People that know Sherlock Holmes will know how brilliant he is.
People who are slightly closer to him will also know that his boredom is dangerous.
People who listen to him will definitely know the lengths he would go to, to prevent his boredom.
And finally, if they are very close to him, and have saved his life, preventing him from doing anything, will know of some of the measures he took.
One of them being substance abuse.
But this isn't about Sherlock. Well, not completely. This is about two of the only three people that knew about this, although Sherlock does get the thanks for introducing them. Albeit in an incredibly anti-climatical manner, but he still claims credit. Sherlock did not ask people to 'save' him from himself. He asked for an escape route from the boredom that tore down his walls. He lived in 221B Baker Street by himself, and when his mind fell into the caverns of depression and stinging self hatred, Mrs. Hudson would bring him tea and try to talk him out of them. The words she supplied didn't help when he found another out, a 'certain percent stronger than tea'. 7% would have been his choice. Nothing drew him out completely, and he fell into a downwards spiral. During this period, he tried anything and everything to rectify his peace of mind. Due to this experimenting, it turns out that no, Sherlock Holmes is not a virgin. He is a flamboyant, but unavailable, homosexual man. If you were to ask him about his preferences, say, over dinner, he would skirt around answering, unwilling to remember the time when cocaine and sex were his only escapes. The conversation would be likely to go like this;
"You've got a girlfriend?" The response to this would be a sharp look with an equally pointed reply.
"No, women... Not really my area."
"Oh, so... A boyfriend then?" Would be met by a glare.
"Which is... Fine by the way."
"I know it's fine." Because, really even if he wouldn't admit it, he'd protect his sexuality.
"So, you got one-"
"No."
But a conversation of that magnitude with Sherlock Holmes is to be avoided under all circumstances. Well, unless you've just agreed to move in with him, and you are a self confident ex-army doctor whose name begins with J and ends with N and rhymes with 'marathon'.
The only thing that granted him relief, even if only temporary, were cases. He adopted a completely different frame of mind, and barely needed cocaine to concentrate.
And then the addiction got worse.
He couldn't go 50 hours without shooting up.
When a particularly nasty case came his way, he threw himself into the work, needing the distraction.
And then he was stuck in the Yard, desperate for his next fix but unable to do anything about it, but he couldn't not have a hit. Excusing himself, the gangly man ran back to his flat and enjoyed a blissful five minutes of his high, before someone came knocking on the door. Lying stock still on the couch, waiting for the intruder to leave, his heart became a small bird, smashing at his ribs, attempting to make it known to all that he was lying on the couch, that he was here! Here! Here! When a voice resonated through the wood.
"Don't hide from me, Sherlock, I know you're in there. You left your case files at the Yard." Restraining himself as Lestrade entered and shoved the files down was hard. The moment the man was out the flat's door, he stopped feigning sleep and jumped up. Unfortunately, by this point the cocaine had stopped aiding him, and started degrading his abilities. The moment he hit the floor, Lestrade entered again.
"Ah. I thought you were awake." Sherlock looked down, ashamed and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
"Look at me." The voice came from the kitchen archway. Sherlock nearly dropped the papers from the shock he received, as it was magnified by fear. Staring down at them still, he asked;
"Why?"
"Sherlock, you may think I'm an idiot but I got my job for a reason. You used to bug me all the time about cases, now I consult you. You left the Yard as quickly as you could, today and you forgot something. You also didn't notice that I'd be able to hear the sound of you stomping around, or that Donovan told Anderson to 'go fuck a dinosaur' and they are no longer sleeping together. That with the shaking fingers and twitchy movements, you're addicted to something. Strong."
"You missed the part where she called him a 'pre-historic cock-sucker."
"Look at me!" Greg's voice bordered on a yell. With small, fumbling motions, Sherlock stumbled up to Greg, and stared at his feet.
"You won't like it." He raised his eyes to the older man's, meeting his warm brown gaze with pupils so dilated they were almost pinpricks sitting in a bed of turquoise ice.
Twenty minutes later had them back at the Yard, except this time Sherlock was sitting in a cell, slowly coming to his senses.
Back in his office, Lestrade made to sit down and start on the mountains of paperwork when the door swung open. A criminally tall and thin man with auburn hair, an impeccable suit and oddly attractive face walked in. Greg had seen him a few times, knowing only that he was Sherlock's brother, and as Sherlock put it "Hugely fat (not true, the suit clung in all the right places, and if Greg wasn't married he'd have made a move the moment the man walked through the door) and owning a position in the British Government." Although all the times Sherlock had said it, he had mimicked his brother's voice, so the position was still unclear to Greg.
"Thank you for taking care of him."
The man's voice was melodious and deep, just like his brothers. The unconventionally attractive thing must be a Holmesian trait.
