Title: A sedation of mind
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: "What am I missing?" His muttered question was soon forgotten as he felt a sharp sting on his cheek and the echo of the palm against his skin resonated through his head. He glared back at her as her lips curved into a mischievous grin and she said "Me, obviously."
AN: Spoilers for 3x03. Taking a life, even for a high functioning sociopath is not a small deed. Even if that life is the one of Charles Augustus Magnussen. To escape one thing in his mind palace he stumbles, or perhaps even seeks out another.
-ooo-
The headaches were regular, but he decided not to bother with them. Instead he took a deep breath and let his skin take in the chemicals from his nicotine patch, hands clasped before him and his fingertips under his chin. He looked peaceful and calm, even though he was anything but. It would be a lie if he said he didn't think about it.
The feeling of cold metal in his hand. The weight of the gun before he shot the clever bastard and made a roundabout with the plane. Before he had been called back to London. Oddly enough this was the second time him leaving London would be the most logical conclusion when his safety was concerned. Yesterday, after the whole Magnussen incident and before, with Moriarty.
Funny how every time he encounters an enemy he needs to leave London.
Now because Mycroft didn't want him to tinker with drugs anymore he had to find another way to enter his mind palace. The patch wasn't as effective as he wanted it to be, but it would have to do.
As much as he would like to blame Mycroft for acting like mother, he couldn't. Deep down he also knew that the path he was threading on wouldn't lead anywhere but a shiny coffin and that would be just boring. He needed a case, a distraction. Anything.
He felt soft skin against his clasped fingers and as he opened his eyes, he saw her. The Woman. One arched eyebrow to match his own as she kneeled before him.
"Surprised?"
He hummed in response, because her attire was familiar. It was the one from the past - she was not real. That is why he didn't like nicotine patches. They weren't enough. Enough to push past her.
"You barging into my thought process is becoming bothersome, Irene. I need you to leave."
She only gave him a pleasant smile while she moved to the chair opposite of his and made herself comfortable. This was one of those times it would seem. No sleep would come to him tonight.
"As you said Sherlock, it is your thoughts that brought me here. Miss me?"
He let out a shallow breath, his concentration failing him for a moment. Odd, how he was always so out of control when it came to her, always on edge. What that edge was, he didn't know. Only that when he crossed it there would be no turning back.
He snorted at his thought. It wasn't like behind her stood some profound truth that he was oblivious to. His gaze went to her, fascinated by the detail in which his mind managed to conjure her.
"Don't be ridiculous. I needed a distraction."
She played with the armrest all the while not letting her eyes leave his.
"I am here aren't I, a distraction?"
He glared in return as she has clearly settled in for the evening intent on bothering him now of all times, when he was at his wits end and he simply couldn't stand it. She could sense his distress and why wouldn't she? She was his minds reflection and he didn't want to analyze what that meant.
"Stop hounding me!" his voice raised and his fingers dug into his hands. It hurt but he could see her wince at his outburst. Another proof that she was nothing more than an image.
In the next moment she was up, back to him, invading his personal space. She was close enough that he could almost feel her breath on his skin, but her eyes never left him and stubborn as he was he refused to look away.
"Oh dear, look at the poor boy, struggling with himself. It is time you stop being so oblivious and see what is in front of you Sherlock."
He frowned in thought. He never liked when she appeared, but she never once said a thing without it having some meaning. His mind wouldn't allow her to.
"What am I missing?"
His muttered question was soon forgotten as he felt a sharp sting on his cheek and the echo of the palm against his skin resonated through his head. He glared back at her, because it was the same side as before, before when… He shook his head. Now was not the time.
"Me, obviously."
Her replay only made him frown even further.
"No, that's not it."
He won't let it be. Maybe it sounded immature but he had been called worse and now he would take anything to avoid even his own mind taunting him. She moved away, crossed her arms and looked at him with disappointment.
"Fine, be that way."
Good, at least in his mind she doesn't press for answers, doesn't come into his life and turn it upside down, making him remember her every passing moment in return. God he hated it. And yet craved it at the same time.
"Now is not the time for you to be here, I have more important things to focus on."
She nodded absently and went back to sit in the same place she was in before.
"Yes, Moriarty. If I recall I was the direct participant in those events and one of the people who knows as much about the consulting criminal as you do, alas I am here."
He rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"Yes yes, but he isn't even alive woman! This is all a ploy to get me back here. Nothing to do with you and your sentiment."
She smiled in return.
"Me being in your head and all…wouldn't it be your sentiment Sherlock?"
He growled in return.
"Oh shut up."
She gasped in fake outburst.
"Such foul language Sherlock and in front of a lady. You should know better."
"I do and you are no lady."
She gave him a more seductive smile and it only made to throw him off his game once again.
"That I am not."
"Would you quit that already?"
She slumped back and after a moment stood up.
"Only if you admit to it."
It had taken him a lot of time to put her in a place where she won't disturb his every waking thought and he didn't like it now being brought up for debate. It was something he was completely satisfied to ignore and leave buried in the deepest corners of his mind palace. Maybe he could get John to perform lobotomy on him so he could forget all about her, but his friend would probably be horrified by the idea and give him some speech about doctors and honor and probably make him recite Hippocratic oath as many times as it took to get the ridiculous suggestion out of his head.
And if he knew John as well as he thought he did, the man would probably be overjoyed that there was someone that caught his attention other than the newest case. Okay, maybe overjoyed was a strong word. Pleased more like it.
Yes, ignorance was bliss and he shall be the most oblivious man on earth if that's what it takes.
"Admit to what?"
Even imaginary Irene knew better than to say anything to argue because they both knew what it was. He took another deep breath calming his thoughts. When he opened his eyes she wasn't there - he was alone.
He let out a breath of relief not letting the disappointment settle in. That is until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders that slid around him as her head settled on one, her face right next to his.
"What are we going to do about it Sherlock, hm?"
He felt his mouth go dry and he didn't dare respond. Maybe because he didn't even know how to respond to it all. His head was in the pace of its own.
"About…"
He never managed to say his feeble defense, as she continued.
"Your sentiment Sherlock and the fact that at this moment you are drowning in it."
He let out another shallow breath, tired all of a sudden.
"Yes, well you are not here, are you Irene? You don't get to taunt and prick on the old wounds. You get to be where you are now because you are not here. So from now on that's all you'll ever be."
Irene turned her head towards him and he did the same as they stood only inches apart, so close that he could see a small smile frame her lips and the spark in her eyes.
How he missed her.
He gave her a small smile, the one which always came when the two of them were at odds and they would confront and banter in a way that made his heart race.
"I'll be what Sherlock?"
She whispered softly and now he was sure more than ever.
"A memory."
Her face turned surprised, bewildered and in return he closed his eyes, leaned his head and tore the patch from his hand. The sounds of reality came crashing in and as he opened his eyes he was alone.
He got up slowly and went to the window. Rain was still pouring on the London landscape. He felt as if he achieved something, left the last remnant of the past behind him, and really to conquer whoever was the new enemy before him he had to do so. He would have to be at his best. No distractions allowed.
So what if he never felt sharper than when she was here, or more able and ready to do what was right to solve any riddle or a case? His gaze landed on the drawer where the familiar object was. Maybe it was time he got rid of it too.
He found it and it felt familiar in his hand, the weight of it, the cool feeling, almost like metal. A sudden sound as the thunder broke through the London sky made him drop the phone to the table.
I am a high functioning sociopath.
Oh what have you done Sherlock.
He winced thinking about his moment of weakness. Maybe he wasn't alright and maybe he didn't know how to tell John but he needed to get past it. He needed to be ready for anything even though he could handle nothing right now.
I will burn the heart out of you.
His hand shook and he took a deep breath. This was going to be a problem, one he didn't know how to deal with. Maybe the sentiment wasn't his biggest one, not when his life was at stake. He needed something to hold on to. Anything.
The buzzing from the phone was what snapped him out of it. Another roar of thunder could be heard as he took the phone from the table, his mind racing. The message was simple, yet complex in its meaning.
"Surprise, Mr. Homes."- I.A.
He felt that the world was going faster and faster, his mind just couldn't grasp it all. The last few months have been difficult but maybe this was what he needed to turn things around. As much as he feared it all he couldn't help the rush of excitement running through his veins.
Gathering his wits about him, he shrugged his coat on and made his way out to the street. No two ways about it, time to face it all and he will show them once more why he was the best. As he stepped onto the rainy pavement of Baker Street he pulled his collar up tighter and made his way to a cab. It was enough thinking. It was time to do.
"Game on."