A Drunk Mind Speaks A Sober Heart

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It was 3 hours later and Sherlock was still interrogating that drunken hippie. I was sitting in one of the chairs outside the interogation room, and I could hear everything.

Sherlock would be very quiet, probably using his low and quiet menesing voice, then very abruptly he would start shouting. He was probably exhausted, he's been grilling this guy for three whole hours. Then again they did make him take 5 shots of hard vodka in hopes he won't be as bad as last time. I still am not sure if that was quite necessary... Or legal. He could hurt himself that drunk. I could care less about Henry.

"So do you know Henry?" John asked awkwardly, sitting next to me.

"Sadly," I replied, "He's a drunk. He used to be one of those hard core hippies back in the 70's. You know, love, peace, togetherness, sex." John nodded, smirking at my reference.

"Well he met one of my good friends at a bar and decided to tell him about his "far out" life. I don't know what Peter saw in him, maybe he just fascinated one another. Peter was only 16 then and he managed to go out every Wednesday to have a drink with Henry." I shook my head, remembering how dumb he was at sixteen.

"Sounds like a bum."

"Henry?"

"Yah."

"Well he is." I confirmed as I rubbed my arm, it was still screaming from when Sherlock yanked me out of the cab.

"Hey John? Could you look at my arm?" I ask leaning toward him so he could look at it.

"What happened?" He ask pulling down the shoulder of my shirt gently. The gash looked the same as it did this morning.

"Mary told me you got injured. Do you remember what happened at all? If it was rusty metal you have to go to the hospital." He examined my wound further as I bit my lip in pain. I tried to remember what had happened, how I got the gash, how I got so stoned, it was all a blank. Except for some things that started coming back to me throughout the day.

"Um..there was a lot of white," I managed, he looked up at me with eyes urging me to go on, "it was like I was under water, I couldn't hear anything...except someone calling my name. And lots of loud noises, it could've been gun shots... then red, and pain...and that when I started to slip into some dark water or something. This must sound insane." John looked furious.

"No, someone hit your head, that's why it felt like you were underwater. The white you were seeing was probably the cocaine flying about that got on you, and by what I hear some someone shot you, however it's a long gash so it just grazed your arm," He growled, "Sherlock is not going to like this."

Just grazed my arm the pain was a hell of a lot more than something that just grazed my arm.

"How about you tell him when he's sober." I offered. He nodded in agreement.

"Back to your arm, put some ice on it and clean it frequently. It will heal, however I don't want you to get it infected. I can prescribe some pain medications, just promise me you'll keep it away from Sherlock."

"Why?" I ask right when Sherlock comes barreling out the door, a very frustrated look on his face.

Intoxicated, he still looked gorgeous. He was wearing his purple button down shirt, collar wide open, top two buttons unbuttoned, showing his chest, probably to give him more air. The cuffs were rolled up his forearm, the shirt had to struggle to not tear due to his muscles protruding from under the fabric. His hair dropped down to his face making his eyes seem brighter than normal.

"Oh boy." I breathed sinking down in my chair and tried not to think about him. Lestrade came around Sherlock and pointed at me.

"Take him home." He ordered.

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