Fixated

I was awoken rudely by the sunlight tearing straight in through the blinds, rubbing my eyes as I looked at my surroundings. 'What had even happened last night?' I thought to myself, or tried to through a banging headache. Oh that's right, a night of animalistic sex with Sherlock Holmes. I wondered how I was ever going to face this, I'd made a huge mistake. Sherlock Holmes of all people, the one person who could have helped and protected me. Now I'd probably lost my place at 221B Baker Street, lost my case and rendered everything horrifically awkward in the process. I was sprawled out on top of the duvet, wearing nothing but an old jumper; it wasn't mine and it smelled slightly like stale smoke. It must have been Sherlock's. However, before I could ponder last night's happenings and decide on how to approach the repercussions, John slipped in through the door without a single knock.
"Sherl, have you seen where I put my blue shirt? You know, the one I wore out the other day-" I made eye contact with him mid-sentence; he stopped abruptly.
He looked to the side and back at me again obviously at a loss for words.
"What happened?!" John exclaimed, surprise written all over his face.
“Shit, I think too many drinks were had and it won't happen again. I'm so sorry." I wasn't sure why I was apologizing, but I felt disrespectful and unprofessional on so many levels. Panicking slightly that I was going to get cast out into the big wide world again to deal with my stalker alone.
"No, not at all...Just wasn’t quite expecting that to be fair."
"Me neither, I can safely say. I am probably just as surprised as you are." I paused and asked before I could stop myself, "Is this it then? I've probably messed it all up now, haven't I?"
"I couldn't tell you, he's always full of surprises. However, he's a difficult man. Don't expect anything from him and you won't be disappointed." He furrowed his brow, before awkwardly looking around the room again and adding, "Umm, how about a tea? I could go and brew some and you could maybe put some clothes on or something...” John left the room awkwardly and all I could manage was to let out a sigh.

“Are you decent?” John called, this time knocking at the door. I’d thrown on a pair of pajamas I had found and kept the jumper on. Embracing the bagginess as I wrapped my arms around myself and clasped the wooly material. “Yeah, come in!” John meekly looked around the door before scuffling in holding two steaming mugs. He sat down next to me on the edge of the bed, handing me a mug. We both sat there in silence for a couple of seconds, each taking a nervous sip from our tea.
“Am I hallucinating?” is the phrase he had finally come out with. The bewilderment displayed across my face must have alarmed him a little; he added speedily “No offence, it’s just it’s not very…Sherlock. I thought he was acting odd lately, since you’ve been staying with us at least.” I continued to look considerably offended. “No that’s not what I meant. Look, you stay with us however long you need, you’re in safe hands here.”
“Thank you, you know how grateful I am.” I smiled somberly, “I doubt I’ll be around much longer though. I think I’ve probably outstayed my welcome.”
John tilted his head, “No… no! You can stay as long as you need to. Sherlock isn’t a childish man, what’s happened has happened and he’ll deal with it like the mature adult he is.”

{Later that day}
“Hello John!” Sherlock collided through the door making my heart forget to beat for a second. I smiled up at him from the armchair, he glanced in my direction and continued to stomp through the apartment to where John was sitting, on his phone. My heart sank. “Sherlock isn’t childish” my arse, I must have forgotten that he, like all the others, was still just nothing but a man.
Sherlock began rambling to John about how he successfully pissed off the whole of Scotland Yard that day, for a good five minutes without even a fleeting look at me.
“Sounds like you had a good day then?” I glanced up.
“Quite.” Sherlock retorted bluntly before tossing his trench coat over the side of the sofa and vanishing into his room. John and I exchanged a disheartened look.
“You know how he is…” He stage-whispered toward me apologetically.
I nodded, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, starting to wonder whether I should go and at least attempt to speak to him. Perhaps apologize and blame it on the intoxication, even though I had nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I’d much rather have congratulated the man as after the night I had. He’d figuratively (and literally) reduced me to my knees. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him the whole day, it was irrational. What was he doing to me? I felt like an infatuated 18 year old junkie again, in love with all the wrong things. And this was certainly not a feeling I embraced seeing as I’d worked so hard to better myself.

“Do you think I should go talk to him?” I asked John loudly enough for him to hear but quietly enough to remain discreet. John shook his head, “Leave him be, there’s no point.” I looked down sheepishly. “Listen, Laura, it’s not you it’s him.” John tried to reassure me as he tentatively patted me on the shoulder. “Okay I know how cliché that sounds, but I promise you it’s true. He’ll be right as rain in no time, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
I know that statement should’ve made me feel somewhat better; it didn’t.
“Thanks John, I’ll be okay” I flashed an extremely unconvincing grin and on that same note he went to bed.

I walked over to the window and pulled it up opening it as far as it would go, I leant against the railings and lit up a cigarette. Looking out at the London streets below, watching all the unaware passersby get on with their lives, deliberating the thought that one of them was possibly my stalker.
I was too deep into my own thought bubble that I didn’t hear footsteps behind me. An all too familiar, deep voice from behind me whispered “Mind if I borrow your lighter?”
I jumped slightly, an assortment of different thoughts and emotions flooding my mind as I turned to face Sherlock behind me holding an unlit cigarette.
“You should get your own lighter.” I said, nonchalantly turning to look back out of the window and holding my lighter out to him.
He lit up the cigarette and leant on the railings next to me, his shoulders brushing against mine. Neither of us made eye contact and continued to gaze out into the night.
“Maybe.”
“…Weren’t you supposed to have quit?”
“Yes.” He said as he blew a perfectly formed smoke ring into the chilly night air. “But the nicotine patches simply didn’t do it for me.”
“I will forever wonder what does do it for you then.”
“I can name something.” Sherlock flicked his cigarette butt and stared a hole through me with his intensely penetrating eyes. He took my cheeks in his hands and gave me a long, fervent kiss and with a spin walked out the front door. Leaving me unquestionably stunned and speechless.