Chapter 95 — The Day is Full of Highlights

Coffee. Genius.

Tea meant tea, but coffee didn't mean coffee. Good one, Billy. How many people could crack that code? Not many, in Sherlock's opinion. Morons. The lot of them.

Sherlock leant back in his armchair, nerves alight in every limb, all the way down to his feet, which he couldn't stop tapping, causing his legs to jolt and jiggle.

"Oh, for God's sake, hurry up!" he called to Billy.

A fix—one good hit. But Bill Wiggins hadn't perfected a recipe Sherlock found acceptable. His 'one good hit' hadn't happened yet, even though Billy had made many attempts.

Unfortunately, Sherlock hadn't determined exactly what his requirements were. He needed enough of an opiate to numb his aching heart, but not an amount that would render his synapses incapable of firing on command. He also required the perfect measure of cocaine to stay alert for work purposes, but not too much that would bring his reality into sharp focus. The reality he'd created for himself, as a result of…

No.

Best not think about her.

Them.

A delicate balance, though. After administering his first hit, Sherlock had fallen asleep for three hours. After the second, he'd refiled his sock index according to thread count. On the third, he'd vacuumed the staircase, twice, until Mrs Hudson told him the vacuum cleaner needed to be plugged in. He yelled at her. She scurried away, crying. Probably. He couldn't hear her over the noise of the vacuum cleaner.

"'ere, y'go," Billy said, opening the doors dividing the kitchen and the living room. "I've been a bit creative. Got a special ingredient. I 'aven't tried it m'self."

"Why not?"

Billy drifted into the living room and frowned.

"I've only just made it. We both can't use at the same time. That goes against m'strict principals. I 'ave-ta be lucid enough to supervise you. If you wanna wait til this after—"

"No!" Sherlock said, shoving a sleeve upwards and flopping his right arm onto the armrest. "I haven't got time to conduct drug trials on animals."

"'ey!"

"Just give it to me."

"You 'ave-ta be careful," Billy said, approaching him with the gear. "Too much can cause hallucinations, especially on the comedown. That's not a bad thing." Taking a seat on a dining chair beside Sherlock, Billy added, "Some people want that. But in our line of work—"

"Just hurry up," Sherlock snapped, before letting his head drop to the back of the chair. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Save the safety demonstration for the flight home."

"Okay, then."

It wasn't bad. He'd need to try it again, just to be sure. And he must remember to update the list for his brother.


Sherlock regarded his right hand. Fascinating! It tremored slightly. He held up his left. Nothing. Withdrawal symptoms, obviously. He'd reduced his intake too quickly.

But Billy was right. Maybe he'd had too much in too short a period, but what choice did he have? Small fires ignited in his heart whenever he came down and he had to extinguish them repeatedly.

On one occasion, he'd hallucinated Rose. Her face loomed above him as he lay boneless on the sofa. Tears glistened in her eyes, and curious, Sherlock had reached out when she'd blinked, freeing one tear from the pool. He caught it on the tip of his finger, which he then held up and studied for quite some time.

His vision of Rose had disappeared, but his Mind Palace had conjured up her scent, and it lingered throughout his flat. He smelt it everywhere. It even wafted from his pillows at night. And when he brought the pillow closer, hugging it to him, he imagined it was Rose. Her apple-pear shampoo filled his nostrils and swam about his head. Such was the power of the hallucination, he could reach out and tangle his fingers into her hair and run a hand over her swollen belly.

The fading effect of the drugs always left him with a headache, a bone ache and a heart ache. But this cycle of getting high, trying to tolerate the comedown, and getting high again had to stop. Mary's request still hovered out of reach. If he remained in this state, he'd never have John's friendship again. Sherlock was supposed to 'save him', wasn't he?

And for that, I need a case.

He drifted out of his bedroom one morning, or whatever arbitrary marker of the day it was, craving a 'coffee'. The kitchen was devoid of life, and upon entering the living room, Sherlock found that it wasn't Billy who tapped away at his laptop.

