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

Chapter 72- Dressed to Kill

Emily's POV

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I roll up my sleeves, and sigh, as I look around the kitchen.

This isn't going well.

The counter is streaked with flour and cake batter; the fire alarm has gone off twice, and there's a heap of burnt, sunken and uncooked cupcakes piling up and over the top of the bin. I got so frustrated I hurled the kitchen knife at the cupboard, and it's currently wedged deep in the wood. I want nothing more than to set fire to the cookbook and dance on the ashes.

But I won't, because I promised Molly Hooper that I would make her these cupcakes if it killed me.

And, judging by my bouts of uncontrolled violence, it probably will.

I haphazardly clear a space, and begin from scratch, stirring with such force the bowl cracks down the side. I pull out a new tray, start filling up the paper cases, and five minutes later my fifth and final attempt at cupcakes are in the oven. While they're baking, I'm supposed to make icing, with strawberries scattered over the top.

Trust Molly to pick the most feminine recipe in the entire book.

I salvage a chopping board, and wrench the kitchen knife from the cupboard door. 

Roughly chop strawberries into centimetre cubes.

I've just washed my first strawberry, and am about to attempt surgery on the fruit when-

"Cupcakes? Really? Adorable."

I whip around, knife still in hand, and point it at the voice, pressing the blade against the curve of the jugular. 

It takes me another second to connect the Irish lilt with the unexpected appearance.

I lower my hand, but don't relax my grip on the handle.

He looks unaffected by the fact he just had a knife held to his throat, and continues to look around the kitchen, darkly curious-

"I didn't think you were the cupcake type."

"They're for Molly," I snap, backing away from him, still wielding the blade. I don't want to take any chances.

I scan him quickly, and frown; I haven't seen him since our last 'encounter',  almost a month ago, and I'm oddly unsettled by his sudden appearance. I had a lock fitted last week, but, so far, I haven't been using it.

I make a mental note to lock and bolt my door every day from now on.

"Molly Hooper? My, my, Emily, your choice of friends has rapidly deteriorated," he drawls, "She's sickening."

"You tolerated her for two weeks, so I've been told. More than tolerated. 'Jim from IT'. How original."

He laughs, harshly, then says-

"Oh, so you've been told about my pre-fall scandals? That was fun. And he calls himself a detective... He didn't suspect a thing. I suppose it was very well put together on my part- gay Jim was very convincing. You have no idea what I had to go through to get those 'tired clubber's eyes'."

He pulls a face at the memory, and then turns his attention to me. I lift up the kitchen knife. The corners of his lips curl upwards at my defence, and he takes in the destruction around him, shaking his head slowly-

"I don't think Miss. Molly will be asking for your assistance again, somehow. Unless you're actually planning on poisoning her new friends. I hope you are. Now that would be funny."