A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood (Sherlock)

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"We need tea. Tea is imperative. But you like coffee, don't you?"
Sherlock didn't respond, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. It was an attempt to keep the glare of the overhead lighting from reaching his eyes, but was thus far unsuccessful considering the fact that the brightness simply reflected in the polished surface.
Why did supermarkets have to be so horrible. It wasn't fair.

"Pick out whatever drinks you want. I don't really care. But if you ignore me you'll just have to drink tea and water and milk all week. Unlike you I can't read minds."

Holmes shot back a mumbled remark of: "It's not mind reading, it's observation, idiot," glancing up at the shelves on either side as he reluctantly considered what he had to choose. His eyes were kept almost shut against the light, and he squinted near-blindly at the labels before him.
Well, if the man had said to get whatever he wanted.

Sherlock picked up a bottle of vodka with one hand, a bottle of absinthe with another (after making sure that they were both the most extravagantly expensive of their kind possible), strode back to Lestrade and dumped both rather unceremoniously alongside the milk.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade chose to gracefully ignore Sherlock's little, "It's not mind reading, it's observation, idiot," in favor of grabbing some frozen peas and carrots that sat in the adjacent freezers, along with some ice cream because, well. He liked ice cream. And he had the feeling someone as childish as Holmes wouldn't have a problem eating copious amounts of sweet things. He chose strawberry anyway.

He turned when he heard the metal of the shopping cart clang and saw Sherlock dropping a bottle of vodka and a bottle of absinthe into the cart, a self-satisfied grin playing on the younger man's lips. Since when did Holmes drink?

"You little brat!"[/b] Lestrade exclaimed, glaring at Sherlock half-heartedly. Really, he didn't mind that much. What Holmes ate (or didn't eat) and drank was up to him. It worried Lestrade a little, but he decided Sherlock was just getting the (expensive!) alcohol to play with his nerves.

"Drinking before lunch is a disgusting habit,"[/b] he reminded Sherlock, and pushed the cart forward to the next aisle, which was the start of general carbohydrates. These aisles likely took up fifty percent of the store, in all honesty.

Going down the aisle Lestrade absently picked out random things like crackers and bread and  rice, looking towards Sherlock in a sort of mock asking for approval occasionally until they got through the tedious section and reached: toys. Why they sold an assortment of toys and books and magazines was a bit beyond Lestrade's understanding, but it existed nevertheless.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"You little brat! Drinking before lunch is a disgusting habit,"
Sherlock sniffed in response to that, trailing behind Lestrade as he continued through the supermarket aisles.
"So is smoking, apparently, but you don't seem to have too much of a problem with that."
He was going to demand the most expensive cigarettes sold there, too, just to be the pain-in-the-arse that so many people claimed he was. He may as well act it if people thought it already.

Holmes spent the majority of his time trying not to concentrate on the horrendous cacophony of noise that assaulted his senses, and desperately seemed to be attempting to overload his tiring brain. He tried so very hard to ignore the squeaking of the number of trolleys scattered throughout the shop; to block out the sound of thudding footsteps on linoleum; to not allow the ceaseless, and relentless chattering of a hundred stupid mouths to affect him.
But it was difficult.

In the end, it was an infant that did it.

Somehow Sherlock and Lestrade had found themselves staring (well, the latter man was looking, whilst the former had his eyes squeezed firmly shut against the garish lighting) at the collection of toys and other pointless entertainment items that the supermarket boasted. And when a child of some age began to wail alarmingly loudly not too far from where the two were standing, the consulting detective found himself grasping his hair with both hands and turning a full circle, whilst muttering an endless stream of rather rude and unsympathetic complaints and revelations of many of the shop's customer's darkest secrets.

There was a reason he never had any food in the fridge.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"So is smoking, apparently, but you don't seem to have too much of a problem with that." Sherlock sounded pleased with himself as he said so. Well, then. He was such a sodding know it all, wasn't he? He knew just how to get the truth to be as irksome as possible.

Still, Lestrade had thought Sherlock had been doing quite well, all things considered, until they got to the aisle that sold the most pointless, non food-related crap and, well. He should ave known a crying child would have been far too much for Sherlock to handle. Well, he handled not-handling it well, being him. Wile he did end up mumbling an entire list of every person's darkest secrets and most shameful failings in life, it was mostly under his breath, and Lestrade watched, somewhat alarmed, as the younger man turned around dramatically and started to pull at his hair.

Lestrade was not surprised by this behavior, neither was he disappointed. He felt a little guilty, to be honest; dragging Sherlock here. Sometimes Sherlock could handle humanity by spitting at it, but he did acknowledge the strong suspicion that sometimes people in general just got far too much for him. Too much of everything, everywhere.

