The room is too quiet for a ten o’clock weekday. Wato thought while she enters the room, getting a full view of chocolate wraps and half opened liquor across the room. She almost ran over a bottle on the floor, picking up an Avion tequila, whatever that may be.
“Sherlock,” She said with her hands on her hip, bag still hung from her shoulder after a long day at her part time library job. “You expect me to clean this?” Her eyes screened through the room. I’m picking up for a kid, no doubt about it.
“Sussh…I’m trying to experiment.” Sherlock answered in a whisper, lying on her couch with her gaze fixated to the ceiling. “I think I understand why people like the sensation. But barely equatable to ecstasy.” She sighed and said, “Better off going to the Medical Box.”
Wato remembered the disco bar, she was the one being taught of what a pusher is.
“Would you like to try?” Sherlock turned to her flatmate which is recapping all the liquor on the coffee table. “Milk chocolate with rum would be good.”
“I don’t drink, Sherlock.” Wato replied. The detective picks up a bottle of white wine and drained the remaining half in the matter of seconds.
“Now that, should do the trick.” Sherlock with a cheeky smile placed the empty bottle down to a wide-eyed Wato. “Give me a minute.”
“Sherlock?! Why would your do that! I’m getting you more water whether you like it or not.”
Wato is angry. How rare. She laughed giddily.
Her feet feels light and the ceiling seems to spin. Wato’s blue coat was on a reachable distance so she snatched it up and wraps herself in it. The faint smell of old and new books is welcoming.
“You should drink up.” Wato gave the usual black cup to Sherlock.
Sherlock shot her right arm from underneath her blue coat and said, “I can’t get up.” Her face cringed at the throbbing ache around her temple.
“Does it hurt?” Wato asked with concern, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and tugs to what seems to be her whole weight.
“Sit here,” Sherlock reaches out and slowly pulls Wato by her shirt, patting on her thigh. She tried to resist but Sherlock doesn’t seem to loosen her grip.
Wato sighed and sat. Sherlock hugs and snuggles onto her, feeling a stiffened Wato holding her breath.
“Much better.” Sherlock mumbled as the pain eases. Wato exhaled and had a bittersweet smile.
Slow and steady respiratory rate. With a hint of alcohol and chocolate.
“You’re drunk, Sherlock.”
“And you’re my oxycodone…”
“Not to mention its addiction, abuse and misuse.” Sherlock continued to ramble with her eyes closed, “Neonatal opiod withdrawal syndrome, respiratory depression and cytochrome p450 3A4 interactions..”
“Okay okay, I know.” Wato managed to pass Sherlock’s cup into her hands. She was smiling gleefully at the water.
“By the way, the name is Sara. Sara Shelly Futaba.” Sherlock muttered and smiled, her right hand outstretched for a handshake which Wato takes it in doubt. Her grip was firm with seven shakes.
“Yoroshiku~” The detective made a weird salute and gulped the whole cup of water before leaning onto Wato’s arm.
“Sara?” Wato bends her head sideways to take a glimpse of her face.
Sherlock woke up with a headache and ample memory of what she did yesterday night.
“Sherlock, ohaiyo.” Wato came into her room and made coffee as usual. The room is tidied and no sign of liquor or stain.
Sherlock feigns ignorance, noticing the difference in her room. A bottle of rum and a box of milk chocolate stood quietly at the corner of her work desk.