SHERLOCK: NOT OKAY
Author's note: Hey guys I've decided to continue this!
I can't give you a complete summary of where it's going because tbh I'm not even completely sure... I mean I have a basic outline of what I want to happen but nothing is set in stone! ;) but I can say it will involve drug use, fluffy moments, dark moments, sex and 'consequences of actions' (take that how you want)... How all that will actually translate into words I don't know, but it will happen! :D
I hope you guys don't mind my style of writing. How I switch the POVs (even though it's not in first person) and all the paragraph breaks and stuff... I'm trying to explore what is going through the characters heads and how they're feeling, whilst keeping in character as best as I can. I also don't want to rush the story too much.
Thanks for the reviews! They're much appreciated and I love them! :)
I own nothing but my story line ;)
Here's chapter 2... Enjoy!
CHAPTER TWO:
The morning after their sexual encounter Sherlock awoke just after 8. He still craved the cocaine but found that he wanted something much more, sex. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up with 'morning wood'. Occasionally he'd work wonders with his hand if he had nothing better to do but the feeling he'd got from Molly was more enjoyable, despite his mind going AWOL on him. He wondered if it would be even better now that he wasn't high.
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Molly sighed contently as she was woken up by her fiancée pressing soft kisses to her lips.
Wait.
That wasn't right. She hadn't fallen asleep next to Tom. It took a moment for her sleepy brain to engage but her eyes snapped open to see Sherlock. Her mind quickly replayed last night and she realised she'd escaped a hangover despite drinking a fair amount.
He looked her in the eyes, a half smirk spread across his features and before she could protest he was kissing her passionately again. She allowed his tongue to push past her lips and compared the slow pace of the kiss to last night's impatient one. If it was possible she'd almost describe it as Sherlock being sensitive, a word she never thought she'd use to describe him or his actions.
He gently pushed her on to her back and positioned himself over her. He used one arm to balance and one hand went under the shirt he lent her and explored her body with no real direction, reminding her of her teenage years and encounters with inexperienced touchy-feely boys.
It also reminded her of her first time with Tom, he was so nervous and awkward when it happened. They both were.
"Excuse me?"
"Huh?" She blinked and realised Sherlock had stopped what he was doing, greeny-blue eyes staring down at her.
"You just called me Tom."
"I didn't call you Tom," she could feel her cheeks going red, "I was just thinking about him." She kicked herself mentally for saying that as soon as the words left her mouth. Most men wouldn't be happy at hearing that, and Sherlock's sudden sexual appetite proved to her that he was at least a little bit like most men, so she anticipated the annoyed response.
Instead he just kept looking at her.
He blinked several times, his expression unreadable. She shifted nervously and accidentally brushed his hard cock through the material if his boxers with the inside of her thigh. He let out an almost inaudible gasp then rolled off her.
He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown.
"You should go now," he didn't even bother looking at her as he left the room.
She quickly got dressed after that. The reality and guilt was beginning to sink in.
Sherlock was in the shower as she left. She cautiously went down the stairs, with every step thinking of a plausible explanation if Miss Hudson was to pop up. Luckily that never happened.
Once on the street she quickly hailed a black cab and gave the cabbie her address. She could see him checking out her attire in the mirror and begun small talk of how 'it must have been one hell of a night' but he soon shut up once she he saw the tears flowing down her face.
She had no contact with Sherlock for about a month after that.
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Sherlock thought about Molly several times during the next month.
Usually when he was bored and/or high, he'd either think about Molly first and then their sex session, then become turned on, or the drugs would kick start his sex drive and then he'd think about Molly. Either way, sex and Molly went hand in hand in his mind.
He could have easily had sex with Janine, she was definitely up for it, but whenever he was with her his mind was constantly thinking about the Magnussen case; it was hard to switch off from especially when she'd talk about her day at work and the boss. The case made him too excited to focus on sex.
The case took importance over sex but increasingly his focus on the case was becoming hindered by something else.
Cocaine and heroin. An upper and a downer respectively, but he didn't mind which one he took. They both worked wonders when he needed to relax or focus his mind or he was bored. And for the case; ultimately, that's why he was taking them the case. Just for the case.
He knew there was no such thing as an 'in-control drug addict' but he was managing to convince himself that that's what he was. At first he'd been able to stick to only getting high at the drugs den every other couple of nights, then after a few weeks he found himself getting high nearly every night, sometimes in the solace of his own apartment when he knew he wouldn't be disturbed by Mrs Hudson, Janine or anybody else.
"It's for the case," he'd mutter to himself. Not just because he was bored or was now finding it easier to concentrate mentally with their aid. He wasn't slipping back into his old habits. He'd stop as soon as his habit leaked into the media as he desired.
He'd been high when John turned up at the drug den. He knew he'd have to explain himself when the story did hit the press but he thought he'd be able to do it at his own comfort. But no, now the secret was out and with no chance to explain beforehand everybody just assumed that he'd slipped back into his old ways. Including Molly.
It had been a month since she had seen him and she welcomed him with a slap. Well three slaps. Each with more anger behind it than the one before.
Not a good move when he was high, he wouldn't physically hurt her but he could have easily torn her to shreds with his sharp tongue. But he managed to hold it back, he didn't want to ruin any chance he had left of having sex with her again. Especially now she'd seemingly split up with Tom.
