Chapter 60 – What Case Could Possibly Justify This?

Rose bowed her head and briefly closed her eyes as she waited for a response to her knocking. In the distance, she could hear a constant hammering. Finally the door, with its welcoming "Private Property Keep Out" sign, opened before her.

"Oh, 'ay, Rosie."

"Hi, Billy," Rose said, with a deep sigh. "Is Sherlock still here?"

"Oh, yeah," her friend replied, standing aside to allow Rose to enter. "'e's upstairs. Bit manic, 'e is."

"What? Why?" she asked, handing Billy her obligatory bag of groceries.

Billy eagerly eyed the contents of the bag, momentarily distracted. The hammering persisted, echoing throughout the building.

"Oh... 'e's fixin' everything 'round 'ere. Side effect of..."

Billy abruptly stopped speaking when Rose narrowed her eyes at his words.

"Anyway," he continued. "You'll find 'im upstairs. Head towards the bangin'."

"Thanks, Billy."

She gave him a grim smile before they both proceeded along the ground floor corridor together.

"Cuppa tea, Rosie?" Billy asked, pausing at the stairwell hallway.

Rose smiled affectionately. He knew the routine once he'd spotted the milk and box of tea bags amongst the groceries she frequently purchased to bring around after work on occasion.

"That would be lovely."

Billy continued on toward the rear of the college to the kitchen, while Rose ascended the stairs. She passed by the lecture hall and headed in the direction of the hammering.

Stopping in front of a half-open window that overlooked a set of iron stairs on the outside of the building she saw him. Sherlock Holmes, dressed in one of Billy's old polo shirts and grey sweatpants, was standing on the landing nailing a makeshift door to a door opening. Rose waited until he paused his hammering to retrieve another nail that he held between his lips.

Leaning on the window ledge, she called out, "Hello, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock turned in surprise. A broad grin spread across his face when he recognised Rose, and he removed the remaining nails from his mouth.

"Oh, don't stop for me," Rose said.

"I'm nearly done."

Sherlock returned his attention to the door and placed the spare nails back between his lips. Rose watched as he hammered the remaining nails to the top of the door.

His work done, Sherlock sauntered over, throwing the hammer once in the air, where it completed a full revolution before he caught the handle again.

"Rotted away from its hinges," he said, nodding toward the replacement door, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "And causing a nasty draught in the recreation room."

Rose chuckled lightly at Sherlock's description of the hall where all manner of drug addicts administered and slept off their drugs of choice as Bill Wiggins monitored their recovery.

"Could be a fire hazard," she said, "not being able to open it from the inside."

Sherlock turned back to admire his handywork.

"Nobody used it anyway, and it's not entirely secure. A hard shove from the inside will dislodge it. Still, it'll keep the wind, rain, and riff-raff out."

"I should think it'll keep the riff-raff in."

Sherlock emitted a low chuckle, and Rose found herself relieved that he resembled his usual self, despite his current attire.

"Ah..." Sherlock said, turning his attention to a figure behind Rose. "Tea time."

Billy had appeared holding two mugs of tea. Sherlock deposited the hammer inside through the window.

"Thank you, Billy," Rose said, as her friend proffered the beverages to both Sherlock and Rose.

"Hold them a minute would you," Sherlock said to Billy through the open window. "Rose, just turn around."

"What for?"

Rose did as Sherlock had requested anyway. He instructed her to back up and perch herself on the window ledge. Reaching through and grasping her around the waist, he pulled her outside and onto the landing.

"O-kay," Rose said breathlessly.

Sherlock thanked Billy, telling him they'd take tea in the conservatory. Rose had no idea what Sherlock had meant by that, but she thanked Billy as well.

Billy left them to ascend the external staircase. Sherlock was already halfway up when Rose joined him. She followed him to the rooftop of the college, which held sporadic views of the nearby streets of Canning Town.

Sherlock perched himself on the rooftop ledge, placing the mugs of tea beside his feet. He rummaged in his pocket and drew out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Rose grabbed her tea, taking a sip in silence next to him as Sherlock lit up.

"You've made this place your home away from home," she said, her eyes scanning the street below.

