She was bouncing on the balls of her feet as they stood in line, attempting to look over the the heads of the people in front of them. He just rolled his eyes and ignored her as he typed away on his mobile. They had went home after picking her up from dance, ate dinner, and dressed quickly before heading out to Maeve's show.

Sherlock was dressed as usual, slacks that somehow looked both dressy and casual – but, that might've been because she was so use to seeing him in them – a button down of the pastel colored variety and his thick duster peacoat. It wasn't cold enough for his usual scarf, but she was sure he would've sported one had it been.

He had only eyed her briefly before promptly ignoring her as was customary in their relationship. He said nothing as they found a decent parking spot and walked the few blocks to the Barracuda, one of London's top clubs for indie artists or kids just looking to play. Maeve's band, Hollies Go Lightly, an empowering all female grunge-pop-punk band played the Barracuda pretty frequently, Evie had been out to see her a few times, but this was Sherlock's first appearance.

She wouldn't let herself entertain the thought for long, but she couldn't help but think that one of the reasons he agreed to accompany her tonight had to do with their odd, undiscussed, sexual attraction. Evie didn't like to think on it often, mostly because she always walked away feeling empty afterward, but she couldn't help the niggling sensation that Sherlock maybe felt something towards her aside from comfortable indifference.

He treated her differently and the same as everyone else, but, there was just something she couldn't put her finger on in the way he looked at her sometimes, in the way he spoke or in the things he said. Their secret silent "experiment" just put those thoughts over the edge. She'd always had feelings for Sherlock, she'd just never entertained the idiotic notion that he may have feelings for her back. Mostly because she liked her life the way it was without the soul crushing despair she would feel if he didn't feel the same.

He huffed from beside her and shifted as the line moved, they approached the door and held out their IDs and hands to the bouncer who looked them both up and down. Sherlock watched as the bouncer's eyes raked over him first, then Evie, eyeing her exposed legs and flushed cheeks in a way that made Sherlock narrow his eyes. It was easy to read the older man, unmarried, unhappy, willing. The bouncer handed back their IDs, Sherlock swiping his quickly, causing Evie too look up at him with a look that very clearly read, Don't.

"You look older than your ID." The bouncer commented, holding out his hand for Evie's. "Who're you trying to impress? Not this guy, I hope."

Evie chuckled in that way she always managed when she was both uncomfortable and polite, it caused him to scoff from beside her, which triggered an elbow to his ribs. "Thanks, I get that sometimes." Sherlock rolled his eyes, she never got that, she was lying for the sake of being polite. He didn't understand people's inability to tell the truth in a social setting. This whole experience was already leaving him irked and the desire to call his dealer was weighing heavily on his mind.

The bouncer just smirked at her and marked her fist with an X to imply their underage-ness to the world. Maeve promised Sherlock not to worry about it, they always served regardless. Sherlock held his fist out expectantly, the bouncer eyeing him and smirked before marking his hand as well. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the older man, incapable of not saying something to him.

"Perhaps you should try hitting on women within your own age range, instead of preying on young women of whom you know are under the legal age limit. I'm sure you'd rather not add statutory to your long list of drunk and disorderlys."

The bouncer stood from his chair, jaw set, dark eyes narrowed, Sherlock only raised a brow. Evie's distinctly uncomfortable laugh cut between them and he found her pushing him through the door of the club before he could do anything stupid. He shrugged her off him once they entered the establishment and made his way straight towards the bar.

Evie just sighed as she pushed her way through the crowd and looked around for Maeve. The dark haired girl was helping set up on stage, looking so in place here, surrounded by people dressed like her at the bar. Evie wondered if she looked out of place in jumper covered her skater dress and tights, while Maeve sported ripped jeans and a tight top, she didn't really care if she did.

"Maeve!"

Her head shot up over the loud music of the club, squealing in delight and eyes lighting up at the sight of Evie. "Oh, thank god you made it!" She jumped off the stage, pulling Evie into a hug before ushering her over to the bar, not too far down from where Sherlock was smoking a cigarette and sipping at a pint casually. "I have someone I want you to meet." Maeve sang song.