"Oh," the Rose-like figure said, looking up and rising from her seat as a smile grew on her face. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Sherlock stopped short by John's armchair as she approached. His skin prickled at this fully-formed apparition.

"Feeling better?" she went on, drifting closer. She lifted a hand and touched Sherlock's forehead. He blinked several times and stopped breathing. "You don't have a temperature any more," she said. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed, but he stood solid, looking down at her. She arched a brow at him. This ghostly hallucination had all the hallmarks of a real person. And besides, all of Sherlock's faculties were telling him he was no longer high. But Billy's special recipe caused him to hallucinate on the comedown—the lingering effects of the MDMA component, he'd said.

Reaching out, Sherlock prodded the apparition in the sternum.

"What are you doing?" she asked, laughing lightly.

"How is it... you're…"

"I'm… what? Here?" Brushing past him, she gave his arm a light squeeze. "I'll get you that tea. You're obviously still a bit sleepy."

"Wait," he said, spinning around.

If this was the real Rose, she mustn't see his and Billy's lab at all costs!

"I know to keep the doors closed," she said, sliding them shut before he could step closer.

Sherlock knitted his brows together. This wasn't right! How could she be here? Why wasn't she reacting to the state of the kitchen, or to his own dishevelled appearance? Didn't she know he had torn himself apart to be rid of her? Didn't she understand his message, or…

Worse!

Didn't she receive his voicemail?

Sherlock pulled the doors apart, expecting to find the room empty, thus confirming his initial hypothesis that he'd hallucinated. But Rose was across the kitchen, retrieving milk from the fridge.

"I won't be staying for a cuppa," she said, bringing the milk to the counter. "I've got my appointment shortly."

"Rose."

"But Billy will be back any minute now."

"Why are you here?"

Rose filled a tea cup with water from the kettle. Her shoulders rose and fell, as if she had taken in a deep, steadying breath. Even in his current state, Sherlock still noticed these things.

"I want to make sure you're okay," she said, without turning around.

"I don't want you here."

Rose didn't respond. She put a dash of milk in Sherlock's tea, then jiggled the tea bag for a moment.

"I left you a message," Sherlock continued. "On your voicemail."

"Yes, I know," she said, twisting the cap back onto the milk container. "That wasn't very nice." She gave Sherlock a wry smile as she passed him on her way across the kitchen. "Of course I was really upset at first," she said, returning the milk to the fridge. "By the way, why are my handcuffs in here?"

Rose held up the set of handcuffs he'd once retrieved from her flat in Bayswater. Once upon a time, they were going to use them for Cluedo. In happier times.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, casting his mind back to why he'd moved them from the kitchen drawer in the first place.

"I'm hiding them from Mrs Hudson," he said. "I'm sure she's been taking them."

"She'll easily find them next to the milk."

"Then move them somewhere else… the salad drawer."

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of him and watched as Rose stooped to deposit the handcuffs in their new hiding place.

Job done, Rose turned to him.

"I didn't listen to your message properly," she said. "As soon as I heard it was from you, I hung up. I was so mad! And hurt. I knew what you were going to say. But then I remembered what you're going through, so once I got home, I listened to it and tried not to take it to heart."

Rose kept walking toward him, her expression soft and… caring. Sherlock stiffened.

"You need people around to support you," she said. "You need us."

Rose pulled up in front of him, close enough for Sherlock to catch a whiff of coconut, apple and pear. He inhaled deeply, his olfactory system struggling to kick into gear. He must store her scent for later!

Sherlock didn't know what to say. She didn't believe a word he'd said? But he'd just spent the past week (had it been a week?) nursing the gouge in his heart. He'd rejected her. Brutally! And she hadn't taken it on board.

"I… don't want you here," he repeated.

"I know," she said, patting him on the chest. "But it's not what you want that's important, it's what you need." She turned away and retrieved his tea from the counter. Walking through to the living area, she added, "Come and have your tea."

