Emma woke up in Sherlock's bed, a hot cup of tea on the bedside table. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, paralyzed. She went to go speak, but she couldn't. She couldn't move anything except her eyes.

She looked around the room. Everything was the same as before, minus the cup of tea and the fact that she couldn't move. After a few minutes, she realized she wasn't paralyzed, she was just really stiff.

She slowly sat up, each movement sending unbearable shots of pain throughout her body. She didn't want Sherlock to come running so she stayed as quiet as possible. After the strenuous exercise of sitting up, she rewarded herself with a cup of tea. She looked at the watch on her wrist. 11:39. How long had she been asleep?

Again, instead of getting Sherlock to come, she was going to figure this out herself. But she couldn't. She couldn't think or analyze anything. She wouldn't even be able to know how long that cup of tea had been there. Her brain denied proper function, leaving her dumbfounded and normal. Normal.

"I'm not normal", she whispered to herself. "I've never been normal. Nor will I ever."

She got out from underneath the covers and opened Sherlock's door quietly. She walked into the washroom and washed her face. Oh, who cares anymore if Sherlock sees her. After running the water and drying her face, she was surprised that Sherlock didn't come and tell her to go rest.

"Strange..." she muttered to herself. She decided to call out to him. "Sherlock?"

Nothing. Nothing at all. No response, no noise, just absolute silence.

Emma was still out of it, so she grabbed a toothbrush for self defence just in case anything happened.

She walked out of the washroom casually, trying to pretend to be a mouse again. She looked at what she could see and saw no silhouettes, shadows, absolutely nothing. She itched closer to the kitchen and peaked inside, nothing. This is the part in movies where the bad guys behind you. She quickly spun around, but no one was there. She looked at the other side of the room, and saw no threat, but someone there. Sherlock was asleep on the couch.

"How cute", she whispered to herself. She walked into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Boy, was she hungry!

"Hmm... what can I eat...." she opened the door and looked at the nothingness. "What can't I eat..." She shook her head and close the door. There would be nothing in the freezer, and she knew that, kind of. Would there be food in the freezer? She frowned and shook her head again, "I don't know anything anymore."

She walked into the living room and stared at the smiley face on the wall. She walked towards it and traced it with her finger. "Wonder how that happened...."

Then she walked over to the mantle. She picked up the skull. "Why does he have a skull?" she asked herself. Then she looked at the rest of the stuff on the mantle. A deer stalker hat. She turned around and saw John pacing around the room, holding the hat.

"You're Sherlock Holmes, now wear the damn hat."

She turned around to look into the kitchen. John had a date. "Hot plates?" she asked him.

She was confused and looked at the ground in the living room. Sherlock was there sitting on the floor, napkin opera houses surrounding him. He was in a suit. He looks good in a suit.

She looked up. "I don't have feelings for Sherlock Holmes."

Emma looked at Sherlock on the couch, then back at him sitting in front of the coffee table. She turned around and witnessed John still in the kitchen, talking to a date.

"This can't be happening", she whispered. Over at the door, Sherlock was leaving with the deerstalker hat on, John following behind him in pursuit.

"No, no, no!" she walked out, following them out the door. They were nowhere to be seen. "What?"

Emma stood in the crowd of people, everyone walking by her. They were either looking in front of them, examining the ground, or staring at Emma like she was crazy.

She spun around, looking at everyone and everything, but only looking for one thing. Well, one person. Sherlock.

After wading outside for a few more seconds, she ran back inside the flat, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against the door, catching her breath. What's going on?

She looked around at the three doors. 221 A, 221 B, and 221 C. 221 C? She walked towards the door and turned the door knob. She walked into the small room in the flat. Everything was old and dusty, it hasn't been cleaned in a long time. She ran her fingers around the wall, when a white spot on the floor caught her gaze. A note.

She looked around and then went over to the note. The top side was blank, but upon picking it up, you could see that there were words written on the other side. She flipped the note over and stared at it.

Y Y 4 U.

She pocketed it right before Sherlock walked in, plastering the fakest smile on her face. Who would know the difference when you've been previously drugged?