So High. [Sherlock Fanfiction]

Human

I took a shamefully long time to pick an outfit for dinner that night. After a long while of careful deliberation, I chose a green and black tartan skirt, white blouse and a grey cardigan, paired with black ankle boots and a knitted smoky grey scarf. After I did minimal makeup - eyeliner and mascara- I was ready. Dolefully staring at my reflection, I let out a sigh. "You look...okay." I told my mirrored clone bluntly, before trailing reluctantly into the living room, where Sherlock was waiting. He narrowed his eyes at me and I glared back at him. Our eyes met and we scowled; it was obvious that neither of us were prepared to be amenable about this. Dutifully, we forced smiles at Mrs Hudson before we exited the relative security of 221B Baker Street; Sherlock hailed a cab and ungraciously held the door open for me. Once inside the stuffy confines of the cab, a heavy silence descended.

"Where exactly are we going?" I enquired after an eternity, feeling obligated to at least try to relieve some of the tension; mostly for the benefit of the taxi driver, who was squirming wretchedly after several ineffectual attempts at conversation.

"A restaurant." Sherlock replied apathetically, staring portentously out of the window, seemingly oblivious of the hostility crackling in the air.

"Well, obviously." I snapped, tension resulting in my irritated outburst.

"You did ask." Sherlock exhaled condescendingly, as though I were an irksome child asking whether we were there yet for the fortieth time. Bristling, I refrained from reciprocating, instead focusing my assiduity on deducing what I could about the taxi driver. As it turns out, he was a completely soporific waste of my time.

When we finally arrived at the restaurant in question, Sherlock didn't even bother waiting for me to get out of the cab before making his way expeditiously to the entrance, as though getting there before me would make the ordeal end quicker. Having been left to pay the cab driver, I told him to keep the change and that I hoped his cat got better soon. Ignoring his look of stupefaction, I recalcitrantly  followed in Sherlock's wake; I spotted him sat stiffly at a table with my brother and a blonde haired woman who was undoubtedly Mary, who smiled at me as I approached. Sherlock had a fixed scowl on his face and John looked sullen; the blissful couple argued again.

"Hello." I grimaced, fully aware that everybody present was on tenterhooks as a result of me being here, around alcohol and in public.

"Hi!" The woman who was my brother's wife beamed, and stood up to embrace me. Her swollen stomach pressed against me, forming a barrier that hindered the already forced and embarrassing action. John hadn't told me how far gone she was, but I approximated she was around four months pregnant; she looked well. Glowing, in fact, though she did appear slightly agitated. Once we were all sat down, Mary looked around the table expectantly.

"Well, this is nice. You should feel honoured, Harriet. Sherlock isn't one to attend special dinners like this unless he's planning on interrupting your engagement." She laughed a little too hard at her own joke, and John let out a bark of strained laughter. I smiled weakly and Sherlock watched us all in disdain, as though it pained him to even be there.

"Anyway." John cleared his throat, scraping back his chair. "Drinks?"

"Orange juice." Mary replied, gesturing to her bump. "No wine for me for a while," She forced another chuckle.

"Sherlock?" John prompted.

"Coffee, black, two sugars." He said bad-temperedly.

John looked at me, hesitated, then turned on his heel and walked deliberately to the bar, leaving me feeling as small and pathetic as if he had placed a cone on my head saying 'ALCOHOLIC. NOT TO BE GIVEN THE RESPONSIBILITY OF CHOOSING HER OWN REFRESHMENTS.' Mary shot me a small, apologetic smile, rubbing the back of her neck and using body language that clearly said 'please do no talk to me' and Sherlock's eyes were darting anywhere but at the occupants of the table. John returned after a painstakingly long time with a tray.

"Sorry about the wait. There's a rugby match on, Ireland versus England. Big game, big queue." He explained, transferring the drinks from the plastic tray to the placemats in front of us. Averting his gaze from mine, he placed something red and definitely not alcoholic in front of me.

"Forest fruit smoothie." He announced. He might as well have given me a juice box. Flushed and humiliated, I stood, muttering something about needing the toilet. I disappeared round to the back of the restaurant, breathing in the cool night air and soon, the ataractic fumes from a cigarette. Exhaling smoke, watching as it spiralled from my parted lips, I didn't notice the dark figure sidle up beside me. Neither, apparently, did he notice me. We spun around and our eyes widened as we recognised each other through the smoke from the cigarettes we each had.

"Don't tell John!" Sherlock and I chorused with urgency. I blinked in surprise and Sherlock scowled, turning away and leaning against the wall beside me.

"He doesn't know I started up again." Sherlock grunted, staring ahead.

"He doesn't know I ever started. God forbid he finds out about this addiction, too." I sighed, a bitter crack to my voice which caused me to wince and clench my fists frustratedly. For a long while, Sherlock said nothing. Then I felt his piercing gaze rest on my face. It was all I could do to continue staring determinedly at the space in front of me.

I heard him exhale thoughtfully, as though deliberating over his choice of words. "Sometimes," He started slowly. "You're allowed to be human. And humans... they aren't perfect. Nor are they untouchable." I turned my head to look at him, but he had a confused scowl on his face, as though he'd said something that irritated him. "Except me." I heard him mutter as he wheeled round and made his way distractedly back inside. Wanting to procrastinate going back inside for as long as possible, I waited until my cigarette had burned right down to the end before eventually conceding defeat and returning to the table. Sherlock avoided eye contact, but he seemed a little brighter, and I wondered why, until John answered my unspoken question.

"Mary feels a little queasy so we're not staying to eat. You two can, though." He told me, standing and wrapping an arm around Mary, who did, admittedly, look a little green. Sherlock looked repulsed at the idea, but Mary gagged emptily at the smell wafting from a neighbouring table's meal. John shrugged helplessly and they exited hastily, leaving Sherlock and I alone once again. He glared at me, his brief show of humanity obviously a thing of the distant past.

"I'm getting a drink." I announced.

"You have one." He frowned, nodding towards the scarlet sludge in my glass.

"No," I told him, standing and slinging my handbag over my shoulder. "A real drink." He raised his eyebrows but remained seated. I'm not sure how long he remained at the table on his own, but when I glanced over an hour later, a bottle of wine at home in my blood, he was gone. I drank until I had no money left in my purse, until the humiliation and desperate sadness that haunted my sober being was drowned in alcohol. I remember weeping into my hands, and being consoled by an Irishman who had been at the restaurant to watch the rugby match. He was sad too, I remember him saying, because Ireland had lost. I remember he wrote his number on a napkin and poked it into the top pocket of my blouse. Then I remember stumbling from the barstool that I had occupied for the last few hours and tripping over my own feet as I hailed a cab. I remember slurring the words "221B Baker Street...please." and the disgust on his face that I was at the time oblivious to as I mourned the job and kids and husband I could have had if I hadn't become so deeply attached to the drink that coursed through my veins, poisoning my body. I remember the way he spat "Do me a favour and just get out." when I realised I hadn't the funds to pay my fare.
I don't remember getting undressed and getting into bed. And nor do I remember putting William in a cage that I had never seen before in my life.