Old Habits

After the Moriarty terror, Sherlock has been thinking nonstop about him, until his only escape turns out to be a small white pill.


2. 2

Sherlock paced his flat continuously, his list growing longer and longer. Even deceased people landed a spot on the never ending list. His anger and stress was beginning to get the best of him as he kicked over a trash bin. Almost spilling the small jar he was forced to pee in day after day to prove himself sober. He knelt down on the floor with his hands over his ears.

The pictures of Moriarty were beginning to get to him, driving him slowly insane with the lack of answers. He was becoming as anxious as the rest of them, even more anxious he thought. They after all wouldn't be over analyzing like he was.

"Sherlock you have guests!" Mrs. Hudson hollered from below the stairs.

"Send them up" Sherlock ordered, assuming it was John and Mary. He was shocked however when he saw three girls making their way up into his flat. The girls silently flooded in.

"Good morning Mr. Holmes" Sherlock examined the girl who spoke. Her knees were revealed and clearly chapped and worn, heavily hinting her enjoyment for sex.

"Cecelia?" He asked, remembering the name from Mycroft's call.

"No" one of the other girls laughed, her presence giving off a strong sense of immorality.

"So you are?" Sherlock confirmed.

"No" the first one spoke again. "She is?" She pointed to the girl standing between the two. "Deduce her Mr. Holmes" the girls beckoned together.

Sherlock examined Cecelia thoroughly. She was skinny, extremely skinny, eating disorder possibly? Her bleached and ripped skinny jeans were stuffed into her stained dull white Chuck Taylor converse. Her black shirt hung off her left shoulder, revealing a thin faded pink bra strap. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown, braided to the side in a tight fish tail with strands disbanded here and there. Her eyes were a clear blue, however they were slightly dilated and distant. Drugs. This girl was troubled, clearly. But she seemed happy.

"We're waiting" the second girl spoke softly.

Sherlock sat on the couch and spoke slowly. "Eating disorder, most likely anorexia by the state of your arms, heavy into drugs, but surprisingly resistant by the track marks on your arm and the lifeless eyes, your shoes are covered slightly in dry mud, obviously don't care much about looks. You are from not far, probably born in Scotland. You can't be older than eighteen. And you are here because?"

Cecelia laughed and walked closer to Sherlock. "Hello Mr. Holmes" she smiled and spoke with a heavy American accent.

"You're American?" He was slightly shocked.

"New York" she slowly stepped closer to him.

"I always miss something" he spoke aloud to himself.

"Leave girls" Cecelia spoke as she straddled the seated Sherlock. "Do you smoke Mr. Holmes?" She asked pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a faded red lighter.

"Not really" he lifted his sleeve, showing her his patches. Cecelia simply smiled, placing a cigarette in her mouth and breathing in as she lit it. As she French inhaled, letting the smoke leave her nose, Sherlock leaned forward, breathing in the old familiar scent. Cecelia removed the paper from her mouth and replaced it in his, pulling out a new one for herself. They smoked in silence for a moment before Sherlock spoke again. "You are here because?" He smirked, repeating the unanswered question.

"To help you" Cecelia wrapped her arms around his neck and blew more smoke into his face, causing him to smile unbelievably large.

"Help me how?" His voice shook as their eyes met, a sign of fear and lust.

"Help you relax Mr. Holmes" she leaned forward until her mouth was but an inch from his.

"Please call me Sherlock" he begged as he inhaled the smoke flowing from her mouth.

"Sherlock" she smiled.

"How old are you?" He asked as the smoke faded from his brain and he noticed her on his lap.

"How old do I look?" She asked in her usual soft voice.

"Too young for me" he lifted her off his lap but she forced herself back on.

"I am of legal age Mr. Holmes, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't" she reassured him as she dropped her cigarette into a clear tray hidden behind the table. "I thought you said you didn't smoke" she winked at him.

"Who are you?" He asked, becoming suddenly interested.

"I am not who I seem Mr. Holmes. I am far superior for my age, I'm like you Sherlock" she leaned down and kissed him, however he did not kiss back.

"What do you mean you are like me?" He put out his own cigarette.

"I have gifts, same as you, I see too much onto things, and people loath me. But I found a way to end it." Her voice was beckoning, convincing, slightly evil. "I can show you how, I can make you normal, you can have friends-" he nearly cut her off but she didn't let him. "Friends who don't have reasons to hate you, everyone will love you, and you'll keep the ones you have." She added.

Sherlocks eyes locked with hers as he longed for a life different from his own. "It's not worth it"

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