Pale thin fingers hovered for an instant over the windowsill, for a moment their owner doubted his strength and they retreated back into the long sleeve from which they had originated. Then they returned and clamped themselves to the window, slowly commanding the glass to slide upwards. The soft rain was eager to fall where it had, until now, been dry. It dived through the open window with a solid determination to die on the wooden floorboards.
The owner of the spidery hands hovered before the window, dressed in a worn bathrobe which clung to his thin frame. With a movement of his hand his white wrist came free of its sleeve and revealed a battlefield of puncture marks. Thin lips pursed, as ghostly hands reached for a needle. There was a moment of pain, and then as the drug took effect, the eyelids of Sherlock Holmes fluttered in a moment of bliss.
After a few moments of breathing and feeling the pure elation, he placed the syringe back into it's hiding place nestled into the one place John wouldn't bother looking: the case for his Stradivarius. The violin itself had been moved to a perch in Sherlock's bedroom and the case had become somewhat of a well disguised cocaine store. Where the polished wood once sat was now filled with bottles and a syringe carefully wrapped in cloth. Sherlock fumbled with the clasps, his fingers twitching ever so slightly enough to make it difficult. Where once there was boredom and lethargy there was now excitement, an endless supply of energy.
Sherlock's sensitive ears picked up the sound of John's slight limp as he came up the stairs. He slid the violin case off to one side next to a bookshelf where it would go unnoticed and then lay himself on the couch with his eyes shut and his fingertips pressed against each other in his usual pose of boredom. He looked completely innocent when John opened the door.
"No, no don't help me. I'll just carry in all the groceries as usual." John said with an air of irritation as he walked into the apartment laden with plastic bags. A grunt was the only acknowledgement that Sherlock gave.
"Have you been laying there all day? You were in that exact pose when I left this morning." John sighed. "You really should get out more."
"Yes, mum." Sherlock smirked.
"I'd suggest a girlfriend but we all know that's impossible." John quipped while putting groceries away. To his credit he managed to slide a gallon of milk past a Ziploc bag full of fingers without batting an eyelash.
"I could say the same for you." Sherlock opened his eyes and pushed himself upwards into a sitting position. He kept his movements smooth so as not to betray the frantic twitching of his muscles and the rapid heartbeat.
"I don't have time for a girlfriend. I've got to babysit you." John grinned.
"Here I thought that was Mycroft's job." Sherlock sighed and pulled his knees up under his chin. "Any word from Lestrade?"
"No. Not since the last time you texted and asked me five minutes ago."
"Pity."
"Only you would think its a pity that its been a relatively crime free day." John gathered up the empty grocery bags and shoved them in the trash can before walking over to the couch and plopping down next to Sherlock's feet.
"It's more than a pity. It's damned arduous." Sherlock hissed, lips drawing themselves into a pout and eyes narrowing into a glare. John found himself staring at those eyes. Something just wasn't quite right about those eyes.
"Sherlock...I think your pupils are dilated." He murmured, leaning forward to better see his friend's eyes.
"I think you tried to hit on the checkout girl again and got snubbed. Also you're still a bit hungover from drinking with Stamford last night and that's probably what made you so uncaring about how you looked this morning that you would put on the same shirt that you wore yesterday, not to mention the clumsiness. You spilled coffee on yourself this morning and stubbed your toe on the end-table." Sherlock huffed. His tirade had the exact effect he had wanted, John glared and pulled away from Sherlock.
"I was just concerned. No need to be a smartass." He replied gruffly.
"Well you pried into my personal life so I pried into yours, not that you're really doing a good job of hiding anything." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I get it, you're very clever, well done!" John stood and stalked out of the room with an offended air. Sherlock glanced after him and then pushed his legs back out in front of him. He still had a few minutes of high left and he was going to enjoy them. The cocaine was still working its way through his system, increasing his heart rate. There was a pleasant feeling of superiority that began as a warmth in his chest and migrated into his head to become a faint buzzing at the base of his skull.
Sherlock closed his eyes and grinned.