THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER.
The tall blonde hurried out of the library, hugging the book to her chest. Suzette had been studying anatomy when Sherlock had entered, and they had both ended up sat at the same table, in the corner of the library, referencing the same two books.
Suzette was an enigma to Sherlock. She seemed plain and quite reserved, but Sherlock could tell that, underneath those layers, there was a complex individual with a passion for anatomy and puzzles. Beyond that though, Sherlock could deduce little else, and the mystery enticed him. She had chatted with him comfortably, not in the least bit perturbed by his strange ways and odd opinions, and the two of them had arranged to meet later that evening. Sherlock had a book that he wanted to show her.
The two of them became friends. Real, genuine friends. Sherlock was careful to hide this friendship from Jim (and his association with Jim from Suzette) as he attempted to keep the two parts of his life separate. Suzette would visit him during the daytime and evenings when he wasn't with Jim and they would study together - she shared his fascination with the more macabre subjects - and discuss everything from unsolved crimes to the social activities of their peers.
There was never any romantic tendencies between them, and Suzette never shows any indication that she wanted it. They were just good friends with common interests and, when Suzette came into the library one day and presented Sherlock with a birthday gift of two antique silver candle holders, Sherlock was truly touched. She had often commented on his beautiful deep purple candles and how the little, peeling silver plated holders that Sherlock kept them in simply did not do them justice. When she came across the ornate silver pair in an antiques shop, she knew exactly who would love them.
Sherlock smiled as she left. A smile of mixed emotions. The antique silver was perfect. Perfect in every way. It was bittersweet.
As Suzette left the library, Jim strolled in, approaching Sherlock as he was packing his books to leave.
"Sherly." he began, purring Sherlock's pet name in a way that Sherlock both hated and lived for. "Will I see you tonight?"
Jim picked up one of the books that Sherlock was bundling into his bag. "Dissections Illustrated; A Graphic Handbook for Students of Human Anatomy" He flicked through the pages, screwing his nose up at the content.
"Really, Sherly?" he questioned, shoving the book into the rucksack.
Sherlock shrugged. He didn't suppose it was any less tasteful that what the two of them did together.
"I can't come over tonight, Jim." Sherlock finally answered, peering anxiously from beneath his fringe. "I am busy." Clipping his bag closed and slinging it over his shoulder, he started to make his way out of the library with Jim hot on his heels.
"Busy?" Jim repeated, his voice raised in anger. "Since when are you busy?" Grabbing hold of Sherlock's bag strap, he spun the man round, pushing him back against the wall with a quick glance around to ensure nobody was there to witness.
"You are never too busy for me!" he hissed, pressing his forearm against Sherlock's throat and pinning him to the wall. Sherlock's struggled breaths shallowed and he tried to push Jim off, ineffectually grabbing at his assailant. The protests just angered Jim further, and he used his second hand to pin Sherlock at his groin, pressing a palm against the other man's cock which laid limp. Nevertheless, the move had the desired effect of making him keep still.
"That's better, Sherlock." he snarled, putting particular emphasis on the 'lock' sound of the full name he rarely used. "I. Shall. See. You. Later."
Sherlock nodded weakly, and Jim released him, giving a final squeeze with his palm before removing it.
"He's seeing someone, boss." Sebastian announced, entering Jim's flat and passing over the camera. "Some girl. Suzette."
Jim pulled the memory card from the camera and slid it into the computer. He scowled as the pictures loaded up. Sherlock was clearly very comfortable with this girl. Too comfortable. Sebastian had photos of them chatting and laughing, sharing coffees and lunches. One photo in particular irked him. The pair were sat in a café, deep in some sort of discussion and that expression, the expression on Sherlock's face was one of pure contentment. This person; this girl was going to come between Jim and his Sherlock; HIS Sherlock, and Jim was not happy about that at all.
"Sebastian", he finally started, after some considerable effort to compose himself and reign in his anger, "There is something I need you to do for me and I will more than make it worth your while."
Sherlock barely heard a word that the officer had said to him.
"... in the bathtub... overdose... no suspicious circumstances... looks like a typical student suicide..."
He blinked away the tears that threatened to give away the feelings that he was trying so hard to subdue. Suzette, his friend, his only real friend had been discovered by her flatmate earlier that morning. It seemed as though she had taken an overdose of some sort of painkillers and died in the bath. People were claiming that she was having problems with her family, and she had been struggling with her work, but Sherlock had seen no evidence of this. He had spent a considerable amount of time with Suzette, and she had never given the impression that anything was wrong at home or with her studies. Sherlock began to wonder if his deductions were flawed or if it was all a lie: a big cover up of the truth. He suspected he knew which.
As he lay in Jim's bed that evening, having whored himself out for the cocaine he so dearly needed, he relegated his friendship with Suzette to a closed room of his Mind Palace and pressed 'delete'.