God knows I do not own Sherlock. And one does not simply own Lauren.

"Human error"

Of course, but, why?

"There is no need for you to bring out the obvious" Sherlock made himself comfortable in the narrow sofa at the bottom of the living room while opening the seal of the nicotine patches box. Understanding human behaviour required, at least, two of them.

"You did ask me to think like your brother. And that's indeed what your brother would say in this situation. Then, he'd let you deduce a few more things and he'd interrupt you after every two sentences." Lauren seemed utterly confident in her abilities.

Sherlock quickly realised the woman was getting impatient. He nodded, and turned his head upwards to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry" the words came automatically from his mouth as if someone was talking through him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I'm sorry" apologizing made him feel dizzy and dried his mouth. He knew how to pronounce those words, but he didn't get to understand why others needed to hear them. Why am I apologizing?

"I've already heard you, Sherlock" Lauren didn't seem to need them at that very moment.

The room remained in an uncomfortable silence. Such a worthy situation that Sherlock used to explore his own brain's functioning. Lauren. Why? There had been no contact between them since the first night he got back into drugs to bring John back into his life. Then Eurus came, but Lauren was still gone.

Why? Why her? Why precisely her? Why in that very moment?

The consulting detective observed how his friend had begun to shake her leg impatiently. She was wearing her common bell-bottoms. She surely needed a cigarette. He wanted to go outside and smoke with her. He wanted to leave his flat. What had happened in that flat?

Why have I asked her for help in the first place?

Human error, brother.

"I need . . ." Sherlock closed his eyes to stay focused and prevent his brain to overtake his vocal chords. Wait. What is my brain doing? Was it screaming in pain? Why? ". . . I need you, Lauren"

"Are you getting high again?"

"No, I think"

"Why am I even here, Sherlock?"

"I don't know. I need to find an explanation for this, but I simply cannot. Why are you here?"

"You needed help. You need help. You called me"

He proceed to rise his arm and cut off his circulation for a few seconds. Maybe, when the blood came back to his system, swamped in nicotine, he could see the situation with clarity. In the meantime, she was useful.

"I need your help" a high and irritating violin melody keep drilling his ears. That could never be considered music. That was a sin. Where does it come from? It was noise, sneaking into his brain like false information, turning his deduction process into a mistaken one. He had never felt so much noise inside of him. Maybe Moriarty made him feel like that once. But that was not about Jim Moriarty, was it?

Did you miss me?

True facts. Those his brain was demanding. "I need you to deduce . . . me. I need you to look at me very carefully and tell me what you see. And do not stop under any circumstances. You can do it as well as Mycroft, come on."

"I see you're dead, Sherlock" She was smiling for no visible reason. "Your mind can't resolve this puzzle because it's an incompatible system of equations. I see you weak, silent and haggard. You're always creating new melodies, but today you stopped. You want the world to stop too, you feel dizzy . . ."

". . . dizzy" he muttered. "Dizzy." he repeated. "Why? Why are you doing what I tell you? You never do what I tell you. "

Lauren gentle smile had turned into a disapproval grin "Do you want me to stop?"

"Do not stop"

She carried on, smiling again. "You have a case, and you don't know how to proceed at all. You want to shoot up. You're probably asking yourself why you have called me in the first place. Is it because you want to get high again with that shit you fabricate inside your kitchen?"

Shit. Lauren liked saying 'shit'.

What has happened to the Great Sherlock Holmes? It's just shitty letter, that one.

Deduce. Deduce. Deduce. Deduce.

All of a sudden, Lauren came really close to the sofa, she kneeled beside him and leaned her face against his chest. She was always unpredictable, but this time it was different, it was the sort of fast move Sherlock himself would have performed. She was checking his pulse. She seemed focused.

"What can you hear?" he asked.

"You can't solve the puzzle in the letter impaled on the chimney's shelf because your heart doesn't beat. You need me."

Stop. Stop. I can't. Sherlock felt like he was about to vomit, he was staring directly at Lauren's eyes, she remained leaned against him as if she was still hoping to hear a minimum heartbeat. They had never made eye contact. Her eyes were pale grey, they turned his stomach.

