Luminol
take me out, of your head, feed me luminol instead
of your thoughts, of your skin, of your forays into sin
take me out of your mind, feed me drink until I'm blind
then I'll crawl back inside
- "Luminol", Miracles of Modern Science
"You've got some nerve, James Moriarty! With your face, and your suits, and God!"
Sherlock Holmes, though clearly intoxicated (really, why she had decided to hit the bottle would be a question her sober mind would puzzle over for days), still spoke with perfect enunciation. She was not drunk enough to finish this, and so, she took another swig from the bottle of whiskey - for courage.
"You're so fucking sexy I just can't even- just sex. You are sex on two legs. You're - you're Mr. Sex!"
There. That was better. Another sip. More of that warm courage.
"Do you know how absolutely flustrating it is, flustrating - oh that's clever I'll have to remember that, when I'm trying to de- ded- figure things out and I just can't help but think - what would Jim do? And that is not okay, James -something- Morirarty. You are not allowed to invade my mind palace. That's mine! You have - I gave you your own damn room, and you have the fucking nerve to show up everywhere. I can't- I just - I lo-"
She stopped herself suddenly, some portion of her mind that remained untouched by that sweet vanilla-caramel-oak scented poison clamped her mouth closed before she could finish it.
The last thing that could be heard before the message ended was the unmistakeable sound of chugging.