- c h a p t e r   t w e n t y - 

Emma had gotten herself into the most monotonous existence she'd ever been through, and there didn't seem to be any way to stop it. Weeks could pass by without even a slight change in her life. Oh, she loathed the way it pressed down upon her like the world would cave into her - but she still tried her best to get through it all even if it took hundreds of sighs.

Of course, Emma didn't want herself to go through such monotony. She tried to push herself away from it as much as physically possible, even though it often left her fall into an abyss of far more harmful things. Emma didn't know what she was doing with her life any longer, and yet she decided it would be best if she continued heaving herself through it.

She didn't want to get sent back to the psych ward because of anything she did. She didn't want to be labelled as mad - it was bad enough with everything she'd been through thus far, how her mind tended to weave itself into the fabric creating a waking nightmare.

Perhaps it was better to be bored, then. Sometimes she would pick up her cat. Other days she would pick up her cello. Now and then she'd tie a ribbon on her project, if she felt up to it. All she knew was that she had to hauling herself onwards, no matter how numb she felt.

As if it were to solve her looping dilemna in a single morning, Emma woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. It sounded as if it were a prosester trying to screech at the top of their lungs. Nauseated, she began to force herself to sit up. She'd been drinking and smoking the previous night, and frankly she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Her feet pattered out a rhythm as scattered as the stars as she stumbled over to where the phone would not stop howling.

"What is it?" Emma asked, irritation flooding her voice.

"It's Molly," the voice over the line said. And it was most certainly Molly. She could hear the quiver of emotion in her voice. God, she sounded horrible.

"Okay, Molly. What is it?" she asked. After realising the way she'd snapped, Emma continued with an explanation. "I'm not feeling all that great today. So if you could, please make this quick. I do want to help. Really."

"I broke off the engagement with Tom. But would've seen that coming, yes?"

"Um..." Emma said, this statement not processing her mind. She remained in somewhat of a haze, her still half-asleep brain replying to her thoughts with shattering ripples of pain.

"Are you trying to say you don't know?" Molly asked. "You have to know. Sherlock just came over here and told me what was happening, and then I asked Tom and he...we had to break off the engagement. Don't pretend you're oblivious to what's happening."

"I don't have the foggiest what you're going on about, Molly," Emma said, letting out o groan. This conversation, while the most interesting one she'd had in ages, was persisting on for far longer than she could bear. "I'm sorry that you're no longer engaged. I know it feels horrible. Well, I wouldn't really know, but...sorry."

"Emma, no," Molly snapped, her voice turning into a sharpened dagger. "Wait. I know what you did. Sherlock told me that you slept with Tom. And Tom said you did it, too."

A wave of nausea coursed through Emma, causing her knees to quiver. Oh, God. Now she remembered what was going on. It had taken her long enough, of course...oh, God. Emma really had done that. She remembered it painstakingly well. And it had been after the Watson's wedding, too. Oh, God. She'd made a fatal mistake there. How had she managed to forget such a thing?

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Molly asked, trying to inject force into her voice but instead managing to make her voice crack as if it were made out of glass which had just been pulverised by stones.

"I don't know what to say," Emma admitted. "It was...it just happened, out of nowhere. I don't think I can really explain it."

"Well, you need to. Because you've managed to ruin my life. I hope you realize that, Emma," Molly said.

"I don't know what more to tell you," sighed Emma. "It might have happened, so what? It's a possibility. A maybe."

"So what?" Molly echoed after her, her voice weak. "So what? Is that all you can say?"

"Well...pretty much," Emma admitted.

"Emma," a different voice said. Sherlock, of course. Molly just had to go and get Sherlock to take over for her. Now Emma was forced to deal with the incredibly stubborn consulting detective.

"Sherlock, what are you doing getting involved in this? This is a personal matter between the two of us. Just me and Molly."