Sherlock remained silent as he dragged on his cigarette. His own gaze was fixed on the building across the street.

Eventually, he said, "I need to avoid my brother at all costs. At least until the case is over."

Rose lifted her eyes to Sherlock. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, meeting her gaze at last.

Rose's eyes dropped to Sherlock's attire. She took in his mussed hair and unshaven jawline.

"You don't want him to see you like this?"

"Yes. That, and the fact that I think he has some kind of connection to Magnussen. I don't want him to dissuade me from going up against him."

Rose didn't respond. Her chest tightened whenever she thought of Sherlock and his case. She stared, unseeing into the distance, sipping her tea and feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun on her shoulders. The summer sun remained high in the sky and Rose could feel it beginning to bite the back of her neck. She pulled at the elastic in her pony-tail, and let her hair tumble to her shoulders.

"Rose," Sherlock said in a low voice. He had been watching her. "About… Friday night..."

Rose sighed, slid from the ledge and said, "I'm going to sit in the shade for a bit."

She made her way to a chimney stack, and sat down, making herself comfortable on the rooftop within the chimney's cool shadow. She watched as Sherlock left his perch to join her, bringing over his own mug of tea, his burning ember still pinched between his fingers. He took a seat beside her.

"Janine seems nice," Rose said, maintaining a steady voice. She didn't know why she felt the need to make this comment.

"She's playing right into my hands."

Sherlock took one final drag on his cigarette, then stubbed out the remainder on the ground beside him. He sipped from his mug, prompting Rose to do the same.

"She'll be back on Thursday," Sherlock continued. "I think I may use that evening as an opportunity to poke around Magnussen's office for Lady Smallwood's letters."

Rose exhaled a little too audibly.

"He'll be in a meeting... a dinner, actually," Sherlock said, unperturbed. "I can just get Janine—"

"Well, that's great. I hope you solve the case soon. Lady Smallwood's lucky to have you working so diligently on it for her."

Rose immediately regretted her cutting remark as silence enveloped them. After an eternity of seconds, Sherlock cleared his throat and the awkward silence simultaneously.

"I know you think I shouldn't have taken this case," he said, causing a delicate flush to cross Rose's cheeks. "And that my only priority should've been the removal of John Garvie from Magnussen's line of sight, but…" Rose could feel Sherlock's gaze on her, and she refused to meet his eyes. "Magnussen is repulsive, Rose. You know that. What he did to you, he... more or less did the same to Lady Smallwood."

Rose's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her stomach churning monstrously as Sherlock continued speaking.

"He preys on people's secrets for his own gain—to increase his wealth and power. He takes an almost leisurely pace in tormenting them. I can't idly stand by while he inflicts his filthy presence on others and makes his greedy demands."

Sherlock reached for Rose's hand; she finally locked her eyes on his.

"But I want nothing more than to have this case over and done with," he said, "to get our Sundays back. And it can be just the two of us again."

Rose fought against the unbearable pressure behind her eyes. They began to moisten anyway with every second that Sherlock's expression remained expectant. The warmth of his hand was comforting. Such a small gesture but it went straight to her heart.

It took all her willpower to keep from pleading with him to make everything different, to relieve her of all her concerns. She had to keep her next request simple.

"I'd like that, too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

Her tears threatened to spill as Sherlock's arms banded around her. Silent streams ran down her face as she hugged Sherlock and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Sherlock gently rubbed a hand along her back, as Rose felt an enormous weight lift from her.

"And next time," he said, "it'll be your turn to do nice things to me all day long."

A tiny laugh escaped Rose and she stayed where she was, in the security of Sherlock's firm embrace. Eventually, she lifted her head.

"No, I think you owe me a few more," she said, lifting a hand and wiping away now stagnant tears.

Sherlock gave Rose a half-smile.

"Perhaps we can alternate throughout the day."

Rose returned Sherlock's smile with a grateful one of her own. Sherlock reached up and cupped her face. Rose tilted her head to one side and met the light brush of Sherlock's lips with a contented sigh.

