I decide the safest course of action in this situation is to flee the scene. That said, there really isn't anywhere to run. Then I remember that I haven't showered in three or four days, and see an escape route.
"So, um, would you be terribly bothered if I use your shower? I... uh... kinda haven't cleaned up in awhile." Sherlock nods distractedly, and waves in the general direction of the kitchen. Investigating a bit, I realize there's a small hallway that branches off into the bedroom and bathroom. I leave my meager collection in a corner near the couch, and make my way back to the bathroom. Said bathroom is decently sized and relatively average, with a shower head over the bathtub and a curtain, a toilet with a lid, and a sink with a bottle of soap and a can of shaving cream. I undress and move to turn the water on... but am startled by the large pile of cow (?) intestine in the bottom of the tub. I give a very long, very exasperated groan, before grabbing a random towel and storming back into the living room.
"Sherlock Holmes! Why is there intestine in your bathtub?"
"Because I put it there."
"And how do you shower with an intestine in your bathtub?"
"I use John's."
"What? Since when have you used my shower?"
"um..." Since two weeks ago.
"That intestine has been in there for two weeks?!"
"How did you know?"
"Because you thought it, dumbass!"
"Uh, Sherlock, who is she anyway?" Where did she come from, why is she here... wait did she just read his mind?
"Not now John."
"Yes John, I just read his mind. Sherlock! You have to go move the rotting intestine!"
"No."
"Wait, what?"
"Are you sure you want to refuse?"
"Yes."
"Fine." I clench my teeth and shut my eyes, bringing one hand up to my temple. To teach him a lesson, I allow him consciousness, but force his body to do what I want it to. He gets a slightly panicked expression on his face when his feet start to move of their own accord, which quickly switches to confusion when he enters the bathroom, then intrigue when he comes out carrying the intestine in his arms. I direct him downstairs, where I move him out the door and to the dumpsters, there the intestine is dropped, and I leave him to climb the stairs back to the flat by himself. Giving a pained groan at the heightened ache the ordeal caused, I march back into the bathroom and leave the two to their own devices.
I really needed this shower. Even though I've never been the most particular about hygiene, going four days without even a face wash is nasty. My hair is so gross it doesn't even look white anymore, and my pale skin turns almost gray, not to mention the sticky texture of an extra layer of sweat. Anyway, after scrubbing my skin raw and washing through three layers of shampoo, I step out and dry off with the towel I grabbed earlier. Feeling wonderfully fresh and squeaky, I realize that all of my clothes are in the living room. Frowning, I look around and find a large red and green plaid robe hanging on the door. Deciding it will be acceptable for now, I wrap it around myself and head back to the living room, where I am greeted with one extremely annoyed detective and one royally confused doctor. I settle in for a long and tedious explanation, and make my way over to my things and dig around for the least smelly outfit of the lot. Settling on a baggy gray sweatshirt and some blue skinny jeans, I trudge back to the bathroom, change, return to the living room, clear the couch, and collapse into it with a huff of annoyance.
"So, y'all have questions. For the sake of your sanity, I'll wait for you to ask before I answer." I throw an arm over my eyes, and wait with little to no patience for the inevitable questioning to begin. And because I am preoccupied with the tedious task of formulating answers to all of John's unasked questions, I am caught completely unawares by Sherlock's sudden inquiry.
"We should go out tonight." we need to investigate a circus.
"What?" John and I ask at exactly the same time, before John gives a sigh.
"Sherlock, I have a date."
"What?" I almost snicker at the blank look Sherlock gives him.
"It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun." John explains. And then go home and get some afterward.
"That's what I was suggesting." the urge to laugh is almost overpowering by now, the whole conversation has been just ludicrous.
"No, it wasn't." especially not the afterward. How is a man as brilliant as he such a total idiot? "At least I hope not." Sherlock stares in silence for a moment, forming his next question.
"Where are you taking her?"
"Cinema and dinner."
"Dull. Try this?" He hands John a pair of circus tickets. I'll just buy another and show up after him, then we can investigate the smugglers' hideout.