For a while after that he didn't get high, not from illegal drugs anyway. With a gunshot wound, the hospital gave him all the morphine he could want.
Three weeks later he was officially discharged with advice to take over-the-counter Ibuprofen to control any pain he might experience.
John spent a lot of time back at 221b over the next couple of months, partly due to the case, partly due to the 'domestic' he was having with Mary and partly, Sherlock suspected, to keep an eye on him in regards to taking drugs.
He could count on one hand the amount of times he managed to get high during this period. He mentally thanked John for making it so hard for him to do so without being caught, yet at the same time he hated him for it.
He knew it wasn't just for the case anymore but he couldn't help it.
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Molly didn't expect Sherlock to turn up at her house so she hadn't seen him since she'd slapped him, not even to visit him at the hospital, and in the few the months he'd been discharged he hadn't shown up at the morgue either. Although a part of her wanted him to show his face, she knew she'd probably just make a fool of herself and end up getting hurt by him as she usually did. Plus she was still angry. Seeing his drug habit plastered across the daily tabloids. How dare he? Not to mention the headlines of his and Janine's sexual encounters, that didn't help her feelings either.
But now she had no choice but to confront him. Four days before Christmas and he was on her doorstep.
He knocked this time, usually opting to break in or use the spare key he had. She didn't bother questioning him about how he got a copy.
"May I come in?" He asked.
"You're not high are you?"
She could tell he was trying hard to not to give a smart ass reply and he just opted for a simple "no." She stepped aside and let him in her apartment.
"How could you Sherlock?" She cried the moment she shut the front door.
"It was for a case." He replied calmly.
"So I've heard," she watched him walk up to the sofa, taking his coat off and laying it over the back before taking a seat. Sitting up straight and fingers interlaced.
She took a seat in her armchair opposite, picking up the remote control to turn off the TV.
She sat back and pulled her dressing gown closer around her body, looking everywhere but his eyes. She could feel his eyes burning into her, waiting for her to speak again so he could properly judge what she was feeling towards him and tailor the perfect response like he always did. Eventually she met his gaze.
"That night we..." She willed herself not to go red, "we had sex. You were high, weren't you? You left your best friend's wedding to get a fix."
"No," he sounded offended at this accusation, "I didn't leave with the intention of getting high."
"But you did." She wasn't backing down.
"Yes," he admitted. "I did."
"That's the only reason you had sex with me right? Because you were high!" She sat forward mixture of sadness and anger building up inside of her. "Why do you think it's okay to keep doing this to me, Sherlock? I give you everything, I do everything you ask! I give you body parts, I help you fake your death; I go to the morgue at ridiculous hours just to aid you on a case. And yet you always throw it back in my face! You just use me! And all it takes is a few meaningless thank yous, apologies and compliments and I give in because I'm an idiot!"
"Molly..."
"Shut up! I haven't finished!" She got up and begun pacing around, she was on a roll now and she wasn't going to give him a chance to twist it around before she'd made it to the end. "Do you have any idea how much I worry about you? I cheated on my fiancé and lied to him all because... I..." Tears begun to roll down her face and she was getting choked up on her words. "Because I..." she repeated. 'I love you,' it sounded right in her head. But did she really love a man who treated her like nothing more than an object to manipulate when she was needed? That wasn't right. He wasn't the Prince Charming she had imagined falling in love with as little girl. No, it was lust. Not love.
Before she could actually say anything more out loud Sherlock had stood up and taken hold of her wrist, stopping her from pacing.
"Don't say sorry," she said looking up at him through tear glazed eyes.
Still holding of her arm with one hand, he bought the other up to her face and cupped her cheek wiping tears away with his thumb.
"You're not an idiot. Sentiment is a chemical defect, a weakness, but I've learnt it can't be helped. I'm an idiot, thinking that it's acceptable to exploit a person I should be grateful to."
She didn't know how to take his words; he looked sincere, but then he always did when he wanted to get his way.
And then his eyes were closed.
Then he was leaning towards her.
Kissing her.
Exploiting her chemical defect.
For a minute she let him; it felt so good, like that night a couple of months ago. She ran her hand through his hair pulling him deeper into the kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance.
Exploitation at its most.
She pushed him away and he looked shocked.
"Get out!" She shouted and his expression changed to confusion. "You are an idiot! You can't just admit using me and then just kiss me!"
"I wasn't using you," he said.
"Get out now!"
"I was trying to apologise. I'm not even high this time!"
"Oh, because that makes it better? Just leave me alone Sherlock! I hate you!"
She didn't really hate him. She didn't love him. She didn't know what she felt right now.
For once he didn't argue back or say anything. He picked up his coat and left.
She sat on the sofa and sobbed quietly to herself. What an idiot. And then her phone vibrated in her pocket. She wiped her eyes on her sleeves and pulled it out.
It was him.
She didn't have to unlock the phone to read it.
'Please. I'm not okay. I'm addicted. SH'
She reread it several times before throwing the device across onto the armchair.
He wasn't the only one. When he kissed her she was nearly putty in his hands.
He was so bad for her yet she wanted more.