"All right, all right, come on lad,"[/b] Lestrade said, and gently led Sherlock with a hand to his back away and back towards the front of the store to checkout. While he wasn't done with his mental checklist, Lestrade had decided he had enough to get by until he managed to drag himself back out to the place for now. It wasn't worth torturing Sherlock. He fancied himself able to at least figure out when Sherlock was just being an intolerant prick from when he had actually had enough, and he was pretty sure the latter at the moment. They were the kind of things the two of them didn't really talk about, but just knew about each other from working closely for so long.

Luckily there wasn't much of a line at the checkout, probably because it was an early afternoon, Thursday, and it wasn't the majority of peoples' days off. "Go hail a cab or something and I'll check out,"[/b] Lestrade said. "And don't leave me behind."[/b] Coming from a friend normally, that would have probably sounded a bit rude. But Lestrade was sure it would be for his own good, Sherlock needed reminders sometimes. A lot. He was a bit indifferent about the sudden leaving, after all, and while he was a firm believer of the fact that Sherlock needed to stretch of a lot of strange and antisocial boundaries he'd set up, he was quite sure the younger man had had enough for now.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Lestrade's words (a probably intentionally comforting "All right, all right, come on lad,") were drowned out by the rest of the noise, but the hand on his back was not. He allowed himself to be guided, eyes closed, to where he presumed both the checkouts and the doors of the supermarket were located.
"Go hail a cab or something and I'll check out, and don't leave me behind."
The important bits of the Detective Inspector's next sentence seemed to seep through to a working part of his mind, and Sherlock was walking blindly forward before the sentence had even been finished.

It was probably just fortune that the tall man managed not to walk into anybody or anything on his way out of the shop, and soon he was leaning back against a wall just to the right of one of the tremendously over sized supermarket windows.
The streets were hardly less cacophonous than the store had been, in general, but there had always been an odd sort of peace in the buzz of a city that Sherlock naturally found solace in. There was order in the chaos, and that was enough to help calm the great consulting detective's hectic brain.
That, and nicotine.

Holmes fumbled in his pockets for a moment before withdrawing a slightly battered, more-empty-than-full packet of cigarettes (for all he had gone through, Sherlock fancied that Lestrade owed him a truckload of the things) and a lighter. Not long after he was calmly puffing out a hazy cloud of smoke, looking for all the world as though he hadn't just had a little bit of a meltdown in the middle of a supermarket.
The tall man looked up. It was comforting for him to see not a blank, blue sky - but an endless view of countless building tops and skyscraper points. Sherlock breathed in deeply as both New York and the cigarette worked their marvelous wonders and soothed him. It was, undoubtedly, the calm after a storm.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade watched worriedly as Sherlock wandered off towards the exit, eyes still mostly shut and looking for all the world like he might either pass out or explode and kill someone at any moment. He felt quite bad for Sherlock at the moment. Sighing, he got into an aisle of checkout where there was no one else in save for one lady who was just finishing up. While he loaded the few items he'd managed to get in the time they'd had (which was basically all fruits, vegetables and carbohydrates, oh joy), he took two packs of cigarettes from where they sat somewhat rudely next to packets of bubblegum and such for children. Then again, right in front of the line was a rack full of somewhat dirty magazines. God, the media these days.

There were only four bags to carry really, though they were all somewhat heavy, considering they were: water-logged fruit, a heavy bagful of rice, milk and alcohol. Go figure. While Lestrade wasn't quite as in-shape as he wished he were, he was quite strong, so it wasn't much of a problem. Walking out of the store, he quickly saw the very tall, skinny, messy-haired man standing in front of the store, leaning against the wall and smoking, staring at the sky.

He looking almost peaceful.

But then, this was Sherlock. He didn't do peaceful. But maybe that wasn't the guy's choice. Then again, Lestrade didn't think for a second Sherlock would chose dull, pedestrian life if he had the choice between his hero, action-filled one.

Lestrade wandered over, placing the shopping bags on the ground and standing next to Sherlock, joining him in looking at the sky. While Lestrade was somewhat of an amateur space enthusiast, he didn't think he was seeing what Sherlock did. Nobody probably did, except maybe other disturbing geniuses in the world, if there were any.

