The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 36- A Dangerous Disadvantage

Emily's POV

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I call John immediately.

"Hello?"

"You need to get over here. Now."

"Emily? What are you-?"

"It's Millie, John. She's come back."

There's a small silence. I can hear Mary, talking quietly in the background. Then there's the noise of muffled movement, and hasty footsteps; I think John might be moving away from potential earshot. When he does speak, it's a hissed whisper, disbelieving:

"What?!"

"I don't know what to do," I say, pushing back a strand of loose hair and leaning against the wall, trying to control my breathing enough to convey my urgency. "I think something's wrong with her chest, and she's coughing blood. I know I should call an ambulance- but she's still high, John, and she'll be taken into custody for possession of illegal substances."

"Emily, calm down, I can't hear what you're saying. Is she conscious?"

"She was when I found her, although only just. You have to-"

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Keep her stationary. If there's any more blood, dial 999. I'm only a GP, Emily- there's not much I can do if things escalate. I'll see if I can stop by at a late night practice and stock up on some basics. Give me an hour. I'll send Sherlock over-"

"No."

I turn to look at the sofa. Millie's sat up, eyes wide, shaking her head. I didn't realise she was aware that I was speaking on the phone.

"Hang on, John," I say, and take the phone away from my ear. "Millie? Are you-?"

"Sherlock."

"It's okay, Millie, he'll be here soon."

"No. No- tell him he can't come."

"What...?"

"He can't see me. He can't see me like this."

She's frantic, trying to find purchase on the sofa beneath her and reaching out as if to snatch the phone away from me.

"Don't let him come here."

I'm about to ask John for his advice, when it happens; the coughing starts up again, dry, hacking chokes for air, and her hands go up to her chest once more, pulling at the fabric. I abandon my mobile, and crouch down beside her.

"Millie? Millie, listen to me-"

Between the gasps, she manages to force words out, letting go of her chest with one hand. Her fingers clasp around my wrist as she speaks.

"Please. He can't see me."

"It's alright, Millie. I'll tell Sherlock."

My poor attempts at soothing her seem to be working, because, as she listens, her breathing slows down, and her grip on my wrist loosens. I keep talking to her, constantly, and although I don't think she's fully registering my locutions, she nods, seemingly mollified. I only relax once her arm has fallen slack to the floor.

It's her eyes I can't get used to.

They're disproportionately big and almost entirely black, her pupils refusing to contract, intensified by chemicals. I don't understand how she's still high- assuming that her last dose occurred around the time of the hotel affair. Surely something that strong would be edging towards lethal?