Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter XXIV - Fear Policy

-Millie-

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"This place is disgraceful," says Mary, stepping over the stacks of folders and accumulating towers of tea-stained mugs. "How are you two living like this?"

I look around the room. 'Cluttered' is a wonderfully lenient understatement. I have not had the time or the stability of mind to commit to a thorough purge of the place, so Sherlock and I are currently living in a state of chaotic disarray; there are books balanced on every available flat surface, abandoned newspaper articles and pen caps lying discarded on the floor, a handful of scrabble pieces scattered across the desk and, curtesy of my newly-established sofa bed, sheets piled hastily over the armrest in a heap of creased white cotton.

"It adds to the charm," I say, surreptitiously sliding last night's takeaway cartons beneath the sofa with the back of my foot. "Besides, we've been very busy."

Mary makes a disapproving noise through pressed lips and turns away, folding her arms across her chest.

I put down my pencil. John and Mary are sitting on opposite sides of the room, backs to one another, Mary's pinstriped blouse and linen trousers concealing a weight loss that is visible in the form of shadowed eyes and hollowed cheeks. She is constantly adjusting the bangles on her left wrist as they slip down, and her hair is not combed back in its usual style - it has been left to curl and fall in wiry waves. John looks older too, greying and lined and exhausted in his posture.

They certainly don't look happy.

Mary insisted on being present for the arrival of Pamela Schott. She said she wanted to bring Addy to Baker Street for a couple of hours for a change of scenery, but, after handing over the closely-wrapped bundle of wide blue eyes and blonde hair to an adoring Mrs Hudson, Mary has not touched her baby. She's waiting with us instead, notepad and pen in hand, ignoring John's surly looks and agitated muttering.

Sherlock is watching them through narrowed eyes. I've retreated to the corner of the room with my newspaper crossword, unwilling to involve myself in what I suspect is an ongoing domestic disagreement.

On cue Mary glances up and snaps, "Stop looking at me like that."

John shifts, clearly riled. "Like what?"

I meet Sherlock's eyes.

"Don't play ignorant with me, John. I'm not in the mood."

"When are you ever?"

"One day," she says, "one day is all I asked for. To be with friends. To relax."

"We'd all be a lot more relaxed if you stopped being so damn secretive."

"I'm not being secretive."

John scoffs. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

I pull my knees towards my chest and focus on the little squares on the paper.

"You're being ridiculous."

"Am I? Last night, when I walked in - you were looking for something at the back of our wardrobe. What was it?"

"Not now, John."

"Why not? Now's as good a time as any."

"We've got company."

"We're in a room with two dysfunctional detectives. They don't care. Don't make excuses."

"Dysfunctional," mutters Sherlock under his breath, sitting down beside me. "I'm not dysfunctional."

I pencil in the final row of my crossword, trying to ignore the rising volume of the voices around me. "And I am?"

"Just a little."