorts of disturbing things throughout her life and near deaths, but she refused to let such a sensation come thrugh her once again.

But then Emma, against her more logical judgement, started going up the stairs, keeping her eyes on the men ahead of her. From her perspective, she could see the first three men entering the living room in the flat. Obviously, they had to be security men for that last man - what else would they be there for?

Sherlock, however, didn't seem to have any sign of being intimidated. Even while John seemed absolutely perplexed by the situation, Sherlock just seemed to be annoyed by it. Well, perhaps he was expecting it. Or, at least, he hadn't made eye contact with the fourth man yet.

"Oh, go ahead," Sherlock sighed, spreading his arms out. Emma continued walking up the stairs and advancing towards the flat, seeing that Sherlock was allowing himself to be frisked. He was being awfully calm about this entire situation - he almost seemed bored.

John, on the other hand, wasn't quite so tired of it all. He seemed to be entirely too alert, not quite frightened but far from Sherlock's complacency. A security guard approached him, presumably to do the same thing one of the other men was currently doing to Sherlock.

"Sir?" the security guard asked.

John shot a glance over towards Sherlock, silently asking him all sorts of questions that Emma couldn't process from a distance. She'd made it all the way into the kitchen area, a place where she had confidence she could hide while stil maintaining a good view of what was happening in that living room.

"Can I have a moment?" John finally asked.

Sherlock lowered his arms down in order to look over to John and the security guard, seeing how things were going. It was almost as if he believed he was in control of this situation, strangely enough.

"Oh, he's fine," Sherlock said, giving the man permission to kneel before John and begin frisking him.

"Er, I..." John began to say, resisiting as he realised he'd forgotten something. "Right. I should probably tell you..."

John couldn't finish, as the man who frisked him ended up pulling out a knife from John's pocket. Emma resisted the urge to release a gasp. Why was he carrying around a weapon like that?

"Okay, I..." John began, presumably to explain. "...that.

He was about to continue his explanation when the man flung his jacket open and pulled a tyre lever from John's jeans. As if it wasn't bad enough that he already had one knife, he now had something else. The man glared at him sternly, while Sherlock stood aside looking rather startled. He hadn't expected it, the same as everyone else.

"Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," John joked, clearly in an attempt to save his own skin. However, he'd already gone too far - the man didn't seem to find any amusement with his little joke.

"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock quickly said, deciding he needed to intervene once again. "He's a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is..."

But no one got to hear what he was going to say next, as he cast his gaze over towards the door. Emma couldn't see what he was looking at from her particular angle, something which caused her great alarm. Sherlock didn't show much emotion on his face, but it was clear something was amiss. He wouldn't be so tense and focused otherwise

"...don't you, Mr. Magnussen?" Sherlock said, finally finishing up his words.

Emma's breath caught within the chasm of her throat before she could entirely process what was happening. It was the man from before, the one who had caused her so much terror. And as soon as he came in, his men began to scatter about in order to make sure all edges were taken care of.

One of the men started moving into the kitchen, something which caused Emma to nearly let out a yelp. She might get caught by that man - and somehow, she felt that Sherlock wouldn't try to help her out at this point in time.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock said, facing Magnussen without any sort of fear apparent when it came to Emma's (somewhat pathetic) position and view of the situation.

But even if Sherlock seemed to be rather nonchalant, Magnussen couldn't care less. Emma watched from afar as his eyes glided around the interior of 221B, taking in every last detail which he could set his gaze on.

"This is my office," Magnussen said, beginning to walk towards the sofa as if he owned this flat and he could simply sit down without a care. This brought him further into Emma's gaze, something which she wasn't sure she was pleased about or not. But before he could sit down, he turned around and fixated his gaze on John.

JOHN HAMISH WATSON

AFGHANISTAN VETERAN (SEE FILE)

G.P. (SEE FILE)

PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL

FINANCES: 10% DEBT (SEE FILE)

STATUS: UNIMPORTANT

PRESSURE POINT: > HARRY WATSON (SISTER) ALCOHOLIC

MARY MORSTAN (WIFE)

"Well, it is now," Magnussen continued, changing his original statement. He continued walking on until he reached dining table, plucking a newspaper from its surface just as if it beloned to him. Now he felt as if it was due time for him to turn around and sit himself down on the sofa from before.

"Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters," Sherlock said, but Magnussen didn't seem to pay much of any attention. Instead, the man seemed focused on how uncomfortable the sofa felt beneath him and reading through the newspaper he'd plucked up.

"Some time ago you...put pressure on her concerning those letters," Sherlock continued.

Finally, Magnussen allowed himself to look up at the consulting detective.

