WARNING: SUICIDE, DRINKING, SEXUAL OCCURRENCES, MENTIONS OF SEX :P
My shoes tapped against the tiled floor of the asylum loudly, the sound echoing through the hall as I headed to my patient's room. He had been placed on lock down in one of the older rooms. When I reached the door, I took in a small breath of air and plastered a cheery smile on my face before using my card to unlock the door.
"Good morning George," I greeted, swinging the heavy metal door inwards.
The clipboard fell from my hands and clattered on the tile loudly as I absorbed the sight before me. My patient was hanging from the ceiling light by a bed sheet with his neck snapped and his head at an unnatural angle. George's black hair fell over his pale face as wet strings and his eyes were permanently closed. This was one of the few rooms that had not been refurnished to avoid the possibility of incidents such as the one before me. Hopefully, I raised my hand up to his pale wrist and pressed to find a pulse, but there was none.
"Shit," I whispered, turning on my heel and shouting through the hospital.
"Jones!" I yelled, barging into his office breathlessly and pointing in the direction of the patient's room.
"Willis. Some dumbass put him in one of the older rooms," I wheezed.
The look on my face seemed to convey the rest as my boss stood to his full height, his blue eyes piercing through me like daggers. He called a few workers over the intercom and took off towards George's room with me close behind, my signature smile wiped off my face. When we reached the room, Jones let out a groan of anger at the sight. I looked anywhere but the body, unwilling to look at the dead face of my patient. My boss shot me a look of sympathy as a few more employees arrived, one fainting and the other calling the policeman we had on site.
"Em, you can go home. Just relax today, I'll find out who moved him to this room."
I nodded in silent thanks and headed out of the asylum quickly, my stomach threatening to empty itself of my breakfast. When I made it to my car, I realized that it was already 5 p.m. As the horror of the suicide continued to plague my thoughts, I chose to drive to the nearest bar. A drink was in my hand moments after I took a seat at the bar. My eyes scanned the room over the rim of my glass as I took a small sip, before closing as I downed the entire glass. The liquid burned for only a second before it was washed down by another glass. I was already slightly tipsy when the one and only Mycroft Holmes sat on the stool next to me, holding out another drink which I took and chugged greedily.
"What brings you here, Em?" he questioned lightly, leaning his umbrella on the side of the counter.
I shot him a warning glare before turning back to the bartender to drown my sorrows in more alcohol. For the next hour, Mycroft sat beside me obediently, as though guarding me from the pigs that frequented such places. By the time the stress had been diminished, my wallet was nearly drained of cash. Despite only being a bit drunk, I began flirting with the gorgeous bartender who had been serving me. Mycroft then took me by the arm and gently led me out to his car with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, he was driving himself around. There was no limo driven by a personal chauffeur, so it was only the two of us in the vehicle.
"Mycrooffttt," I hiccuped as he pulled out of the parking lot.
There was no response from the ice man as we headed to baker street. I anxiously poked at his side in an attempt to get his attention.
"What do you want?" he asked monotonously, his voice slightly wavering from the alcohol he too had consumed.
"You," I said confidently, the alcohol fueling my desire for anything but horror.
His eyes widened for a millisecond and his pupils dilated before he turned his gaze back to the road, shaking his head. His hands were clenched so tightly on the wheel that his knuckles began to turn white. Bravely, I placed my hand on his leg and let out an innocent giggle as a small sigh left his lips. Still, he would not look at me.
"Mycroooftttt," I moaned gently, running my hand slowly up his leg and resting it at the top of his thigh.
I stared at his face proudly as he slowly lost control and looked at me.
"Em-" he started.
I held a finger to his mouth to shush him as we reached my flat.
"Come inside?" I pouted, giving his growing erection a slight squeeze before exiting the vehicle.
My hips swayed as I walked, capturing the attention of the elder Holmes brother. At the moment I was too drunk to care who he was. I entered my flat and laid on my bed, my legs opened slightly. A grin crept its way onto my face as I heard the door open, followed by the rushed footsteps of Holmes.
"What are you doing in her flat?" Sherlock's voice broke the silence and cut the footsteps short.
"I-" Mycroft attempted to explain but I assumed his appearance told everything that needed to be known.
'Get. out." Sherlock hissed, making me groan in annoyance.
The sound of a drunken Mycroft making his way down the stairs informed me of the man's departure. Sherlock himself slammed my door open, causing me to shoot up and nearly fall over. This was not the most oppurtune time to be drunk.
"Why did you do that?" I groaned, genuinely pissed that my distraction had been sent away by Sherlock.
"You're drunk," he said darkly, his tone dangerously low.
The man before me was breathing heavily and looked rather disheveled. He was dressed in typical sleep attire, loose pants and a shirt that looked like he had just thrown on. Unfortunately, the expression on his face was nearly murderous.
"Why so angry?" I hiccuped, leaning back against the wooden headboard of my bed.
He shook his head slowly and brought his gaze up to meet my own hazed one.
"Sherlock I needed that," I sighed, tears threatening to escape as I remembered the lifeless body of George Willis.
The man let out a shaky sigh before walking towards me slowly, the way one might approach a cornered animal as I curled into a fetal position against my bed. Surprisingly, I was wrapped in a quick warm embrace. Drunken tears streamed down my face as he held me.
"What happened at work today Emily?" he asked gently, his voice still as low as ever.
"Ask me tomorrow," I begged, my voice wavering as I wiggled out of the hug and sank down into my mattress, leaving Sherlock confused.
"Em-" he started, only to be cut short by a pleading glance from me.
Sherlock nodded curtly, his curls bouncing slightly as he did so. I giggled and pulled the blanket from under me.
"Stay?" I asked drowsily, the alcohol finally sending me off into sleep.
My eyes were closed by the time he sank down into the mattress next to me. I could only imagine how confused the poor man was in the face of an emotional drunk woman, seeing as he knew nearly nothing about human nature. I was enveloped with a wave of heat when he pulled the blanket over us, but still felt cold. In a desperate search for warmth, I turned over and curled into Sherlock's side before letting out a sigh of content as the alcohol induced sleep overwhelmed me.