You're An Idiot, Sherlock Holmes (OC x Sherlock)

Stooped To New Lows

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Two months.

Two months now and I don't know what I'm doing with myself. My addiction has worsened. People around me are worried about my wellbeing, but I think I'm doing just fine- even though I admit to myself that the cannabis was helping. My therapist says otherwise. 

Rolling myself a joint and lighting it, I immediately hopped into a cab, on my way to St. Bart's to pay Molly a visit. It has been quite a while since we talked; since she helped us in the lab as Sherlock found where the kidnapper was through his footprints. 

"Ah, Molly! Darling, how are ya!" I exclaimed, flamboyantly pushing open the door to the hospital's morgue and finding the pathologist at a table with a corpse and holding a clipboard, busy with a post-mortem. "If more people were in here, this would have been awkward," I muttered, taking a long drag from my joint in hand and walking over to Molly.

"What are you doing, you can't smoke that in here!" Molly whisper-shouted, turning her neck to the door to see if anyone near it saw me holding a joint.

"It's only bad if I get caught," I pointed out with a shrug. Looking down at her hands, I spotted a ring on her finger. "Congrats on the engagement," I said, nodding towards her hand. "God knows what that dude got himself into." Molly shot me a look and I raised my hands in surrender, saying I was kidding. 

"Also, I'm sorry about your loss," Molly said quietly, busy with her work.

being the high individual I am, I cocked an eyebrow. "I lost someone?" Looking around the room, I asked, "Where did I leave them?"

Molly looked at me with concern. Now I don't think I'll ever sleep at night until I find my lost person. Oh well. Changing the subject, I looked down again at her engagement ring. "So are you two living in his flat in Cambridge?"

Looking up at me in surprise, she asked me, "How do you know about Cambridge?"

"The other day I got bored and browsed inside a jewelry store there and spotted that ring," I said casually. I snorted, giving Molly an accusing look. "What, you think I can just deduce that out of nowhere? I'm no Sherlock Holmes." 

Once the name escaped my lips, I realized what Molly was talking about when she apologized for my loss. Sinking to the ground, I curled up and sobbed into my lap. I heard Molly's footsteps come around from the other side of the table and from the corner of my eye, I saw her kneel down and lightly pat my back as I cried. Wiping my nose with my sleeve, I stood up straight as if I had a boost of energy and pointed an accusing finger in the engaged woman's direction.

"For the record, I was not crying, okay?" I said sternly, like my mood had changed at the snap of a finger. 

"but you just . . . "

"No buts about it." I snorted at my own comment. "butts," I said to myself, withholding a laugh. 

Pouting out my bottom lip, I looked down at the lifeless corpse on the table. "Poor guy. He didn't see the snakebite coming," I said solemnly.

"He died from an internal hemorrhage," Molly corrected, holding up her clipboard.

"Then you obviously haven't spotted the two bite marks on his ankle," I pointed out, lifting my eyebrows for emphasis. 

"There are no bite marks on the body."

"You see but you don't observe, my fellow pathologist," I stated, taking a long drag from my joint. Closing my eyes, I exhaled in content. "It's a bit obvious," I sang, locking eyes with Molly until she averted her eyes. I watched her walk over to the other side of the body and examine the ankles. She quickly glanced up at my large, proud, grin as she cleared her throat awkwardly. Molly clicked her pen, crossed something out, and wrote down something else.