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Sherlock was, yet again, prodding at the basin of cold water in the sink where his coat and sweatshirt were busy soaking.

Eric thought about telling him to stop, or perhaps walking into the kitchen and physically dragging the git back into the sitting room... but decided against it, choosing instead to simply continue lying on the sofa. His head was swimming a bit thanks to the oxy, and he really just didn't feel like doing much of anything at all. Let Sherlock fuck with the wash as much as he wanted - they were his clothes to mess up anyway.

"Does the salt help break down the serum proteins?" Sherlock asked as he finally wandered back into the sitting room. "It must, I suppose, but then how are the wool fibres spared? There's a stark difference in scale of course but you would think the underlying principle would result in degradation at a fundamental level regardless."

"Sherly, I ain't got no fuckin' clue what yer talkin' about," Eric muttered from under the arm he'd flung over his eyes. He was really starting to wish he'd just foregone the oxy entirely and smoked himself into a stupor instead. At least then he wouldn't be feeling so bloody ill.

"I'm trying to figure out how your stain removal technique works," Sherlock clarified, sounding ridiculously cheerful about what really should have been the most dead-boring topic imaginable; obviously he was quite high. Eric didn't really mind, though - ever since he'd told Sherlock about being creeped out by the whole bleedin' android thing the other boy had tended to default to talkative and happy instead of frigid stillness whenever he did a hit.

But of course that only applied when it was just the two of them. No matter how giddy he'd managed to get himself on coke Sherlock would, without fail, always snap back to his cold façade the second anyone besides Eric was in earshot.

As if the universe was reading his thoughts Eric heard the sound of the front door opening. He looked over to Sherlock (who'd been hovering by the arm of the sofa, hands tucked into the front pocket of the dark green jumper Eric had leant him while his Oxford sweatshirt was soaking) and watched as, sure enough, the lanky prat immediately locked right up into his chilly robot aristocrat persona.

Ben strode into the room a second later. "Hey, guys!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Benjamin," Sherlock intoned in a bland monotone, quite suddenly looking as if he couldn't care less where he was or who he was with. Eric just barely managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the act. That was just how Sherlock dealt with social anxiety, he reminded himself, and it was hardly fair to judge the guy for what was obviously an effective coping technique... even if it was a bit two-faced and occasionally disturbing.

"'Lo, Benny," Eric mumbled as he lowered his arm back over his eyes.

Ben ambled over and poked his head over the back of the sofa. "You still feelin' like shit, mate?"

"Yup," Eric replied.

Ben clicked his tongue slightly in disapproval. "Ah, well... just remember to hit me up if you need anything with a bit more pep, yeah? Racer's got the good stuff right now, post-holidays and all."

"Thanks, Benny. Think I'll be fine wit' what I got," Eric mumbled back. It was a nice offer and all, but he really hated stimulants. They always put him on edge, even more terrified of mundane shit than usual, prone to panic attacks... plus they tended to make his heart feel as if it were seconds away from exploding. He'd never once experienced the sort of energetic euphoria Ben seemed to derive from the stuff, and certainly never got... well, whatever the hell it was Sherlock got off coke. Hyper-calm? Roboticised?

Speaking of the prat, though... Eric shifted his arm a bit to watch as Sherlock's face darkened imperceptibly at the mere mention of Racer (and jesus christ, of all the dealers to get on the bad side of...) while Ben just smiled genially at them over the back of the sofa.

"Right-ho, then!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "Thought I'd offer anyway. So, what're you kids up to today?"

He said this last with a glance up to Sherlock, who stared impassively back before shifting his gaze away toward the kitchen with a slight shrug. "I'm purifying cocaine."

Ben quirked an eyebrow. "Huh. Well... that sure sounds like fun."

"Not really," Sherlock responded in an unimpressed deadpan as he looked back to them. Eric honestly couldn't tell if he'd missed the sarcasm or just chosen not to acknowledge it.

Ben hesitated, apparently also confused by the reply, and Eric decided he should really speak up before this ended up any more awkward than it'd already gotten. He let his arm flop off the side of the couch with a heavy sigh and stared morosely up at Ben.

"Me, I ain't doin' shit but lyin' here."

"Well yeah, I kinda figured that." Ben smiled again, chuckling, and took a step away from the couch as he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. "Welp, anyway! I been up since like yesterday, gotta get some sleep. You two lovebirds stay out of trouble!" He flashed them a roguish wink and a grin, then turned to amble off toward the stairs whistling to himself. Eric scowled at the word lovebirds but felt too ill to really do anything about it. Ben was already on his way to his room anyhow - well out of kicking range.

"Lovebirds?" Sherlock repeated a few seconds after Ben had gone, his chilly façade evaporating as quickly as it had come in favour of scrunching his face up in abject, almost comical disgust. Despite the general shit state he was in Eric smiled and huffed a short laugh - of course Sherlock would go and drop his android act with a look like that, of all expressions.

"He's just teasin' us," he assured, still smiling. Ben always said that kind of stuff - innuendos and silly jabs about Eric shacking up with anyone they even remotely interacted with, laughing like a jackal whenever his younger friend got embarrassed. Presumably Eric having actually slept with someone after god-knew-how-long would be a source of constant amusement to their housemate for weeks to come.

Sherlock looked like he didn't know quite what to make of that. After a short pause he half-rolled his eyes and turned toward the kitchen, apparently deciding to change the subject. "How long until my coat is clean?"

Ugh, back to the bleeding wash again. Eric sighed and let his head flop sideways into the couch cushions. "Y'asked me that ten minutes ago."

"Did I?"

"Yeah," Eric shifted his head to glower up at Sherlock. "Y'forgot already?"

"No," Sherlock replied with a vaguely affronted look. A beat later though he frowned to himself and looked away. "I thought it had been longer than that."

Oh, Eric realised, that was right - for all his crazy genius superpowers, Sherlock actually seemed to have serious difficulty keeping accurate track of the passage of time. He'd think fifteen minutes had been an hour, a couple hours a whole day... and apparently a large portion of the morning spent filtering his cocaine solution had somehow registered to him as no more than a few seconds, judging by how startled he'd looked when he finally caught sight of a clock. Must be confusing as hell.

Eric felt his expression soften. Beyond all the aristocratic poise and impossible wealth of knowledge it was nice to know Sherlock still had some shortcomings.

"It's noon," he supplied helpfully, nodding toward the ancient plastic clock on the wall behind the telly. Sherlock glanced over.

"Oh." Another pause, then he huffed to himself and looked back to Eric. "Don't tell anyone I didn't know that."

"Won't breathe a word," Eric promised with a bemused smirk. Sherlock regarded him dubiously for a moment, then seemed to accept the assurance and nodded once in a matter-of-fact way.

"Good," he quipped, and went back into the kitchen - probably to fuck around with his coat and sweatshirt again, but who cared. Not like he could do much more damage to the items than they'd already sustained anyway.

Eric smiled and leant back to throw his arm over his eyes again. If Sherlock wanted to continue pretending to be perfect around everyone else, that was fine. Keep up appearances, throw on the android act... whatever helped him deal with things.

But between the two of them, he'd always just be human.

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