"Do you want to talk about what happened in there just now?"[/b] he asked, his tone far from accusing, very level. He doubted Sherlock would want to, but he'd asked anyway, giving Sherlock a small, reassuring smile to tell him he'd listen, but didn't expect to actually do so. No doubt Sherlock would find the offer amusing, after all. He breathed in the smell of Sherlock's cigarette smoke eagerly, itching for a bit of nicotine himself.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock was quite unnervingly unmoving from his position, leaning against the wall. His eyes were open, yet still and somehow unblinking. In fact, the only sign he was conscious was the occasional movement he made in order to take the cigarette to and from his lips, and the steady stream of smoke he breathed into the air.
Holmes could hear the thrum of the city life from where he stood, and it was nothing but beautiful.

And then peace was destroyed by man. Heart-wrenchingly typical, in a way.
"Do you want to talk about what happened in there just now?"

The consulting detective's eyes narrowed as he sucked in a sharp breath of air (mostly smoke, actually - as there was an almost-cloud floating around his head by that point) through his teeth. He lowered his hand to stub out the remains of the cigarette on the wall, before immediately lighting another. In the past, he had dealt with many things by chain-smoking until he could delete it - and it was a trustworthy tactic.
A quick glance at the Detective Inspector assured him that he had, in fact, picked up the promised cigarettes. The fact that Sherlock had dozens of packets stashed around the flat didn't matter at all, of course.

Speaking of, he had to be sure that Lestrade didn't snoop so far into his living spaces that he happened to stumble upon a 'hiding place', so to speak. It wouldn't do at all to have a man of the law discover that.

"No," Holmes finally replied, tearing his gaze away from the city's skyline. He noticed with a faint buzz of amusement the Detective Inspector's desire for a nicotine fix, but was hardly going to offer him a cigarette unless he asked for one.
Instead, Sherlock busied himself by located the bag containing the alcohol he had picked out, and proceeded in waving it directly in Lestrade's face as a clear sign of just what he wanted to do. He knew for a fact that two bottled was hardly enough, but then Holmes had a cupboard full of a variety of stuff back at his flat.
"Let's get pissed."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock huffed out a mouthful of smoke out, glancing over at Lestrade. There was a long pause before Sherlock said "No."

"Okay."[/b] And that was that. Sherlock looked away and so did Lestrade. He heard and saw in his peripheral vision as Sherlock leaned over and took the shopping bag with the alcohol, and suddenly there was a plastic bag being waved in front of his eyes. "Let's get pissed."

Well, that was forward.

"Sherlock, you know I… try not to drink anymore,"[/b] he said, being truthful but forgoing saying the word 'don't'. He paused, and looked at the consulting detective, and hell, it was Sherlock. Telling him to do something. He'd gotten up at three in the morning at the man's call to end up simply texting someone for the younger boy.

He was such a tool.

"…Okay."[/b] He sighed. He'd never been drunk around Sherlock, or anyone at work. Not this work place. He'd even resisted drinking with Peter that time. He'd never been drunk around anyone here, really. So he told himself that he wouldn't drink too much, enough to get drunk, and then… well, honestly, he knew he had too little self control to do that anymore, though. Never did.

Nobody liked him when he was drunk, ever.

"Hail a cab like I told you to."[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock almost smiled when Lestrade agreed, but rather decided to give a slight nod and held out the bag for the other man to take - just barely giving time for the Detective Inspector to get hold of it before letting go. After taking a last inhale of the cigarette, Holmes let it drop to the floor, grinding it into the tarmac with the heel of his shoe, before pushing away from the wall and stepping so near to the edge of the road that he was almost hit by several passing cars.

A yellow taxi cab (the consulting detective would always miss the simple black of the London cabs - a rare act of sentiment he allowed) pulled to a halt immediately when Sherlock raised his arm in signal. The man wasted no time or effort in helping Lestrade with the shopping, choosing instead to clamber into the seat of the car and wait for the other man to follow.
It had been his idea to go shopping, he could deal with the result of it.
The thought was childish, but at that point Sherlock found himself unwilling to care. He had done much more petty and churlish things before, and he never gave a thought to those.

The consulting detective turned his face away to stare out of the window of the taxi, ignoring the fact that they were not yet moving, and so the only thing he was staring at was the crowd of traffic on the overly busy road.
He held his hand out expectantly in the direction Lestrade would most likely be once he stopped faffing around and actually got in the taxi, before muttering a simple:
"I trust you remembered the cigarettes. And don't even think about getting in this car if you don't have them."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock nodded, looking slightly self-satisfied and then gave Lestrade just enough time to grab the bag before he stalked off, dramatic in his height and posture. Gregory sighed, though had a very small smile drift onto his face. Sherlock was an awfully lot like a hormonal teenager sometimes. He ought to take it as training for when he actually had to deal with his own soon-to-be teenager.

