Welcome to Baker Street (Sherlock/OC fanfiction)

16. Mind Palace

Emilia

Another day spent looking for a new job, and another day at making a fool of myself in the interview. Looking for a job in nursing would be easy, one would think. But I wasn't about to apply for a job at John's old surgery, not since Sarah dumped him. Oh yes, I almost forgot about that. John took her out on a date two weeks previous and she broke up with him after a classy, Italian dinner. Lucky for John, he had gone off to a week long holiday in New Zealand two days later. He said it had something to do with someone he knows. That meant I was stuck at home with Sherlock being... well, Sherlock. I had been living in 221B with the detective and my brother for just over a month by then, and I was starting to feel like a burden at the flat. I wasn't supposed to stay long, but something inside of me didn't want me to leave.

Even with Sherlock testing body parts and conducting insane experiments, I was glad to stay there. Every now and then, he would play his violin and I would sit on the sofa and listen until I drifted to sleep. That was our odd tradition apparently. A few times, even, I would be reading or such in my room and Sherlock would request my company while he played. I always enjoyed it.

But that day, that dreadful, horrible day was not enjoyable one bit. Like I said, I made a fool of myself in a job interview at Bart's hospital. A flu was sweeping through London and I had caught it, so when it came time for my interview, I tossed my lunch all over the floor. I was too embarrassed to find a janitor, and of course Molly Hooper found me panicking over half-digested stomach contents. No job there, then. Feeling quaint and nauseas, I just wanted to go home and rest. Trudging up the steps to the flat, I grasped my churning stomach.

"I'm home!" I called out into the flat as I made my way in, wandering into the main room. Sherlock was busy at the table digging through the internet. "Where's John?" I asked aloud, noticing that Sherlock was using John's computer. If my brother were home, that would not have happened.

"John's gone? Where?" Sherlock perked up, still looking at the screen.

I sighed, inhaling deeply to keep the room from spinning. "How would I know, Sherlock? I've been out job hunting."

"Any luck?"

"None. I would have gotten a job at Bart's, but I threw up all over the hallway." I grimaced, my stomach swirling again.

Sherlock whipped around to face me with wide eyes. "You're sick?" he asked in a rush.

I nodded with a shrug. "There is a flu going 'round. It's nothing to fuss over." I said.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, snapping up to his feet, making the chair topple back from his legs. "You cannot be in here while your sick! Out!" He waved me away like I was some pestering rodent.

I scoffed and crossed my arms. "What the hell has gotten into you? It's just the flu is all." I frowned.

Sherlock groaned, accompanying it with an eye roll, and held out a hand as if to teach a puppy how to stay. "Don't touch anything." he snapped, rushing off toward the kitchen. I scoffed and looked on in disbelief when he returned to the main room wearing latex gloves and a doctor face mask. "Did you touch anything?" he asked.

"What? No! Bloody hell, Sherlock what has gotten into you?" I shook my head, unsure of his intentions. Sherlock didn't reply, but instead marched closer to me and grabbed my arm tightly, hauling me back toward the door. "Sher- Stop! Sherlock, enough! This isn't funny!" I protested, pulling against his grip. He was much stronger than he looked, and his grip only tightened. His long fingers dug into my arm and I pulled again, still unable to escape his grasp as he dragged me out the door and toward the stairs. "Sherlock, you're hurting me!" I shouted, my temper beginning to flare. All I wanted was some rest and a nice cuppa before bed.