Rose deposited the tea cup onto Sherlock's side table. Reluctantly, he followed her into the living room, but didn't take his seat by the fire. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Another headache rapidly made itself at home along with the familiar queasiness that told him it would soon become a migraine.

Rose, in the meantime, had crossed the floor to retrieve her things from the coffee table.

"I won't be back this afternoon," she said. "Probably tonight though. I don't want to keep coming and going in daylight."

"How are you even getting in? I took your key."

Rose pulled on her coat as she spoke.

"Yes, I know. I had a bit of a row with Bob and Justine about it. But Billy lets me in, if he's here, or I ring the doorbell and Mrs Hudson lets me up."

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes," Rose said, another smile creeping onto her face. "She thinks I'm your therapist, remember. She's really concerned about you. We all are."

Sherlock said nothing, and clenched his jaw.

"Make sure you eat the food Billy brings back," Rose went on, heading towards him. "I don't want you getting malnourished."

She stopped in front of him again. Confusion still flitted through Sherlock's mind. This was like waking from a nightmare—one in which he'd broken up with Rose and slowly came apart at the seams. It wasn't true at all. The emotions he'd experienced had no basis in reality.

Conflicting thoughts battered his brain. Embrace her and don't let go. No! Push her away. That had been his initial plan, after all.

"Go away and don't come back," he said, his mind struggling to come up with a more sophisticated insult.

Rose's brows shot up, but other than that, her visage remained mostly composed.

"I'll be back later tonight."

"I don't love you any more."

The words tore out of his mouth, unchecked. A bit not good. Rose's expression, however, brightened a little.

"I don't love you any more either," she said before turning for the door. "Now don't forget to eat." She crossed the landing, leaving Sherlock's head reeling. As she descended the stairs, she added, "And keep hydrated!"

Wait.

What?

She didn't love him anymore? Another blow to the heart! How did that come about? Of course! She did believe the message after all. He'd really hurt her!

"Wait!" he said, dashing toward the landing. "Stop!"

Rose paused midway. Sherlock joined her on the staircase, his head now rattling after being jolted into a full-blown migraine. He winced at the sudden onset of pain.

"Don't go," he rasped. "How can you not love me any more?"

Her expression didn't fit the situation. She regarded him…. sort of affectionately.

"Oh, Sherlock," she said, reaching out and caressing his face as a lump formed in his throat. "Of course I love you! I'm just being as flippant as you are. I know you still love me. So stop playing silly buggers, and go and drink your tea. I'll see you later."

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then continued descending.

Sherlock spent a bit of time on the staircase trying to reorient himself. Eventually, he sat down on the steps and bowed his throbbing head. He'd become a shadow of his former self. His conscious mind may have no idea what was going on, but had his subconscious known all along that Rose hadn't disappeared from his life? Had she visited him every other night, soothing his brow, and curling up next to him in bed?

He didn't know how long he'd sat there by the time Billy entered the stairwell, carrying groceries.

"'ey. You all right?"

"No. I'm slowly dying."

"Well, I've got chicken, if that 'elps."

Billy continued upwards, leaving Sherlock to struggle to his feet, using the wall for support.

He bypassed Billy in the kitchen and lurched towards the bedroom. His skull rattled around in his head, the flat bones of the cranium becoming unfused and grinding against one another like tectonic plates. Sherlock steadied himself against the wall outside the bathroom.

"Y'need protein," Billy said as he unpacked the groceries.

Sherlock closed his eyes to shut out the light. It was no use. His head swam, and his insides roiled, so he staggered into the bathroom to expel the contents of his stomach.


Sherlock rolled his sleeve down. All was right with the world once more. His living room hummed with a vibrancy in harmony with the strings in his body.

"It's time for a case," he said to Billy, who was already checking emails on the laptop. "Tweet this." Sherlock pushed himself out of his armchair. "221BringIt!"

