Title: "Pli"
NB: It precedes "Paroli" chronologically, but was written later, and I'm not really sure which one should be read first.
Both titles refer to an ancient card game, just because I didn't want anything manifest and sentimental. All you have to know "Pli" and "Paroli" are types of stakes ;-).
Warning: It is not precisely an AU, but I don't have unconditional faith in the Canon. If you consider it a sacrilege, you probably shouldn't read.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to all good people; the rest belongs to Sir Arthur.
"PLI"
He awakes with a start and reaches blindly for his cigarette-case. His fingers meet an edge of a wooden lid instead, tracing the familiar shape of a syringe in its velvet nest.
He tears a small round window open, frowning back at the accusingly glittering blue outside, as cold salty breeze sings insistently to his blurred mind that in this cocaine-induced haze he somehow lost six months of his life.
When his dearest long-suffering friend stormed out of his life to run into that "extraordinary girl" – whatever "extraordinary" might be left for a man familiar with women of three continents, but apparently extraordinary enough to propose to a week later.
When his bank account was drained to the extent where he had to take up political intrigues to avoid chasing lost pets and unfaithful spouses.
When one ridiculous mistake turned a curious and challenging case abroad into months away from the continent, "not a word from you at home if you value your life".
Vanished. Forgotten. Alone.
In a sudden rash of anger he snaps the fine Moroccan box closed and desperately throws the syringe into the endless waves swashing playfully outside the illuminator.
Then he falls back on the bunk, and pulls the blanket over his head.
Suez is still days away.