Catching the Ghost (Sheriarty/Jimlock) 18+

Chapter 15

Sherlock dozed wrapped around Jim after an evening of lazy and prolonged sex which left him drained in the best possible way. He'd gone to sleep at peace with the fact that they'd part in the morning, content in Jim's promise that there was something more to look forward to beyond this moment. It was this very satisfaction which made the pinprick in his arm all the more shocking. He woke with a jolt to find Jim perched at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and scrolling through Sherlock's phone.

"Shhh," the criminal cooed, gently pushing Sherlock back down against the mattress. "Don't fight it honey. You remember this, yeah? One of Adler's greatest hits."

"N-No," Sherlock managed to grunt, before paralysis overtook him and he found himself unable to make much more than a weak gurgle.

Jim set the phone down on his lap. "I know you're wondering, so I'll just get it out of the way," Jim sighed dramatically. "No. I'm not going back on what I said before. I'll still be your," he paused to finger quote, "boyfriend."

Sherlock exhaled in a soft moan, struggling to keep his hazy thoughts together to piece together why Jim was doing this.

"Exit strategy," Jim said, as if in answer. "When you wake up check your messages. You did a lousy job on alibi for a three day absence." Jim stood and stretched. "Ver~y sloppy. I'm disappointed."

Jim's fingers slipped through Sherlock's hair as his eyes slipped shut, a soft gentle whisper tickled his ear as his consciousness slipped into nothingness. "But don't worry. Jim will fix it." A soft kiss pressed to Sherlock's lips. "Remember. Say anything about me, even a tin~y hint, and you'll never see me again. I'll be a ghost darling. And you'll never catch me."

...

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Sherlock cracked open a single eye, lolling his head back to find an angry shouty dark blob looming over him. "Ja -wn," he slurred, struggling and failing to sit up.

John took Sherlock's arm and slung it over his shoulder. "Yes. Brilliant deduction. I told you to call me."

Sherlock's head lulled to the side as his surroundings came into foggy focus within a blur of motion. John was practically carrying him down the steps of a musty old building. People laying about on mattresses, daylight filtering through boarded windows. Oh. Oh! "D-drugs," Sherlock choked out, realizing that this was the alibi Jim had set up for him.

"No shit," John grumbled, shoving another junkie out of his way before kicking open the door to drug den and hauling Sherlock into the light.

In the next moment he was flopped into the backseat of John's SUV like a sack of flour.

"Again," Mary said as John slid into the seat beside her.

"Worse this time," John grumbled.

"Don't - No tests," Sherlock struggled to speak.

"We don't need to take you to Barts, it's obvious you're blasted," John growled.

"John," Mary said admonishingly. "Go a little easy."

"I told him to call me," John said pointing at the detective lulling in the backseat. "He swore to me, SWORE he wasn't high."

Sherlock's palm hit the glass of the car door with a numb flop.

"Knock it off," John barked.

"Wrong way," Sherlock grumbled, slumping in the seat. "Go to ... go to..."

"We can't take you to Baker Street," Mary said, her eyes glancing up to meet his in the rear view window. It was a look of pity which set off alarms in Sherlock's head. "Sorry," she added.