Rivers

Chapter Eight

"Wake up, Rivers," Sherlock's Voice awakens me from my slumber. I sit up and look around. I'm in Sherlock's flat and sleeping on the chair he sits in when clients come in, begging him for help. "It's a new day."

His typical personality is back with his eyes solid and the look of a blank wall plastered on his face.

"Why don't I remember coming here?" I ask, looking around as if making sure no other suspicions are going on around me.

"I drugged you," he admits, hopping off the window seal and walking over to the fireplace.

"You drugged me?" I question him, sitting up straight. He's got my attention.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You were doing something. Something I think was a coping mechanism."

He turns around and looks at me. "What was I doing?" I ask him.

"Reapeating the same sentence over and over for hours. You were crying alot too and soon started to act hysterical, so I drugged you."

I slouch back into the chair and bring rhe blanket to cover my face. Why does he always have to see me crying? I don't think anyone else has seen more of the true me than him.

"Hysterical?" I cringe, hiding deeper into the sheet.

"I thought you were going insane. You were laughing like a crazy lady and bawling your eyes out at the same time. I didn't even know what to think," he explains, moving the blanket away from my face.

"I'm just a physco, aren't I?" I saracasticlly laugh.

"And together we make the highly functioning sociopath and the hysterical physco," Sherlock says, a smile approaching his face. Something made me shiver when he said "together" as if we're two things making a whole. Without eschother, there's would be no whole.

"What drugs did you give me?" I ask, snapping back into reality.

"I injected a drug in you that makes you sleep. I'm not exactly sure what it's called, but someone once gave it to me, so it's perfectly fine," he explains, turning around to walk back to the window.

"Sherlock!" I exclaim, throwing the blanket at him. "You gave me a drug that you don't even know the name of?" He catches the blanket and flashes around again. His stare is fixed on the door and he tosses the blanket back at me.

It hits my face and I fumble, trying to push it to the floor.

"Sherlock!" I yell, standing up. He waves his index finger at me and tells me to shush.

"Someone's about to open that door and come in here and it's not going to be Watson or Mrs. Hudson," he says, edging closer to the door. "Why aren't they coming in?"

I follow his orders and shut up.

Slowly, he placed his hand on the door and opens it up.

"Who are you, why are you here, and why don't I know you?" he harshly questions as soon as the woman's face is visible. I lean over the chair, trying to get a better view of her.

There's no response.

"Who... are you?" he digs deeper, his voice becoming more harsh. Isn't it a huge possibility for her to be a client? "Must I repeat myse-" he stops himself and pivets my direction then back to the woman. "I am so dreadfully sorry, ma'am. You are Jacqueline' s mother aren't you?"

At the sound of his last sentence, I climb out of the chair and dart to the doorway. When I see her thin, blonde hair that's nearly white, porceilien toned skin and her eyes that match the color of the sea, my heart fills up and instantly and I hug her. She hugs me back, rubbing my spine. Her roots are becoming grey and dark bags hang below her eyes. She's aged alot since I last saw her, two years ago.

"I thought you were in America," I rejoice as we break from the hug.

"I was, but I had to come back down. Since you couldn't attend Jake's funeral, I had to get you the stuff people left for you somehow and... I thought you needed the support," she explains with her raspy voice.

I welcome her in, making Sherlock step aside. He's studying her with his eyes squinted as they move up and down.

"I'm not the only one who needs support. I would've come down, but I just dont have any money to spare since I just work summer jobs. Honestly, I would've," I assure, motioning my hand for her to feel free to sit. Sherlock follows us, silently examining.

"Oh, honey, I know! You don't have to tell me. And everything that had your name on it is at your flat. Sweetie, it's okay," she says, her body shaking as she sits down. I sit across from her, in the seat I slept in. Sherlock walks behind me and into the kitchen. I turn around to see what he's doing. He's fumbling around cabinets, looking for something.

"How's dad?" I ask. My father left Britain when I was just an infant to go back to America. My mother and him divorced five years after he returned and he left her with a five year old and a new born baby. Now he lives in his home town in America, living the perfect life with a new wife and step children.

"He's fine. His eldest step son turned eighteen, you know," she says, laughing through pain. The divorce is still hard on her when she remembers the pain he made her to through with constant arguing and always putting her down. "Sweetie, I have to go," she says, standing up.

"But you just got here!" I exclaim.

"Yes, I know but I have to check into my bed and breakfast by nine o' clock and that's just ten minutes from now. After that, I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay, I love you," I say as her hand touches the door knob.

"I love you too," she smiles as she opens up the door and walks out, leaving Sherlock  and I alone once again.

"Your mother is from Britain and your father is American, correct? She went to America to visit him two years back, but ended up finding a job that pays a very considerable amount of money, yes?" Sherlock concludes, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He takes a sip and sits down on the couch. I spin my body around to see him. For a minute, my voice stays silent, but then I pry a smile and speak.

"Could you ever be wrong just once? You make me feel like an idiot."

Sherlock puts a ginormous grin on his face. "Ketamine," he simply states.

"Excuse me?"

"Ketamine. That's the drug I used to put you to sleep. It causes memory loss and extreme sedation," he elaborates then takes another drink of his coffee.

I stand up. "You're lucky I trust you, Sherlock."

"You... trust me?" he retorts, standing up, following my move. He placed his coffe on the computer desk.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I? I like you, I answer. He walks closer to me. Now we're only about a foot away from another.

"You like me?"

His eyes are confused for once and his forehead is creased, proving even more that he is indeed, confused.

"Yes, Sherlock. I like you," I tell him, giving a laugh.

"Well, that's news. No one likes me expect for Watson but that's because he's the only person I consider a friend," he surprises, looking around as if there's someone else in the room, hiding. "Do you consider me as one of your friends?"

"Sherlock, I like you and you know what I mean because you are a detective."

"Yes, I do know exactly what you mean. Like a wife likes her husband," he says, making me smile.

"Exactly. Now when I ask the question I'm about to ask, you must answer me, okay? A yes or no answer, okay?"

"Okay," he answers, raising one eyebrow.

"Do you like me?"

He lowers his eyebrow and grabs hold onto my hand, squeezing it. He's smiling, a genuine, happy smile and I'm happy because I'm making Sherlock Holmes happy. That's always a special occasion.

He moves from holing my hand to hugging me and I hug him back, unexpected.

"Yes," he whispers into my ear. My body fills with happiness as that word slips from his tounge.