Emily's POV
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It's morning, I think. I'm not entirely sure, because I'm still mostly asleep, but the room feels distinctly lighter. I open my eyes-
And instantly regret it.
The pain pulses from the back of my head right through to my temples, and I audibly groan and turn over, burying my face in the pillow, pulling the sheets up and over my head. Why does it hurt so much? Did I get into a fight? My head throbs steadily, a searing, clenching ache that is absolutely unrelenting. I feel sick, and my mouth and throat are parched.
It takes me another minute to realise that I'm hungover.
I spend a while wallowing in self-pity, not wanting to exit my home-made cocoon and enter the bright and agonising hell that is morning. I've never been hungover before. I've never been drunk before. I faintly remember feeling thoroughly frustrated, declining Millie's calls and wandering the streets of London. And then I remember deciding to go into a bar, to try something new, in an attempt to rid myself of the flat emptiness plaguing me. My memory cuts off there. I can only assume I got well and truly intoxicated, and somehow made my way back to my apartment. I groan at my stupidity- what was I thinking?
I hear my phone ringing, somewhere to my right.The muffled noise is enough to start the pounding in my head up again. Without emerging from my duvet, I stick out a hand and fumble around the floor, pausing in confusion as I feel my jacket discarded on the floor. Why is it there? I reach inside the pocket, pull the phone under the sheets and squint at the screen, wincing at it's obnoxious brightness.
Millie: 13 Missed Calls
John: 5 Missed Calls
I frown- what's so desperately important that they needed to call me at this time?
I grit my teeth, close my eyes, and push myself into a sitting position, swearing under my breath at the resounding pain.
And then I look around.
What the hell happened?!
There are clothes-my clothes, all over the floor and bed, the door is wide open, and the table to my left has been knocked over, it's contents scattered.
It's alarming how little I remember. Did I really go on an all-out destructive rampage that somehow involved me ripping the clothes off of myself and throwing them across the room in some sort of alcohol-induced frenzy?! I blink in the light, and decide that there's no point trying to remember with this headache. I stand up gingerly, pull on some old clothes, and half walk, half stagger to the kitchen. Thank god drunk Emily didn't reach the rest of the apartment. I don't think the landlord would be too happy if I smashed up the rest of the place too.
As I boil the kettle and begin making a black coffee, I notice something else strange too. I mean, I'm no expert when it comes to hangover symptoms, but I thought that the pain was limited to a headache- a bloody awful headache- and general discomfort? My whole body hurts. A lot. Maybe I did get into a fight after all? That would explain the stiffness in my joints and muscle pain. I muse over this whilst I pour the coffee and go back into the bedroom.
God, it looks awful in here.
I can't be bothered to tidy up, not while I'm hungover. I sit down on the bed, wincing, and stretch out. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't wake up in jail, or in hospital. Apparently drunk Emily is an idiot as well as totally destructive. I take a sip of the coffee, and then stop. That hurt, too. I reach up and tentatively feel my lips. Swollen, and split- pretty badly too. I roll my eyes. Definitely a fight. I must look pretty scary right now. I don't think I want to look in the mirror, at least not until I've had a shower.
YOU ARE READING
Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*
Fanfiction"That is not danger," said he. "It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organisation, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realise. You must stand clear...