"I'd hardly call it that, the man injected himself with a highly illegal drug, for god's sake." The man's lips twitched up, while Lestrade dug through the piles of paperwork, trying to find the right forms. The ones labelled Sherlock Holmes- which he would give to The Man, to sign (who would record the number on them, and then make them disappear, but Greg didn't have to know that.)
"I'm not meant to have them; they should be downstairs with Drug Control." Sherlock's increasingly attractive brother frowned.
"You arrested him?" The taller man's voice was a mixture of surprised annoyance. Lestrade glanced up at him, a small furrow appearing between his eyebrows.
"I had to." The Man's frown deepened.
"Thank you for notifying me." Lestrade nodded at the government official.
"I need him on my cases, so it wasn't all for him and, uh, you. Having a drugged up consultant is a hard thing to explain to my superiors." The half smile appeared again.
"It would be... Useful if you assisted me in getting him clean."
"In between the cases and paperwork?"
"In between the imminent wars and failing countries."
"So, not a minor position?"
"Will you help?" A grin spread over Lestrade's face.
"Sure. I'm Greg Lestrade."
"Mycroft Holmes."
There was silence for another minute, with Mycroft surveying Greg while he searched.
"I take it Sherlock has told you about me."
"Bits and pieces."
"Hm." Greg nearly grinned at the man, who could put so much annoyance into a one syllable word. As it was, a small smile found residence on his lips as he found the papers, and slid them across the desk to Mycroft, who picked up a pen and signed them with a flourish.
Mycroft stood and addressed his with a gaze that seemed to uncover all of his secrets.
"Thank you, Detective Lestrade, I-"
"Greg."
"Pardon?"
"Greg, call me Greg."
Mycroft stared at him in disbelief.
"Uhm, Gregory. I will be seeing you soon." He paused and then hurried on, glossing over the blip in concentration with hurried sentences. "To discuss Sherlock. You will gain a warrant to search his flat for drugs, and to keep him locked up until the drugs have left his system." Mycroft granted him a small smile and almost left. One foot out the door, he turned back and said;
"Next time he does it- bring him to me. Don't bother with the legal process."
"You think he'll do it again?"
"He's Sherlock Holmes. He'll do anything again if it gives him a thrill." Mycroft pulled a business card out of his pocket and considered it for a few seconds, before pulling his colour coded pen out of his pocket -the man colour coded his suits, handkerchiefs and pens? Maybe he might be gay. Or just very posh... Still unclear- and writing a different number on the back. He handed it over, saying;
"My business number and my personal number. Call for anything. Also, dinner, Thursday night. We have some things we need to discuss. I'll have someone pick you up." And with a small smirk/ smile, he walked out.
Lestrade stared at the number with a small smile on his face before returning to his work. If he didn't know better, he'd almost believe he just made friends with The British Government. A ridiculously attractive Government, at that. Who he had made stammer and ramble. Which had given him an unjustified sense of accomplishment. He grinned, and hoped he would see the other man again, before getting to work on the mountains of paperwork sitting on his desk.
Thursday rolled around, and Sherlock was doing remarkably well, for a withdrawal patient. Minimal threatening and more deductions, more writhing around on the floor in agony, more begging. No violence so far, and the first three days are the worst. On this Thursday, Greg had locked Sherlock back in his cell, and told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to sleep and if anything happened, Sherlock would be locked in there for double his recovery time. Once he had recovered. The response he got to this was a; 'hmpfh' and Sherlock turning over, away from him.
"You're seeing my brother, don't lie. Ask him if he's on another diet yet." Greg simply laughed and walked out of the holding area.
He got back to his house at 7, and his wife was waiting for him.
"This is earlier than usual."
"I told you, I'm going to dinner with a man, we have to discuss the consultant I hire for cases."
"The druggie?"
Greg sighed, and walked into the bathroom.
"We're trying to straighten him out." He snorted. Straightening Sherlock Holmes would take more than a few weeks in a cell. And that's just his mental state, not his sexual orientation.
"Over dinner?"
"Talking in an office limits imagination."
"Whatever."
Greg frowned as he got ready for his shower. Why hadn't Mycroft just finished the discussion in his office? Sure, the man's busy, but not that busy. He could have come back later... Or maybe he was right, and he had made friends with the elusive British Government, who didn't make friends, as a rite. Or maybe he'd seen Greg's far too appreciative... they could hardly be called glances... More like stares and had only arranged this to tell him, clearly and without fault; No, he is not gay, interested or available. Please stop staring. Although, Greg wouldn't be upset about the chance to simply be his friend, he'd seen the ring; they're both married for god's sake! Even though Greg was married, his marriage wasn't going as well as it was four years ago. But no, Mycroft wouldn't want him. He decided, and carved it, rock solid, into the walls of his mind, and was happy with the decision. And anyway, it was Sherlock they were helping by having dinner today.
