OKAY LETS START OFF WITH SOMETHING AMAZING RIGHT? 1K READS LIKE I CANT EVEN RIGHT NOW? WHAT IS THIS? OMG.
Anyways, my beautiful readers ð, here's a special chapter for being so amazing as fuck.
1k- January 30th 2017
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"Fucking hell," he hissed, shooting up and latching his hands around the edge of the bathtub, yet not stopping me. His face scrunched up in pain as he squeezed his eyes shut.
He relaxed once the bottle was half empty, his black hair clinging to his forehead, a deep red colour, and for a moment I hoped red wine didn't stain.
Especially my pristine white bathtub.
I really didn't think this through.
He suddenly shot up, muttering curses, and reached into the pocket of his soaked leather jacket, I paused my wine waterfall for a moment, curious.
He pulled out a packet of cigarettes, shaking them off and threw them to the side, out of the bathtub and onto my floor, before sitting back into the bathtub silently.
I didn't wait another moment and began pouring the alcohol again.
He turned his head to me, his eyes still squeezed shut, "You can stop now." He paused, slicking his hair back and blindly reaching for the wine, I yanked it away from him, and continued drizzling it on him.
I was enjoying this way too much.
He sighed, "If you don't stop, I will stop you myself."
I froze for a moment, contemplating all the options.
And continued to empty the bottle over him.
"Are you joking?" He muttered, before sighing.
Within a flash I was in the bathtub with him. I screeched, clawing at the sides but it was a fruitless effort against his brick walls, more commonly called arms, which were wrapped around my waist enclosing me against him. I squirmed, but I knew I was already drenched in red wine.
His laughter was like a thunderstorm in my ears, contagious and booming.
Not soon after I found myself laughing with him.
His arms loosened, and I managed to scramble out of the bathtub, leaving Adam still clutching his abdomen in laughter.
I sighed, gazing down at the horrific stains the red wine had caused, leaving my light purple top a gruesome crimson. I slumped down, my back pressed against the bathtub, facing the wall in front of me.
I tried to get through my laughing fit, and attempted to grasp onto the flicker of anger, but it slipped through my fingers like ribbon and I was laughing all over again.
After a moment, we had both calmed down, and I sighed again, my sides aching, and my cheeks painful from smiling. And in that moment, I realised how long it had been since I truly laughed like that.
"Okay, let's get on with this." I said, pulling myself from he floor and kneeling I front of Adam again, who was rubbing the wine out of his eyes.
He inhaled, and nodded, a lazy grin still on his face. I reached for some tissue and began patting his face, trying to find the cuts.
"I guess you forgot that blood was red too." He commented, tapping on the edge of the bath, a bored expression on his face.
I huffed, "No, I'm just... having difficulty."
"Not your smartest move, Watson."
I looked at him, feigning hurt, "How come you're Sherlock?"
"Because," he paused, "Sherlock would never make the mistake of putting red wine on someone with bleeding cuts, blood that is red." He spoke, with a mock condescending tone.
"Whatever." I murmured, meekly. Finally locking eyes with a deep cut near his chin.
He smirked.
I sighed, glancing down at the needle. "You need stitches," I admitted, "I don't want to make you look like you've survived a nuclear blast."
He chortled, looking past me, "Stop overthinking everything, and put the needle in my face already." He sighed.
I clenched my jaw, staring into the cut, and sighed. Gripping the needle, ready to go.
"Woah," he stopped me, grabbing my wrist. Before sighing again, "You know why you're Watson, Gabrielle?"
I shrugged, "Why?"
"Because Sherlock wouldn't plunge a needle into a person's face without sterilising it first, Watson."
I pulled my hand away from his face as if it had burned me. I nodded, agreeing with him. "What now."
He grinned again, "Don't worry, Sherlock always has a plan."
He reached into his pocket for a second time, this time pulling out a red lighter, surprisingly undamaged from the wine. "Now," he began, "we're soaked in alcohol, what does alcohol do near a flame, Watson?"
I rolled my eyes, "I'll be careful." And without further problem, held the lighter and needle away from me and him, and lit it. Holding the needle over the flame for a good 30 seconds, and then waited for it to cool.
I looked over him again, "What happened to you, anyway?" I asked, threading the needle, inconspicuously.
He looked away from me, his expression suddenly hard, and I took that as the chance to stab his face, he hissed again, but didn't flinch whilst murmuring a few curses. I began threading the cut closed, doing an alright job so far.
"Why do you want to know?"
I thought for a moment, "I'm curious."
He didn't say anything for a while, so I took it on my shoulder to change the topic, "Were you following me today?"
"Define 'following'." He smirked.
"Were you?" I paused the stitching, thinking back to the men in the park, but pushing them to the back of my head.
He sighed, "After this happened, I came here- well, being honest, I went to the house next door, and waited for you to come back, but you came with your friends and then I waited for them to leave."
"So you weren't in the park?"
He looked at me confused, "What happened at the park?" He demanded.
"Nothing." I said, concentrating on his face.
"Define 'nothing'." He repeated, urging me on, his eyes not leaving my face.
I continued stitching, "I just," I began nonchalantly, "I just, thought someone was watching me, or us? Rob, Andrea and I were all at the park and then I got the weirdest feeling, and then I saw these two bulky men-"
He grabbed my stitching hand, "What did they look like?" He interrupted urgently, squeezing my hand tightly.
I felt my stomach drop, watching his face go slightly pale as I described them.
Suddenly, he shot up, obviously forgetting I still had a needle in his face as it yanked on his skin. He swore loudly, shouting curses and clutched at the gash. He slumped back down into the bathtub.
"What?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, "Last night, well actually I guess late-morning today, I was at the Underground--"
"Is that the place you took me?" I interjected.
He nodded, "I was at the Underground, there was a match, it turned sour, quickly. The guy pulled a knife and I didn't win the fight," he spat out the words, as if they disgusted him. "A lot of people didn't get their betting money, and were obviously angry, two men in particular, they were furious, they thought the while fight was rigged and I was paid to go down in the third. I wasn't, obviously." He clarified. "So they got in the back and jumped me, they look exactly like who you described."
It was my turn to curse.
"They probably saw you with me, and thought you meant something to me," he paused, "what a low blow."
I felt something in me clench, painfully.
We sat in silence for a while longer as I processed the information, and finished his stitches. After a while, they were finished, and I turned the shower on, not letting him take a single step out before he was all cleaned up.
I placed a towel next to the bathtub.
Moments later he emerged, his shirt now disappeared.
I averted my eyes form his toned chest. And looked in the mirror, not glancing at him once, I stared at the corner of the mirror, feeling him come up behind me. Water from his hair dripping down my back.
"Sunshine, why do I have pink stitches?"