Since Sherlock had âreturned from the deadâ, been given a debriefing by his brother in which Sherlock walked away, got punched by John and many people being shocked that he was yes infact alive - he had kept low key for now except one or two cases. Sherlock needed to make sure his Homeless Network was aware of his arrival and to spot if anything strange was going on. This also meant he would have to walk around London going to places he would rather not go, but needs must. People always underestimated the homeless - they were not all bad people and were useful given the right persuasion. That usually meant give them food, drugs or money. Sometimes all three.
Over the last two years playing dead, Sherlock had seen many ghastly things - some of which was of his creation, but there wasnât much he could do in far eastern Siberia in Winter. When board of course you are going to throw a Russian hit man to a pack of wolves that had been on your trail for three days. Anyway, Sherlock now had scars that would not go away. Not on his body but those mental images that only cropped up when triggered by something. There was a reason he had to stop eating red jam.
Of course Sherlock would not tell anyone of these things because any normal person would not be able to comprehend what was going on or achieve. Also it was most likely highly confidential and Mycroft would be looking for years trying to find the right therapist with the right credentials so Sherlock could talk to someone. Not that he would of course, though he was sure Molly would be able to let him speak to a few dead bodies. They didnât talk back - though he did have one case whereâŚnevermind it wasnât important to the situation.
Another thing about flashbacks and all that stuff which doctors make people go on Xanex for. Sherlock had no use for pills - Mycroft and his parents had tried to make him go on things like that as a teen because of various issues but Sherlock sold them online. It wasnât till months later that he was found out and feeding the homelessâ drug habits. Though he was ÂŁ300 richer.
Sherlock did find another drug though, it started off with some coke at Oxford which people were passing around at a âpartyâ, but then it turned into a more serious habit - heroin. Sherlock was on it on/off for years until Mycroft gave him an ultimatum. His dear brother was worried for him, but finally he agreed to go to a stupid rehab place. Sherlock of course managed to discharge himself within three days despite being there against his will, but he didnât touch the drugs for years after. Bad news for his lungs though, he turned to smoking. This time Mycroft couldnât have a go at him as he smoked too.
What was the thing that finally made him go back to the little nasty drug habit that people so nicely liked to call it - Moriarty. Despite being dead the man still was in his head and had a network all around Europe and Asia that Sherlock had to slowly dismantled. For some reason he never chose America or Australia - well it was a nice holiday for the fourty eight hours he spent in both countries. Ok maybe it wasnât all Moriarty, but mostly likely 80% of all his problems come down to him.
Some of the homeless he had been trying to get intel from were not so fond of him, mainy because he looked like an uptight toff wanting sympathy. That all changed when he offered to do drugs with them. He didnât share a needle, but he arranged a time and place where he could go and heâll be dressed down too. It was all about trust with the homeless. That was three days ago and he had only told Mrs Hudson heâd be gone for a few hours. Sheâd probably had got Mycroft and John our looking for him but who cared right now. He was high and had missed this feeling so badly.
Sure Sherlock didnât like how he had track marks on him anymore and was trying to calculate the precise amount of herion to take so that he wouldnât fatally overdose, but it was worth it for the things he didnât have to remember anymore. Still in his foggy mind he had managed to keep a list of all he had taken, just so he would keep a promise to Mycroft.
Right now Sherlock was just crouched in a corner coming down from whatever the heroin wanted to give him today when he heard his name. He looked rough, stoned to his tits and not shaved, eaten and drunk in three days but still had the rest of his senses availableâŚslightly. Turning around he looked and saw John standing there with a torch who looked like heâd rather be fighting a gang of rapists than be here. âOh hey John, what you doing here? Ignore me, iâm just high while reconnecting withâŚâ Sherlock gives a motion to try and attempt to show he was reconnecting with the Homeless Network.
The former army doctor took a few steps further inside the new room, letting the light from his flashlight sweep across it. For a short moment, John thought he found himself staring at a bunch of corpses, but soon enough he realised all the people in here were alive and well. Or.. yeah, maybe not âwellâ. In fact, most of the folk in here were probably way beyond help by now. Considering he we was most likely standing in a drug den, these people were way too high to even notice his presence. With a disgusted facial expression caused by the bad smell, John moved slowly around, flashing with his flashlight on the bodies around him in order to find his friend, calling out his name once more âSherlockâŚ!?â.
This was insane. What if John actually did find Sherlock here? What would he do then? Well, obviously he would drag him away from there, but John wasnât sure if he was emotionally prepared to seeing in the same state as the rest of the people in there. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had never seen Sherlock high. John know his friend had a history with drugs, but ever since he had met him, it seemed like the closest things to drugs Sherlock had gotten to is cigarettes. And even then, Sherlock had been trying quit. At least what John knew of.
After a minute or two, John stopped and let out a deep sigh. This was ridiculous. Why him? Why was it always John that had to fix things when Sherlock screwed up? Itâs one thing to remind his friend from time to time when he was obviously hurting people with his harsh words, or when it was appropriate that he would show gratitude. But now? It was almost as if John was feeling like he was Sherlockâs personal caretaker - Sherlock should be lucky he had John who cared enough about him to go and look for him in a drug den in central London. Sure, there were people who cared about Sherlock, John knew that, but he highly doubted they would do the effort to track him down to make sure he was well. Or⌠maybe they would. John wasnât sure. All he was the fact that HE was the one standing in a strange building in London looking for his best friend.
After calling out for Sherlock one more time, he suddenly heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned slowly around with his blinding flashlight to let the light land on⌠well, Sherlock, of course. John let out a deep sigh at the sight of him, his shoulders lowering in the process, shaking his head slowly. âIgnore you? Sherlock, will you kindly tell me why in the bloody hell I am finding you in a place like this?â
John didnât even waited for an answer. He was tired of this - he had been tired of it before it even began. Things had obviously not been like he had hoped since Sherlock came back, and for some reason, it had drained Johnâs energy a lot more than what he wanted. He used to spend so much time with Sherlock before, but now.. it just wasnât the same anymore, and just the thought of that made John depressed - although he would never admit that out loud.
The two years Sherlock had been gone, John had realised exactly how much he needed him in his life. Sherlock was his best friend - the greatest man he had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and watching him jump off St. Bartâs like that.. left him scarred for life. It just wasnât something you easily got over. Especially after finding out it was a giant prank all along.
As stated, John didnât even waited for Sherlock to answer his question before John crouched down beside him to give him an angry look. âActually, no. Donât tell me. I cannot stand your snarky remarks of how I canât read my own surroundings. I know exactly where I am, and I know exactly why you are here,â John tightened the grip of the flashlight as he reached out with his free hand to grab Sherlock by his arm, pulling him up to stand on his unsteady feet.
âDonât tell me youâve been like this for three days..â John asked the taller man, trying but unable to hide the disappointment tone in his voice.
