Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter LXXV - Monstrosity

-Emily-

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I stuff my fist into my mouth and bite down, stifling what would have been a four-lettered profanity. It's everywhere: the blood is warm on my skin, diluted with sweat, and it is unceasing – the type of persistent bleeding that cries its red tears regardless of the number of times the wound is cleaned. I turn back to the mirror. Half of my face is flushed, my left ear raw and fiercely scarlet. The throb keeps tempo with the grim two-tap beat of my heart.

I take a deep breath, and I lift the needle back up to the side of my head.

I'm bitterly regretting the decision to play body modifier. It was very much on a whim – I decided I missed having a row of silver studs from lobe to cartilage – and, after salvaging the necessary jewellery and needle, it seemed a perfectly achievable goal. The first four were comparably painless, just quick pinches; the splitting of softened scar tissue. Now I am reaching the top of my ear, the thickened cartilage, and I don't remember the last time I felt such agony. Exaggeration doesn't come into it.

Steeling myself for the quiet pop of metal through skin, I close my eyes, hold my breath and force the needle through my ear.

I scream abuse at my reflection.

"Emily...?"

Through watering eyes I see Millie – soft in lilac, crumpled from sleep – standing in the doorway. I turn around and bare my teeth in a grimace-smile, trying not to look like I have just mutilated myself in the name of vanity.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No. I couldn't sleep."

I watch her gaze move to the needle currently impaled through my cartilage. My jaw is starting to ache.

"Is that hygienic?"

"Yes," I say. "Well. Probably. I have a lighter. Sterilised the needle."

Millie pauses, torn between concern and something that looks suspiciously like amusement.

"Do you need a plaster? We have some in the kitchen."

"It should be fine," I lie, returning to the mirror. I force the needle all the way through, out the other side, keeping my expression set in this horrific imitation of painlessness. The stud stings as I clip it into place. "See?"

"Your neck, Emily."

I look down at the thin trail of blood and wipe it away, hastily. Millie laughs, the sound softly sonorous, and moves to turn away.

I seize my opportunity.

"Millie?"

She looks over her shoulder.

"Do you have a minute?"

I point to the side of the bath tub. Millie raises an eyebrow, then walks back into the bathroom. We sit on the chipped plastic together.

"Is something wrong?"

"You could say that." I brush back the strands of hair from my neck. "We've got to talk about it."

She frowns. "It?"

I gesture to her stomach. Her brow furrows, perplexed – and then it clicks. I sense the barriers go up; the previous softness hardens, chills, becomes cold in the face of unwanted conversation. Speaking quickly to get my point across before she shuts down entirely, I opt for the blunt approach.

"You've got to get rid of it."

Millie doesn't move for a long time. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, she sighs, and straightens up.