"That would be Molly and I. And I was the only one who knew what was going on," Sherlock said. "It was my duty to make sure Molly was aware of it. And now you have to make sure you help out as well. You're guilty in this scenario, so you need to confess to something."

"I said that I did it, and now there's nothing more to be said," Emma sighed. "I mean, really. You two just need to calm yourselves down several notches."

"You're still somewhat drunk now, aren't you?"

"And a little tired too," Emma mocked. "Good God. I don't know what you want to get from me, because there's nothing to be said."

"Get yourself over to Molly's home," Sherlock demanded. "That's the least you can do. Maybe you'll sober up in the time it takes you to get here. You have to make sure you admit to what you've done wrong."

"I don't have the foggiest why I have to do any of this, but fine," Emma sighed. It was true, she couldn't utilize her brain at all when it remained so distorted. She felt an illness creeping within her gut to begin with, and this wasn't helping at all.

It was a long while before Emma remembered a little fact of life that she was used to be aware of. Yes, of course, Sherlock had been right. She couldn't deny that.

Her mind started to clear up from its fog as she sat in the cab, leaning back as if it would extend the time it took to arrive at Molly's home. She soon found herself beginning to feel as if she might be sick, but not because of anything she'd consumed the previous night. Instead, guilt ate awat at her insides. She'd done so much damage, and it was just beginning to get to her.

Yes, she remembered that night decently well. It was a bit of a blur because she'd been drinking that night, same as almost every night nowadays. The alcohol always ended up coming to her and managing to push her inhibitions away. It didn't take much more than this for her to understand everything she'd done wrong, and it made her seem somewhat terrified over what she was about to plunge into.

She was literally paying to be taken straight into the belly of the beast, right to the center of the problem Emma had started to begin with. She'd destroyed a major part of Molly's life and then claimed she hadn't done anything wrong when she'd spoken over the phone. What kind of horrible person was she to do such a thing like that? She'd messed up immensely, and now she was just about to rub even more salt straight into the wound she'd pried open. Oh, this had been the worst decision she'd made in ages.

If Molly hadn't been furious with her before, then she would most certainly hate Emma now. Emma's knees quivered as she thought of she was driving herself straight into the one place where you couldn't escape. But Emma deserved everything for what she'd done. She'd allowed herself to go too far over the boundaries and now it was too late to change the factors.

She paid for her fare once the cab stopped, feeling far worse than when she'd woken up that morning with the booze still tying her head into sailor's knots. God, it felt horrible. She could easily be sick and faint. Maybe if she did that, then the universe would take pity on her and allow her to flee from her mistakes.

Running away from it, at this point, would solve nothing. Emma had to realise that now, especially now that she was about to walk tight into the middle of everything which could possibly go wrong. It was all on the edge of a frayed rope, and everything was about to fall down around her.

She dragged herself up to Molly's front door, trying to think. Maybe she had another option. Maybe she just needed a few more moments to think through what was going on. Maybe if she just thought through everything she could let it work itself out.

But of course, she rapped her knuckles on the door. The door swung open and she wasn't greeted nicely as she'd grown used to when it came to Molly. Instead, Sherlock's stern face appeared and he gestured for her to enter. Another wave of nausea pulsed through her, but she managed to stay upright.

"Took you a fair amount of time to get here, Emma," he said, raising his nose into the air. "We've been waiting for you for quite a while now."

"I'm sorry. Not my fault that the cab was going slowly. I did my best, okay?" Emma said. She wanted to fight for herself now, or at least while she still could. It wouldn't be long before she would be hopeless...she wasn't being judged by one of her parents or a teacher - no, she was being judged by somehow who was meant to be her best friend.

How had she managed to mess this up quite this badly? She was regretting every choice she'd made in the past few weeks as she stepped into Molly's house, trying to make sure she didn't look as guilty as she felt. That was to be saved for later - then she could pull out her sad eyes and make sure she didn't actually end up getting chastised too harshly.

