Chapter 61 – You are a Heartless, Manipulative Bastard

The morning show on telly largely went unwatched by Rose who was lost in her own thoughts. She barely touched her toast, but sipped her tea slowly, her mug cradled in both hands. Her mind was permanently stuck on Sherlock and his substance abuse in recent days. Three days or six? That depended on whether Sherlock had continued using since Friday. He'd had Janine for company on Friday night so why had he turned up at Leinster Gardens high on a Monday morning? Because Janine had abandoned him over the weekend?

Since that first night Sherlock had come around, crashing on cocaine, Rose didn't feel as though she could make judgements on his drug use. Who was she to talk when she had quite often turned to marijuana to ease herself out of a difficult patch? But Sherlock had insisted his current use was purely for show. Perhaps that had been his intention on Friday, but the subsequent hits weren't displayed to his intended audience, just Rose and the sometime inhabitants of the drug den. Just who was he kidding?

Rose lowered the volume on the television and drained her cup of tea. She still had a couple of hours before she was due at work. Was it too early to check in on Sherlock? The time on the TV screen told her it was 7:21. Would he be awake yet?

Rose hoped he'd clean himself up today; after all, Janine was going to be back in town and he was supposed to meet Magnussen…

Oh hell!

Rose jumped up, realising she hadn't checked Sherlock's voicemail last night. He still hadn't received confirmation of his meeting with Magnussen from Janine, as far as she knew. He would probably check it himself, but what if he didn't wake up until the afternoon?

She strode to her bedroom and grabbed her phone from the bedside table. After dialling Sherlock's voicemail service and entering his PIN, she listened to the messages.

You have three new messages and no saved messages. Message received yesterday, at eight twenty-two pm:

"Hi Sherl, I'm back early. Just lettin' you know I've booked you in for an eleven o'clock meetin' with Charles in his office tomorrow mornin'. Just give your name to reception first and they'll let you up. Ring me when you get this. I'll come 'round."

Dammit, Rose thought, and she waited impatiently for the next message.

Message received yesterday, at nine fifty-seven pm:

"Oh… hello Mister Holmes. I… got your number from your website, and I was wondering… if… um…"

Rose swiftly hit delete.

Message received yesterday, at ten seventeen pm:

"Well, Sherl. I don't know where y'are, but you definitely aren't here. Mrs Hudson let me in. I might stay the night and keep your bed warm for you. No need to ring back. I'll be the one curled up under the sheets. Just nudge me."

End of messages. Thank you for using the service. Please—

Rose ended the call, her head buzzing and her chest tightening, making breathing difficult.

What does that mean, Nudge me? A joke? Another private little fix-my-heels kind of quip? Rose sank down onto her bed. Just how close had Sherlock and Janine become that they could giggle behind closed doors, and Janine felt comfortable enough to invite herself to stay over, sleeping in Sherlock's bed, on a whim? This was Sherlock Holmes! How would he tolerate such forwardness?

Nudge me? You fucking whore.

No… not just Janine—Sherlock. You arsehole!

But is he?

Rose flopped back onto the mattress, resting an arm on her forehead and closing her eyes. Her insides somersaulted and she wished, hoped, she was just over-reacting—that Janine Hawkins just had a wicked sense of humour and enjoyed teasing Sherlock about his lack of… what? Attention to her?

Rose brooded for quite some time before finally deciding that, in spite of Sherlock's questionable fidelity, she still had to let him know about the meeting. It was for Lady Smallwood and the recovery of her husband's letters, after all. Rose hated the thought of anyone else suffering under Magnussen's threats, even if the only chance at saving their reputation rested solely on the assistance of Sherlock Holmes.

Piece of shite.

Rose sat up again and sighed wearily before composing a text to Sherlock. If he didn't ring her within the hour, then she'd phone Billy and get her friend to empty a bucket of cold water over Sherlock's head. That would wake him up.


