Human Error - Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter twenty nine - moods

I sat on Sherlock's arm chair, finding amusement in a game I had downloaded onto my phone -- Temple Run, I think it was called. It was incredibly frustrating yet addicting, and it was something that helped to fulfill my boredom.

I think Sherlock's definition cure to boredom varied a lot from mine, because instead he sat at the kitchen table, carefully dropping eye balls into different, common substances.

"That can't be hygienic for our kitchen." I heard a voice, and looked up to see that John was sitting on the sofa with a newspaper in hand, but his eyes were pointed in the direction of the kitchen. Although he couldn't see what his flatmate was doing clearly, he already knew from walking in there moments ago to make himself a drink. "I should go back in there and say something."

"Saying something won't change his mind." I informed him, accidentally making my pixel character run off into a lake. "Damn it!"

"What?" John asked, concerned.

"Nothing, just this stupid game." I sighed, giving up and tucking my phone into my pocket. I stood up from the chair and stretched out my stiff muscles, trying to get a more comfortable muscle tone. While doing so, my eyes fixed onto Sherlock as he performed his experiment. I didn't have nothing better to do, and I thought that now would be a good time to mention our old friend that had recently came back to town before I forgot to mention it entirely. Last time I saw both of them together, they didn't have the best conversation. But surely when I left they were still friends.

I took the bobble from my wrist and quickly tied my wavy hair up into a messy pony tail while simultaneously making my way towards the kitchen.

"Are you going in there?" John spoke up in a hushed tone, "Tell Sherlock to do his experiments somewhere else, please!"

I understood where John was coming from. He hadn't known Sherlock for very long so it made sense that he was a little freaked out by his random experiments. But I've know Sherlock for longer, so I know that telling him to stop on John's account won't persuade him to move at all.

Sherlock looks up at me once I enter the room, but he averts his eyes back towards the experiment he was focusing on. "Guess who I saw today."

"Who?" He questioned, dropping an eyeball into a beaker full with detergent.

"You're meant to guess."

"Pass me my forceps, would you?" He asked, holding out his hand. Sighing, I looked around the table until I found the object literally a few centimeters from him. I grabbed a hold of the metal forceps, which were basically just tweezers, and placed them in Sherlock's hand.

"I saw Eddie."

"Who?" He repeats again, not recognizing the name.

"Edward. You know, Edward Murray. From high school."

That caught his attention.

Sherlock finally met my eyes, his expression blank, making me a little bit more curious to what he was thinking. "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know, he lives here doesn't he? Well, he lived here when I was last here." I give a little shrug, unsure on what to say. "We're going for a drink tomorrow, if you want to come."

"Oh, and now you're going to get a drink together?" Sherlock's eyes scrunch up slightly in disgust, and I just let out a little laugh in disbelief.

"What's wrong with that?"

"You've been here reminding me about my poor past with drugs, and he's the one who got me into them in the first place! And now you want to go and grab a drink with him?!"

"You got yourself into that! Last time I remember, you were the one with the serious problem. Not him. He was clean."

"He's manipulative, he likes to create chaos. I'm only disappointed that you're too blind to see that."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid, Sherlock!" I snapped, shocked by how quickly he changed at the mention of Edward's name. "I know he caused tension between us. I know he was manipulative and arrogant, but so are you. Whatever happened when we were kids is in the past."

"Maybe that's just your type." Sherlock voiced abruptly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. I open my mouth to say something back, hating the thought of Sherlock having the last say. But nothing witty comes out.

"Fuck you." Is all that comes out. I know what he was trying to do. He's embarrassed about his past, and he's putting the blame on Edward because he can't ever face the fact that he was wrong.

Sherlock looks up at me again, his beryl orbs staring into my hazel ones. I can see that he wants to say something, whether that's to apologies or not. Either way I don't wait to find out, he's not the only one who likes to get the last say in everything.

I storm out of the kitchen, and witness John still sitting on the couch, looking up at me with concern and eagerness. "Did he not take it well?" He asked, picking up on the fact that we were raising our voices.

"I didn't say anything about the damn eyeballs and acid, John." I barked, feeling a twinge of guilt for snapping at John when the only person I was upset with at the moment was Sherlock.

Even though I felt that way, it didn't make me stop to apologise. Instead I just rushed out, leaving this untidy, infuriating flat in a foul mood.