"What?" Evie looked around with wide eyes, "No, no, no, not again, Maeve."

The last time Maeve had set her up with one of her friends from outside their group, it hadn't ended particularly well. The boy had been nice, the date fine, but he had been more Maeve's speed than her own. They hadn't had much in common, the biggest difference between them was the very obvious fact that he dated quite often while she barely ever dated at all. Apparently it was incredibly obvious how nubile she was at the whole dating scene, which was embarrassing. She had ended up embarrassing herself in front of Mark and never heard from him again – which, wasn't really a surprise.

It was safe to say she was a bit skeptical about another one of Maeve's set ups. It must've showed in her reaction because the dark haired girl rolled her eyes. "Come on," Maeve smiled in that cheeky way of her's that usually worked on Evie the majority of the time. "He's nice, charming, fuckable, and most importantly – normal."

Evie ignored the pointed look at the end of that sentence. Maeve was on her case more often than not about Sherlock and their never ending back and forth of unanswered emotions. It was mostly what kept Evie from telling her about the "experiment" with Sherlock, she knew Maeve wouldn't get it. She wanted Evie to just tell Sherlock already or move on from him, she didn't understand their dynamic, she didn't get their friendship. It was fine, Evie didn't ask her to. But, it more often than not put her in slightly uncomfortable situations regarding normal eligible bachelors.

But, so what if Sherlock wasn't normal? What was normal anyway?

Evie just sighed and looked over in the direction Maeve was nodding and at the man in question. He was leaning against the end of the bar, talking to a few of his friends it seemed, casually, normally. He was tall, lean, with broad shoulders and a head full of thick dark hair, his smile was nice and wide as he laughed along with his friends, his light eyes crinkling with mirth and charm. He was cute. He was normal. He... looked oddly like an alternate dimension Sherlock.

Did she have a type?

Was oddly handsome, tall, and dark haired her type?

Oh, god. Was Sherlock her actual type?

She let out a breath and looked back to Maeve's bright smile and expectant gaze. "Well?" She questioned. "What do you think?"

Evie looked back over at the real Sherlock down the bar, ignoring everyone around him as he typed furiously on his mobile, cigarette just casually hanging from his lips, brows furrowed. She felt that small swooshing in her stomach as she looked at him. Would she always feel this way about him? Would her unreturned feelings always linger, her everlasting crush ever fade?

"Let me check on Sherlock before I wander off with his doppelganger." She gave Maeve that look, the one that said she knew what the other girl was up to.

Maeve just shrugged, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what that's suppose to mean."

Evie rolled her eyes and went over to Sherlock, pushing through people to get to his side of the bar. "Hey." She said as she sidled up next to him.

He brought his gaze up from his phone, looking down at her and pulling the cigarette from his mouth to rest between his long fingers. God, why did he have to be so attractive.

"Yes?"

"Maeve's gonna be up soon." She wasn't sure why that was what she said, but, she just rolled with it.

"Wonderful."

His curt replies as he scanned the room around them weren't out of place, but for some reason were grating her nerves tonight. He tapped lightly at the edge of the bar to get the keep's attention and refill his glass, not even making eye contact with the girl. Her brows furrowed at him as she watched his moves.

"You don't have to be so rude, Sherlock."

His eyes narrowed at her as the pretty girl behind the bar refilled his pint, picking up the fresh drink and sipping it carefully as he watched her. "I'm no more rude than usual."

Evie rolled her eyes, "Well, maybe you should try and be less rude." She took the glass from his hand and took a sip herself before giving it back. "Like the bouncer, you didn't have to say those things out loud. It's like you want to get into a fight."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Please. It wouldn't have even been a fight."

"That's not the point." She said, crossing her arms. "It's like you can't be normal for even a moment out of the day, you just have to be rude and right and in charge of everything. I bet that if you had to act normal for the rest of the night, you would faint from the effort."

She wasn't entirely sure where her spout of righteous indignation came from, why she had tapped into her personal hot spring of attitude, but she was glaring at him with a look that read of annoyance at his actions. He was use to it, she knew, which is why she was surprised that this time it phased him when she was so use to it not.