Picking up the shopping bags, just a tad annoyed but hardly bothered by the fact that Sherlock hadn't taken any of them himself, he went to where Sherlock had no successfully hailed a cab and climbed in. Immediately he was met with Sherlock's hand, sticking out and expectant, where the younger man said, "I trust you remembered the cigarettes. And don't even think about getting in this car if you don't have them."

"I did indeed, Queen Victoria,"[/b] Lestrade snorted sarcastically. He dug his arm into one of the plastic bags and withdrew one of the two packs he'd bought, placing it in Sherlock's outstretched hand. "I'm sorry they're not premium deluxe super-expensive Sherlock-cigarettes but I'm afraid they'll have to do."[/b]

He leaned forward and recited his address to the cabbie and leaned back. Thinking over what had just happened, he realized that he may be about to get voluntarily drunk. Which was completely stupid. He wondered how best to say what he needed to suggest without sounding like a lightweight, realized there was none, and then also realized that Sherlock wouldn't give a fuck either way. So he ended up saying, quite straightforward (which was somewhat refreshing, to be honest), "How do you feel about being the only one actually drinking?"[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"I'm sorry they're not premium deluxe super-expensive Sherlock-cigarettes but I'm afraid they'll have to do."
Holmes rolled his eyes, pocketing the pack of cigarettes as Lestrade muttered the address to the taxi driver. The car started with a jolt, and just a moment later Sherlock glanced at the man sat beside him. It was just long enough to note the Detective Inspector's internal conflict.
Christ, not this. The Consulting Detective was just about fed up with people, and then this. Trust Lestrade to opt out.

Sherlock didn't even need to hear the words to know what was coming.
"How do you feel about being the only one actually drinking?"

Holmes groaned loudly, throwing his head back so that it hit the back of the seat with a light 'thump'. Greg was fool. And he was ruining Sherlock's plans - drinking wouldn't be acceptable if Lestrade was still sober enough to make fun of him.

"While it's true that you demonstrate having a far inferior mind to my own - don't look like that, everybody does - you are strong-willed enough to not allow yourself to relapse. And if you began to, you're intelligent enough to stop it, Greg."
For once, Holmes genuinely wasn't manipulating. He was still attempting to persuade the other man, but in a less forceful manner than he could have done.
Hopefully the Detective Inspector would respect that, at least.

The cab pulled to a stop outside Sherlock's flat, but the man waited for Lestrade to answer in some way before climbing out of the car. After all, if the other man still refused, there was little point in the consulting detective returning home. There really was nothing for him to do - though he knew that Lestrade wasn't one to be pushed into drinking when he didn't want to. It would have to be choice, obviously.

Sherlock detested things that were out of his control, but he managed to show a moment of patience, and wait.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock groaned annoyingly loud, his head producing a muffled lump when he slammed it dramatically on the back of the seat. Gregory glared at him, knowing that Sherlock was no doubt bothered by him now. He wished Sherlock would actually respect his decisions, now and again. Well, he did, until Sherlock said something that truly touched him.

"While it's true that you demonstrate having a far inferior mind to my own - don't look like that, everybody does - you are strong-willed enough to not allow yourself to relapse. And if you began to, you're intelligent enough to stop it, Greg."

Gregory blinked, well and truly stunned that Sherlock had managed to say that without looking like a manipulative, heartless bastard playing for worst actor of the year. He seemed honest, and it made Gregory looked away to force back a smile. He did always feel an unexplained amount of pride when Sherlock acted human-ish, at least for Sherlock.

Still, Gregory really did not want to go through the whole alcohol-abuse-cycle once against just because Sherlock wanted him to do something stupid. If he gave in, that was giving up. He'd almost rather get high. He wasn't sure what to say without belittling Sherlock's small speech and before he could gather his thoughts enough to produce something mildly convincing the cab pulled up at 221B. He waited for Sherlock to open the door but he did not, and Lestrade realized he was waiting for an answer. Well, damn.

He thought viciously, the hurriedness being quite uncomfortable really, and he came to the conclusion that drinking incredibly watered down alcohol was still considered drinking. He could get around this. After all, Sherlock really did seem as if he needed to get drunk.

"Fine. But,"[/color] he looked and Sherlock very seriously to make sure the man was listening, because he really meant this, "I'm drinking on my own terms. Don't try to get me to drink more because I know I might give in. While I appretiate your thinking so, I'm not as strong-willed as I wish I were. So just - don't. Okay?"[/color] He grimaced before getting out of the taxi cab and heading up to 221B, once again carrying all of the grocery bags.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

For not the first time in his life (a fact that many would be incredulous about), Sherlock Holmes was quietly patient as he waited for a response from Lestrade. Contrary to popular belief, the Consulting Detective was, in fact, capable of displaying common courtesy from time to time. It was simply that he frequently chose not to. In this instance, however, Holmes had already calculated that the opposite would have a more beneficial outcome.

