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

Chapter 38- Human Error

Emily's POV

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Millie's physical condition improves substantially over the next two weeks. At first, she blatantly refused to eat, but, after a shouting match with me and a pressing phone call from John, she slowly started consuming the food she so desperately needed. From a glance, she doesn't look strikingly different; her bones are still visible through her clothing, and I can easily encircle the circumference of her ankle between my forefinger and thumb. But, in contradistinction to her previous appearance, she looks healthier. There are subtle changes: a flush in her cheeks, light in her eyes- small things, that add up to a more defined countenance.

However, for every positive high, there have been crashing lows. Addiction has destroyed her, from the inside out, and no amount of medication, optimism or quarrelling will change that. There are times when she's almost her old self; shrewdly observant, picking apart the news headlines and sighing at the simplicity of reported criminal activity. She'll be gentle, worrying constantly about my safety when I leave the apartment, and laughing as I lose my patience with John over the phone.

But there are also times when withdrawal fastens itself to her integrity, pulling her down, and I see a different side of Millie Shon.

Her resolve crumbles. She'll become frantic, searching for anything that can give her the high she craves- one night, I walked into the kitchen to find her seconds away from swallowing a handful of aspirin tablets. I've seen her cry; despairing, broken sobs, unable to vocalise the insatiable need for narcotics. There are days when she can't move for the longing, and she just stares, unseeing, at a fixed point in the distance, drumming her fingers against her palm repetitively. I think it's her coping mechanism; an involuntary behaviour designed to distract. 

And then there's the violence.

Millie is not an aggressive person. But, on occasion, when the frustration mounts to unbearable levels, she'll snap, turning on me with a malicious vitriol.

The consequences are catastrophic.

Millie's currently bearing the results of our most recent clash, her throat mottled purple with bruised finger-prints. She batted away my apologies, insisting that it was her fault for antagonising me, and that, if anything, she deserved it for being so incendiary. 

The guilt eats away at me daily.

She knows as well as I do that her heart will never fully recover. She'll always have to be wary of exertion; one push too far, and the organ will collapse, triggering a fatal series of contractions. It's a permanent reminder of her addiction, and one that Millie has to learn to live with.

And it's for that very reason I haven't told her what happened on the night of her discovery. 

She's got enough to fight at the moment, without the addition of Moriarty's manipulation.

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"Millie?"

She looks up from my laptop: "Yes?"

I struggle with words, and her face creases with concern.

"That was John on the phone."

"What did he want?"

I sit down beside her, and she closes the laptop lid slowly, setting it down on the floor at her feet. I take a deep breath:

"He thinks you should go back to Baker Street."

Millie's expression darkens. She surreptitiously shifts away from me, as if the words themselves hold an authentic repugnance. 

"I can't, Emily."