His ocean eyes narrowed at her, his jaw clenched. "You don't think I can be normal." He sounded genuinely offended, which caused a small spike in guilt. She pushed it away.

"No." She stated. "I'm pretty sure that being normal for the whole night would actually kill you."

The look he gave her was both determined and a bit angry as he drained the rest of his glass and set it back on the bar, leaning into her space their faces close. She could see the odd flecks of bright green in his blue eyes, the light lashes that fanned out above them. "You're on."

"What?" She asked confusingly as she leaned back from him, but he was already scoping out the girls around the bar.

"You heard me, Evie. You don't think I can act like every other man in this establishment for the rest of the night, I'm going to prove you wrong."

Her stomach dropped a bit, she hadn't mean to actually bet him, she just wanted him to be a little less rude to everyone, to lighten up. Now he was smiling at the bartender with that fake, charming smile of his, the slightly narrowed eyes giving him that smirky expression. He was so obviously handsome, and girls always looked at him, but he never noticed or cared which was what comforted her at night. But, now? Now was her worst nightmare come to life right in front of her.

She pushed the uneasy feeling bubbling up her throat down, she wouldn't let him affect her this way. If he wanted a game, she would play. He wasn't the only one with a stubborn streak, after all.

"Hi." The pretty dark haired bartender came back over to him now that he was smiling at her, her perky tits pushed up and overflowing from her top. "What can I get ya?"

Sherlock leaned across the bar, smirking at the girl, his eyes scanning her face in that intimate way he was prone to do, only now that the narrowed eyes and scowl was removed it seemed far more inviting than usual. "Well, your name for starters."

The pretty bartender smirked back and leaned into the bar, pushing those damn tits up even farther, causing Evie to grit her teeth. "Katie."

"Katie." He uttered in that sinfully deep voice of his that he was so playing up right now. "A vodka neat would be lovely."

Katie smiled coyly and nodded, probably thinking about how she'd like to make Sherlock anything but neat right about now. "Coming right up."

She stepped away to make Sherlock's drink and he turned back towards her, the facade dropped, the slight anger back in his eyes as he looked at her. "I don't think I'm dead yet." He spoke, reusing her own words against her.

"Well, it hasn't actually been the whole night yet." She said a bit stiffly before turning and walking back down the bar where Maeve was talking with the doppelganger, not wanting to see Sherlock flirt with the pretty Katie again.

She came to stand next to Maeve, smiling at the group of people she stood with. "There you are, guys this is Evie."

"Hey." She smiled a bit and waved her hand at the group.

The doppelganger's hand shot out for her to grasp, a cute side-smile on his lips. "Hey, I'm Greg."

She took his hand, ignoring Maeve's wide smile from beside her. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." He smiled. "So, Maeve talks about you constantly, you two dance together?"

"Yeah." Evie nodded, gesturing towards the girl beside her. "We've known each other for a long time. How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, Greg works here during the week, it's how we met. But, he's also at Uni studying theatre." Maeve was still smiling wide and weird at the two of them.

"Oh, thanks Maeve, but I'm sure he can tell me." Evie patted her friend on the arm.

Greg chuckled and was about to respond when a loud cheer over took the room and drew all their attention behind them down the bar. Evie looked over her shoulder to find Sherlock downing shots with the bartender, a crowd of girls chirping and guys cheering, clapping him on the back. He started high-fiving people, throwing a pointed smile her way as he suddenly became the most popular person in the room.

"Yo, what is he doing?" Maeve asked, brows furrowed.

Evie just sighed, more than a little annoyed. "I accidentally made him a bet and he's taking it way too seriously." She turned back to Greg, the doppelganger and smiled a bit. "Anyway, you were saying?"

He smiled down at her in that cute side-smile she was quickly noticing was his normal smile. She asked him about theatre and he asked her about dance, Maeve's band started and they were sucked into the set. Evie couldn't help but glance over at Sherlock, smirking at a girl as he smoked another cigarette and ignored her. Well, she could just as easily avoid him too.