He tasted like tobacco and tea with a hint of delicious Sherlockian spice that clouded her mind. His mouth slid with well-practised skill over hers, and Rose's hands found their way into Sherlock's hair. All of her doubts fell away. It was here, now, on a rooftop of a drug den that she realised that their strange encounters, dates, and hangouts were what made their relationship all the more special and unique. He was like a drug she had to have, and no matter how hard she tried to distance herself from him, she found his pull and attraction far greater.

But when Sherlock's kiss demanded a whole lot more, Rose gently eased back.

"Not here," she whispered.

It was still broad daylight. There were two buildings opposite whose windows easily provided dress circle views of their little romantic interlude.

"Stay with me tonight," Sherlock said, desire etched into the timbre of his voice.

"I can't stay here," Rose replied. "I've got an early start with opening the shop."

Sherlock released his hold on Rose, his mouth showing the beginnings of a petulant pout.

"Can't you come to mine?" Rose asked.

"I've got work to do."

This surprised Rose. In his current getup, Sherlock didn't exactly give the impression of a working Consulting Detective.

Sherlock grabbed his empty mug and suddenly stood.

"Loads more repairs to make before we lose daylight."

He offered a hand to Rose.

"Really?" Rose asked, grasping Sherlock's hand and allowing him to assist her to her feet.

Sherlock immediately strode away from her toward the stairwell. He called back, "Rewiring the extractor fan in the kitchen, installing a light fitting in the bathroom..."

Rose didn't catch the last few items as their heavy treads on the wrought-iron staircase drowned out Sherlock's voice. She didn't care to know anyway; the details were meaningless to her.

Sherlock was already through the window by the time Rose caught up to him on the landing. Awkwardly, she positioned herself on the window ledge as Sherlock pulled her back through.

"Have you ever heard of parkour?" he asked, quickly making tracks along the corridor.

"Um... yes... I think."

Sherlock glanced back at Rose and frowned.

"You might like to think about taking lessons if you ever want to keep up with me."

Rose rolled her eyes at Sherlock's rapidly retreating back.

Or take a hit of cocaine, she thought darkly.

By the time she joined Sherlock in the kitchen, he was already standing on the counter top and examining the extractor fan unit.

"It's not working very efficiently," he murmured more to himself than Rose.

Rose deposited her bag on to the counter then grabbed the mug that Sherlock had discarded. She began washing both his and hers.

"I think I might go home now," she said loudly over the noise of the fan being switched on and off.

Sherlock turned and suddenly leapt to the ground. In two quick strides he was beside her. His lonely lover look was back.

"I thought you were going to stay the night?"

"I never said that."

Sherlock's eyes carefully scrutinised her, as if she were trying to mislead him in some way.

"But..." Rose began, attempting to stifle a laugh, "I could just go and get changed, then bring dinner back. But I won't stay all night."

Sherlock's intense gaze remained unwavering for a moment before he blinked and said, "Good. Can I borrow your phone?"

Rose was still disoriented by his rapid mood swings, but she reached into her bag anyway.

"My phone battery's dead," Sherlock explained as he rapidly typed on Rose's phone. "I need to check my voicemail."

He held the phone to his ear as Rose waited. He listened for a moment, before a look of disappointment graced his features. He handed Rose her phone back and said, "Check for messages later. Dial the number I just did. My PIN is 1895."

Sherlock was up and away from Rose again before she could even say, "Um..."

"I'm waiting to hear from Janine," he explained from his perch on the counter top once more. "To confirm my meeting with Magnussen." He twisted around to look down at Rose. "You don't mind do you?"

"Billy's got a charger up in his room," Rose offered.

Sherlock turned back to his little project and said, "I'll charge it later. Just check throughout the evening. Report back to me when you return."

Rose raised a brow at Sherlock's commands. And it seemed as if she had been dismissed. She turned to leave, shaking her head to herself. When she reached the front door, she was suddenly spun around and thrust hard against it. Rose yelped in surprise. A manic detective-genius with a rather intense look in his eyes had her pressed up against the door.

"You didn't say goodbye," he said.

Rose began to chuckle at Sherlock's overly-dramatic actions. When deep furrows appeared between his brows, her laughter only increased. Her shoulders shook as Sherlock continued to gaze down at her with an unimpressed expression on his face. Her light laughter rose and fell, echoing throughout the entrance.

