No Shit, Sherlock

I've Got You

I strongly recommend listening to the song "Daddy Issues" by The Neighborhood while reading this chapter :')

I stumble out of the bar, the alcohol finally taking its toll on me. My eyes are red and swollen from the continuous tears. I look horrible. Everyone watches as I stumble down the street, having to catch myself on the side of the building, to prevent me from falling. It's a pathetic sight to see, but I don't care.

"Bless her soul," a woman mutters.

My feet finally stop. I look up to see a familiar building in front of me. I should go home, but I don't want to. It wouldn't be good to be by myself right now, and all I wanted was to be with him.

I stare at the familiar staircase. How on Earth am I going to make it to the top? I should've thought this through. But my drunken mind didn't care, I took a step up the stairs, and eventually made it to the top.

My head spins as I take sloppy steps towards the door, I stand in front of it for a minute. I should've gone home. I knock on the door, much harder than I intended. My knuckles continue tapping on the door until it opens.

"Can I help you?"

I stare at the man in confusion. Who is he?

"(Y/n)?"

I slowly turn around to see Sherlock standing behind me. My knees buckle, he catches me right before I crash to the ground. "Sherlock, just the man I was looking for."

"I'm sorry for the interruption, it appears that she's knocked on the wrong door."

The stranger nods and shuts the door. Sherlock walks me to his apartment, it's two doors down from where we were. I had thought the walk from the stairs was too short. We walk in and he walks over to his desk, not even saying a word.

I stumble over to his couch, falling down right in front of it. My head throbs as I sit up, leaning against the couch. I can feel his blue eyes staring at me, but I refuse to look his way.

"Are you drunk?"

I let out a laugh, "No, of course not."

He kneels down in front of me, grabbing my chin, and forcing me to look him in the eyes. I hold my breath, waiting for him to say or do anything. But he lets out a sigh and stands up. "You're drunk."

"Ah, the wonderful detective Sherlock Holmes has solved the case!"

"You shouldn't be getting drunk and wandering the streets on your own."

I roll my eyes, "Spare me the lecture, Sherlock."

"You shouldn't be getting drunk in the first place."

"That's rich coming from you," I say, rubbing my head.

He watches me, his blue eyes narrowed. "It's not as unsafe for me to drink as it is for you."

"I didn't come here to get lectured by a hypocrite."

I pull myself up to my feet, my head spinning as I do. His apartment is messy again, papers are all over the floor, and there are books stacked all around his desk. I'm sure Watson would have a heart attack if he saw this mess.

"Why did you come here then?"

I walk over to his desk, and he follows me closely. There's a bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk, I eye it cautiously. He must've seen me looking at it, because he quickly picks it up and walks off with it.

"I didn't want to be alone," I whisper.

Somehow, he hears me. Maybe it's because of his years of being a detective, or maybe it's because the universe actually does hate me. I curse myself for coming here. Even when I'm drunk I still think about him.