Of course, Sherlock was firm in his belief that the outcome was all that mattered. He was a sociopath, after all.

Such was the reason why the Consulting Detective [/i]absolutely[/i] did not give a subtle sigh of something akin to relief when Lestrade (sort of) agreed. Well, he didn't notice that he did - which was practically the same thing. It amounted to the same sum, anyway, as Sherlock tended to ignore things he didn't like.

Fortunately, his non-acknowledgment of the Detective Inspector's agreement happened whilst the other man was walking the steps to 221B. Holmes paid the taxi fare, before climbing out of the car and following suit, lighting another cigarette from his recently-acquired packet on the way.

Inside the flat, Sherlock decided not to stop in order to help with the bags (Gregory would hardly be expecting him to, anyway, so the man had absolutely no reason to decide to show courtesy), but rather headed to one of the cabinets beneath the worktop of the kitchen, drawing out the bottles kept there - each one revealed a higher alcohol volume than the last.

The cigarette hung lightly from his lips as he completed the task, before the Consulting Detective shrugged off both his coat and suit jacket, fluidly slumping down into a kitchen chair with a large inhalation of fumes.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Home. Well, house. Flat. Sherlock's flat. Really, he shouldn't be calling this home - he'd been here only a night, but it wasn't like he hadn't slept here before. Crashed on Sherlock's couch. He felt a flutter of nervousness as Sherlock pulled out many bottles of alcohol - how ouch was the man planning to drink, anyways? He hadn't thought the market would stress a person out this much. Not for the first time did he internally remind himself that Sherlock was probably high functioning autistic.

Smoke drifted in the air when Sherlock lit a cig, and Greg did the same. It felt good, soothing a craving he hadn't noticed until it was softened. He sighed, putting the groceries he'd managed to buy during their short trip into cupboards, mentally reminding himself that sometime today he planned to put Sherlock's weird things in one cupboard, and then label the other FOR FOOD ONLY; NO HUMAN BODY PARTS OR IRREGULAR MEAT, CHEMICALS, ETC. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Not that he had a doubt Sherlock would play dumb to the sign, but it was worth a shot. He'd nearly drunk embalming fluid this morning, after all.

He glanced at Sherlock's growing pile of alcohol. He frowned, said without looking at the younger man, "Why do you have all that? Put it away, you have the stuff we just bought." The sight of all of it made him feel a bit queasy. "Please,"[/b] he added as an afterthought, putting a box of spaghetti on the shelf. "I understand you might've had a stressful morning, but it's unnecessary."[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock finished emptying the cupboards before Lestrade finished stocking them, and the consulting detective rocked on the back legs of the chair he was seated on childishly until the other man would pay attention to him again.
"Why do you have all that? Put it away, you have the stuff we just bought."
Holmes scowled, pushing the chair back with more force than strictly necessary. Not that the intended petulance of his actions mattered, as Lestrade was avoiding looking at him anyway.
"No," he replied clearly.

"Please," the Detective Inspector added, as though 'asking nicely' would persuade him to do something he didn't want to.
The lanky man allowed the chair to drop forward, it's front legs hitting the floor with a loud 'snap'.
"I understand you might've had a stressful morning, but it's unnecessary."

Sherlock's head turned slowly to allow an uninterrupted stare to be aimed at Lestrade. He raised one eyebrow, probably challenging just who could decide what and what was not necessary.
"A stressful morning? Oh, I see - you think this is all about the supermarket." The man rose to his feet, and brought his cigarette back to his lips. Inhale. Exhale. The cloud of smoke obstructed his face for a few moments before curling into nothingness. Of course Lestrade wouldn't see how many things he found 'stressful'. Or, at least, the other man probably wouldn't realise that the intensity of the morning was more like the final push that led to Sherlock wanting to block everything out. Just for a while.
"This," he indicated to the collection of bottles laid out on the table, "Is to mute everything going on in here." The consulting detective pointed to his head.
"In case you hadn't considered, alcohol isn't as strong as the drugs - but then I doubt that you'd allow me to use in your presence. So I suppose in this instance I shall have to choose quantity over quality, hmm?"
Holmes spat the words with a sneer, before taking a step back to lean against the countertop. If he was surprised at himself for what he said, he managed to only let it show very slightly.