Greg leaned over and shouted in her ear, "Wanna dance?" She couldn't've asked for better timing.

She smiled, taking off her jumper and taking his hand, following him out into the crowd of people in front of the stage. Some were dancing along with the music, others just stood and watched, but the atmosphere was pleasant and the vibe light and she laughed as he spun her around. It was nice. It was fun, it was pleasant. She realized she was also speaking of Greg when using those adjectives.

Maybe Maeve had been right, maybe she did need to be around other people to really get a perspective.

But, Sherlock's face kept popping up in her mind. Whatever they were, it wasn't finished. It hadn't even really begun. She owed it to him to try and play it out – even if he was oblivious to what was happening. Doppelganger Greg was lovely, and given different circumstances, she may have even chosen him. But, right now, her heart and head would choose Sherlock, every time.

She could feel his gaze on her as she danced, as she laughed and smiled up at the handsome boy in front of her. She knew that she was playing fire with fire, but, she couldn't help herself. If he wanted to pretend like he was someone he was not, than so could she. And right now, she was perfectly content playing the role of normal teenage girl.

She didn't see Sherlock's furrowed brow or downturned mouth, didn't see that calculating look in his ocean colored eyes. He couldn't even see them himself, but, he knew they were there. As he looked upon her dancing with the painfully average boy, he felt an odd heaviness in his chest that he couldn't quite place. He was unsure of what it meant, unsure of why he felt annoyed watching her be so carefree and happy while he was empty at the bar.

Playing pretend was just that – playing pretend. None of it was real, not the smiles, or the smirks, not his false words or chuckles of laughter. Not a single ounce of this night since taking that bet had been real. With the exception of the emotions he was feeling right now.

Evie was real. She made him real.

He knew that he didn't need to pretend with her, so he didn't. She was family – whatever that word actually entailed, because he was still uncertain himself – but, that's what she was. She had been around long enough to see him as he was, without pretenses or false niceties. Mycroft often said he took that for granted. Sherlock couldn't see why, Evie would always be around, that was just her nature. He had never thought of her leaving because she had never left. She had been on and off staying with him, in his space, in his house, since she was a small child. She showed no signs of ever leaving, of ever parting from him, and he had come to acknowledge that it wasn't something he was totally opposed to.

He had become use to having someone in his life that looked after him the way she did. An almost guardian, a supervisor, a confidant, a helper, a... friend. Sherlock didn't have friends, but he did have Evie.

His eyes sought her out again, she was in the middle of the dance floor, Ellison smiling down at her from where she was singing on stage, being twirled relentlessly by the boring fellow she had chosen to dance with, her head thrown back in laughter as she partook in carefree "bad dancing" as she enjoyed calling it. She usually only partook when she was at home – or with Ellison – yet, here she was, being careless and free with some boy who was inconsequential.

The misplaced anger he felt found its way into his jaw, which was clenched tight as he watched her through narrowed eyes. He lit up a cigarette, attractively chain-smoking in his annoyance. He could hear her voice in his head – Sherlock, put down the cigarette and chew some gum, your obsessive tendencies are exhausting me.

He scoffed and took a long drag, watching her. He turned his back to her, leaning against the bar with haunched shoulders, scrolling through his mobile. That odd heavy feeling would not subside from his chest, the anger in his jaw not abating. He quickly shot out a text and continued to smoke until the response came through. He stood from the bar, throwing down some money before making his way towards the exit of the club.

Evie looked around for him after a whole, not feeling his piercing gaze, not seeing him at the bar. She was a little concerned, only because she cared for him, not because he was incapable. Greg was charming, and sweet, making her laugh and have a good time. But, she couldn't stop those pesky thoughts about Sherlock from entering her head. Where the hell was he?

She texted him – Hey, where are you?-E

But, he hadn't answered.

Eventually Maeve's set ended, another band setting up to take their place. The girls broke down, Evie and Greg generously helping them clear the stage. She couldn't help but look around the room every time she was up there, trying to scope out any sign of tall, curly hair or a annoyed look on pale skin. So far, she'd come up empty handed and it worried her slightly.