Sherlock listened, one corner of his mouth curling into a smile, as his drug den companion deduced John Watson's cycling habits. Even though it didn't ease the tension in the lab, nor take the sting out of his cheeks from Molly Hooper's over-reaction to the results of his urine test, it did take the spotlight away from him for the moment.

"Not bad," he said.

"An' I further deduce," the young man added, prompting Sherlock to raise his eyebrows, "you've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."

Ah, almost had it, Sherlock thought, before saying, "No, he's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again?"

Sherlock's handy chemist stammered out a few different versions of his name, before he landed on the one that Sherlock didn't object to.

"Nice observational skills, Billy."

At that moment, Sherlock's phone trilled an alert. He exhaled heavily and retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket. Glancing at the screen, he saw that it was a text from Rose.

Meeting confirmed with Magnussen at 11am

"Ah, finally," he remarked, scanning the rest of her message, such that it was.

Ring me as soon as you get this.

"Finally, what?" Molly asked.

Bit abrupt, Sherlock thought of Rose's request.

"Good news?" prompted Billy.

"Oh," Sherlock exclaimed, double-checking that the meeting was for this morning. 11am. "Excellent news. The best!" He started dialling Rose's number and decided to leave the lab for a moment so he could speak to her in private. Still, he felt the need to give the others an explanation, to really emphasise the point that his drug-taking was purely case-related. "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers," he said, swiftly making for the door. "The game is on!" He brought his phone up to his ear and said, "Excuse me." He pulled on the door and glanced around at their stunned faces. "For a second!" he added facetiously, before slipping out into the corridor.

"Rose!" he said, the instant she answered.

"You got my message, obviously," Rose replied. Her voice was… flat, Sherlock thought.

"Yes. What did she say exactly? I presume it was Janine who left the message."

Sherlock could hear Rose's very audible sigh before she replied.

"She said she might stay the night in your flat. She wasn't impressed that you weren't there. Mrs Hudson let her—"

"No, I mean about the meeting."

Rose's silence was actually worse than her sigh, Sherlock thought. What had brought this on? Didn't they part ways quite lovingly at the bus stop in the early hours of the morning? At least that was how Sherlock remembered it, even in his drugged out state.

"She said she's booked you in for an eleven o'clock meeting in Magnussen's office. Give your name to reception when you arrive. That's all. Nothing else."

Sherlock's mind already began to wonder how Magnussen had taken Sherlock's request for a meeting. Did he quiz Janine about Sherlock? Did Janine reveal anything about their relationship?

"Sherlock," Rose said, in response to his apparent silence.

Mary, Billy, and Isaac came out of the lab at that moment, and Sherlock murmured to Rose, distractedly, "Yes, thank you for the information. I'll be in touch."

"Sher—"

He ended the call, then crossed his arms in front of him. He began tapping his phone against his lips, deep in thought. Isaac and Billy passed him by, but Mary pulled up in front of him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Because, honestly, you look like shit, Sherlock," she added, smiling pleasantly.

"And as I keep saying, it's for a case."

"What case?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"One that is rapidly becoming more interesting by the minute."

"Do you need a hand?"

Sherlock came out of his reverie to carefully scrutinise Mary Watson.

"It's far too dangerous, Mary. I wouldn't think of pulling you along on a case in your condition."

The door to the lab opened again, and John came through it, before he was called back by Molly. Both Sherlock and Mary briefly glanced at the pair who were talking confidentially in the doorway.

"I wasn't talking about me," Mary said, turning back to Sherlock. "Too dangerous, you say?" Her eyes flickered toward her husband, and the faint smile on her lips told Sherlock all he needed to know.

"Clearly he needs to get out more," Sherlock said. "He's put on, what, six or seven pounds since the honeymoon?"

"Seven."

Sherlock exchanged a knowing glance with Mary.

