Unfortunately I do not own Sherlock.
Initia Nova
Sherlock was eighteen when he first tried cocaine. He was also eighteen when he first met her. He remembers coming down from the high and wondering where he was. He looked across and found a girl slumped against the filthy wall.
She cracked open an eye and looked at him.
"First time, huh?"
Sherlock couldn't form the words, he just nodded at her observation.
"Then you're an idiot." She said, scratching her wrists.
Sherlock looked enraged. He was certainly not an idiot.
"For taking coke, you're an idiot." She clarified, recognising his outraged look.
"You can talk." He slurred, struggling to get the words out.
"Unfortunately you can't!"
"You should go home to your … brother?"
"What makes you think I have a brother?"
"Your phone was ringing while you were high. Fourteen times in thirty minutes. Must be someone who cares. 'Mycroft' according to the caller ID. You don't seem to be the sort to have friends so he must be a family member. Don't think your big on extended family so brother or father. You may have your father's name as his caller ID but it's statistically unlikely."
"That's really…"
"Irritating?"
"Impressive."
She raised her eyebrows.
"You on the other hand … parents deceased. Only child." He said.
"Your evidence?"
"Two wedding rings worn around your neck. They're worth something, if they were divorced your would have sold the rings to fund your drug habit. No, you keep them somewhere safe because they are precious to you. Must have died. You were young, the chain is worn. Cheap. If you had siblings you wouldn't have inherited both rings."
"Close but not quite."
"Oh?"
"I had a brother, he died in the same car accident."
"Oh! I'm sorry." He thought that was the right thing to say. Sorry?
"Yes, me too."
His phone rang again, effectively ending their conversation. He glanced at the caller ID. Mycroft again. He tossed it across the room. He didn't want to speak to his brother now.
The phone landed near the girl, who grabbed it and answered it.
"The old ice factory, down by the docks. Come and pick up your brother." She hung up and slid it back towards him.
Sherlock looked over. "Why did you do that?"
"You'll thank me one day." She said closing her eyes. It was too late for her but there was still time for him. He still had someone who cared about him.
They both drifted in and out of consciousness until they heard the sound of footsteps and a tapping.
"That will be him. How dull." Sherlock said yawning.
Mycroft took one look at his younger brother. "Really Sherlock? Cocaine?"
The girl snorted from the corner. "Sherlock and Mycroft?"
"Ah, you must have been the young lady who informed me of my dear brother's location. Thank you." He turned back to Sherlock. "Up, now! Mummy is terribly worried."
Sherlock
Mycroft returned several days later to the old factory. She was there again. He'd suspected as much. She clearly had nowhere else to go.
She looked at him. "Ah, the man with the stupid name." She said with a smile. "I've not seen him."
"I'm not here for Sherlock."
"Oh, well. If you're here to buy some gear then you'll need to wait around. Shouldn't be too long."
"I'm not here to purchase drugs."
She looked at him closely. "So this is some misguided act of charity."
"Sherlock told me about your deductions. He was almost impressed. So I'm here to make you an offer. I need an assistant. It pays very well, I can help you find somewhere to live, to get you off the streets, and you will be serving your country."
"I'm not a prostitute."
"Do I look like the sort of man to hire prostitutes from establishments like these." He looked around at the grubby room with disdain. "No, when I say assistant, I mean assistant."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because you told me where my brother was. And that means a great deal to me. There is, however, one condition."
"Oh yeah. And what's that?"
"I have arranged for you to go into rehab tonight. I will employ you only if you get clean. And if you undergo drugs testing once a week. You ever take illegal substances after tonight and I will personally bring you back to this … place."
She stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. I must warn you though. This job will be dangerous."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Mycroft Holmes. And as my brother would say, I am the British Government."
Sherlock
She left rehab one month later. He was waiting outside, stood in front of a long black car. Umbrella in hand despite the sky being clear.
She'd thought, while caught up in withdrawal, that perhaps this man, who claimed to be The British Government, was a figment of her imagination. And yet here he was, waiting for her.
"Well, Anthea. Are you ready to begin your life again?"
"My name isn't Anthea."
"It is now. I can't be seen to employ an ex drug addict."
"So you just changed my identity?"
"Yes. Does that bother you?"
Strangely it didn't. It was almost a relief to be given the chance to start again, to create a completely different person. "You really are the British Government?"
"Yes. But don't tell anyone." He opened the car door. "Now, I suggest you get in the car. We can discuss this more at your new flat."
"My new flat?"
"Yes, I told you that I would help you find somewhere to live. You can hardly return to that place now, can you?"
"And you're doing all this just because I told you where your brother was."
"Yes. Please don't make me regret taking this chance on you."