"Ok, ok, ok. " Margo sings as she enters 221B, her newly dyed hair spiked into some sort of punk up-do. Her face is unusually covered in a particularly tan foundation, and her liquid eyeliner was askew.

Sherlock is busy typing away on his computer, researching present and past Oscar nominations. He sweeps his brown curls out of his face and dryly makes a comment to Margo without even turning to so much as look at her.

"Kind of you to knock."

"Ok buddy, let's not even pretend you didn't do that to me on my first week here." Margo pulls out a pile of DVDs rented from the library from her bag. She makes her way over and gently places the stack atop his head. "Also, watch these."

"I'd rather just search up the ending."

Margo lets out an audible, dramatic gasp. Placing the DVDs on the table, she presses the back of her hand to her forehead, swaying back and forth as if she were to faint. "Mr. Holmes! How dare you!"

He stops typing and swivels around to look at her. His lip trembles slightly into a grin as he notices her attempt at doing her own makeup.

"Firstly, a movie isn't just about a plot, it's about the music, and acting, and lighting and editing, and continuity…I mean, thousands of people work on these things for us to enjoy them. These are beautiful collaborations that they have created for people like you and me! Not to mention I got you some of my favourites! I'm basically sharing my diary with you."

Sherlock sighs, turning back to his computer.

"Stop that!" Margo shuts the laptop, causing Sherlock to let out an unimpressed grunt. "Here, I even got you Mulholland Drive by David Lynch. You love mysteries; this one will definitely keep you thinking. "

Sherlock snatches the DVD box from her hand and begins analyzing it almost immediately with caution.

"I also got you a couple documentaries and I grabbed a couple foreign flicks, including this Chinese movie called In the Mood for Love. Stunning flick. Honestly."

Sherlock's eyes dart from DVD to DVD that are scattered in front of him. Finally, after a moment of silence, he turns to her.

"I'll consider it."

Margo considers spitting directly into his left eye, but is thankfully stopped mid-thought by John exiting his bedroom.

"Hello Margapan, what brings you here?"

"Just stopping by to drop off some movies, and to review the plan."

"Alright, I'll be dressed in just a minute"

xXx

"Ok. So, simply put: Amanda Livington according to —"

"-And a client."

"According to and a client, Amanda Livington killed Chelsea Faust's brother."

"Correct."

"Newspapers say he died of a stroke. Apparently it runs in the family. But we know better. "

"Her family history shows no signs of a stroke, though their still is a slight possibility that he could have due to light head trauma at a young age."

"Yes, and…" Margo pauses for a moment, blinking. "How do you know that?"

John answers her question for her as he places two cups of tea in front of her and Sherlock.

"Hacking into things he shouldn't is Sherlock's idea of fun. Especially on my laptop." John sighs, sending his best friend an unhappy grimace before returning to the kitchen to fetch his own cup.

"Well. Have you considered hacking into Amanda's email?"

"Already tried. It's entirely professional. She keeps her personal life strictly on her phone."

"Sounds familiar." John hums as he reenters the room receiving a most curious look from Sherlock.

Margo studies Sherlock's face for a moment, trying to "deduce" what that moment was about. She chooses to let it slide.

"Ok. That makes sense. That's why we want to find a way to steal it at the event, right?"

"Yes. Though it won't be simple. Given the amount of important information on her mobile, she will be keeping a very close eye on it."

"So we need to make her relax and feel comfortable?" John pipes in.

"Yes." Sherlock responds, taking a long sip from his tea.

The three sit for a moment, each in their own "mind palace".

"Are you maybe suggesting…drugging her?" Margo suggests, scraping a hand through her thoroughly gelled hair.

The two men send her a look of disgust.

"What!? No one else was thinking that!? I'm not a rapist or something, I swear I just want to solve this thing and fast."

Sherlock sends her an all to familiar dirty look. Her stomach churns. She wishes her tea would suddenly turn into a bottle of scotch.

"Absolutely not. Not with all the security around. Think before you speak, Margaret."

"You're one to talk." John mutters to no one in particular.

"Don't all celebrities get high and shit?" Margo spits defensively.

"That's not going to work. According to Us Weekly, a few days after the death of Chelsea's brother, Amanda decided to become "straight edge". Meaning no alcohol and no drugs. A poorly written tale about her mother's alcohol addiction follows that information."

"You're such an empathetic soul, Sherlock, truly I don't understand why you're not a poet." Sherlock appears to be especially unhappy about this comment. He turns his cold gaze away from her. "Ok, then, Sherlock, I haven't heard any ideas on your end. Hit me."

He raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"It's an expression Sherlock. She means tell her what idea you have." John sighs.

"We strike up a business plan with her, call her to a private lounge, get her comfy, and grab it."

"Not bad. I'm sure I can think of a movie we can pitch."

John sends a smile her way.

"Ok, my next concern is actually getting in past security?"

"Leave that to me."

"Not on my laptop you won't!"

xXx

He finds her later hunched over to the side of their building hurling her guts out. He could smell the puke before he even exited the door.

"Preparing your liver for this Saturday?"

She spits the rest of the bile from her mouth, and wipes the last of it off her lips with her sleeve.

"Fuck. Off." She huskily says, her eyes not reaching his. She removes her pack of smokes from her jacket pocket, only to find that it is empty. She feels the desire to slam her fist into the wall beside her.

"Why are you even here?"

"Outside?"

"No, on fucking planet earth. "

He stares blankily.

"Sarcasm."

"Hmm." He nods. "I knew you'd be drunk. Your expression earlier was particularly more self-destructive than usual. "

"And you didn't stop me?"

"That's not my job."

In her inebriated state all she can do is allow the wave of tears to rise and conquer. She wants to hit him. She wants to hurt him.

"Wh…Are you crying?"

Tears spilling down her face, she finally looks him in the eyes. Her eyeliner is smudged all over and her mascara is running down her face.

"No. I'm actually grinning ear to ear. In fact, I was just celebrating!" She mimes an imaginary wine glass as she continues to speak with more gusto. "I was celebrating the absolutely splendid time I'm having here! I'm so goddamn thankful for my supportive roommates."

A little bit of spit hits him on the cheek; he sweeps it aside, his face remaining statue-esque as she observes her.

"I was celebrating how awesome and cool I am and how much I can keep a fucking promise! Love you Mom! Here's to being sober!"

And with this she swings her imaginary glass back and downs it.

He remains the opposite of her: even, cold, and unmoving.

She shoves past him and walks up the steps back into the apartment.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Sherly." She snaps before shutting the door behind her.

He gazes down at the DVD of Mulholland Drive in his hand.