When finally it had reduced to a tiny chuckle, Sherlock said, "Well?"

Stifling another round of giggles, Rose said, "Goodbye, Sherlock."

Again, he carefully studied her eyes before he returned her sentiment. He punctuated his goodbye with a light kiss. After drawing back he said, "And?"

Rose had to rein in her mirth. She buried it deep and asked, perfectly composed, "Do you love me?"

"Yes," he said, as if he'd had to wait patiently for Rose to act sensibly just so he could express that emotion.

"I love you, too," she said, hoping her expression now bore the full weight of the emotion she felt.

Sherlock's face softened and he pressed yet another kiss to Rose's lips. Rose's eyes fluttered shut, but she felt nothing but cool air as Sherlock just as quickly disappeared.


Rose's return took far longer than she had anticipated. She had changed into comfortable jeans and an old shirt back in her flat, perfect for blending into the streets of Canning Town, and more specifically as a visitor to Billy's drug den. Before returning to east London, though, she navigated a few out of the way streets to deposit Sherlock's coat and suit in his flat.

She caught the tube to east London, some distance away from Canning Town, and ordered food from an Indian restaurant. While she waited, she rang the number for Sherlock's voicemail. Her heart began to beat the rhythm of a jealous lover when she heard Janine's affectionate tone.

"Sherl, I really hope you're out solving crimes. Just checking in to see how y'are. Ring me back when you get a chance. If I don't hear from you, I might have to find someone else to fix my heels."

Rose's insides churned at whatever their private joke was. And checking in? Rose never just checked in on Sherlock. Would he even want her to?

Rose took the final leg of her journey by bus, stopping a few blocks from Billy's. It was well and truly dark by the time she knocked on the door. She thought she really ought to get a key cut so she didn't have to keep bothering Billy all the time.

"Oh, 'ay, Rosie," Billy said upon opening the door.

He escorted Rose to the stairwell and it was his silence that Rose found particularly telling.

"What's Sherlock up to now?" she asked. The lack of Sherlock's normally huge presence and the silence in the rest of the drug den was slightly disconcerting.

"'e's upstairs," Billy replied, his expression typically not giving anything away.

"Fixing something else?" Rose asked, already dreading the answer.

"Not exactly."

Billy followed Rose the rest of the way up until they reached the large opening to the lecture hall, or 'recreation room' as Sherlock had called it.

"'e's over in the corner," Billy said, gesturing, "havin' a nap."

"A nap?" Rose asked, directing a challenging glare to her friend.

Billy shrugged lightly. "Y'know... sleepin' off the... ah..."

"Here," Rose said, handing Billy the bag of Indian takeaway food. The lead weight in her stomach had returned. She had been hoping Sherlock would've grown tired playing doss house facilities manager and they'd get to wend their way through London again, all the way back to hers.

"What's this?" Billy asked.

"Sherlock's dinner," Rose said, peering through the semi-candlelit darkness to the immobile lump in the corner. "He won't be needing it."

"'ere," Billy said, handing the bag of food to a hooded figure in the centre of the room who was concentrating intently on heating a teaspoon over a candle.

"Don' bump me gear, Wigg," the young man said.

Rose ignored the exchange and made her way over to Sherlock as Billy dragged over a broken chair and opened up the food.

Disappointment drizzled through Rose as she sank beside Sherlock's bent knees onto the ragged, dusty mattress, which was loosely covered with a threadbare sheet. He was asleep on his side, curled up and now wearing a hooded jacket that Rose recognised as another item of Billy's clothing.

She stretched out a hand and ran her fingers through this curls.

"Sherlock," she said, sighing.

She was surprised when he immediately murmured something. Bending over him, she gave him a light kiss on his temple.

"Rosie," he said, and Rose's heart twinged. He wasn't just asleep, of course. He was in that stupid euphoric state, the one in which she'd found him at the bottom of his own staircase.

"Hello," she replied. "You didn't wait for me."

Sherlock hummed non-committedly, his eyes firmly shut.

