Next thing she knew she was sitting against a wall, an awkward girl maybe 19 years old was holding out a water bottle to her, she looked frightened.
"The man in the coat said to make you drink this."
The drug was still causing static in her brain; she struggled to reach for it. The girl picked up on her weakness and opened the bottle, holding it closer. Somehow Serene managed to reach a hand into her pocket and removed the pilfered saltshaker.
"Open this, please" she rasped at the girl, who looked confused. She twisted off the top of the shaker.
A shadow loomed over her. Serene felt rather than saw Sherlock Holmes.
"Excellent." He said crouching and shooing away the girl. "Police are on their way with the EMTs, might as well get a head start." He deftly takes the saltshaker in one hand and tips Serene's head with the other.
He pours salt into her slightly open mouth and follows it quickly with the water bottle. He isn't delicate with her, but he manages not to jerk her. She had hardly swallowed the burning concoction before she felt her stomach turn and lurched to the side, vomiting up a small pool of liquid. The relief was minimal as she choked into the pavement, but she felt good knowing whatever hadn't been absorbed was now winding its way down towards Sherlock Holmes' shoes.
There was the thunder and noise of police pulling up to the scene, and she heard the pounding of shoes coming towards her.
"What's happened? Is she okay?" Greg was over her in a second and she suddenly felt self conscious of her bedraggled appearance.
"Just inducing vomiting." Sherlock responded.
"Bloody Hell, Sherlock. EMTs are on their way they can handle this." Greg was crouching next to her. Moving her head so she was looking at him. She wished he would stop. "Are you okay?"
She managed to smile, but holding her head up felt like too much.
"Serene, I can't - I-" Greg was struggling for words.
Lestrade felt sick looking at her, she was covered in blood, her own and the killer's. She was weak and disoriented from whatever had been slipped to her. He couldn't find the words to apologize, all the things he thought and felt seemed to tumble out of him at once in a mess. Serene just smiled and tried to lift her hand to his lapel, in her familiar soothing gesture. It was then he saw the scrapes along her forearms.
"Can I get a bleeding EMT here already!" He shouted at the growing crowd of first responders. From somewhere in the alley an EMT emerged and began lifting Serene to her feet.
Someone called Lestrade's name and he ignored them as he watched her walk towards the ambulance, Sherlock following her. He heard his name again and he had to turn away.
Sherlock watched as the EMT cleaned and bandaged the woman's forearms. Her injuries as far as he could tell were minor. Cuts and bruises, the killer's blood and her drugged state were making things seem worse than they were. She had vomited and seemed to be coming around, her eyes were less dull and she was moving better.
"Out of the way, freak" Donovan's usual greeting came from just behind his right elbow. He stepped to the left, allowing her to pass. "I need her clothes, so I need you to leave."
He nodded in understanding and crossed just to the side of the ambulance, behind the doors. He felt frustrated things had gotten out of hand so quickly. He had been securing Serene's glass and the remaining liquid as evidence, before entering the alley. He had thought Lestrade would have been ready and waiting. Evidently it had taken him precious seconds longer than anticipated to convince the bouncers of the situation and enlist their help securing the club and its clientele.
"Hello, Doc. Bit of a rough night, eh?" There was affection in Donovan's voice; obviously Serene had been able to win over all the Yard's personnel. "I am going to need to collect your clothes as evidence."
He could hear the two women murmuring as they transferred the clothes into bags and Donovan helped Serene into some scrubs. He could see Lestrade looking down at the body; he seemed absorbed in his thoughts. Anderson approached him, and Lestrade began rubbing his temple. A sound reaction to Anderson, but he could see Lestrade pointing angrily to the end of the alley, to the ambulance, in fact. Lestrade wouldn't look though, all of his movements kept his head decidedly turned away from them.
Anderson sauntered up. "I need to process you." Sherlock came around the doors of the ambulance to see Serene swimming in pale blue scrubs. Anderson had her hair in her face and was running a comb through it, moving the blood and dirt to an evidence bag, next under her nails. Anderson looked at Serene a moment too long, she was still drowsy and not looking at him. "I need your underwear."
"For pity's sake, Anderson."
"What? I am being thorough."
Sherlock opens his mouth to interject, but is cut off quickly and effective by Serene's purr. "I'll bring them to Detective Lestrade tomorrow. For tonight I am going home."
She stands unsteadily, pushing away from the ambulance. Donovan steps forward to catch her, but Serene waves her off. "I am fine, Sally. Just fine."
"Really, Doc. Let him take you home. He'll be hell to deal with if you don't."
"I'll take her." Sherlock offers, to everyone's surprise.
Serene's eyes are clearer when she looks at him. Perhaps the adrenaline was enough to push through some of the drug's effects. She smiles at him, but shakes her head.
"I will make it just fine on my own, I am in no position to host."
"You'll find I insist." His last word becomes a hiss, as he gestures toward the road.
Serene shrugs the movement of her shoulders barely visible in the folds of the scrubs. "I suppose if there is no stopping you." Serene glances down the alley again, towards the sheet covered body of the man who attacked her, the man that Detective Inspector Lestrade had shot dead for her.
Greg wasn't a killer; she knew that the death weighed as heavily on him as his vindication. She longed to smooth her hand down his lapel, to flirt and tease him until he felt better. She wanted more than that too. Looking at him now she could feel only the pleasure of being pressed up against him. He was magnetic to her, and thinking of him makes a roiling want build in her. The longer she knows him the muddier those desires are. She wonders why she delays, she is the type to revel in her sexuality. That this man should make her pause is inexplicable to her. She had been punishing herself with this desire for almost two years; perhaps it was time for that dam to break.
All of this passes through her in the space of a glance, an instantaneous hardening of intention. He looks up then and their eyes meet. It as if he has read her every thought, she feels such intensity in their connection. She feels Sherlock move to her side, she breaks eye contact with Greg to sweep her eyes to the man standing next to her. Sherlock nods over her head, she doesn't see Lestrade's response. Instead she walks away, knowing Sherlock is following.