She turned to the dark haired girl rolling up cables beside the stage, "Maeve. Have you seen Sherlock anywhere?"

The girl shook her head, "Nah, I haven't seen him for a while."

Evie sighed and looked around, Greg looking at her as he stood between her and Maeve. She sort of felt bad for kind of leading him on. "Alright, I'm gonna go look for him."

"Whose, Sherlock?" He asked, interested in the odd name.

"He's, uh," Evie wasn't entirely sure how to explain Sherlock in one phrase. "My best friend. Outside of Maeve." She added quickly, throwing a smile over at the other girl, who just rolled her eyes.

"Gotcha." Greg nodded, focusing instead on the wires he was coiling.

"I'll be back." She stated, moving out into the crowd to look for him. She didn't see him at the bar, he wasn't mingling in the crowd as another band started up their set. She moved towards the bathrooms, pushing through the heavy door that lead to the hallway of the restrooms. It was quieter in the hallway, the swinging door blocking out a lot of the sound from the bar. It was a tad darker too, giving it a more soothing quality than outside.

There were two bathrooms, both unisex single stalls. She hated bathrooms like these, there were always long lines and sort of filthy from all genders using them. If he wasn't outside, or had headed out, this was the only other place he could be.

She tried the one door, which gave easily, which implied it's emptiness. The other was locked, indicating the presence of someone inside. She rapped her knuckles on the door, listening, but she heard nothing. She tried again, still nothing.

She dug her phone out of her purse, clicking his contact and waiting for the ring. She heard it. The ring coming from the bathroom, her hear pressed up against the door. The clamminess took over her in an instant, she could feel her face both simultaneously draining of color and heating up with anger.

He ignore her call, letting it go to voicemail, but she already caught him. She knew he was in there.

She banged hard on the door, her anger overtaking her. "Sherlock!" She yelled, "Open the damn door. Now."

There was no noise on the other side and he made no move to unlock the door. She banged against it harder, repeatedly, until he opened it. By the time the door swung open, her hand and knuckles were red and slightly raw, but she didn't feel it through her rage.

He stood before her almost casually, looking down at her with glassy eyes and a blank face. Her jaw was wired tight, her angry eyes staring up at him. The sounds of an acoustic-ish version of The Cardigans song Lovefool was being played by the new band, the loud sounds of the soft, melodic voice of the male lead singer reverberated through the hallway around them. If she wasn't so angry she might've scoffed at how fitting it was.

Love me, love me... say that you love me

He said nothing as he looked down at her, there was no look in his eyes, no shame, no embarrassment, no anything.

Fool me, fool me... go on and fool me

She felt her hands ball into fists at her side, her nails biting into the tender flesh of the inside of her hand. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit him so badly.

Love me, love me... pretend that you love me

He had promised. He had promised all of them. She had thought he was doing well, leaning only on cigarettes as his crutch. Apparently she had been wrong, she had been stupid to believe him, to stand up for him against Mycroft and his parents. He was an addict, this should've effect her like this anymore, but it did. Every time.

Leave me, leave me... say that you need me

She brought her hands up and pushed his chest with all the anger she felt. He was knocked back by the force of her shove, stumbling gracefully back into the bathroom.

I can't care about anything but you

She stormed in after him, the door slamming closed with no one to hold it open. He was standing silently in the middle of the unisex bathroom, looking at her and still saying not a word. At least this time he had the decency to feel something and it showed through his gaze. She tore her eyes away from him and over instead to the sink, there seated beside the faucet was the evidence of his relapse.

Evie just nodded her head, biting the inside of her lip to keep from screaming at him. She knew from past experience that it didn't work, it didn't do anything but make her feel a little better. Her breathing was coming out a little harsh through her nose and she could feel the stinging start up. She was an angry cryer, she always had been, but now more than ever did she wish that she was different. She didn't want him to see her tears, he didn't deserve them.

"Evie." He heard him whisper. But she wouldn't look up at him, she just kept staring at the drugs laid carelessly on the counter.

She shook her head and kept biting the inside of her lip, refusing to look at him. His soft voice was because he knew he'd screwed up, because he knew how angry she was.

