Bang, bang, bang.
It wasn't knocking. It was banging. Sherlock woke up with a jolt at the noise, his heart immediately beginning to pound. He only could associate this strange event with something not good. Not good at all. He shakily pulled himself out of bed, his legs feeling quite like jell-o. The sun was bleeding into his room and it was a bit chilly. He was hazy and did his best to focus on getting to the door before someone broke it down. He pulled his dressing gown around his pyjamas before walking over to his door to look through the rather convenient peep hole. Please don't be Seb, please don't be Seb.
Irene Adler.
He let out an annoyed (and somewhat relieved) huff before unlocking and opening the door for his friend. "What the hell are you doing here so early banging on my door?" He hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside before anyone came out of their rooms to question the noise and the pretty little number outside his room.
"Darling, you weren't answering your phone. I was only thinking the worst." She sighed dramatically, pulling away from him to go make herself at home on Sherlock's bed, kicking off her flip flops. She was half bloody naked. In the boys' dorm. She was out of her mind. This wasn't news, however.
"Did you shower in this building too? Why are you here?" He asked, catching himself pacing in front of his bed that was now occupied by her majesty.
"No, stop getting your knickers all in a twist, sweetheart. I'm just stopping by to see my good old pal." She cooed. She ran he newly polished finger nails through her damp hair, looking as if she were about to get her picture taken for a magazine. She was quite breathtaking and Sherlock was sure he'd be attracted to her if he weren't gay.
"People are going to think things with you barging in here like this." Sherlock complained going over to the small kitchenette in his dorm that didn't really have food more so beakers covered by parafilm holding odd chemicals and gels. He even had a mini incubator in place of his microwave which only added to the morbid smell of his room.
"Well good. Then they'll stop chasing you around calling you a fairy." Irene pointed out, giving Sherlock's pillow a sniff, "Ah, ah. Someone's on cigarettes again." She smirked, an eyebrow raised. Like she had room to talk, she smoked a pack a day along with the several drugs she dabbled in at parties.
"I have a stressful enough life to warrant the occasional smoke." He said under his breath, opening up the incubator to look over the colonies of chlamydia on his plates. He was attempting to find ways to kill it off as a past time; nothing working so far it seemed.
"How do they even let you have that horrid stuff in here?" Irene coughed, waving her hand in front of her nose. The smell was atrocious. "You're never going to get that Watson boy in here like this. Get a better hobby please, darling."
Sherlock felt his ears go red at the comment, "Shut up." He snapped, shoving the plate back into the incubator before shutting it. He opened a window to air out the smell, "Stop acting like you... know things." He mumbled, finding a granola bar to fill in for his breakfast, "I've never even spoken to him." He hated how warm his face felt. He chomped at the granola bar, willing for the blush to disappear from his face.
Irene was having a laugh off of Sherlock's embarrassment, "So, then speak to him. Duh." She replied simply, snatching a pen and post-it note off of Sherlock's desk, scrawling out on it 'will suck dick for intellectual conversations'. She then walked over to stick it to Sherlock's forehead with a satisfied smirk on her face. It wasn't even a second before Sherlock peeled it right off, read it, and crumbled it up in his hand.
"Not funny." He said, tossing the note unsuccessfully at the trash bin.
"Come on, Sherly. It's Uni. Go out. Have fun. Get drunk. Suck some guy off in the bathroom so you can regret it in the morning but at least have the experience." Irene sighed, tossing herself back on to the bed, "Bet you haven't even kissed anyone, right?"
Sherlock ignored the question completely, not wanting to get into any of that. He walked over, checked the time and began packing up his things into his book bag. "I have to leave for classes in about twenty minutes. You need to go. Do whatever it is that you do." He told Irene, giving her a serious look.
"Fine, fine." She slipped off the bed and slipped back on her shoes, "Just wanted to pay my friend a visit and see that he's okay. Golly." She hummed, padding over to Sherlock's side, "We're partying tomorrow night. You're coming even if I have to drag your pale arse out of this room." With that she kissed his cheek and stumbled out of the room in only her flip flops, underwear, and dressing gown.
He let out a loud groan, running his hands through his hair. He focused on getting ready. T-shirt. Jeans. Earbuds to block people out.
He looked at the crumbled up note, reaching down to throw it away properly this time. Irene Adler. She was certainly... something else. Sometimes he regretted befriending Irene; however, somewhere deep inside of him he knew she was beneficial in getting him out there. Out of his shell.
He took a deep breath.
How bad could a party be?
He repeated the question in his head over and over; the answer became less and less reassuring.