"Um... Ok?" oh, that guy is such a bastard. You don't just turn someone's date into an investigation. With this in mind, I decide to very discreetly save John's ass in the books of his girlfriend, and plant the idea in his mind to go to the cinema anyway, and just not tell Sherlock. Hopefully, I will be able to keep the man distracted. John, on the other hand, has returned to the questioning train of thought, and I resign myself to the inevitable.
"Who are you?"
"Fineane Nephetyrie." yeah, I know its a mouthful, but it fits. An exceptional name for an exceptional person, as they say.
"Why are you here?"
"Experiment." I lazily gesture towards Sherlock who is distracted by his own cipher breaking. 9 Mill for...
"Whats this whole deal with Mind-reading, and what did you do to Sherlock earlier?"
"I'm psychic. I don't read minds so much as get unwillingly barraged by the thoughts of others in an approximate 10 mile radius. I also have compulsion abilities, which allows me basic idea planting to total mind-control, depending on how much of a headache I want afterwords." After this statement, John gives me a wary look, his thoughts turning disbelieving and protective.
"Why do you look like you just came down from a high?" I sigh, and Sherlock tenses slightly, his overactive imagination jumping to overdrive with all the possible ways his earlier intentions for the night could be revealed. I decide the safest method to deal with this would be to tell the truth on my part but formulate a lie on his.
"Because I did." John turns to Sherlock, intending to interrogate him for the reason he brought a druggie home with him, experiment or no. discreetly, I plant my lie in his memory next to what actually happened, and give him a sly grin as he casually relays running into me on his way back to the museum where he believed the book 'Soo Lin' had been using to decipher the code would have still been. John, thankfully, believes the story, and with one more curious glance in my direction, gives a huge yawn and makes an excuse to go back to sleep, up in his own room.
Left in silence with Sherlock, my mind involuntarily begins to pick up the vague thinkings of those closer to the range limit, and my head gives a painful throb. I resign to let it wander, knowing that trying to restrict what I hear will only make it hurt worse.
That alarm is really too loud, it scared me shitless!
Looks like I'm having Wheaties for breakfast again. ew.
Come on mom, five more minutes!
Oh, I really shouldn't have stayed up gaming last night, I hope I don't fall asleep during the exam today... my grade is bad enough already!
Where did I put that new bag of dog food again?
Don't tell me I'm late for my meeting!
Stupid city traffic. I need to move out to Surrey.
Ooh, paid double if I get there in 15 minutes. I should probably try not to do anything illegal.
Thank God I made it on time, another tardy and I would've been fired.
I love days off. Sleeping is so nice.
I don't wanna go to work. My feet hurt. My back hurts. I should just call in sick.
I'm gonna get pissed tonight. It's been an extremely long week, I deserve it.
I hate the night shift. Nothing ever happens, it's ridiculous that they need employees all night anyway.
Ah! Yes! Harder, baby! Fu- I quickly blot out that train of thought with a disgusted expression, and pull back into my own mind, opening my eyes. Well, those seemed to be acceptable Friday morning thoughts overall. I sit up with a groan, realizing that what I thought was a few minutes of mind wandering was actually a few hours, and realize with an annoyed face what happened. I haven't fallen into a zone for years, ever since I started the Heroin really. With an irritated huff, I pick my way through the stacks of books to the fireplace, and begin picking through the ashes for the slipper Sherlock hid there.
"What are you doing?" I only delayed the inevitable by waiting for him to voice the question, but for a smart guy you'd think he would figure it out... oh, he did. "No, no, none of that. You say you can't sleep without it but I've witnessed you passed out on the couch for hours now." he plucks me up by my hood and deposits me on the couch with a growl. Of course, the action only pisses me off, just because I'm only 5 feet tall and weigh 108 pounds doesn't mean I should be picked up like a child.
"Please, you of all people should know that when someone is immobile with their eyes closed it doesn't necessarily mean they are asleep." his mind speedily sorts through the possible explanations dismissing a few and analyzing some others, and for three minutes we stare silently at each other, until he draws up his preferred idea and displays it at the forefront of his mind.