Rose's body felt drained of energy and she stretched out alongside Sherlock. She continued carding her fingers through his hair, noticing the faint traces of a smile on his lips in the dim lighting. Eventually, Rose closed her own eyes and snuggled in closer to Sherlock, feeling his warmth. She could hear the odd murmurings of delight from the other occupants of the hall as they heartily tucked into the food she had brought to share with her boyfriend.

Finally, she'd had enough. She couldn't stay the night here, not when she had to open up the entertainment store so early in the morning. It would mean leaving Canning Town even earlier, just so she could get home to change.

She thought about contacting Sherlock tomorrow, to check in and see if he was okay. Then she remembered his phone, and the out-of-charge battery. Checking Sherlock's pockets, she discovered that he still had his dead phone on him and hadn't taken it up to Billy's room to charge at all.

Rose left Sherlock and asked Billy for the key to unlock his room so she could put Sherlock's phone on to charge. When she returned, she gave Sherlock a final kiss goodbye. This time he didn't stir. His breathing was light and shallow; he was definitely asleep.

Rose sought out Billy again to say goodbye. He was stretched out on a sofa, toking, and philosophising with a fellow stoner. Billy insisted on walking Rose to the bus stop and waiting with her until the night bus arrived. Rose asked Billy to check on Sherlock's phone and to put it back into the detective's pocket once it had been fully charged. With a heavy heart, Rose left east London for home.


Rose checked her phone during her much-needed lunch break the next day. There were no messages from Sherlock. She had already sent him a text mid-morning asking him how he was; Rose was checking in. She then quickly dialled his voicemail. There was only one message, and the caller's voice gave Rose the chills. It was Sherlock's brother, the stuffy Mycroft Holmes telling Sherlock that their parents were having a wonderful time in Oklahoma. It was the way Mycroft had said, 'little brother' that made Rose's skin prickle. She hoped she'd never in her life encounter that man again. Poor Sherlock, she thought.

That afternoon, Rose stretched and yawned then buried her head in her arms resting on her desk. She didn't care that Gus sat just behind her, crunching his way through a bag of salted peanuts. It was five minutes to four, and she could escape this suffocating place and find out how Sherlock was.

As she sat on the tube headed for east London, she fiddled with her phone. She regretted not ringing Sherlock on her way to the station. She had figured she'd see him soon enough. But what if he was no longer at Billy's?

The second she was out of the station, she quickly dialled his number. It immediately went through to his voicemail service. Next she rang Billy.

"Is Sherlock there?" she asked, attempting to keep her panicked voice light and casual.

"Ah... um..." came Billy's nervous stammer. He was such a terrible liar. "'e's a bit... busy... with stuff."

"Can I speak to him?"

"Well, he's..."

In the background she heard Sherlock's voice.

"Who is it?"

"It's Rosie," Billy responded.

"Tell her I'm fine."

Sherlock had sounded distant, harried, and... well, occupied.

"Shezza said he's—"

"I heard," Rose replied. "I'll be there soon." Then, attempting to sound unaffected, she added, "Do you want anything from the shops?"

After picking up the jellybeans Billy requested, Rose couldn't get to the Canning Town doss house any faster. She tried to remain patient while waiting for Billy to let her in.

"'e's in the kitchen," Billy said, dispensing with their usual greeting and small talk. Billy knew when Rose was all business. They'd known each other long enough.

Sherlock was leaning with his back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed watching a liquid slowly dripping through a filter when Rose entered the makeshift lab.

"Rose!" he said, pushing himself off the counter and immediately striding towards her. "You're here a lot these days."

"I could say the same about you," Rose said, furrowing her brow as Sherlock bowed his head to deliver a quick kiss on her cheek.

He held her by the arms and gently steered her out of the kitchen. Rose had the impression that he didn't want her in there.

Turning her around to face him, Sherlock said, "Now, Rose. I need you to get one of those access key cards. But not from a security guard as I had previously planned. If one of their cards go missing, there'd been an urgency in searching for it. Tonight, or tomorrow night; it doesn't matter. But I need it for Thursday night." He had spoken quickly and in a low voice as if he had originally summoned her for the purposes of this discussion.

"What?"

"Possibly one of the reception staff; there is a male staff member in that area. You can see for yourself; I left the personnel file in your flat after all."

"Sherlock! Wait. What are you talking about?"

