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“Janine, this is preposterous!” Sherlock said, his tone irritated but his eyes sparkling as he looked sideways at her. “Even if it were possible for garden statuary to come to life, it is completely ridiculous to think that simply staring at them would hold them in a state of stasis. And even if that were possible,” he continued, warming to his topic, “why does no one think of having one person stare at them while another beats them to bits with a sledgehammer? Who writes this stuff?” he huffed.
Janine took the cushion from behind her back and used it to hit Sherlock lightly over the head. “You exasperating man,” she laughed. “You’re supposed to be entertained by it, not analyze it.”
“Analyzing it is entertaining,” Sherlock said, getting up from the couch and switching off the telly, then turning to offer Janine his hands to extract her from their nest of pillows and afghans. “Are you hungry? I’m in the mood for fish and chips,” he said.
“Sherl, it’s half two in the morning,” she replied.
“Not my question,” he said, still looking amused. “I asked if you were hungry.”
“Starvin’,” she said, walking over to the desk to grab her coat while Sherlock shrugged into the Belstaff and popped up the collar reflexively.
After a moment’s thought, Janine said, “I don’t know, Sherl. I never would have guessed that Sherlock Holmes would make fun of the telly and act an utter fool. Do you ever let anyone know about this side of you?”
“At the moment, I would say that particular universe is confined to you,” he said, lightly, but with a thread of honesty running through his words.
“Hmm, so I’m the only one who knows what you’re really like?” she teased.
“You are,” he said softly.
As the two walked companionably out into the London night, Janine wondered aloud, “Sherlock Holmes, what are we doin’?” The question encompassed somewhat more than the spontaneous run for food.
Sherlock’s reply, however, didn’t help her figure things out. “Working,” he said.
***
When Janine got up the next morning, she was surprised to find Sherlock already dressed and sitting at his kitchen table, a variety of chemicals spread before him. “I hope you made coffee,” she yawned. “Somebody kept me up half the night overanalyzing shows on the telly.”
“I did,” he said, finally pulling himself from his microscope to look her way. “But I also moved the coffee to that shelf so someone with an obscenely early work time might stop waking me to reach it down for her.”
Janine smiled and grabbed a mug, checking it briefly for evidence of past experiments. When she looked up, however, her eyes widened as she took in the chemicals in front of Sherlock.
Most of what she saw she couldn’t identify, but there was one small packet of brownish powder that she knew from her past assignments tailing celebrities for Magnussen.
“Sherl, is that heroin?” she asked, still slightly unable to believe what she saw.
Sherlock put down his testing supplies and looked at her levelly. “Yes, it is. It’s for a case.”
“So, it’s evidence?” she asked, trying to make more sense of what she saw.
Once again, Sherlock looked at Janine and appeared to be struggling with himself and finally reaching a decision. “No, it’s mine. I need to possess it, and I need to take it, but it’s part of a case I’m working on.”
“Sherl, are you sure you want to mess with that? I’ve seen more than one person get hooked on that stuff,” she said, thinking of some of the celebrities who had quietly secreted themselves away in rehab after making “arrangements” that insured that Magnussen wouldn’t print their story.
"I'm in control," Sherlock said shortly. "Taking heroin on a few select occasions is an acceptable risk. And it’s not as if I’m sharing needles,” he said, patting his sterilized supplies and ducking his head to continue his chemical analysis.
“You’re enjoyin’ this,” Janine said. It wasn’t an accusation; it was a conclusion.
Sherlock’s head snapped up. “It’s for a case. It’s work,” he said shortly.
“I know that,” she said. “But I also think you’re enjoyin’ it. You made up this job for yourself; you do exactly as you please. Don’t think I’m not jealous sometimes,” she said, thinking of Magnussen’s penchant for manipulation. “But I know you, and I know you wouldn’t do something you didn’t really want to.”
