The Reason I Don't Care

Chapter 9

I had called in sick to work so that I could confront Sherlock.

What was going on in his head? What was he thinking? What happened? I was use to Sherlock being a partial arse but now he being a complete arse. What changed? Why is Mycroft so interested in Sherlock's addiction?

I walked into the kitchen just as the clock stuck nine.

I went to the stove and put the kettle on. Then I opened the cupboard to pick out a tea. Lemon? Cinnamon? Green? Raspberry? And… oh, Earl Grey. I grabbed a packet and put it in the new tea pot Sherlock's mother had sent over a few days earlier. After I had put the water in I put the pot and a cup on a tray. I brought the tray into the other room. I sat in my chair looking out the window.

"What's going on Sherlock?", I asked the air.

No one answered.

I looked at the mantelpiece. Sherlock's phone was sitting next to his skull which was lying peacefully on its side. As I looked closer I saw that it was filled with things. I couldn't tell what; just that it had many different things in it.

What is that?, I thought as I leaned as far as I could in my chair trying to get a closer look at it without moving from my spot.

After a few moments of uneducated guessing, I got up and walked over and retrieved it before returning to my seat.

I used my index finger to stir the contents. Then I reached in and plucked up the first thing that my fingers brushed against: A nicotine patch. I reached in again and pulled another patch out. As I reached in I kept finding more and more patches. That was surprisingly normal.

Feeling content that all the items in the skull were nicotine patches I turned the skull upside down and shook the remaining items out: a few more patches and a lot of trouble.

Out of the skull half hidden amongst the patches were two items: a box of cigarettes and a box of old fashioned matches like the ones from the case that had to deal with the inexplicable matchbox.

Why does Sherlock have cigarettes in his skull? What if Sherlock is smoking though? Why wouldn't he tell me and why would he be even?, I thought to myself.

I started to feel my face warm up as I became more and more irritated at Sherlock.

I picked myself up out of the chair and started to slowly make my way towards Sherlock's room, my blood boiling hotter and hotter with every step I took.

What the bloody hell as Sherlock smoking for? What is going on? And why in the hell has he not told me that something is, or was, going on?

By the time I finally waked into Sherlock's room I was fuming. I looked around.

What else are you hiding And where would it, they, be?, I thought.

I looked at his wardrobe and smiled.

"Let's see what else you are hiding from me", I said as I threw the doors open.

That is when more than a dozen cartons of cigarettes fell on top of me. I looked up from the ground into the wardrobe. It was stacked high with cigarette cartons, top to bottom, side to side, front to back, full of cigarettes.

"What the hell is going on?", I shouted, my words echoed through the stale air.

I dug myself from the heap.

My rage towards Sherlock subsiding as I looked at the packages lying at my feet. I reorganized the large rectangles in the wardrobe and made it seem like they had never been discovered.

"Sherlock", I sighed, "What is going on?

I looked over at Sherlock's bed. The covers were all messed up the sheets were half off. That was odd. Sherlock is neat when it comes to that kind of thing. For damn sake he has a bloody system for his socks.

I noticed that there was something shiny poking out from underneath the edge of his pillow. I was black, gold and very familiar. Upon further investigation I came to the realization that it was in fact Irene Adler's mobile phone.

I picked it up and then, after a few seconds of looking at it in wonder, the phone was knocked out of my hand viciously by something… or someone…