A case. Of course! That's all he needed, and then he'd no longer want to shut out reality by getting high. He could quit at any time! And by taking on cases again, Sherlock would inevitably find one that would put him in danger. He would go and pick a fight with a bad guy. Good one, Mary! Put himself in harm's way, and then John would be there, fighting beside him, as always.

As he made his way toward the living room window, Sherlock's momentary burst of joyousness began to dissipate. Rose. He had to make her go away again. With a heavy sigh, he drew the curtain aside and gazed out on Baker Street. This wasn't the life for her. She was supposed to be going to showers for babies and having groupie playtime up in Edinburgh. Nice and dull, and more importantly, safe.

But how to keep her from coming back?

"There," said Billy, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. "In the space of thirty seconds, we've 'ad eighty-three retweets, and dozens of replies. Not all of them cases, o'course."

"Ignore the riff-raff," Sherlock said, puffing out his chest a little at the notion he was back in the game. He settled himself in his armchair once more. "And don't answer the door to just anyone," he added. "Clients only. I don't want concerned citizens and busy-bodies rocking up at all hours." Rose, more specifically. And he'd also have to tell Mrs Hudson he didn't need Rose's counselling services anymore. "Oh, and straightforward cases only. I don't want to go traipsing all around London at the moment."

No. He needed to be close to home in case he needed a cup of tea.

Tea?

No.

Coffee.


"What do you mean?" Rose said, tromping up the stairs behind Billy, puffing lightly. She was always short of breath these days.

Billy turned to her, waiting until she caught up.

"Jus' standing there, the bloke said. Starin' into space. Cars beepin' all around."

"In the middle of the day?" Rose asked, one hand lightly rubbing her basketball-sized abdomen.

"No. This mornin'. Peak hour. But he was out all night."

Billy turned and continued upwards.

"And why didn't you ring me last night?" Rose asked. "He hasn't been out of the flat in ages."

"'Cause I thought 'e was just goin' out for chips."

Rose and Billy had reached the landing and stood outside the door to Sherlock's living room. Rose's hackles began to rise. What would she find behind the closed door?

"I only stayed away because you promised me you'd detox him," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "'Don't come back for a few days,' you said. 'It'll get messy.' This doesn't sound like detoxing, Billy. Was that just a ploy by Sherlock to keep me away?"

"W-ell…"

Rose closed her eyes briefly and drew in a steadying breath as Billy pushed open the door. It wasn't in a panic that Billy had phoned her. It was more of an 'FYI', giving her the impression she could come around if she wanted to. Her friend never really panicked about anything. That he rang her in the first place strongly suggested something may be amiss.

As it was, Sherlock lay curled up on the sofa like he had been almost every time she'd visited him during this drug-binge period. He had his back to her, and he didn't stir when she gently called his name.

Rose deposited her bag on the floor by the coffee table, then leaned over Sherlock, calling him again and lightly touching his arm. He hunched his shoulders and tried to shuffle in closer to the back of the sofa. The sour odour of someone who hadn't washed in a few days reached her nostrils.

"I'm running him a bath," she said, straightening up.

"Uh, yeah. Good idea," Billy said, wrinkling his nose.

"Why don't you clean up a bit."

Rose waved her hand at the papers that littered the floor as she crossed the living room.

Billy followed her as she headed toward the kitchen, saying, "'e doesn't like me touchin' 'is things. 'e won't find anything otherwise."

Tutting, Rose drew open the sliding doors and stepped into the kitchen. Her chest heaved at the sight that met her.

Turning to Billy, she said, "Don't you think dismantling the drug lab is the first step to take when you're detoxing someone?"

"Oh, I… er…" Billy began, a sheepish look crossing his face. "I thought I'd make some money on the side. Seems like a waste otherwise. 'ere, I'll make you a cuppa tea."

Rose left Billy for the bathroom. Money on the side? Did he really expect her to believe that? Any of it?

Detox, my arse!

