The Other Side - BBC Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 9 - The Side Effects of Drinking

Angel

Before Jim comes home that night the landline phone rings and I answer quickly, suspecting that it could be important, despite how much I want to curl up in a ball and eat ice cream.

"Hello? Who is it?" I ask

"This is Amanda Stanley, are you Mrs Brook?" I was right, important.

"Yes I am, I assume that this is about my husband's audition, did he get the job?" I insert a hint of desperation mixed with excitement into my voice, the way any concerned wife would sound.

"Yes he did, is he there?"

"No, but I'd be happy to break the news to him, if that's alright?" I say, truthfully, because if I don't tell him he'll find out anyway. If I tell him it'll reinforce the trust he has in me which is, granted, not deserved. Amanda says that it'll be fine and that she'll get the detail sent us. I put the phone down and right on cue Jim walks through the door.

I plaster a broad smile on my face and wait for a few moments before breaking the news.

"So I just got off the phone from a certain Amanda Stanley..." His eyes widen in anticipation.

"Did she, did I?" I nod enthusiastically "Well then I think that this is cause for a celebration." Remembering a bottle of something strong that I have stashed away I signal for him to wait where he his and skip awkwardly up the stairs. I return with a rather expensive bottle of alcohol, Irish whiskey, which is Jim's favourite. I present it with a flourish.

My mind is on other things, this is part of my plan. It may seem foolish to get James Moriarty drunk as part of a scheme but I know what I'm doing, alcohol uncovers many secrets.

An excited glint lights his eyes and he makes a greedy grab for the drink.

"Now, Jim, let's be civilised, I have plastic cups." He sniggers, as if he is becoming drunk on just the thought of alcohol. I present to red cups, the kind you would find at every teenager's house party. I pour a generous amount of whiskey into each and plonk down onto the sofa. My hand absent-mindedly makes its way to the TV remote and I switch to a random American sitcom.

We sit there for a good hour, laughing at the program's feeble attempts at humour and steadily working our way through a large quantity of whiskey. When the show draws to a close and a notoriously dull toothpaste advert follows we decide that we should get some food.

"Burger King! Please, Jimmy, please, please, please, please, please." In my somewhat tipsy state my usual craving for Burger King is through the roof. He agrees that it is a good idea much more willingly than usual, the drink clearly taking effect.

We return back from Burger King twenty minutes later stumbling, having stopped at a corner shop to get some beer. My mission is close to the back of my mind now, a curtain drawn overall responsibility. A small part of me knows that this is the optimum time to pursue his inner feelings, but all I can think about is how good Jim looks in that Westwood suit. I figure that attraction is technically a feeling so it wouldn't be totally reckless to follow what my body is telling me.

He is already sitting on the sofa and I not so delicately sit down next to him. I would be lying if I say that I haven't done this before, I seem to have a habit of seducing my victims, although I don't usually go all of the way. This time, however, sitting in front of me is not a fifty-year-old drug addict; I am next to Jim Moriarty. I decide to just go for it. I launch myself on him, unfortunately I misjudge it slightly and wind up knocking both of us onto the ground. I land on top of him and there are a few moments of tense silence before I plant my lips on his. You don't need to be a genius to know what happens next...

I next wake up on the sofa, naked. I remember exactly what happened and, despite the fact that it what a terrible idea, it was a pretty damn good night. I decide that it'll be interesting, and not to mention fun, to see what state this has left Jim in.

"JIM." I yell at the top of my voice. He emerges from the bathroom nursing a headache and wiping his mouth.

"What?" He snaps, his voice lined with irritation.

"Why I am lying on the sofa with no clothes on?" My usual frankness seeps through the lie, making it harder to spot. I am met with a lightly shocked look and the answer

"Use your brain, I have a hangover and no energy for this." His reluctance to say what happened implies that he is embarrassed and I use this to my advantage. A fake look of realisation illuminates my face and I go

"Oh, no. We didn't did we? Yes, we did I remember now, how could you be so reckless Jim?" I snatch my clothes from the floor and storm out of the room.

I go to my room and take a long shower, disgusted not only by what I have done but by the fact that I enjoyed it. Eventually the hot water runs out and I have no choice but to get out. I dress quickly and make a plan for escape. I decide that the window is my best option to avoid contact with Jim, after all I am supposedly angry at him. Just as I am about to carry this out a knock sounds on my door. I prepare myself for a speedy decent and am about to jump when-

Knock, knock, knock. "Angel, come out here will you, we can talk. I'm sorry." Woah, an apology from Jim Moriarty? This is a weird day already. Time to go full on actress now.

"Go away Jim." I say my voice breaking convincingly. I then make my exit, given that the door is locked, he won't know that I'm gone.

Once on the street I whip out my phone and type a text to John

Moral crisis, fancy a chat?

        -AD

Mycroft would be annoyed at my attachment to John, much like Sherlock's but although he is my boss, he can't rule my personal life. I get a reply within minutes.

Sure, where?

-JW

I consider for a moment and tell him to meet me in a coffee shop by Leister Square. I hop on the tube, but not before buying a hat to disguise myself from Jim and his minions.

I arrive at the café and order myself a pot of tea which arrives just as John walks through the door. He quickly spots me and sits down, trying to hide a broad smile behind his hand. I reach over the table and pull his hand away. I next offer him some tea which is gladly accepted.

"Yeah so, here's the thing, I may or may not have gotten super drunk and slept with Jim last night..." I rush the words out of my mouth as quickly as possible, internally cringing as I do so. There is a long silence before John says

"As in Jim Moriarty?" My head hangs low and I nod feebly. "Well, that's an interesting piece of gossip." Realising that I haven't really given him an explanation as to, firstly, why it happened and, secondly, why I'm telling him. I elaborate.

"My plan was to get some alcohol into him and coax out some of his innermost feelings blah, blah, blah. However, I drank a little - a lot - too much and that happened. Now I deeply regret it, for obvious reasons. Is there something wrong with me? I always seem to get myself into the stupidest situations, that's how I ended up with this job. Mycroft's men rescued me from a cellar and next thing I knew I was sneaking my way into James 'freaking' Moriarty's crew of thugs." I sigh deeply and look at John pleadingly, I need some consolation that I'm not a total idiot.

"Angel there's nothing wrong with you, at least nothing that's wrong with you that isn't wrong with me. It's like Sherlock says, I'm addicted to a certain lifestyle, one filled with danger and risk, and so are you." This soothes my mind greatly and take a few deep, calming breaths.

We spend quite a lot more time there, talking about everything and nothing. All too quickly the sun begins to set and I know that I have to leave. I bid him goodnight and part with a peck on the cheek. I feel my face heat up at the contact and realise that my feelings are past the point of no return.