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

Chapter 46- Seven Deadly Sins: Envy

Emily's POV

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My head starts thumping before I open my eyes; a dry, pounding ache that hammers against the curve of my skull. I groan, pressing my palms to my forehead, my mouth twisting at the bitterly unpleasant taste on my tongue. I want to slip back into unawareness, a place where everything is white and numb, and I don't have to face the consequences of my impulsive, alcohol-fuelled actions.

My body, however, has other ideas. Now that I'm awake, I'm restless, and I know that falling back into the welcoming confines of sleep isn't an option.

And so I force my eyes open, wincing as the offending sunlight rallies the throbbing in my head, intensifying the sharp twinge at my temples. I curse internally, and sit up, combing my fingers through the snags in my hair.

At least he's not here.

I spend a few minutes resting against the headboard, looking around the room. It's almost unnerving. There are no signs of collateral damage- no torn sheets or upturned furniture, the pillows crumpled but not split. And when I hold out my arms, they're unscathed, free from bruises or stinging scratches. There's still the familiar stiffness in my joints, and the hangover certainly doesn't help things, but, all in all, I've had much worse.

I yawn, and lean tentatively over the edge of the bed, feeling around on the floor for my phone. I think I've finally found a client who's willing to accept my assistance, regardless of my interactions with a consulting detective, and I really should return their call.

"You're up."

I jump violently, and have to catch myself before I end up sprawled on the floor, gripping the side of the bed for support, my face inches from the carpet. There are footsteps, and I hear the clink of china mugs on wood.

"Need a hand?"

"No," I say, through gritted teeth, as I haul myself up into a sitting position. "I'm fine."

"I made you coffee. If your head feels anything like mine at the moment, you'll need it."

Cameron is standing hesitantly by the bed, bare-chested and bruised, holding out a mug, the contents sending up small plumes of richly-scented steam. I paste a strained smile to my face, and accept the coffee, wrapping my fingers around the handle.

"I thought you'd gone."

He frowns, sitting down and looking at me curiously through those strange, green eyes, flecked with hazel.

"No, it just took me a while to figure out how to use your coffee machine. Why would I leave? One night stands aren't really my thing."

I mutter something indecipherable under my breath.

"You're very quiet."

"Am I?"

"Well, compared to yesterday. I don't mean to pry, but...is everything all right?"

"I don't cope well with alcohol," I say, and he laughs, putting his mug back down on the table.

"You weren't of that mind-set last night."

"Don't remind me."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

He chuckles, and rests a hand on my arm sympathetically. I tense, automatically on edge, and Cameron raises an eyebrow.

"There is something wrong, isn't there?"

"No, I-"

"I know I'm virtually a stranger, but sometimes that helps. It means I'm pretty objective."