AN: So I'm recovering from 4 midterms, 2 papers, a thesis proposal, a crashed laptop (which contained the next couple of installments in this story), all within the span of three days. Since there's no chance of me getting the laptop fixed soon, I thought it might be nice for me to at least attempt to reconstruct the chapters, as it has been a few months since an update… *ducks all rotten fruit*. Anyway, ACD owns stuff.
Chapter 11
The throbbing pain in my head woke me early the next morning. I groaned inwardly, not particularly enjoying what most likely was the worst hangover I had ever experienced; it was as if a million men, each equipped with his own jackhammer, was drilling away in my head. The only thing that kept me from cursing a storm was my reluctance to irritate my dry throat further.
I opened my eyes groggily, surveying the tornado that was my room, trying desperately to remember what had happened last night. The contents of my bag were scattered across the hotel chairs, while a couple of empty vodka bottles surrounded trash can, as if someone (probably me) had thrown them half-heartedly but missed. The bathroom light was still on, and the sun was beginning to peek along the edges of the blinds, shining a bit of light on the trail of clothes strewn from the door to the bed. They were my clothes. I was butt naked.
Fuck. I must have been really wasted last night. Who let me… my jaw dropped a mile when I realized who I was with last night. I didn't. Turning my head, I stared in shock at the familiar figure buried under the sheets- the deeply sleeping man who was my ex-husband, James Moriarty. I gingerly lifted the sheets, praying that it wouldn't confirm my worst fear. Fate wasn't so kind today; James' beautifully sculpted and excruciatingly tempting body was likewise, unclothed. Were we really that trashed?
I forced myself to think, to replay the events of yesterday. James kept buying me drinks, and I had gotten very drunk- and desperately had asked him to crash at my place last night. He came up with me, and one thing led to another. I couldn't help a little smile when I thought about that; it brought back feelings of familiarity, security, warmth, and acceptance- things that I hadn't felt with anyone since him with the exception of Holmes. I bit my lip as I remembered why I ended up at the bar in the first place- my argument with Holmes.
For all my complaining to Holmes about not trusting me- he was right to a certain extent, I had to concede. The moment he left, I literally hopped into bed with his enemy. But it was his fault for not trusting me to begin with, part of me screamed. But that didn't justify my behavior. I glanced warily at the empty vodka bottles; neither did the alcohol- I was coherent enough to say no- to anyone except my gorgeous ex-husband, whom I still cared for. But Holmes had no right in keeping things from me.
I glanced at the clock. It was 7 AM, and if I hurried, I could still make the noon train back to Los Angeles. I got up gently from the bed, as not to disturb James, and hopped in the shower, hoping that the steaming hot water could block out both the hangover and the deeply conflicting emotions within me.
AN: A few general comments: Apologies to my readers for being so SLOW, and that I lost the good draft of this. Grr to my */#@&#^&* laptop. Thanks to snowwolf (your faithfulness is inspiring), fowl-star (yeah, only Laura could really get through this argument without being too shocked to move, haha), Jekyll's Affliction (thanks for the thumbs-up on the angst, and yes, more on info James coming up), kenta divina (yes, James is evil incarnate), rosethorn (I'm having too much with things as they are right now, plus, Watson has to really come to terms with herself- as she does the stupidest things sometimes J ), kerowyn (thanks- and come back to the SH world soon! Although your HP stuff kicks butt too J ), silcatra (thanks for the encouragement), jepa (thanks!), and kittenchatter (welcome back J).