“Janine,” Sherlock said seriously, “there are things that I have to do for my work that may not seem like they are particularly….safe. Sometimes,” he said, “I have to risk someone being hurt in order to solve a case. I understand if you find that off-putting,” he said, appearing to brace himself as if he was used to being turned away.
“No,” she said slowly. “I think I get it. I think I know something about what it means to have your work take over.”
“Just be careful,” she said, bending to kiss him lightly as she returned to dress for work.
***
After a brief stop at home for a change of clothes, Janine walked into work and strode to Magnussen’s office without stopping. He waved her in, clearly in the middle of his morning review of CAM News’s various papers.
“He’s using,” Janine said without preamble.
“Do go on,” Magnussen said, fixing her with his flat stare.
“I don’t know when it started, but I know heroin when I see it,” Janine said. Without thinking, she blurted, “At least this job’s taught me something.”
“Indeed,” Magnussen said, a hint of a chuckle coloring his voice. “You’ve done well, Janine.”
Janine exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Magnussen’s behavior was so unpredictable. At times, he was patient with her slow speed completing her “assignments,” while other times he launched into bizarre games of manipulation. Hopefully, there would be none of that today.
“One more assignment, Janine. I want you to find out where your…,” here Magnussen paused as if to search for the right word, “…boyfriend goes to pursue his nasty little habit.”
“You don’t expect me to tail him to a drug den?” Janine asked, horror creeping into her voice.
“No, no,” Magnussen said. “I have others more skilled at navigating those parts of town. Just an address will do,” he purred.
Janine nodded and walked out, her stomach in knots. This was becoming too much. Every day, Magnussen became a trifle more intrusive: Touches that bordered on inappropriate. Comments that rode the line between innocence and perversion. That bizarre face-flicking game, which had grown more and more intense, Janine attempting to stifle small screams while Magnussen commanded her to keep her eyes open for the strange form of mild torture.
If she could have afforded to, she would have put down her CAM News ID and walked out of the office that day. But Magnussen owned her. Any attempt to find another position would be blocked by Magnussen, and she would suffer the full force of his wrath.
If only she had someone to help her make her escape. If only she could find a way to turn the tables on Magnussen, to make him feel as vulnerable as she felt. But she was trapped here, alone. The only way out was to tell one more tale on the man that, in spite of her best intentions, she was actually growing to care about.
***
“OK, you two bad boys, behave yourselves,” Janine said mischievously as she came from Sherlock’s bedroom, ready to leave the flat. She perched on Sherlock’s knee in a move that was half an expression of their growing intimacy and half a calculated desire to further play with John’s mind.
“And you, Sherl, you’re gonna have to tell me where you were last night,” she said, leaning her head down to his. Maybe it would be that easy. She knew he had been out with his vintage syringe and his stash of heroin and the grimy clothes he’d taken to wearing whenever he went “undercover.” Maybe the combination of her question and the presence of his business partner would make him fess up.
Alas, nothing was ever that easy with Sherlock Holmes. “Working,” he said, not unkindly but not allowing any further questioning.
“Working. Of course. I’m the only one who really knows what you’re like, remember?” she said, pondering the wide range of activities that seemed to count as “working” to Sherlock.
“Don’t you go letting on,” he said, running his finger down her nose lightly. For just a moment, John, the flat, the memory of the heroin on Sherlock’s work table – all of it disappeared, and the world was just the two of them.
After a long moment, the thought of Magnussen intruded. “I might just, actually,” Janine said. And maybe that would be enough. Maybe she could give Magnussen one last piece of information that he desired, then find a way to make a clean break from him. Maybe then she could enjoy this relationship with this mysterious, infuriating, intoxicating man who everyone had marked as a crime-solving automaton.
She knew better. The past five weeks had taught her what kind of man Sherlock Holmes really was. Magnussen was her problem to solve; once she had, who knew what might become of this strange, magnetic relationship she found herself having with Sherlock Holmes?