She felt him come closer, his movement still precise and steady, even under the influence. He had been drinking all night and now he was high, she tried really, really hard not to worry about his well being. It didn't work though, even in anger she was worried for him, because she cared for him. And that made her just as weak as he always claimed her to be.

"Eve." He whispered again, closer this time.

The gently quality his voice had taken on made her want to cry, and hit him, and hold him to her. He had just first-named her, it had taken her a second to realize. They rarely ever went by their birth names, Sherlock especially, and she was positive that she had never actually heard him call her Eve before. It was a little startling, seeing as the only people who refused to call her Evie were her parents.

She felt his hand come up to brush some hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. The sweet gesture should've been just that – sweet. Heartwarming, blush worthy, sweet. Instead, it made her hate him.

He was playing her, attempting to disarm her using tactics that he'd figured would work. And, they were working, to an extent. Which made her angrier.

How many times had she day dreamed this exact moment – minus the drugs and anger. How often did she yearn for his far and few in between soft murmurs and gentle touches? Her heart was beating fast in her chest, but she knew that it wasn't out of swooning for him, no, it was out of anger.

She was so fucking angry at him.

She jerked away from him, standing with her back towards the sink, facing him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You're fucking high."

He didn't even bat an eye at her accusation. He didn't even flinch. He just continued to star at her with that heavy gaze, that softness still lingering around them.

He gave her a look that meant he was stating facts. "This is how I deal with my problems, you can deal with yours however you please."

Her eyes narrowed sharply at him, and he was sure they would've pierced his skin if they were able. "What problems?" She stated, scoffing. "You don't have any problems, Sherlock. You're a seventeen year old genius who has everything fucking handed to him like the spoiled brat that you are. You have no problems." Her words slapped him, as they were meant to, and she only felt slightly bad that they were having an effect. "You're biggest problem is standing up to Mycroft and actually using some semblance of humanity."

She expected him to scoff, to lecture, to cut her down with his vicious and pinpointed deductions. She didn't expect him to hold her gaze so solemnly before looking at the floor. They stood there for a few moments, not saying anything, not looking at each other.

He eventually looked up at her, eyes running over the smooth expanse of skin that was left bare when she removed her jumper earlier. He caught the downturn of her lips, the slight smudging of mascara in the corners of her eyes, the tight grip she had with her arms crossed. He sighed, running his hands over his face.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

Her eyes shot up to meet his, swirling shades of the ocean during a thunderstorm. "I don't want you to say anything." She moved from her spot against the sink, coming closer to where he stood. "Actually, I don't really want to speak to you at all right now. I don't even want to look at you." Her voice sounded broken and sad. That odd stirring returned in his chest and he tried exceedingly hard to push it away.

"Well," He began, gesturing towards the door. "You know how to walk away."

There was something in his voice, a challenge almost, but neither of them were sure of what. Evie just sighed sadly, shaking her head. Her anger hadn't dissipated, but now she just felt tired. Drained.

"You need to get your shit together, Sherlock." She turned, grasping the small clear bags and vials, dumping them down the sink and running the water over them. She threw out the useless containers and faced him. "There's going to be a time when none of us are around to clean up your messes, you do know that, right?" He said nothing, only watched her with sharp, glassy eyes. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her eyes, attempting to stop herself from crying. Yet, her voice was strong and devoid of that shaky quality that happened when she was upset.

"I don't think you'd be able to make it alone."

Her words hit him like the arrow hit the target, pinching at him in the most uncomfortable way. She removed her hands from her eyes, looking at him with a level of seriousness she never possessed. He swallowed, unable to shake the feelings that were creeping up his skin like spiders, unable to push away the heaviness of her gaze. He cleared his throat, "Anything else?"

Those sad eyes turned hard in an instant, her jaw set and she shook her head. She stuck her hand in the pocket of his coat that laid on the counter beside the sink, pulling out his keys. "Yeah. I'm leaving. I'll call Mycroft to come clean up this mess. Again."