He showered, shaved, dressed and was ready with ten minutes to spare. His wife appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
"You never look that good on dates with me." He huffed and did up his cufflinks, not believing he looked even decent. He had donned a charcoal grey suit with a pale grey shirt and cufflinks that, when brought near to his face, subtly brought out the kind brown of his eyes. He hadn't bothered with a tie, thinking it would be a casual dinner, where business matters were discussed.
"You never want to go out on dates with me."
He looked over at that statement, and slipped his phone into his pocket.
"We'll go out on a date soon." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he walked past. A small smile formed on her lips. He spent the last ten minutes filling out paperwork as he waited. A knock sounded on the door, he swung it open to reveal Mycroft, who was dressed in a deep bottle green suit that beautifully contrasted his hair, a crisp white shirt and a gold pocket watch chain hanging from the paler green waistcoat. All in all, the view was going to be lovely all evening. Greg grinned at the thought.
"I need my phone, be there in a second." He turned and strode to the kitchen table, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife's lips as he left, holding his keys and phone.
Greg may have got his job for a reason, but this evening he missed quite a few important occurrences. One being his wife texting her lover 'you can come now' and then hiding her phone behind her back as he kissed her goodbye. Another being the frown that formed on Mycroft's face although it cleared the moment he turned around, replaced by one of cool calculation. The final one being his wife's lover sneaking in the back way as he climbed into the sleek black car next to Mycroft.
But then again, he did get his job for a reason, and he'd find out all of these things, in time, but now is not the time. Now is the time for a Government official to make friends with The Government, over dinner while discussing his brother.
"Why do you think he'll do it again?"
"My brother has a very addictive personality, when he was seven, it was Rice Crispies, when he was fourteen it was study, when he was twenty four it was smoking and now it is cocaine."
"He was addicted to Rice Crispies?"
"What do you suppose we do?"
"Switch him onto a children's cereal." A smile appeared on Mycroft's face, and he almost laughed. Almost.
"Yes, I'm sure that Snap, Crackle and Pop will appear to help him through his darkest moments."
"Hey, whatever works for him!" Mycroft was smiling now, with a hint of teeth.
"Okay, in all seriousness, what brought him out of it?" Mycroft frowned and considered for a moment before replying.
"Age, for the first. He never really stopped studying and smoking is... A simpler calming method."
"Yeah, right. I've been trying to quit for years."
"And if you can't, what hope is there for the rest of us?"
"If by 'the rest of us' you mean government officials with high pressure jobs, then none."
Mycroft smiled, full and unreserved.
They sat in comfortable silence before Mycroft spoke again.
"So what do you propose we do?"
"Drug busts and surveillance."
"That can be arranged. Do you think it will work?"
"No."
Mycroft grinned at the blunt rationality of the statement.
"We'll have to keep it up until he's clean."
"Or dead?"
"Mummy wouldn't be happy."
"At least he'd be clean."
They grinned at each other, and ate in a peaceful silence for a few minutes.
When they'd finished discussing an array of mundane things- none of which were to do with Sherlock- and finally worn each other out with the small talk about families and childhoods, each went their separate ways, and Greg began to believe he had made a friend in the allegedly cruel British Government.
Greg arrived home at ten, and once again, his wife was waiting for him.
"Nice evening?"
"Great, thanks." He walked into the bedroom and started removing his jacket, looking in the mirror at the shirt that accented his upper torso muscle and yet couldn't completely hide the small weight gain from a bad diet and sleep patterns, brought on by late nights of paperwork, and hence, accidental sleeping at the office.
"You haven't spent that long on a date with me since we first met." Greg gave his wife a once over.
"I told you, I'll take you on a date soon."
"How soon is soon? Next week, next month, ne-"
"You're looking for a reason to hate me."
"No, I'm-"
"That wasn't a question."
"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."
Greg looked in the mirror at her as he pulled his nightshirt over his head.
"Whatever you say." Greg frowned at his reflection again, wondering, and settling for a sleepless night of wondering how they had come to fight so easily.
Sherlock relapsed three times.
The first;
Greg didn't hear about it, he saw it. He'd come for Sherlock's help with a case, and instead of seeing him bouncing off the walls, desperate for something to do, he was lying on the floor, a syringe on the floor next to him. He'd overdosed, believing his resistance to be as high as it was before he'd gone through withdrawal. Obviously, his need for the high overcame all logic, and he mixed it too strong. Greg did the first thing he could think of; he pulled out his phone and called Mycroft.
"Gregory, this better be important, I have a meeting in four minutes."
"Sherlock overdosed."
"221B?"
"I'm gonna send him to hospital."
"I'll meet you there in 45."