She wrenched on the hot tap, then sat on the edge of the bathtub while she waited for the water to heat up.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she bowed her head. A full night's sleep eluded her these days. She couldn't get comfortable, not without half a dozen pillows supporting her belly, her back, neck and legs every which way. And her bladder! Squished and squeezed out of existence! But her mind was the greatest cause of her insomnia, with it worrying about Sherlock.

Rose straightened up and tested the water. On finding it hot enough, she pushed in the plug and turned on the cold water as well. Standing up and stretching, she stifled a yawn.

Bloody Sherlock.

Did he really think she would dutifully return to Edinburgh? And when Bob and Justine had started putting things in motion to pack up and head north, of course she'd screamed at them.

"Are you fucking joking! You don't walk away from someone who needs support!"

Obviously Sherlock had given them instructions before he'd left that awful voice message. Don't escort Rose to Baker Street any more, he'd probably told them, and ship her belongings to Scotland.

She'd shocked the Wilsons by her sudden outburst. They were probably stunned by the number of swear words she used when threatening them with calling the police should they so much as enter her flat and touch her stuff.

Luckily they'd now made amends. Those first few days of Sherlock's rejection of Rose and her initial fallout with the Wilsons had made her feel terribly isolated. Justine was very understanding after they had a lovely chat. Rose insisted the couple spend a week or two in Blackpool, visiting their daughter and grandson, before her own baby was born and things became busier here in London.

"I will take it easy, but I won't stay away from Sherlock," she told them before they left.

Rose re-entered the kitchen to find Billy mixing some dubious-looking concoction. Her chest automatically tightened.

"Billy."

"It's not for 'im. I'm just testin' stuff."

Rose stopped by the kitchen counter and folded her arms in front of her.

"I think it's time to take drastic measures. I'm thinking… an intervention."

"Yeah, that sounds drastic," Billy replied, without looking up from his graduated cylinder.

"There's a place on the border," Rose began. "A castle. Sherlock told me about it ages ago. It's a rehabilitation centre, and he bribes them to have his name on the books in case anyone notices he heads north quite a bit. If we can get him there…"

"I can't see that 'app'nin'."

"He can't go on like this! He has to stop!"

Rose's voice was tight and strained.

"That's not so easy."

Rose clenched her fists. Why'd Billy have to be so casual about everything! A fierce heat spread across her cheeks.

"Stopping is easy! It's not starting up again that's the fucking problem!"

"'ey!" Billy said, looking up.

"What's going on?" came a gravelly voice from the living area.

Rose's heart stuttered in her chest.

"I'm counting on your help, Billy," she told her friend in an urgent whisper.

Both Rose and Billy made their way through to the living room. Sherlock's legs were still stretched out along the sofa, but he was in a half-sitting position and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Sherlock," Rose said, exhaling heavily.

"Oh," he said, looking over to her and blinking. "Hello."

"Y'all right, Shezza?" Billy asked.

"Buzzing," Sherlock replied. "And I've got the best news ever!"

"What's that?"

"We've got a case!"

Rose half rolled her eyes.

"That is good news," Billy said.

"Does that mean you won't be using anymore?" Rose said. She couldn't help it. The snark had set in. Her back ached, her feet throbbed, and all she wanted to do was sleep. A heavy sleep that lasted all night. And then wake up the next morning and have Sherlock fix her eggs for breakfast, and perhaps finish up with a foot massage, or whatever it was that fucking thoughtful, non drug-addicted partners did for their pregnant girlfriends.

She clenched her jaw as her eyes locked on Sherlock's. He tilted his head a little, as if he didn't understand her words, then he redirected his gaze to Billy.

"We've got work to do," he said, leaning forward and simultaneously swivelling his legs around. Sherlock rocked and teetered, then fell, face-first, onto the rug in front of the sofa.

.


Author's Note:

Thanks for reading! Apologies for the later than usual update. Winter is really getting to me. Please send words of warmth and support!

I've just passed the four year mark on this story. Four years! Thank you to everyone who has faved, followed, and reviewed thus far.