Having John back in his life and working on a case with him—this case specifically—seemed to fill a void in Sherlock's life that he didn't know existed. There was only so much he could share with Rose, and she was constantly worrying about his welfare. That much was obvious. And Sherlock didn't know if he found Tonya Small entirely trustworthy.

Well, that settled it then. If he could get Mary to work on John's attitude toward him, but also highlight the danger factor of the case, he would be halfway there to regaining John's companionship. The other half had a lot to do with John's attitude toward Rose. Sherlock was sure that would all change after he convinced Rose to move into Baker Street with him.

"What's he doing later this evening?" Sherlock asked, deciding that tonight's task—breaking into Magnussen's office—was the perfect opener for recruiting John.

"Ah… probably nothing," Mary replied. "But I'll make sure he's available, if need be."

"Excellent."


Sherlock paced along the alleyway behind Roches Entertainment Store, just off the main street. He was glad to receive a reply from Rose, no matter how curt, to his request to meet him there during her lunch break. He had some shopping to do, and he needed her help. The store's security surveillance system didn't operate during business hours, Rose had once told him, so he was confident they could talk there in private.

His meeting with Magnussen hadn't quite gone to plan. But he had deduced the media giant's M.O. shortly after the man had strolled into Sherlock's flat, hours before their scheduled meeting. It was to throw Sherlock off his game. The comment about Redbeard came out of left field, though. After that remark, Sherlock had almost forgotten he was supposed to be scrutinising his opponent to find a weak spot.

Unfortunately, no such reading was forthcoming, and Sherlock was only left with his original idea: to take advantage of Magnussen's staff as his only weakness. Hence, full steam ahead with Sherlock's current plan. But there was one additional piece of information: Magnussen had brought Lady Smallwood's letters with him to London. Breaking into his office tonight was therefore of the utmost importance. The end of this case could be a few hours away.

Sherlock didn't have to wait long before Rose exited the store through the rear security door. She was wearing a lanyard around her neck with a photo identity card attached to a bunch of keys. She wasn't carrying her handbag, nor wearing her jacket. These two omissions plus the thinned-lipped, resigned smile she wore, told Sherlock she wasn't thrilled to spend her lunch break doing his bidding.

"Good to see you've decided to join the land of the living," Rose said. Her eyes made a point of taking in his attire, before they made their next point, I'm unimpressed by you.

Why? Sherlock wondered. He had expected Rose to be pleased that he'd cleaned himself up, bathed and shaved and dressed once more in his smart, tailored clothing.

"I'm... er..." He was thrown by her attitude and demeanour. Sherlock took a step forward and thought he should try a reset, for them both. "Hello, Rose," he said, reaching for her arms and bowing his head to plant a kiss on her lips.

Sherlock's kiss hit the corner of Rose's mouth when she turned her head away a fraction. Sherlock's insides twisted by the equivalent amount. He would continue with his endeavour, though, and analyse her gestures later, because he had work to do.

He cleared his throat and released Rose from his light grip. Best get it all out as quickly as possible, he thought.

"I'd like you to accompany me around the corner to the jeweller's shop by the intersection. I intend proposing to Janine tonight as a means to gain access to Magnussen's office. While the engagement ring I want to use will merely be a prop in this instance, I'd actually like to purchase the ring as a small token of my commitment to you. So, it's primary purpose is for you, a trinket, I guess, and not a marriage proposal, but I've discovered that some women like these sorts of things and I thought if you chose something you like then that would be money well-spent. At the moment I know you don't want to be seen with me, but we could enter the shop separately, and you could try on a ring you liked, while I surreptitiously observe from the other side of the shop."

Sherlock paused, only to draw breath, when he noticed the pale hue Rose's face had taken on. Her eyes had begun to moisten, and it was only the slight flare of her nostrils that told him his words had not been met with any kind of enthusiasm on her part.

"Why would you want to buy me a ring?" she said, her voice small and tight.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times and replied, "I... just... told... you. Some partners buy jewellery—"

"—to mask their guilt," Rose finished, her face hardening even further.