She turned on her heel and walked out of the bathroom, trying not to let the over-beating of her heart or the stinging behind her eyes bother her as she pushed back out into the bar, though the room full of people looking for Maeve. Evie spotted her in the back corner by the stage, leaning against the end of the bar, talking to a group of people as they watched the band. She made her way over to the dark haired girl, coming to stand in front of her, blocking her line of sight.

Maeve's amber eyes looked her over, her brows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I need to leave." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Now."

The urgency in her eyes won over Maeve quickly, nodding towards the others in the group before grabbing her things and walking out with Evie. She shrugged on her jumper, Sherlock's keys still clutched in her hand. They went out through the front, turning the corner that her and Sherlock had waited on. The cool air felt wonderful against her heated skin, but Maeve's eyes stopped her from going any further.

"What happened?"

She sighed, what did she even say? "I have to call, Mycroft." The look in Maeve's eyes or the smarmy smile on her face should've made Evie smirk and roll her eyes. Right now, it didn't.

Maeve, attempting to keep the air light, gave a small smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. The over powering concern she felt for her friend won out on her snarky side. "Not that I'm ever upset by the prospect of swooning over Mycroft, but, why do you need to call him?"

Evie bit the inside of her lip and ran her hands over her tired face. "Sherlock just relapsed."

"What?" Maeve's concerned face made an appearance, it wasn't often that Evie got to see it, seeing as Maeve made it a prerogative to be as sarcastic as possible a good portion of the time. But, the genuine look that passed over her features meant she had really not been expecting that. "Are you for real?"

Evie just nodded as she took out her cell phone. "Yup."

"Wow." Maeve breathed out. "Shit."

"Pretty much." Was Evie's only reply as she began to call Mycroft. It rang only twice before his bored voice was in her ears.

"You do realize that it's a completely unacceptable hour to be calling me."

"Mycroft," She cut off his tirade. "We have a problem."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure whatever it is that Sherlock has done is quite annoying. If he's gotten into yet another spat with an unsuspecting victim, you could've texted me instead of calling at all hours of the night."

"He's using again."

The silence that strung out between them for a few moments had Maeve looking intently between her and the phone. Finally, she heard the small disappointed sigh on the other end. "Where are you."

"The Barracuda." She answered.

"I'll be right there." She was about to hang up when he spoke again, "Let's not say anything to them until we know where this stands, yes?"

He wasn't necessarily asking her as much as telling her not to say anything to their parents, but, she understood. If this was a one time thing, they didn't need to be involved. It broke Violet and William's hearts every time this happened, Evie understood what Mycroft was attempting to do. It was just odd hearing him care for other's feelings. She couldn't catch herself from saying it, it was too ingrained in her from childhood not too.

"Mycroft, you best be careful – I think your compassion is showing."

He didn't even bother with a response before handing up.

She turned to Maeve, sighing. "Let's get out of here."

"What?" Maeve looked a little appalled. "You mean you're not going to stay and wait for him?"

That was Maeve asking why they couldn't wait for her to have a casual run in with Mycroft. Evie didn't have time for it right now, she didn't want to see him again tonight. Period.

She rolled her eyes, "I know you want to see Mycroft, but, I can't see him again tonight. If I do, I might actually break his face." She began to walk towards the street they had parked on. "God, the way he acted in there... it made me want to do things that would be classified as assault."

Maeve just sighed and walked with her. "Alright, alright. Do you want to stay at mine? You can always bring his car back tomorrow, not like he'll miss it."

"I was hoping you'd say that." They got into the car, Evie pulling up the seat a bit to accommodate her. She wasn't super use to driving, seeing as Sherlock generally drove her everywhere. But, she had her license, she knew how to drive, and she was certainly not letting him drive himself home under the influence of alcohol and drugs.

"Hey." Maeve grabbed her attention from the silence of the car and her thought. "I'm sorry, dude."

Evie just sighed and gave a small smile to her friend, "I know." She looked back towards the road. "Me too."

A/N: Just because I know people will ask - no, that was not our beloved Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Just a random Greg. Thanks to everyone whose posted on this story. You guys are rad. TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS.