Chapter 13
Sherlock Holmes was awoken the next morning by one of the most painful things he had ever experienced. Erika ran into the room and pulled open the curtain, revealing the bright light previously hidden behind it.
"Good Morning, Sherly!" At this point, Sherlock rolled over in an attempt to keep himself in the dark but found that instead he rolled onto the floor, his sheet still around him. He swore loudly before pulling a pillow off the bed and covering his head, muffling his words to her. "What drug did you use to do this to me?"
He could hear her smile as she crept up behind him and spoke directly over his ear. "Honey, the drug would have worn off about two hours ago. What you are experiencing now are the after effects of supreme alcoholism."
Sherlock groan and pulled the pillow tighter over his head as she continued her taunting of him. "You, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective of the modern age, are hung-over."
She burst into a fit of giggles as Sherlock attempted to throw a pillow at her. She dodged it easily and pulled him up, making him stand. "What you need is black coffee and painkillers."
Erika dumped him at the kitchen table and closed all the curtains. Her teasing was done and now she was going to help him. She made him coffee and herself some tea. She set them both down on the table along with a couple of tablets which Sherlock swallowed without question. He then downed half the coffee in his cup as Erika sat across from him, smirking and sipping her tea. He glared at her.
"Why don't you have a hangover?" She smiled at him and took another small sip of her drink before answering him.
"I told you last night, if you remember, that I drank like this since I was twelve. I have a higher alcohol tolerance."
"Of course I remember," Sherlock muttered gruffly, drinking more of his coffee. She smirked at him from across the table, unable to control herself in the humour of the situation. Before he sat possible the smartest man on the planet with perhaps a few exceptions and through the use of a few to many shots of vodka, he was reduced to the level of any other man after a big night. They both finished their drinks and Erika made Sherlock some more coffee. The rest of the day passed similarly with Erika tormenting him every now and then.
After that incident, Sherlock didn't move from his spot on the sofa for a long time, to enrapt in his thoughts to really process that there was anything else to do. He was also under house arrest by Erika for the next day or two until his injuries healed up a little better. And so, he found himself sitting on the couch for longer and longer, not coming back to reality until Erika walked in and said exasperatedly, "Seriously?"
Sherlock head snapped up and he made eye contact with her. "What?"
"You've been sitting there for 3 days! I haven't seen you move in two."
"So?" Sherlock replied, indignant.
"So," Erika said, continuing his remark. "That's not healthy."
Sherlock sighed, returning to his original position. "You're worse than John."
"Really? I'm flattered."
Sherlock turned away from her and curled up so that his back was to her with his knees pulled up to his chest. Erika let out a sigh before walking away, soon returning with some clothes, his scarf and coat."
"Put these on, we're going out."
He turned to face her at this; or at least rotated his head so he could see her. "Why should I?"
"Because I told you too. Get dressed and get up." Then she stalked closer to him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "We're. Going. Out."
Erika then left, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Sherlock thought for a moment, contemplating her proposal before deciding it might be easier to cooperate. He grabs the clothes she put out for him and dresses quickly. When she returns, now wearing some light make-up, he's fully clothed and looking respectable. She looked him up and down quickly and smiled.
"Good, now let's go. We'll get a cab." She opened the door, grabbed her bag and walked out, waiting for Sherlock to do the same, however, he has more questions.
"Where are we going?"
"That'll ruin the surprise. Come on!"
Erika essentially pulled him out the door and ran to the main road, pulling him by the hand. She hailed a taxi and they both get inside. As their driving, Erika turns to Sherlock and grabs his hand. She then drops a gold band into his palm.
"Is this a wedding ring?" Erika nodded and smirked, pulling a similar one out of her pocket. "Why?"
"It might be useful, believe me. Ah, here we are!"
The cab stopped and they both got out, Erika paying the driver. She walked him down the road a little before they found themselves standing outside a slightly run down looking building. She smiled and turned to Sherlock who wore an expression that showed disbelief and questioning ideas.
"You've brought me to a pub."
She smiled. "I've brought you to a pub."
"Why?"
Erika let out a laugh and leant against the outside of the building, carefully avoiding the cigarette butts that littered the ground. "Because it means that I can relax and you can do whatever it is you do when you're not solving crimes."
He walked over to her and leant against the wall next to her. "And what is it you expect me to do?"
"I don't care. You can insult people, you can analyse them, you can even criticize me if you want. I don't care as long as you're not sitting in that same damn room for a week."
He looked at her hard, trying to see any ulterior motives. Unlike most, she didn't shy away from his observation and looked him in the eye, waiting for him to finish. Eventually he did and he smirked. "Okay then."
She smiled and pulled him into the bar. She sat him down at a table, pushing past all those people to get there before speaking. "Now, I'll get us some drinks."
"I don't really drink." Erika turned with a raised eyebrow at this remark as she began to walk away.
"Yes you do."
Erika left him at a table and before she returns, a woman approaches him.
"Hello, gorgeous," she purred.
"What do you want?" he responded, uninterested and partially oblivious. Before the woman could answer Erika's voice cut through the crowd.
"Sweetie! I've got the drinks. Oh, it seems you've made a friend. I'm Erika and this is my husband John," she said, putting the drinks down on the table and holding her left hand to the woman. Both Sherlock and her saw the ring on her finger and immediately Sherlock understood it's purpose. He slipped his on quickly as the woman looked flustered.
"I was just asking him where the restrooms were. Excuse me." Without any further remarks, she left and Erika sat. They waited about five seconds before they both burst out laughing. She took the ring off her finger and Sherlock did the same. She handed him a glass of scotch and pulled her cosmopolitan little close to her.
"Understand their purpose now?"
"Indeed," he said with a smile. He took a sip before realising he never told her what to order, and yet she got what he usually would have asked for. "How did you know I drank scotch?"
"It's obvious," she remarked, taking a sip of her cocktail.
"How so?" he said before taking another sip himself.
She leant forward. "Because of your upbringing and your personality."
"Ah, I understand."
"Do you now?"
"Yes I do. But prove yourself. How did you know?" She smiled at this and leant back in her chair, looking him up and down before starting a deduction that many would have imagined came from the other's mouth.
"You have an addictive personality. Smoking, cocaine and your little puzzles. Did you think I'd believe that alcohol wasn't in there somewhere?"
"Okay," he said, understanding the logic. "But scotch. How did you get to that?"
"Your family."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Continue."
"You're from a wealthy family who no doubt had a very well stocked liquor cabinet and I'll bet at least once, before you could get your hand on anything illicit or some cigarettes, they left you home alone with a hairpin."
He took another sip. "True."
Erika continued. "You're faster with a paperclip or hairpin than most are with a key, which puts you in the perfect place to get a head start on poisoning your liver."
"Yes," he muttered, before raising his voice so that it could be heard. "But why scotch?"
"Like I said, wealthy family."
"Ah, I see." They both smiled at each other and Erika raised her glass in a sort of toast.
"Cheers, Mr Holmes." Sherlock raised his glass to the same level.
"To You, Miss Butler." Their glasses met with a clink and they drank, enjoying their time out without fear of intrusion.