"A key card, Rose, to access the CAM Global News office building. How hard is that to understand? We did discuss this."

"Weeks ago," she said. "But you've been getting cozy with Janine since then. Why can't you use hers?"

"Because stealing hers is like taking one from a security guard. They're too important. They access all areas."

"And I never said I'd do this in the first place."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Rose then abruptly stalked away from her, raking an irate hand through his hair.

"There must be some way... I can't go myself," he muttered, about-turning. He vaguely gestured in the direction of the kitchen as he paced. "I can't leave my work..."

Rose raised her eyebrows at the notion that whatever Sherlock and Billy had cooking in the kitchen Sherlock had referred to as his work.

"Speaking of Janine," Rose said, watching Sherlock continuing to stride this way and that. "She left a message for you."

"What?" Sherlock said, stopping in his tracks. "Oh, that. Yes, I heard it."

"Right. So you did have access to your phone."

"Of course I did. You charged the battery and instructed Whats-his-name to put it back into my pocket. Well done there."

"So, why didn't you ring me?"

Sherlock gave up pacing and strode past Rose back into the kitchen.

"Because I was busy."

Rose followed him, her annoyance growing with every second that passed in the company of Sherlock and his current mood.

He spun around and blocked Rose's path.

"You can't be in here. There are delicate and important chemistry... thingies going on and you might contaminate them."

Rose placed her hands on her hips and looked about her.

"I might contaminate them?" she asked, raking her eyes over Sherlock's dishevelled appearance and crazy, wild hair.

"Yes, you."

He placed light hands on her shoulders again, and turned her to face the doorway.

"Off you go. Go busy yourself doing something... busy. But keeping checking my messages. I might get too… distracted to check."

Distracted? More like high, she thought. But Rose gave up trying to argue with him. Instead, she went off to find Billy. She didn't want to admonish her friend. It really wasn't his fault that Sherlock had been using him to concoct some sort of designer druggie-allsorts. But she did want to tell Billy to cut off Sherlock's supply, if that was at all possible.

"Just... start running out of ingredients, or something," she said after finding Billy in the rec room.

"I'll try, Rosie. But Shezza's much too clever to fall for that, and I can't really lie to the bloke."

"Well, keep an eye on him then," Rose said wearily. She knew Billy would anyway. "And make sure his phone gets charged, and that he has it with him on occasion. Okay?"

Rose left without saying goodbye to Sherlock. She had hoped to receive a frantic phonecall from him stating this fact and was disappointed when she didn't. She made the difficult decision not to return to Billy's at all, until she at least heard from Sherlock.

All through the next day, she intermittently checked Sherlock's voicemail. There was a call from a Scotland Yard detective, whose name Rose recognised from a lifetime ago when she was asked to identify her friend Shelley's body. The D.I. just wanted to thank Sherlock for the tip off, and to let him know that an arrest was going to be made tomorrow. There was another call from a client, who was asking Sherlock if he could help her find her lost dog. Rose was relieved not to hear any more loving and concerned calls from Janine Hawkins.

Rose was on closing the shop that evening and had to race home to change and eat before commencing her Wednesday night counselling service with the ASXX. Just before 10pm, when Rose was having a tea break and once again about to check Sherlock's voicemail, her phone rang in her hand, causing her to almost spill her tea out of its styrofoam cup.

"Hello?" she said, her heart racing at seeing it was Sherlock's caller ID. She couldn't assume that the caller was her boyfriend; it could just as well be Billy using Sherlock's phone.

"Rosie," came Sherlock's voice, a tad slower than usual.

And... Rosie. That could only mean one thing. Rose let out a weary sigh.

"Sherlock."

There was an alarming silence for a few seconds before Sherlock spoke again.

"Why aren't you here?"

She could hear the lost note in his voice and Rose deflated a little.

"Oh, Sherlock." She knew it was just the drugs talking, but her heart still went out to him all the same. "I'm at work," she said gently. "I'm counselling, remember?"

There was another stretch of silence before Sherlock said, "Okay," and then the call ended.

