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

Chapter 43- Drinks

Emily's POV

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I push open the door and am hit by  noise, heat, and the strong smell of alcohol.

I stand in the entrance, momentarily stunned by the blaring music and blue light. It makes everything look ethereal and cold. I'm jostled by a group of women, all dressed identically in body-con dresses and stilettos, shouting and laughing, cocktails in hand. I've never been so out of my comfort zone in my life.

I suppose that was the point.

I find the will to walk forward, sidling past more crowds, looking around in distaste at the lack of control people are displaying; some are shouting, some are sleeping, and more than a few are engaged in very public displays of affection.  When I eventually reach the bar counter, I'm regretting ever stepping foot inside the place. 

I sit down on one of the few empty stools, and take in my surroundings. I'm very out of place here, in my jeans, jacket and t-shirt. But no-one seems to be paying me any attention, which is good. I just want to try a few drinks, see if it makes a difference to the flat, empty feeling inside, then leave. That's the plan. My phone rings in my pocket, and I see it's Millie calling. I debate for a second, then cancel the call. I don't want her to know how far I've regressed. I lean against the counter, and look around, confused. How can people let go of their inhibitions so readily? I would feel so vulnerable, dazed by the alcohol in my system.

Then why am I doing this?

My internal questions are interrupted by the barman, who leans over the table, and says-

"You look like you want something really strong. Am I right, sweetheart?"

I regard him with mild irritation, but then decide to go with it-

"Yes."

"Coming right up," he winks, before reaching over to gather a multitude of bottles from the shelves. I watch with interest as he pours them with a flourish into a cocktail shaker, and mixes the contents with a flick of his wrist. 

I feel something brush my arm, and I look around, to see the couple next to me flailing in their intimacy, performing mouth to mouth resurrection with such passion it's uncomfortable to watch. 

"Here you go.Go easy."

And he passes a tiny shot glass of amber liquid over the counter.

Something that size won't make any difference, surely? I pick it up gingerly, and regard it with suspicion; it really doesn't look that bad...

What have I got to lose?

I close my eyes, raise the glass to my lips, tilt my head back, and swallow the shot in one.

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Millie's POV

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"She's still not picking up," I say, frowning, looking up at Sherlock and John.

"She's fine. Leave it," says John, absentmindedly, flicking through television channels.

I know something is wrong, I can just tell. I don't normally rely on instinct, but, this time, I feel like logic and rationality isn't adding up. I've tried every method I can think of, aside from having someone actually follow-

I sit up straight.

The homeless network.

I get up, and leave the room, hoping that Sherlock didn't notice the change in my behaviour. I need to find his phone. I push the door to his room open, softly walking over to the drawers. It's on top of a stack of unread books, and, without hesitating, I pick it up and hold it to the light. I can just about make out the ghosts of his fingerprints on the screen. I tilt it, to get a better angle, then stop. The most recently pressed areas are where the digits to his password lie. I memorise them, then swipe open the lock screen, entering the numbers rapidly. It unlocks, and I sit down on the bed, scrolling through the applications and messages, looking for the right one-