You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 16*

"I can't believe you found out it was hairspray, and the neighbor did it," Lestrade mutters over the phone.

"Yeah," I respond. "It was easy, really. Just, I think I'm going to take a break. Wait a few days before calling me with a case, if you can," I mumble to him over the phone. "I have some things I need to do."

"Alright, thank you," He says before speaking again. "Stop by when you want. You can pick up your payment then." He hangs up the phone. I put my phone away, breathing in the air surrounding me.

The constant nagging feeling in the back of my head has yet to go away. It's Sherlock. He won't leave my mind. There is too much I don't know about him. Why can't I deduce him? He's no different than any other man. Well, that's not necessarily true. There are many things about Sherlock that are different. He's intelligent, funny, and awfully attractive. I wish I could deduce him like any other person. It bothers me to no extent. Every time I look at him I feel stupid and inferior only because I cannot deduce him like I normally could. He's given nothing away in his appearance or tone of voice-- it's like he knows I'm watching him. I just want to know more about him, that's all really. I need to know who Sherlock Holmes really is.

***

I walk down the street, into an alleyway. I watch as a man puts his hand behind his back, hiding what he's holding. I shake my head, trying to play it cool.

"No, no. I need some coke," I mumble, holding my cash out in front of me. "I have money..." I tell him in hopes that he'll sell some to me. The man walks back up to me, holds open his jacket, and grabs out a small baggie. He hands it to me with a poorly designed business card. I just hand him the money before walking away.

***

I keep my eyes focused forward, just making sure I'll make it back to my flat. I ignore the jittery feeling that starts in my legs. I look down at my watch. 12:03. Within a five-minute span of snorting a line, I feel my heartbeat rise in tempo and my temperature rise as well.

I continue walking and after what feels like hours, I soon arrive at Baker Street. I open the door and stumble inside. I stub my toe on the stairs, cursing loudly.

"Shh," I hush myself, stifling a giggle. I tip-toe into the living room before plopping down on the couch. I close my eyes and fold my hands. Thoughts rush through my head as I think. Sherlock. Sociopath. Smart- too smart for his own good. Fuck, what else? What else do I know about him?

"Come on!" I shout before mumbling to myself under my breath. Consulting detective. Brother: Mycroft. "I need more."

"Rachelle?" Sherlock asks, walking out of his room, eyes nearly closed as if he were struggling to stay away. I check my watch once again. 4:26 AM. He walks up to me as I lay on the couch. He crouches beside me and I notice he's wearing his pajamas. The sleeves are worn. I saw a family picture of him wearing them. They were a gift from his mother. "Are you alright?"

"No," I snap, looking him up and down frantically. "Tell me. When did you get those pajamas? Just confirm it for me. They were a gift, correct? From your mother? Ah, your brother has a matching pair. I noticed in the family Christmas photo. What year was that taken?" I babble on, trying to keep up with my own mind. It's spewing nonsense at me as I notice every small detail.

"Are you high?" He questions, scoffing at my frantic state. "Why are you high?"

"I am not high, Holmes," I say in anger. Pfft, who is he to judge me?

"Yes, you are. Don't try to lie," He bluntly rebuts with an amused look on his face.

"Yes, but on the bright side, at least I'm not addicted to cocaine," I mumble, not caring at all what he thinks. "I need to open my senses and think." I breathe out.

"We already solved the case," He announces, clearly confused by my inebriated state. The curly-haired man raises an eyebrow at my statement. His eyebrows are well maintained, along with his facial hair.

"I am well aware we solved the case, Sherlock Holmes. I was present at the function," I quip before closing my eyes once more.

"Then why?" He asks, curiosity laced in his voice. My patience started to vanish as he continues standing there.

"I- Shut up, Holmes. You always figure out a way to manipulate people. A way to manipulate me. Sherlock, I can't figure you out, and I figure everybody out. I've been trying everything to figure out a way to find out who you are and have had no success yet. Just leave me alone to figure my thoughts out. I am hearing so much-- so many things right now," I shout, finally giving up and revealing what I'm thinking. He stands up and makes his way to the kitchen and I can hear him filling up a glass.

His socks are black with no apparent holes. All of his socks are the same. Considering all of the running he does, they are all in pristine shape.

"What are you high on? Cocaine or marijuana?" He asks.

"Both, dammit," I groan, just wanting him to cease talking. "Shut up, just stop talking. Sherlock, be quiet. I don't want to hear anything come out of your mouth. It will just make me frustrated. I will not be able to figure you out, but I bet you already knew that. You know everything. I bet you have it all figured out," I frantically spew out. I sit up on the couch, using my hands to hold my face while my elbows rest on my knees, bracing myself. "Your coat. You've had it for a while now. Years maybe? Fuck, I don't know," I mumble under my breath.

"You are stupid," He says, venom laced in his voice. Sherlock sets the glass of water on the coffee table before taking a step closer to me. He's less than a foot away and I'm staring up at him, locking eyes with the man who just insulted me.

"I lied. You believed me. Who's the stupid one?" I ask with a struggled smirk. He looks confused, not knowing what I lied about. He stands over me, making me feel small and inferior. I abruptly stand up, making him take a step back from the couch.

"I can't figure you out. Why do you think I tolerate you?" He snaps in response.

"You don't have a choice. You're stuck tolerating me, whether you like it or not." I poke at his chest, making sure my point gets through to him. 

"No, I want to figure you out. I want you to be sitting next to me on the couch, distracted,  just so I can look at your face. I am attracted to you, and your brain. I want to figure you out, and it drives me mad knowing that I cannot," he reveals and my stiff jaw drops. I swallow before removing my eyes from his face in embarrassment. "You're not going to figure me out. Come to terms with that and go to bed, Rachelle," He demands before walking back off to his room.

"Sherlock, I-"

"I suggest you drink some water," he points at the glass he left on the table for me. He stops at his door, hand on the handle as if he were about to say something else, but he doesn't. He opens his door and walks into his room.

***

I ignore what he says before slowly standing up from the couch. I grab my coat and pick up my pace, heading out of the flat. After walking down the street for a moment, a black car pulls up.

"Get in," the driver demands. I oblige and get in the vehicle.