"Close, it wasn't as much a mental shut-down as it was a metal overload. I call it a zone, and it happens when my body falls into a relaxed state and I leave my mind to do as it pleases. It's the reason I can't sleep, because I involuntarily fall into a zone instead of sleeping, and instead of regenerating my body my brain ventures out and gathers excess information. Before I found heroin and it's perks, I had to use strong sedatives to knock myself out in order to rejuvenate. Nasty business, that was."
"Interesting... but don't take any now, I need you at full mental capability for this evening. I plan to experiment over the course of an investigation." I mentally groan in despair, but before I can put on my complaint face, the doctor walks downstairs, looking wonderfully well rested. Oh, how I envy him. I listen as he takes in my pouty face and Sherlock's loom, comes to a conclusion, and goes into stern doctor mode.
"I will not allow you to take drugs, or be high in this flat, Fineane, no matter how mentally talented or interesting you are. Would you like some tea?" I make a face at the mention of tea (Some Londoner I am, but it's gross. I did grow up in America after all.). Unfortunately, with the both of them on my case, I'll likely not get any, so I deign so sulk instead.
"It's Finn, and no, I would definitely not like tea." I pout harder, pull up my hood, and roll over to face the inside of the couch, making sure to radiate my displeasure. Yes, I know I'm being rude, but I think John and Sherlock would both prefer it to me manipulating their minds so they allow it. Besides, if I don't actively participate in these experiments, I'll probably be kicked out.
"I want coke." I state, and roll my eyes when the stupid British idiots automatically jump to the wrong conclusion. "No, you morons, I don't want cocaine I want Coca-Cola. You know, the carbonated sugary brown stuff? Somebody fetch it for me." I demand. My headache and foul mood inevitably make me much more disagreeable than usual, but at this level of exhaustion, if I don't either sleep or get some coke, I will be extremely pissy all day. John rolls his eyes and actively ignores me, being familiar with how do deal with childlike sulks. Sherlock, however, looks at me with a thoroughly repulsed expression on his face.
"You actually drink that schmuck?"
"Well, when I'm not high, I actively live off it. Why do you care?"
"Its foul."
"Too bad. Go fetch me some."
"Never."
"How much you wanna bet?" He opens his mouth, actively planning to bet some ridiculously high amount of money, before remembering who he's talking to and stopping in his tracks. "Or better yet, would you rather go willingly or by force?" I smirk to myself as he struggles with an answer, before coming to a reluctant conclusion.
"By force." For the experiment. I wrap my tendrils around his mind, and tie in the intense need to buy an excessive amount of Coca-Cola, right in there with his deepest desires. (Which, for his privacy, I don't look at.) Immediately, he stands, grabs his wallet and rushes out of the flat, without even putting on his coat or scarf. To my surprise, he returns, looking panicked, and demands John return his credit card, before storming out again. John warily returns to the living room with his cup of tea. What's gotten into him?
"The intense need to buy an excessive amount of Coca-Cola. He's probably made a mad dash for the nearest Tesco. He'll be back soon enough." though initially startled by my answer to his unasked question, John simply nods, and resigns himself to an elevated weirdness level for awhile. Frankly, I'm surprised by his capability to just roll with it. We sit in silence, John sips his tea, and I do times tables I my head to avoid zoning.
"Well, I'm off to work at the surgery, avoid doing anything drastic... stay sober. I'll be back later." I nod absently and he leaves. As I wait for Sherlock to return, I distractedly wander the flat, less likely to zone while up and moving. A few moments after John's exit, the doorbell rings, and I march down to answer it.
"Hello, you have reached the Sherlock residence. Would you like to leave a message?" I probably should have been paying more attention, but the neighbor across the street is thinking about some very interesting conspiracy theories, and I don't notice until it's too late that the man at the door fully intends to kidnap me. Lovely.
XXX
well, that took waaay too long. so sorry, but i get slightly paranoid about minor mistakes, so i spend excess time checking my work. hope you enjoyed, comments will be appreciated ;)
~Fish