S2 finale spoilers in-thread

[searchingfordistraction]

The key to Jim's room in Milliways seems to have disappeared.

Curious, that.



[OOC: Warnings for drug addiction and abuse, consent issues, and talk of suicide.]

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[searchingfordistraction]

"No?"

Jim's face and voice are entirely innocent. He continues to hold the bag up.

"No ideas?"

[consulting_detective]

He finally forces himself to look away.

"No."

[searchingfordistraction]

"Shame."

Jim's lips press together into a slight, regretful pout.

"I do hate to waste it."

[consulting_detective]

"Too bad."

Coming up here was a bad idea. Really, very not good.

Jim might notice a barely controlled tremor coursing through Sherlock right now.

[searchingfordistraction]

Of course he notices.

"Well."

He drops the bag onto the duvet between them.

"If you change your mind."

[consulting_detective]

"I stopped that," Sherlock says, though his voice seems uncertain. "A long time ago."

He moves his hands under the pillow, as though that will somehow stop him from doing anything stupid.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim turns onto his side to face Sherlock properly, pillowing his head on his arm.

"Did you?"

[consulting_detective]

There's a long pause.

"Yes."

[searchingfordistraction]

"Hmm."

With his free hand, Jim reaches back behind the headboard. There's the faint sound of tape detaching from wood.

Jim produces a small mirror, with a playing card and a tightly-rolled twenty pound note attached to it, which he puts down next to the bag.

The card is the king of hearts.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock pretends very hard not to notice what's going on.

He could get up and walk out of here. He knows he could. The door is right there, not five steps away.





He stays right where he is.

[searchingfordistraction]

One might think it would be awkward, one-handed, in the small space between them, to cut lines of cocaine on a little mirror with a playing card.

Jim does it with grace and ease, his movements almost casual. The surface is more stable than it would seem, with the duvet pulled taut between the weight of their bodies.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock hasn't looked over since Jim put the bag down, but he's still noticing things. Of course he is.

"The king of hearts isn't actually stabbing himself in the head," he says. "He's holding an axe, but the pip gets in the way and the axe isn't drawn in anymore."

[searchingfordistraction]

"There's little point in burning the heart of someone who's already dead," Jim says.

Once he's got the lines organized to his satisfaction, he picks up the twenty pound tube and holds it out to Sherlock.

"I'm assured it's the best," he says, "but people who know what will happen to them if I find out they were lying."

[consulting_detective]

There's a long pause before Sherlock finally pulls his hand free to take the note.

And an even longer pause still while he stares at it.

[searchingfordistraction]

Contrary to the popular opinion he has so carefully created, Jim is perfectly capable of patience. When it's important.

He waits.

[consulting_detective]

"I can't," Sherlock says, watching as his hand trembles. "I can't. I...John...I can't."

And yet, he's still not leaving. Or even putting down the note.

[searchingfordistraction]

"He isn't here," Jim murmurs. "No place like Milliways for anonymity. No one can know who you're with, or what choices you might make. And you can stay here until the effects of those choices are gone. Just us. The only ones who will ever know."

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock shakes his head. Five years. Five fucking years without so much as rolling a spliff. He can't do this.

And yet, despite himself, he finds himself inching ever closer to Jim and the lines drawn on the mirror.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim watches him quietly. Everything about him is neutral - his body language, his expression, everything.

This is Sherlock's decision to make. Jim has merely provided him with the tools with which he might make it.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock might argue that it's not a decision. It's a habit that's been put on the shelf and ignored for a very long time.

And it's just a matter of time before that habit takes over, and almost on autopilot, Sherlock bends down to snort the first line. Even despite his long sobriety, it's a very practised, natural move for him. After all, he's done it thousands of times.

"Fuck!" he shouts, though there's very little anger in it. He drops the note and falls back onto the bed, savouring this feeling.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim stretches lazily, arching his body, and smiling faintly.

His eyes never leave Sherlock.

[consulting_detective]

Sherlock lays limply on the bed for a few moments before breaking into a nervous laughter.

"John's gonna be pissed," he says. "I probably shouldn't go home tonight."

Yeah, because that will make things better.

[searchingfordistraction]

"You're welcome to stay here," Jim offers generously. "Since you have a key."

[consulting_detective]

"You must have known I took it," Sherlock says. "I'm really not that good."

He twists the rolled-up note in his fingers, vaguely contemplating at the second line.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Of course I knew," he says. "I wanted to find out why. So I let you."

To find out why, among other things.