"S-sorry?"

Rose folded her arms in front of her, making the bunch of keys jangle angrily on her behalf.

"Guilt."

Sherlock froze in place, a small amount of blood leeching from his face.

"What?"

Rose tore her eyes from Sherlock's ashen face and focussed on the length of the alleyway, as if she were contemplating her next words.

Locking her eyes with Sherlock's once more, she asked, "Why would Janine be convinced that you're actually in a... relationship... and even at the stage where you could propose marriage to her? How close are you? I mean... there should be a certain level of intimacy before marriage is even on the cards. You've had coffee and dinner with her and... " Rose had to swallow before her strained voice continued with, "...f-fixed her shoes."

Sherlock had no idea why the fixing of Janine's heels could even be considered an issue, and more interestingly, how Rose even knew about it.

"Well..." he responded, taking a step forward.

Rose took a step back, maintaining the gap between them, and she raised the hand that had been resting on her other arm.

"No," she said.

Sherlock didn't like this conversation. It had taken a turn for the worst. Proposing to Janine wasn't supposed to be indicative of their relationship status but rather a way to embarrass Janine so she'd allow him access to the secure floor on which Magnussen's office was located. Why was Rose making a big deal out of this?

"Answer me this," Rose continued.

Her nostrils flared again, but this time, Sherlock knew, it was in an attempt to stifle tears. He could see that, and he dreaded her question all the more.

"Have you and Janine had sex?"

"No." Ha. That was easy! And his furrowed brow made the additional comment that he didn't appreciate the question.

"Have you kissed her?"

Oh. Not so easy.

His pause before answering had the effect of giving a response on his behalf, for Rose's eyes widened and her lips parted slightly.

Interesting, Sherlock thought, these facial gestures Rose was making, from a scientific point of view. They convey all manner of emotions, tiny tells—

"You've kissed her?"

Sherlock drew in a breath to steady himself.

"Well..." he said. How to start with the explanations?

"More than once?"

Why did she have to...

"Sherlock!"

Rose took a step back. Sherlock tried in vain to stop making deductions about her every movement. Doesn't like what she's hearing. Subconsciously wants to move away from the conversation. It was hindering his ability to argue back effectively.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Her eyes were wounded. Wounded!

"Rose... it's not what you..."

"You kissed her, but you didn't mean it, is that what you want to say? But you didn't have sex with her, so everything is just fine. You do know there are all manner of things in between kissing and having sex don't you? So how far were you willing to take it? A little grope here and there? A hug that results in you pressing your erection up against her? Actually getting naked without the penetrative sex?"

Sherlock couldn't stop his eyes from widening at her words. Damn tells, he thought. But from a scientific point of view, quite interesting.

Rose's jaw dropped open. "You got naked with her?"

"Not... not... exactly," Sherlock said, blinking and taking a step back. Now it was he who was subconsciously moving away from the conversation.

"Not exactly?"

Not exactly. Idiot. Why didn't he just say, 'No'?

"I mean we were... in the bathroom... I was naked, of course, so..."

Images of his and Janine's many encounters in the bathroom came to mind. The most recent being a couple of hours ago. Yes, he had shown his nude form to Janine again, but she was almost insistent in joining him in the bathtub, so he just had to up and leave while she was still standing there unbuttoning a shirt of his that she had been wearing. He made excuses at having to prepare for his meeting with Magnussen. And he couldn't help it that she hadn't turned her back on him when he stood up this time. She had reached behind her, keeping her eyes locked on his, a knowing look on her face, before handing him his towel.

And then, after Sherlock had wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub, she had lingered, shirt agape, grasping the top of his towel and whispering, "You know John's still out there..."

"John's still out there?" Sherlock had repeated, suddenly feeling invigorated that John was interested enough in his case to stick around.

"But I don't mind if you don't," Janine had said, pressing herself against him suggestively.

"I do mind," he had replied, before adding, "but it doesn't mean I'm not interested." He had ducked his head to press a quick kiss to Janine's cheek before he strode into his bedroom, shutting the ensuite door behind him. He'd left her half-undressed and wanting in the bathroom, where she eventually bathed and dressed and joined him and John in the living room.

But here, Rose was reading something else entirely into his words. This he did find annoying. Didn't she know him well enough to realise he would never do this sort of thing. Not with Janine. Not with any other woman. It was all part of a charade to get Janine into a position where she could trust him enough to break her workplace confidentiality agreement.

"Look, Rose," he said, furrowing his brow out of frustration for the even more incredulous look Rose was giving him. "She was there. I was naked. So, I was being playful. But you, of all people, know how much I hate having sex in the bathtu—"

The 'b' sound in 'bathtub' was effectively slapped out of existence. Sherlock's left cheek stung once more. The same side Molly Hooper had slapped earlier that morning, twice.

"You... have no… idea," Rose said through gritted teeth. Rose's expression now mirrored Molly Hooper's, strangely enough. Betrayal. A loss of trust. He could read it all there. "Don't..."

"Rose."

"...ever call me, or come over to mine..."

"Rose," he said again, rubbing his raw cheek.

"...again. I'm done with you."

"Oh, for God's sake..."

But Rose had spun around, scanned her id at the panel by the door, and had thrown the door open while Sherlock stood, stunned, immobile and at a loss for words.

The door slammed shut in front of him. He could hear its echoes and Rose's footsteps inside the back corridor of the store.

His head buzzed with puzzling thoughts.

What just happened? He hadn't even finished his sentence, let alone his explanation. Why was Rose so quick to jump to the worst possible conclusion? Sherlock stood for a moment, feeling his jaw and replaying their conversation in his mind. The trigger for Rose's slap, Sherlock determined, had been his words, "so I was being playful," followed by his reminder to her that he didn't like to have sex in the bathtub. Why was this a crime?

I was naked... you know how much I hate having sex in the bathtub.

Sherlock rapidly blinked as he pieced together both his words and Rose's erroneous assumptions.

Rose thinks I engaged in foreplay, in the bath, with Janine.

Foreplay was what he and Rose did in the bath. Not sex, because he had once written a fairly comprehensive list on why he didn't think sexual intercourse in the bathtub was a good idea.

He sighed deeply and hung his head. Well, at least it all made sense now. Sherlock stared for quite some time at the cigarette butts that littered the ground about him. This was where the smokers congregated during the day, hence them requesting the security cameras be turned off.

But not Rose. Because she didn't smoke. Nicotine, he added, qualifying that last thought.

He shook his head minutely, to stop himself deducing his surroundings.

This situation wasn't so bad, really. Rose was obviously mistaken and had over-reacted as she had done on many occasions before. Her storming away from him was akin to throwing a teaspoon at the door, or slapping him when he'd made a thoughtless comment when she needed space to sort herself out. This, too, would blow over. He'd let her calm down a bit, and then he'd go around to hers and explain to her exactly what he had meant. Then they'd have a laugh, she'd apologise for acting so hastily—and harshly, he thought, rubbing his cheek again—and then they'd make love. The case would be over, and his next challenge would be to get Rose to move in with him.

Sherlock could see the next few days outlined so clearly that he smiled to himself as he walked along.

Well, he thought, reaching the end of the alleyway. I've got some shopping to do.

He wouldn't need Rose's assistance to choose her a ring. Surely he knew enough about her to determine what she may like. He imagined her response when he gifted her with the ring later this evening. Her eyes would mist over, and she would silently hug him, at a loss for words.

Sherlock's grin broadened as he rounded the corner. He was nearing the end of the case, John was going to accompany him, and he would cement his love for Rose by presenting her with a small token.

Yes, today was going to be a fruitful day all round.

.