An hour passed, and Sherlock slept, curled up in his chair.
More and more hours passed, and Sherlock stared at his phone.
Where are you? -SH {Sent: 16.45 pm}
Please come back. -SH {Sent: 18.28 pm}
I miss you. -SH {Sent: 20.24 pm}
I know you can read my texts. -SH {Sent: 22:19 pm}
I made you dinner. -SH {Sent: 23:12 pm}
Please answer me. -SH {Sent: 23: 15}
I love you. -SH {Canceled}
Finally, at 2 o’ clock in the morning, Sherlock got up from his chair and stumbled into the kitchen. He let out a sob, opened the fridge and inspected it’s content. An experiment involving a threehundred and twenty-two millilitres of blood, a jar of mayonaise, some lettuce… Boring, not what he was looking for.
There, in the back of the fridge,
A bottle of Palinka, strong Hungarian liquor. 45 percent. He only kept it there for emergencies.
This was defintely an emergency.
He opened the bottle, not bothering to pick a glass from the counter. Straight from the bottle, he took a long gulp, spitting out half of the liquid in the sink.
'Disgusting.' he muttered, and took another gulp. It burned in his troat, didn't even taste like anything. But the effect was nice. His head already started feeling fuzzy, ten minutes and one tenth of the bottle later, walking was getting hard. He tripped over his own feet, dropping the bottle on the kitchen floor, so it shattered to pieces.
Swearing, he got up, not even considering cleaning it all up. John could go to fucking hell. Caring was not an advantage. Love is a human error, sentiment a chemical defect found on the losing side. He registered a framed picture of John and him on the mantlepiece, and picked it up. ’I never needed you anyways.’ he whispered to the picture. ‘NEVER!’
DANG
The sound of breaking glass when the picture hit the wall, more bangs when pulled out his gun and shot at the ceiling. ‘Fuck you!’
He staggered into his room and passed out on his bed.
—————————————————————————————————————————————-
'Doctor?'
Donna had just woken up, and she was reading a magazine in the control room. The Doctor stopped his fumblings with the machine, and looked up. ‘Yes?’
'What's a Jalaphron?'
'What the- They're an insectoid species who feed on misery. Why?’
'This article says they've been on earth for centuries.'
'Yes, they were. Then the cold war came and they began to starve. To prevent genocide, they started a missile war between Cuba and the Sovjet-Union.' the Doctor paused and smiled. 'I stopped them, with a… Friend. Nevermind. What the hell are you reading?'
'Oh, nothing special.' She continued reading and the Doctor got back to whatever he was doing.
About an hour later, Donna was done reading and starting to get bored. ‘Are you ready yet?’
The Doctor didn’t look up from his work. ‘Getting bored, are we?’
'Starting to. What are you even doing? I bet it's just vainity for your machine.'
YOU ARE READING
The Pirate Man (Wholock/Johnlock)
Fanfiction—- “The Pirate Man”, a wholock fanfiction by E&J. John and Sherlock are having ‘troubles’ with their relationship and John moves out for a while, which Sherlock can’t really… Deal with. But then an old (childhood) friend of our consulting detective...