Rose fidgeted for the remainder of her shift. Disappointingly, there were no other walk-in clients, so she couldn't even distract herself with someone else's problems. She chatted to the other counsellor, Meg, in between her appointments, then helped close up the hall the ASXX used on a regular basis. Rose and Meg walked together to the tube, where they then caught separate trains. Rose only had a short journey to east London, but she still had to catch a night bus through Canning Town.

She rang Billy ahead of time so he could wait for her at the bus stop. She was relieved to see him and wasted no time in quizzing him about Sherlock's condition.

"Look, Rosie. 'e just has ta sleep it off."

Billy continued to toke on a joint as they walked along. He offered it to Rose. She shook her head, her mind still on Sherlock.

She said, "And then he wakes up, gets all hyper and has to do stuff, and then he crashes. And when he's all agitated, he has another hit. Is that what his days are like?"

Billy didn't immediately respond and took another drag.

"Y'know, Rosie, I don't judge people by what they use or when they use it. I just watch over them. Make sure they're all right."

"The difference is, Billy, everyone brings their own gear. Sherlock's got you cooking up something for him."

"But I don' mind. It's been years since anyone's apprecia'ed my particular skillset."

Rose sighed wearily as they neared the old college. Billy almost sounded proud. He was probably right. It had been a while since the stoner had dropped out of university, a Bachelor of Science left unfinished. If Sherlock Holmes appreciated her friend's talents, then that was high praise indeed.

Just as Billy and Rose entered the wrought iron gate in front of the college entrance, excited footfalls beat a path toward them.

"'ay, Isaac, Reece," Billy said as the pair came to a halt in front of him.

Rose recognised both lads as regular visitors to Billy's place.

"Hey, Wiggy," Reece said. "We got it, mate."

"Not out'ere," Billy said, and he immediately ushered them inside.

"The geezer did everyfing Shezza said 'e would," Reece said excitedly. "You shoulda seen Isaac. And we left the wallet under the table, so he would neva know it was nicked, just that 'e dropped it."

The pair laughed, sharing a private moment while Rose's chest tightened at the thought of whatever Sherlock—Shezza—had organised them to do.

"Is Shezza gonna pay us now?" Isaac said as Reece handed something to Billy.

"I'm gonna pay ya," Billy replied. "In the kitchen, but don't touch anything til I get there."

Rose hovered in the entrance beside Billy, ready to quiz him on what had just gone down as the youths hightailed it to the kitchen.

"Here y'go, Rosie," Billy said, handing her the stolen item—a white key card. "Give that to Shezza. I just gotta fix up these guys."

Rose's heart sank. The key card she was supposed to acquire! And in her absence Sherlock had convinced these youths to do his dirty business for him.

Ruefully, she curled her hand around the card and headed upstairs. Once she'd reached the landing, she heard the thundering footsteps of the lads who had been given their payment. Something told Rose that Billy hadn't fixed them up with a bowl of cornflakes from the kitchen.

Rose settled near Sherlock's slumbering form once more. Isaac, Reece and Billy also entered the hall and took up places in the centre of the room around the almost permanent fixture of a guy sporting a green mohawk and reclining on the old sofa. Rose chose to ignore them.

"Hey there," she said softly, rubbing a gentle hand along Sherlock's arm. "The boys have got the key card you wanted." She waited a beat for a response from Sherlock. When he remained still and silent, she said, "So, I'll put it in your wallet. Okay?"

Rose reached over and patted Sherlock's pockets. When she found the bulge in his back pocket, using two fingers, she began to slide the wallet out. When Sherlock's hand suddenly grasped hers she yelped, then laughed lightly.

"It's just me," she said.

Sherlock released his grip and rolled to his back as Rose drew out the wallet.

"I've got the key card," she said again, holding it up before his slitted eyes. "I'm putting it in your wallet."

Rose found an empty slot inside Sherlock's wallet and slipped the key card inside. Sherlock had managed to rearrange himself into a sitting position and was watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Where'd you get it?" he asked, in a barely coherent mumble.

"Reece and Isaac," Rose said, indicating the pair with a tilt of her head.

Sherlock blinked slowly and shuffled backwards so he could lean against the wall.

"I asked Billy to nick it."

"Well, he asked the boys to... so..." She sighed. "You've got it now. Here..." Rose handed Sherlock his wallet back. He fumbled around for a few seconds, concentrating on getting the wallet back into his sweatpants pocket.

"How are you?" Rose asked.

Sherlock gave her a weary smile.

"Feels like... swimming."

"Okay," she replied, not really comprehending. She reached out and ran an affectionate hand along his leg. "Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee... jellybeans?"

Sherlock slowly shook his head, then shuffled downwards again. Lying on his side, he held up an arm, which Rose took as an invitation to lie next to him. She slipped out of her shoes then made herself comfortable in Sherlock's embrace.

"Hang on a minute," she said, sitting up again.

Rose grabbed her phone from her bag and quickly set an alarm for the morning. She didn't mind staying a while since she was on a late start at the shop. Because of her shifts at the ASXX on Wednesday nights, she had asked if all of her Thursday shifts could be the later starts.

She lay down again in Sherlock's arms and closed her eyes when Sherlock began running his hand through her hair. She sighed contentedly and very soon fell asleep.

When her alarm woke her, she immediately swiped at her phone to shut it off. The hall was eerily quiet and all of the candles had either burned down or had been extinguished. Sherlock stirred beside her. To the light of her phone screen, Rose was able to slip her shoes back on and gather up her bag and jacket.

She twisted around to Sherlock, kissed his temple and whispered, "I'm going now."

She didn't expect him to wake up, but she felt him attempting to sit beside her.

"Oh, don't wake up," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"No," he replied, sitting up with bent knees and a bowed head. "It's still dark."

"It's okay," Rose said. "I just have to get home before my shift starts."

"No," Sherlock said again. "Not by yourself. I'll walk you to the bus stop."

Rose hadn't expected him to be so lucid, but her opinion changed a little when she saw Sherlock struggling to put his trainers on. Or Billy's trainers, or whoever they belonged to.

"Here, let me help."

It seemed to take them an extraordinarily long time to exit the house, with Sherlock accosting Billy for the key to the front door just so he could let himself back in. Finally they were out into the cool morning air. Sherlock had popped up the hood of his jacket and took Rose by the hand. They walked at a much slower pace than Rose was used to in Sherlock's presence.

They reached the bus stop and Sherlock dropped her hand. He stood with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets as if he was attempting to sleep while standing up. Rose slipped an arm around his.

"Perhaps you could go home today," she said, with hope in her voice. "Have a shower, get cleaned up. You'll feel much better."

"The case," Sherlock murmured and then he added, "My brother."

"Why don't you come to my place, then?"

Her words seemed to stir something inside Sherlock. He lifted his head a little and made a concerted effort to meet Rose's gaze.

"You were angry with me."

"What?" she asked, perplexed. "Oh." She realised what he was referring to. Reaching up to caress his cheek, she said, "That was because I had an inspection on Monday. It's all okay now. You can come over."

Sherlock blinked a couple of times and said again, "The case."

Rose's heart ached for the simpler times they'd once shared. She longed for those days again. Her anxiety about breaking up with Sherlock had practically disappeared, and in its place, her concern for his substance abuse. These last few days seemed to have no point to them. How was he justifying this behaviour to himself?

The headlights of the bus in the distance drew Sherlock's attention. Rose smoothed the flat of her palm against his chest and bowed her head, wishing everything was different. When she lifted her head once more, their eyes met and Rose attempted a smile.

"I love you," she said, feeling a twinge inside her chest.

"I love you, too," Sherlock immediately replied. His mouth formed an uneasy smile as well, as if he also knew that he was only capable of returning the sentiment when he was out of it.

Rose raised herself onto her toes and kissed Sherlock's lips. His mouth was immediately warm and responsive, but Rose kept it light and brief. Sherlock raised an arm to signal the bus and stepped away from Rose.

She felt lost, bereft, and anxious, but she boarded the bus anyway, without looking back.

.


A/N:

A month! That's all it took. One!

We are approximately seven minutes into HLV, and Sherlock is a couple of hours away from John discovering him in the drug den. I hope I've realistically and plausibly covered the month of Sherlock not seeing John, wooing Janine and ending up in the drug den. Thank you all for your patience! I would love to know what you think. Fun times ahead :)

~elbafo