"Stop staring at me"

Lauren raised her head. "You're the one staring at me, Sherlock"

"Why are you doing this to me?" his frustration was so painful that he felt trapped into a crystal recipient that had, somehow, adapted to the shape of his body. The air could not reach his lungs. It would be easier if it was cigarette smoke.

Why am I in pain? I'm not hurt. I was hurt once, I was shot.

Something in Lauren's posture alarmed him. What was she going to do to him?

"Stop making noise over there!" with one hand she pointed at his head. With the other hand she took him by his patched arm, making his long forgotten arm's bloodstream rush into his body, full of nicotine. He felt tears of pain in his eyes. "Look for the true data there, look at me! Why are you in pain?"

"The nicotine . . ."

"It's not the patches. I said look at me" he obeyed, he couldn't find any reason not to do what Lauren was demanding. Her eyes confused him. Maybe that was the reason why they never made eye contact before. Why am I doing what she says?

"I am looking for a sentence. A statement. I have heard it before. Mycroft said it" To who? Why couldn't he remember?

You're dead. I cannot hear your pulse.

"However, you know it's the appropriate one. You just thought of it"

"No I didn't, you said it out load"

"Is there any difference?" Lauren looked like Mycroft. She was kneeling upright on the floor, next to him. Why am I thinking about my brother? Is he also in pain? Why on earth would he be upset?

She looked impatient. She was impatient. Why?

"John just got back from the grocery store" it was she reading his mind now. Like many other times. "He's talking with Ms. Hudson about an event he's attending tomorrow. He's not sure you're coming, he's coming upstairs to ask you about it. You still want to get high. John!" she shouted.

¡John!

"John!" he called.

In that very moment his pulse went back. He suddenly was full of life. Why?

"I have to leave" Lauren's eyes became teary. "I think you're OK now"

"I need you" Sherlock Holmes felt like he was begging.

I. Don't. Want. To. Die.

"You can call me" she replied. Liar.

John.

His friend had come into the room with two grocery bags heavily filled.

"I figured out you were living on nicotine" John looked at his friend, then at the chimney's shelf, where the problematic letter had been brutally stabbed. He felt sad for his friend, Sherlock was pale, almost catatonic. He deposited both bags on the kitchen table, carefully looking for signs of drug making. Finding none of it.

"Sherlock, do you need any help with that?" he pointed at the letter "I know it's difficult, but Mycroft is overwhelmed with the preparations, and he needs your help. He's, in fact, devastated.

"I have already solved it. I needed some help to think clearly" he looked at Lauren and winked. She looks sad.

"I didn't know you used any help with . . . anything, but I'm glad you did it" John smiled affectionately at his friend. The fact that he was actually clean had brought a ray of sunshine to the obscure 221b Baker Street. It had been like that since the explosion of the movement grenade. "What's going to be the inscription of the tombstone?"

Of course.

"She would have appreciated the Holmes honouring her with a last 'Human error'" something similar to a smile could be guessed in his pale face." She had the irritating habit of thinking it was a compliment"

So, I'm writing my first fic in English. It is a reflection about BBC Sherlock. I think it's shocking how this series gets into people's hearts and I needed to be part of it, even just a tiny little bit.

First of all, I translated my own story, so it might have some mistakes, I apologize for them but I truly think this version is much better that my Spanish one.

Second, I tried to recreate Sherlock's confused mind. I'm never, ever going to write a long fic because I can't dig deeper into any of this characters' minds without going mad, or worse, obsessed. They are too complex for my simple brain. But writing this was equally hard and beautiful.

¿Who is Lauren? I have no idea, I truly want someone for Sherlock to fall in love with, but I'm not even sure of Sherlock being capable of what we call 'falling in love', I was thinking more of a deep psychological weird connection…

Anyway, I hope you like it! Sorry if the dialogue is kind of chaotic, Sherlock happens to have a chaotic brain hahaha