"She would like those letters back," Sherlock said, completing his first statement. Though he continued to speak and Magnussen did indeed look at him, few of his words actually seemed to meet his ears. Instead, Magnussen kept his gaze completely fixated on the man, the hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES

**CONSULTING DETECTIVE

**PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL

**FINANCES: UNKNOWN

**BROTHER: MYCROFT HOLMES

**M.I.6 (SEE FILE)

**OFFICIALLY DECEASED 2011-2013

**PRESSURE POINT:

**IRENE ADLER (SEE FILE)

**JIM MORIARTY (SEE FILE)

**REDBEARD (SEE FILE)

**HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLE

**OPIUM

JOHN WATSON

"Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind..." Sherlock continued, until he broke himself off upon looking at the expression on Magnussen's face.

In response, Sherlock gave out a huff before saying, "Something I said?"

"No, no," Magnussen replied. "I...I was reading."

Emma didn't understand this - he was sitting there with the newspaper on his lap and his eyes completely set on Sherlock. Certainly he wasn't reading Sherlock...how would that make any sense? Nevertheless, he adjusted his glasses and continued to look forwards.

"There's rather a lot," he continued, causing Sherlock's lips to bend down in a frown. The man stared at him relentlessly, something which Emma was just beginning to understand. Perhaps he truly was reading Sherlock, the same way that Sherlock always seemed to read each and every person surrounding him. Perhaps this was no different.

"Redbeard," said Magnussen, continuing to move forwards with his own thing.

Sherlock blinked several times, a slight gawk appearing on his face as his jaw began to drop. He was honestly surprised. Completely and utterly shocked, by the looks of it. It didn't explain whatever "Redbeard" meant, but evidently it provided quite a stunning effect.

"Sorry," Magnussen said, giving a shake of his head. "S-sorry. You were probably talking?

"I..." Sherlock replied, leading into a long pause before he cleared his throat to continue. "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of..."

His voice trailed off as he saw that Magnussen wasn't paying any attention to him. Instead, the man turned to one of his security guards, the one who remained beside John.

"Bathroom?" he asked.

The security guard gave a nod towards his right and promptly replied, "Along from the kitchen, sir."

At this, Emma had to stifle yet another gasp. If Magnussen was going through the kitchen, he would end up running into her. She couldn't possibly handle that. His stare seemed to pierce right through her, and that was more painful than she could manage.

"Okay," Magnussen replied.

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock said once again, this time attempting to be more firm with his words.

Magnussen didn't seem to care, as usual. He took his glasses off and turned his horrid gaze towards the window.

"I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" Magnussen said, gesturing around the flat as if Sherlock hadn't spoken a word. He then turned his gaze over towards one of his security guards to inquire further.

"Sir?"

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then," Magnussen replied.

Sherlock decided to press his point once again as he said, "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen allowed Sherlock his attention through a moment of eye contact, just so that he could look towards the window again. If she wasn't petrified, Emma might've laughed - Sherlock was getting a taste of his own medicine, finally.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her," Magnussen said, turning his eyes back to Sherlock and popping his lips.

"Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock repeated.

"She's English, with a spine," Magnussen said. He then lifted his foot to push the coffee table away from him. This only recieved a frown from Sherlock's view as the man stood up and began moving towards the fireplace. One of the security guards then removed the guard from in front of the fireplace.

"Best thing about the English..." Magnussen said, walking over to Sherlock and John and weaving his way to the fireplace. "...you're so domesticated. All standing around, apologising...keeping your little heads down."

He moved over towards the fireplace, standing before it and beginning to unzip his trousers. Emma wished she didn't have the faintest idea what was happening, but it was all too obvious. She knew what he was about to do, and she knew that he had absolutely no boundaries if that was his plan.

"You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you," Magnussen said, as the sound of his urine hitting the fireplace began.

Emma brought her eyes up to Sherlock, wondering what he was going to do. This would surely be the final blow before he erupted into a furied frenzy. But instead, the consulting detective kept his head up, his eyes unblinking and fixed on the opposite side of the room. He did absolutely nothing, as if he were a wax figure of himself instead of a human.

This, as much as anything else Emma had seen on this day, terrified her. If Sherlock Holmes, the man who could most likely pick a fight with a tree stump, simply stood there without even a blink to show his feelings, she didn't stand a chance to this man. Magnussen.

"A nation of herbivores," Magnussen said.

With that, Emma was through. She refused to crouch about and see anything more. If she reamined any longer, the men would end up finding her. She wouldn't feel any less horrified and sickened over the situation if she continued to watch Magnussen desecrate the flat.

She sucked in the deepest breath she could manage, thinking that she might've sucked far too much oxygen from the room and cause everyone to notice her. She dragged herself from the flat, trying to strike a balance between moving slowly and quietly and rushing out of the room as quickly as humanly possible. It was a game of fight or flight, and she chose the latter.