by N.B.D. (Glitterbug880012 at aol.com)
I stole the idea from a little while back, sorry. I wrote
it spur of the moment, and I kinda abandoned the other one.
Holmes heard it faintly -- the sound of throwing up. Down the
hall in the bathroom, he placed it. Not wanting to alert the others,
he slipped out as Deidre laughed in reply to a joke said by Wiggins.
Following the sound, he found the bathroom door open. Knowing
it was Lestrade, who had excused herself a few minutes ago -- eating
nothing, which was strange for the Inspector who loved anything that
was real food -- he walked forward.
"Lestrade, are you all right?" he called.
No answer, more vomiting.
He walked inside and saw her leaning over the toilet, blood
coming up at the same time. He quietly stood leaning on the door,
realizing what was going on.
She washed her face and turned, looking at him with a look
similar to those of the people Lestrade caught everyday.
"We need to talk."
"Take the Irregulars home, Watson," Holmes said in a firm
voice, his arms crossed.
"Ooh, Holmes, care to share?" Deidre drawled, in return
receiving a death glare.
Lestrade watched from the doorway, hugging herself as the
three kids were corralled out the door. At least Holmes was going to
do this in private, so they didnít know. She braced herself as the
door shut, an awkward silence setting in.
Holmes sat down at his seat. "Sit."
She obediently did.
"You know, no one ever gives Watson enough credit for his
food, especially when they refuse to eat much of it. Throwing it
promptly up in the bathroom is just another slap in the face. Or is
it that you were afraid your table manners were so atrocious, you
should wait until the others left to eat? Do go on and tell me,
"I canít eat," she replied weakly, driving them into another
awkward silence. Holmes stood from the table and started to pace the
floor. He leaned against the mantle, and gazed into the fire.
"I shouldíve known," he started, "when Gregson told you to
lose weight to be a little faster in chases, that youíd take it too
seriously. I bet he wasnít the only one. That stupid... And all the
exercise equipment. And when you started to have only water and a
cracker for your breakfast, only to find out that was your midday
meal. Lestrade, you have an eating disorder!"
"What?" She started. "Holmes, Iím dieting. If something
doesnít stick to the ribs, then maybe I shouldnít be eating it."
"So your so called Ďdietí includes throwing up? Lestrade,
donít you know that eats your insides out!?!"
"Holmes, I know what Iím doing. Youíre starting to show your
age, you know." She crossed her arms.
"Feeble comeback, Lestrade. Come with me." He grabbed her arm
and took her over to a full-length mirror. "What do you see?"
She stared in it for a while, then looked lower, her face
showing her disgust. "I see an absolutely pudgy woman."
"I donít. I see a woman whose face is deathly pale, whose
wrists..." He held one up. "...have the bones clearly sticking out,
and..." He opened her mouth, exposing the gum. "...bloody gums.
Hmmm, let me put this together."
Watson walked through the door at the same time.
"Watson, a person is causing herself to throw up; denies that
she has a disorder; bloody gums, throws up blood, refuses to eat; and
sees herself as overweight," he hollered through the flat. "Whatís
"Well, obviously a eating disorder."
"And what should she do?"
"Get help immediately."
"Lestrade!." Holmes whirled on her, who had been trying to
sneak out quickly, to no avail. "Youíre sick, and if itís the last
thing I do, Iím getting you better."
TO BE CONTINUED
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