Failing Upward

Chapter 30 (part 2): Going Up

We came to a compromise. Sherlock and I would stay in separate rooms. She didn't know that it wasn't really a compromise. It was necessary. This Sherlock was not mine. I was satisfied Glenda would leave Sherlock alone. What went unsaid was any discussion of making Sherlock like us, and I didn't want to bring it up to him. He didn't need to know this was even an option— not in this universe.

Sherlock would be safe in the room next to mine. Uncle Greg stayed downstairs, talking with Glenda.

As I got ready for my night's performance, I patted the baggie in my front pocket. This had to work. I'd flattened out the sand in the bag and crammed it into my leather jeans and practiced reaching into my pocket with my guitar in my hand. The leather pants were tight, but I could manage to get my hand inside the bag.

Sean and I left late to go to the Road House. It'd be nice to see the place again when it wasn't a charred heap like it was in my universe. I had wanted to look around the place, wanted to set up, get ready, prepare myself. Instead, I spent half my time talking to myself in the mirror, trying to get into the right state of mind, and the other half pacing my room worried that this wouldn't work. How the fuck does anyone get into the right state of mind to jump universes?

Mindlessly watching the houses go past as Sean drove, all I could think of was Sherlock. The last hours we'd been kept separated. I believed putting space between us was best. I didn't trust myself with the hothouse roses so close and Sherlock so near. Keeping him at a distance was my uncle's and my way to appease Aunt Glenda. I felt like I was in withdrawal. My stomach knotted, my hands shook. Christ, when I saw him I broke into a sweat. I kept blaming the fucking roses. I hoped denying my fix would work to my advantage. Yeah, being edgy will take me back to my Sherlock. I was terrified tonight would work, and I was terrified it wouldn't.

Sean hummed the theme song to Three's Company as he made a detour, turning into McDonald's. I counted the greasy smudges on the take-out window as he paid for his number three value meal. I didn't get anything. My stomach was churning enough already without a Big Mac and Coke. My legs were jumping like I was wired with caffeine. Sean pulled out onto Michigan Avenue, and I pushed down on my knees to stop them from bouncing when he stomped on the brakes, and I heard our tires screech. The car in the far lane stopped the same time we did. My arms didn't react in time, my nose smacking the dashboard.

"What the fuck?" I hissed, holding my nose. And I had on my seatbelt.

"Had to stop," Sean said, chewing on a fry. "Damn black cat just crossed our path." He reached for another limp fry then pointed to the black cat skittering off the side of the road. He looked at me sideways. "You okay? How's your nose?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I bit my fucking tongue, too."

"Probably tastes better than this quarter pounder with cheese."

I wasn't one to believe in bad omens, but that fucking cat had me nervous. Shit.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, just old country side roads littered with potholes. We pulled into the backlot of the Road House and started to unload our equipment from Sean's back seat when Sean looked down at me and laughed.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You better rearrange that bulge," Sean pointed to my crotch. "People will think we're in love."

I blushed as I looked down. Damn tight leather pants gave everything away.

"Shit," I said, jumping around. "It's the sand.

"Ha! That's a new one," Sean grinned.

"No seriously, it's the baggie with sand in it." I squirmed around, trying to shift the contents of my pocket.