Emma looked out the cab window, her head leaning on the glass. "You know..." she mumbled. "This would be much easier if I wasn't tired and drugged."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "It is how it is."

The cab pulled up at 221B, but Sherlock nor Emma needed to pay; Sherlock was friends with the man, and when Sherlock made friends, it usually came with 'free' things; free cab rides; free meals; free tea every morning. Sherlock put his arm around Emma because she just couldn't stand anymore. He led her up to the flat and opened the door, guiding her in. Once they climbed the stairs and were in Sherlock's living room, he put her down on the couch.

"I really want to sleep", Emma whispered. "But we have to talk about our new news first."

Sherlock sat beside her on the couch after locking the doors and closing the blinds. With all the talk about Emma and Sherlock, people wouldn't find this too suspicious. "Moriarty has a network", Sherlock spoke. "One that is always watching us, probably always has been. You've always known about it, but you only told me today. Why?"

"To see if you would observe", she answered him. "And, anyways, it should have been clear. I did give out clues."

"As you all now know, I lied about Sherlock jumping off a building again because I needed you all to come here and didn't think this far into the plan." She looked over at John. "I'm sorry." She started looking around at all of them, informing them once again. "Anyways, like Sherlock said, I brought you all here because I need your help. I won't be able to solve this case alone."

Sherlock sipped his tea and listened intently.

"Whenever you go out, just look around. Take note of anything out of the ordinary. Anyone acting... strange."

"Why?" Sherlock asked for everyone. He already knew the answer, but he knew that John and Lestrade wanted to know and weren't going to ask.

"You thought you knew the answer to the question", she continued. "You thought you knew why, but you never really did."

Sherlock mentally slapped himself. How could he be that slow? "You were really asking them to watch behind their backs for people acting strange-- people that are following them."

"Yes, but they couldn't find anyone. Either because they weren't being targeted that early in the game, or because the people following them were so good that even a Scotland Yard detective wouldn't notice. Even your brother wouldn't notice." Emma let out a laugh. "He thought he got it, too, but he was wrong. He was just trying to be smarter than me, out run my own game."

"So, it could be anyone." Sherlock stated. How could he not have seen this? How could he not have caught on to her little plot?

"Well, I already saw one. Did you?"

Sherlock watched with the bathroom door open a crack. He watched Emma look at the man as he was handed his pint. "A mighty drink you got there", he heard her say.

The man looked at her beer and smiled at her. He talked low, like he didn't want to be heard. "Fit for the best. I'm Jake."

"Emma."

"Jake. Jake from the bar. Who did you see?"

A man walked in the store so John swiftly leapt down from the counter. Emma ran to the back of the store to get his bouquet, recognizing him almost instantly, leaving John and the man alone.

"I'm getting confused", the man spoke, gesturing to the rose in John's hand. "See, I thought she was with Sherlock Holmes."

John put the rose back in the basket. "She was giving it to me to give to my wife."

Emma waltzed back in with the bouquet. "10£ is what it's going to be."

"There was a man in my flower shop once." She shrugged. "It seemed too obvious."

"John told me about a couple that came in afterwards", he suggested. "The woman. She didn't want to leave, but she wasn't exactly focusing on the flowers, was she?"

Emma widened her eyes and opened her mouth. "Lestrade? John? Mycroft? Who was with them?"

Sherlock only shrugged, making Emma knit her eyebrows together. "How can you not be worried? Your brother? Lestrade? John?"

Sherlock shrugged again and pulled out a syringe from a morocco case that was underneath the couch. Emma widened her eyes again. "Sh-sherlock?"

His mouth was twisted, like an abnormal smile. His lips were fully into it, but his eyes-- oh, his eyes. They screamed mischief, murder even. Except now, Sherlock wasn't thinking about solving, he was thinking about committing it. He leaned forward, putting one hand on her knee, and the other one (that was holding the syringe) on her wrist. He put his mouth against her ear and turned her arm over, pulling up her sleeve. He gently whispered, "This isn't real." Thrusting the syringe to her arm, he slowly pulled whatever was in it.

"What are you d-doing?" Little black dots started to appear, all around the corners and in her peripheral vision.

"Seven percent solution."

In the last moments that Emma could still see, she saw Sherlock's face change into Moriarty's. Why the hell am I having so many dreams? Then she got scared. How do I know that this isn't just the cocaine?