Yes, Emma knew she could drown Molly in emotions and sympathy. If she could manage to do pull it off, then she could get out of this without too much pain. That was the plan for the moment, at least. It wasn't the kindest thing to do, but she'd already done far worse.

Really, who slept with their best friend's soon-to-be husband? Emma felt more and more foolish as she let the situation sink into her skin. How hadn't she thought of this earlier?

"So you finally decided to come here?" Molly said, stepping out into the light to see Emma face to face. "I wish we could've talked sooner, before all of this went too far."

"It hasn't gone too far, we haven't done anything yet," Emma sighed. "Listen, Molly, I'm sorry. I really am. I wasn't thinking when it all happened. It just kind of happened, out of the blue, and I went along with it. That was all, I swear."

"But he didn't tell me about it," Molly said, scowling. "He went along with it, too. You should've known better. You should've...you should've just confessed after it happened. Maybe I wouldn't have waited to hear it from Sherlock...come on, please."

"She didn't have the faintest idea, Emma. Not until I realised precisely what was going on," Sherlock said, noting the manner in which Molly was letting her emotions soak over her. Therefore, he needed to make sure he could speak for her. "I tried my best to give the news kindly, but there is no kind way to say this sort of thing."

"Everyone is going to gang up on me, then?" Emma asked, crossing her arms. "I mean, really. I don't see why you're making such big deal out of this. It's not like I did it sober. I never would've done it when I was sober, I would've known better."

"Wait, what was that?" Molly asked, her voice deceptively soft. "What did you just say?"

"I said I never would've done it if I had been sober," Emma said, shrugging slightly. She could see every excuse she had was falling apart and there was hardly a thing she could do. "I was a little drunk when everything happened. I don't know about him, but...you can't blame me. It's not like I knew exactly what was going on."

"Even when we were in school together you used that same excuse," Molly said, pursing her lips. "That same excuse. Don't blame me, I had a drink. Don't blame me, I was drunk. Don't blame me, because there was a bottle or a glass in my hand."

"But it's true," Emma protested. "I didn't do it while I was thinking completely straight."

"Your were drinking even when you weren't allowed to. You saw how many problems it caused. I thought that, just maybe, you might even want to stop drinking all together. Especially after you tried to..."

"That isn't about alcohol," Emma sighed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "Listen. I was drunk, and I couldn't think straight. Even you have to understand that. Just talk about the lightweight in the trench coat standing beside you."

"Don't try to bring Sherlock into this," Molly warned. "You ended up doing something to ruin my life, and now you're saying it wasn't you? You think it's just the alcohol, don't you? Is that really the only reason you did it?"

"I don't know, it's all kind of a mess in my mind. I barely woke up before hauling myself over her, really. And I'm not trying to pretend like it didn't happen. I'm confessing to it. I swear. I'm saying sorry."

"You were only a little drunk, then?" Molly asked. "A little. And you couldn't realize how much this would end up hurting me and everything I'd tried to build up. You know how long I've wanted to get married and have something even remotely close to a happily ever after. And you ruined that, Emma."

"I wasn't trying to," Emma continued to protest. "It was a mistake, I swear. I just wanted to have something to hold to for just few minutes, that's all..."

"So then you admit it wasn't just the drink. You can only come to more and more and more excuses about what you've done. Stop trying to excuse yourself from what you did."

"Listen Molly, I'm really sorry," Emma kept trying to say, beginning to hold up her hands in front of herself. She couldn't turn back now. The truth had erupted, and now she was digging herself a deeper and deeper grave.

"Get out of my house," Molly said. "You've done enough to ruin my life. Get out."

"Molly, we can still get more information on what happened on that particular night," Sherlock started to explain. But Molly wasn't going to listen to any of this. Maybe Sherlock wanted to treat this like this was another one of his cases, but it wasn't. It was her life.

"You heard me, Emma. Get out of my house. You've destroyed everything. I hope you're happy now. Now, don't talk to me. Ever."