They both hung up. Greg called the hospital and pushed the thoughts over why he called Mycroft and not the ambulance first to the back of his mind. To stay there. He pushed himself into action, unwilling to think about the man who's friendship he'd grown to depend on, over the months where they'd been going out together and discussing nothing and everything, and then the times when they sat in silence because Mycroft was working, or the times when they discussed serious matters, where only a few smiles were shared during the conversation, but they got the worst out the way and returned to the easy going friendship they'd always maintained.
Later, at the hospital, Mycroft looked at him. Didn't glare or give him a wide eyed knowing glance, just looked at him in a way that said; 'I know what you did, reason around it, you can trust me not to run or get angry.' Later, Greg would realise that he could reason around it. It's Sherlock's brother, the man deserved to be the second to know. They're best friends; of course he's going to instinctively go for the man he discussed this with numerous times. But that's later, this is now. They sit at Sherlock's bedside, two days after he woke up for the first time. The younger man is asleep, and has some damage to nerve tissue, but none that won't heal in time. Lestrade stares at his sleeping face as he talks to the other man occupying the room.
"I could have prevented this." His arms are folded tight against his chest, and he leans against the wall, face drawn tight.
"If I'd called the ambulance first," neither man had discussed it yet. The taller one's spine stiffens slightly, but only so much that a person familiar to him would notice. Such as Greg. If he was looking.
"Got there with the files earlier," the taller man exhales, turning his head to look at the silver haired man. His gaze is still riveted upon Sherlock.
"Ten minutes." He huffed and pushed himself up from the wall, changing the direction of his gaze to Mycroft instead.
"He'd probably be awake and insulting us all right now." Mycroft took a step towards the forlorn man.
"Now is not the time for 'what if's', Gregory."
"I need him on my case, I can't solve it without him."
"There is another Holmes just as willing to solve a case." The tall man's tone was gentle.
"Only until he recovers?"
"Only until he recovers."
"Shame. I get the feeling you'd be much more civil at crime scenes." Mycroft stared at him after he said this, a smile forming on his face, and a small laugh burst through his lips. Greg didn't bother with the smile and went straight to full out grinning, his teeth glinting in the artificial light, the two men still looking at each other. Taking both of them by surprise, Mycroft strode over and embraced Greg, who tentatively hugged back.
"The babysitter case, yes?" Greg spoke, still wrapped in Mycroft's arms and expensive cologne, his head resting on the man's chest.
"It was the gardener. She was having an affair with the husband who broke it off to pursue one with the babysitter, in a fit of passion she killed them both. You'll find her glove behind the sofa." Greg pulled away and stared at him.
"The husband isn't dead."
"He will be when he says he still doesn't want anything to do with the gardener. You may want to arrest her before she kills the wife, too."
"And when will that be?"
"Seven hours away, when she gets home from her trip."
"Ok, I'm gonna go and notify the team, you don't want your name on this..?"
"No. Put Sherlock's. I'm sure he'll wake up and give you a few facts I missed."
"Ok, thanks..." He grabbed his jacket and phone, and made to leave. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"
"I will call you about his situation later."
Greg smiled and half jogged out the door. Mycroft watched him go and sat next to his brother.
"You can stop pretending now."
"Did he really call you first?" Mycroft looked at him with the perfect expression of the words; stop being an idiot. So similar to Sherlock's that it's unclear which taught the other. Or if they both learnt a genetically identical one that came with years of idiots influencing them from every side. It seemed to be the only likeness the brothers shared.
"Hm. Nice to know I got you your first friend."
"It's not like you have any."
"Thought you were above all the 'I have more friends than you' taunts."
"One is never too old to taunt his younger brother."
"I didn't know you were the affectionate type."
"So you saw that?"
"How's Adam?"
"Adam has filed for divorce. Apparently my job takes up too much time." The tall man sniffed, in more of a disdainful manner than a disheartened one.
"Have you told him?"
"Why should I?"
"Don't be an idiot, Mycroft."
"I cannot be classified as an idiot when in the same room as a man who took drugs to take away boredom." His voice was stern, but his eyes were not angry. Sherlock sighed.
"I suppose there's no chance I can get you to leave my favourite Detective Inspector alone?" Mycroft smiled, unable to remember the last time he'd had a conversation with his brother that didn't involve yelling and threatening.
"None."
"You can leave now."
Mycroft could hear the impatient tone, and knew it meant he was glad for the older man, but he didn't say anything, simply walking out and away from the brother that had introduced him to his first friend in far too many years, since he got married. He knew Sherlock would loathe to admit it, but he was glad that his brother had finally begun living, away from the world of politics, again.
A/N: I am sorry, I am rubbish at uploading or consistency, but I have 3 new things on the way, and this is half of one of them. However, I'm going away tomorrow, so I'll try to upload it within a few days, but it might take up to a week and a half.
I want to say, thank you everyone that's read any of my work, I started uploading in May, and since then have had 10,000+ views, without uploading anything is the other months, I can't say how grateful I am. Enjoy!
Love, hugs, hedgehogs and tea.