"I see you've called again."

"I found Sherlock."

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, but I need your help carrying him."

Jim told the woman on the phone their location, and she hung up. Sherlock was slipping in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently every now and then. It didn't cross his mind that he just called a drug dealer to help him get Sherlock to his place. She seemed to be the only one Jim could immediately get ahold of.

Jim could've heard her coming from a mile away. Her high heels echoed off the walls as she climbed the steps.

They were Prada, by the way. Fucking Prada.

Her hair was dyed a pastel blonde, and then black underneath, curly and tied up in a high ponytail. Her bangs were huge and wavy like some nineties popstar. Her lips were painted crimson, as were her long fingernails, and her eyes bore perfect black winged eyeliner. She wore an expensive black leather coat, and tight black skinny jeans that hugged her slim figure.

"Ugh, Sherlock, what have you done this time..."

American.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, coming closer to help Jim lift the massive kid off the mattress. The sound of her heels were like gunfire, satisfyingly so. Jim hadn't realized he was gawking at her until she snapped her fingers. "Don't just sit there, help."

She was extremely strong. Jim had hardly needed to put any effort into lifting Sherlock to his feet. They helped Sherlock down the three flights of stairs, and into the woman's sleek black sports car. Then they helped him up Jim's staircase and into his apartment.

She sat Sherlock down on the sofa, talking to him clearly and directly.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Hi, Bianca, want to dance with me?"

"Fingers, Sherlock, how many?"

"Three hundred and ninety-four."

"Honestly, Sherlock."

"Just kidding, two on each hand."

Jim leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching the woman work her magic. Tea, he should make tea. He fumbled around the kitchen for a clean teapot and matching mugs, and started the kettle.

"I hope you're making herbal," the woman called Bianca warned. Jim paused, then opened his cupboard. Luckily he had some, for some reason.

"Follow my finger, don't let it out of your sight." She traced her finger through the air like a right professional. The kettle soon whistled, and Jim made the rest of the tea. Bianca joined him in the kitchen.

"He'll be fine. He just needs to sleep it off."

"You sure?"

"I have a doctorates degree in medicine. He'll be fine," she slid one of the mugs from the counter, taking a sip. Red lipstick stained the rim.

"Doctorates? Jesus. How many other doctors sell drugs in their spare time?"

Bianca smiled. "My title is Dr. Bianca Johnson. But that doesn't mean I have a job as a doctor. I make enough money dealing, I basically live the good life."

"You do drugs?"

"Heavens, no, doing drugs would mean losing money. That's how people go bankrupt."

"Can I ask your age?"

"Depends, was that a flirtatious advance?"

Jim chuckled. "Homosexual." Bianca thought for a moment. "I'm thirty-one," she admitted. A phone buzzed somewhere. Bianca pulled her cell out of her back pocket and excused herself outside to take her call.

Brilliant woman.

Jim rounded the sofa and sat down next to Sherlock, handing him his tea. Sherlock looked drowsy, and could hardly sit up straight. He smiled a loopy sort of smile. "Hi, Jim, may I have this dance?"

Jim rolled his eyes.

"I need a cigarette," Sherlock stated.

"What you need is some good old fashioned slee - hey," Jim was interrupted by a very strange, satisfyingly soft mouth being pressed against his neck. Sherlock moaned theatrically against it, while Jim prayed to god Bianca wouldn't come in and see his raging -

"I'm gonna fall asleep," Sherlock gradually stopped and rested his head on Jim's shoulder. He was out like a light. "Damn you, Sherlock, don't leave me hanging," Jim mumbled bitterly, gently laying him down on his back. As he was laying a blanket over him, Bianca poked her head inside.

"Gotta run, customer."

"Thanks for everything, by the way."

Bianca winked. "Bye, Jim." With that, her heels carried her down the stairs, into her car, and out of sight.

Jim couldn't remember ever telling her his name.

{( Bianca's so cool I'm totally going to draw her omg I love her )}