Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 67- Burning Hearts

Millie's POV

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As soon as I enter 221B, I freeze.

I breathe in the sharp-sweet scent laced with mint, and recognise it immediately.

Emily's here.

I look up the stairs, fighting with the instinct that's appealing to my inner cowardice, telling me to turn away now. I grit my teeth, and push the thoughts out of my head.

If it means I have an audience, so be it.

"Millie?"

John appears at the top of the stairs, his face creasing with relief-

"Oh, thank god. You have no idea how worried I was- I thought you'd gone and done something really stupid."

"Where's Sherlock?"

The smile falls from John's face as readily as it appeared.

"You've just missed him."

"And Emily?"

"Her too."

"They were together?"

"Yeah... Dinner, apparently."

I turn around to leave, suddenly overwhelmed by the unpleasant wave of emotion breaking around me.

"Millie, don't go yet- I understand that you don't want to stay here for now, but while they're out, why don't you keep me company?"

I smile wanly. 

"It would be a distraction," he says, gesturing for me to join him.

I sigh, then nod, and climb the stairs to meet him at the landing. I follow him into the empty apartment, and look around, pressing down the cold hurt that's clawing it's way up the back of my throat. I swallow, and my eyes are drawn to the stack of papers on the table in front of me. This week's newspapers, by the looks of things. There are two pens laid adjacent on  top of them, and words like 'murder', 'shot' and 'unprovoked' circled roughly.

Two pens. Two separate stacks of paper.

They're solving cases together now.

The expression on my face must be indicative of what I'm feeling inside, because John hastily picks up the newspapers in front of me and slides them into the bin. He mutters "bloody bastard" under his breath, then offers me tea; part of the routine. I decline, and walk into my room, to begin collecting my scattered belongings. I pause as I open the door; something's wrong. 

I take in the abnormal clutter; the unmade bed, the new laptop, left open and discarded on the sheets,  various crumpled t-shirts-

Emily's been staying here. In my room.

I abandon my intentions of retrieving my possessions, and close the door softly behind me, so that John won't hear me. I press my lips together in an attempt at suppressing the dry sob that's threatening to make an unwanted appearance. 

Crying is not going to help me. It is a weakness. 

I wipe the tears away fiercely with the back of my hand, and go over to the bed, looking down at the laptop.

I have an idea.

I'm not a vengeful person.

But the feelings of betrayal, hurt and anger burn so acutely in my chest, they momentarily block out my conscience.

I make my decision, and sit down, turning on the laptop- it's more powerful than any device I have used in my lifetime. There's a password and cryptic code. I'm not a hacker. This is not going to be easy.