Author Notes: Hey guys this is a sequel to Cold Calling, but you don't need to have read it necessarily to follow this story. CC was more of a crime story, Spectrum is more of a character study. For those reading Cold Calling it is awaiting its final chapter but the entire thing is currently being beta'ed so it will be resolved soon. This story is not a Sherlock/OC romance though drugs, violence, sex and disturbing behaviour will feature in this story. Reviews really would be appreciated. It has been beta'ed
Chapter 1
The familiar agony ran up the bone, the muscles contracted, the pain came. How good it felt to feel a bit of agony again.
Time to breathe.
Exhaling from her swollen, red tinctured lips she could feel every nerve ending fizzing. It was simmering just beneath the pain.
Time to move.
She pushed aside the clammy figure and swung her legs over the bed. What was that she could feel? Was her heart still pounding slightly? Foot flexed, lips pursed, teeth gritted she placed both feet onto the raggedy carpet beneath and stood up.
The fizzing resurfaced, the stiffness began, but the pain deliciously started to fade.
Anna looked back at the heavy breathing lump she'd just copulated with and assessed her physical state. Sticky and awake. The leg lock had almost been worth it.
…..
"FlirtFetish has come off Sky," John observed as he channel hopped. He was glad that he had become converted to Sky, he saw it as an investment. Sherlock could barely remember the name and so gave it the only response it deserved, silence. "No doubt three people killed by a murderer who then got shot put people off slightly."
Sherlock replied vaguely remembered what John was referring to. He was far too busy with his own experiments, experiments which John tried so hard not to look at.
"Doesn't time fly?"
"No John it doesn't, it drags."
"But that was nearly a year ago! A year ago, Sherlock…. That means I've been here for…." John paused to mentally count the months; he never finished his sentence as though admitting the time out loud would be bad luck.
"Could you write something down for me John?" Sherlock said, more command than request. John reluctantly got up from his comfy position and picked up a pen. His friend hinted to a piece of paper that was near him.
There was a knock at the door and at John's "come in", Mrs Hudson popped her head in. John greeted her with a smile and moved over to her. Needless to say Sherlock did not move.
"Hello," she said warmly to John, "I've brought your milk."
"Thank you Mrs Hudson, that's kind of you."
"Well since I was going that way," she replied. "Evening Sherlock."
"Mrs Hudson." He answered with a nod, his eyes still not leaving his work.
"What is he actually doing?" she whispered. John's answer was a shrug of the shoulders teamed with a roll of the eyes. Mrs Hudson laughed, but Sherlock put down his work and walked to them both.
"Important work Mrs Hudson, whereas John prefers to cruise the chat channels," he explained, and he was gratified when the look Mrs Hudson gave the pair of them was bafflement.
"Does that not bother you Sherlock?"
"Not a bit. It keeps him quiet."
John looked at Sherlock, his brow knitting slightly with disapproval. Mrs Hudson would never get the gist if he said things like that.
"Suddenly I need some air," John said as he grabbed his coat, bypassing Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. They remained stood looking at one another a moment.
"Well, those channels must be good for something," Mrs Hudson ventured before she turned and went back to her own rooms. Sherlock looked about the room, his eyes casting over his experiment. Suddenly it lost all its importance and interest. Boredom chimed in his mind and riddled his bones, how he hated this life sometimes.
…..
Anna darted away from Chris in disgust, until now she had ignored the flipping of her stomach. There he was with his arm shaking violently in her direction as his entire frame was slumped in a chair. Diverting her eyes from him, Anna avoided looking at the discoloured penis hanging out of his jeans.
"Anyone would think you've not seen one before," he stuttered; half laughing, half desperate.
"Have you heard yourself?" she said hoarsely, feeling bile coming up her throat. She grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it in his direction, "cover up, you're a mess."
Chris' shaking hand covered his penis with the cushion, whilst his other still clung to the hideous object of his affection.
"You can see I've not got a steady hand Anna, do you want me to hurt myself?"
"I am not injecting it."
"Go fuck yourself!" Chris replied, losing his temper and slamming his shaking hand down on the chair arm.
"No Chris, you go fuck yourself. Or maybe not if you shoot up into your cock. Isn't that the last bastion of the truly desperate?"
"Just a little prick…. Come on, it must be a change from sucking one," Chris said snidely. Anna headed for the door as he staggered up from the chair, no dignity about him. He lost his balance and went crashing onto the floor. Anna didn't move. "I can't find a fucking vein!"
Anna didn't stay to hear anymore, pushing down the desire to act any other way than she was about to, she left.
…..
"Sherlock!" Mycroft responded infuriated, as his brother yet again rebuffed his olive branch.
"How do you like Mycroft's waistcoat, John?" Sherlock asked, typically deflecting the conversation. "Quite handy for the diet, covers all manner of sins."
"It's er…" John didn't really know how to respond when the intention was to irritate Mycroft. "Very smart."
"Well one does try to make an effort," Mycroft replied, "especially when one is demanded, rather than consulted."
"I thought consulting was the very reason you came to see me."
"Reason is the reason I'm here, you just refuse to see it." Mycroft said taking up his umbrella as the patter of rain against the window still lulled in his ears. "But as usual I see it's pointless to try."
Mycroft closed in to John's personal space, a habit becoming more frequent with every visit. What followed was a long stare, a prolonged handshake and "take care of my brother, he needs it" said in a low tone that John almost thought was attempting to be seductive. John was never upset, and only a little perturbed by this behaviour, but he was always amused at seeing Sherlock's look of annoyance.
With Mycroft gone, the pair settled back into their seats. John mulled over asking a question that was always on the tip of his tongue whenever Mycroft had left.
"Is Mycroft married?"
"What?"
"Is Mycroft married?"
"Only to his job, I imagine. I told you the different things he's involved in. He wouldn't have time for much else. Why?" Sherlock asked, the 'why?' spoke with higher intonation almost betraying curiosity.
"No reason." John replied. "It's just…"
"He doesn't understand your desire for personal space?"
"No. But then neither do you sometimes."
"Usually when I'm saving your life."
"Well, I dream of one day having personal space and living a normal life," John joked, but looking at Sherlock he saw the humour wasn't shared.
"Are you not seeing Sarah tonight?" Sherlock asked finally, breaking the silence as he opened the newspaper; there seemed little else to do so he might as well indulge.
"No."
John thought to himself again. There was another question that had hung on his tongue since that awkward relationship conversation in Angelo's. He considered an indirect way of asking.
"A normal life," he mused.
"What about it?"
"Well in a normal life, I'd be with Sarah watching telly, going out. Or having sex."
He only heard a sigh of disapproval from behind the newspaper.
"What?" John asked.
"Your mind works in such a small circle."
"What? Because I think about sex? We're not all high functioning sociopaths, but my deduction would be despite your attitude to life in general even you must need it sometimes. It's not something you need to display emotions for..."
"I know," Sherlock interrupted.
"...whatever your preference," John blurted but was soon wincing at the fact he'd dared say it. Despite slight curiosity, he didn't actually want to know which way Sherlock's compass pointed.
Sherlock didn't respond, though John waited several minutes for a reply. When he didn't get one he shook his head and clicked on the television. Maybe next time, he thought.
