Selfless | Sherlock

Drunken Mistakes (Nearly)

WARNING: SUICIDE, DRINKING, SEXUAL OCCURRENCES, MENTIONS OF SEX :P

My shoes tapped against the tiled floor of the asylum loudly, the sound echoing through the hall as I headed to my patient's room. He had been placed on lock down in one of the older rooms. When I reached the door, I took in a small breath of air and plastered a cheery smile on my face before using my card to unlock the door. 

"Good morning George," I greeted, swinging the heavy metal door inwards.

The clipboard fell from my hands and clattered on the tile loudly as I absorbed the sight before me. My patient was hanging from the ceiling light by a bed sheet with his neck snapped and his head at an unnatural angle. George's black hair fell over his pale face as wet strings and his eyes were permanently closed. This was one of the few rooms that had not been refurnished to avoid the possibility of incidents such as the one before me. Hopefully, I raised my hand up to his pale wrist and pressed to find a pulse, but there was none.

"Shit," I whispered, turning on my heel and shouting through the hospital.

"Jones!" I yelled, barging into his office breathlessly and pointing in the direction of the patient's room.

"Willis. Some dumbass put him in one of the older rooms," I wheezed.

The look on my face seemed to convey the rest as my boss stood to his full height, his blue eyes piercing through me like daggers. He called a few workers over the intercom and took off towards George's room with me close behind, my signature smile wiped off my face. When we reached the room, Jones let out a groan of anger at the sight. I looked anywhere but the body, unwilling to look at the dead face of my patient. My boss shot me a look of sympathy as a few more employees arrived, one fainting and the other calling the policeman we had on site.

"Em, you can go home. Just relax today, I'll found out who moved him to this room."

I nodded in silent thanks and headed out of the asylum quickly, my stomach threatening to empty itself of my breakfast.  When I made it to my car, I realized that it was already 5 p.m. As the horror of the suicide continued to plague my thoughts, I chose to drive to the nearest bar. A drink was in my hand moments after I took a seat at the bar. My eyes scanned the room over the rim of my glass as I took a small sip, before closing as I downed the entire glass.  The liquid burned for only a second before it was washed down by another glass. I was already slightly tipsy when the one and only Mycroft Holmes sat on the stool next to me, holding out another drink which I took and chugged greedily. 


"What brings you here, Em?" he questioned lightly, leaning his umbrella on the side of the counter.

I shot him a warning glare before turning back to the bartender to drown my sorrows in more alcohol. For the next hour, Mycroft sat beside me obediently, as though guarding me from the pigs that frequented such places. By the time the stress had been diminished, my wallet was nearly drained of cash. Despite only being a bit drunk, I began flirting with the gorgeous bartender who had been serving me. Mycroft then took me by the arm and gently led me out to his car with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, he was driving himself around. There was no limo driven by a personal chauffeur, so it was only the two of us in the vehicle. 

"Mycrooffttt," I hiccuped as he pulled out of the parking lot.