Sherlock, age 21, just finished school and was supposed to be starting his life –instead- he was living on the streets of London. Sherlock had a "gift" –he could tell where you had been, who you had been with, and what you had done within the past week just by looking at you- he didn't like this "gift", so he turned towards drugs. Sherlock was also a genius; he could have easily been the most successful doctor, scientist of whatever in all of England. He was constantly in trouble with the police, not for stealing –well he did steal, broke into a few shops here and there to get the money he needed for his next fix, but he was clever enough not to get caught or leave anything behind that would suggest it was him- but for interrupting crime scenes. If there was a murder or a suicide you could bet that Sherlock would be there, having a row with Philip Anderson –a forensics trainee- and Sally Donovan –also a trainee- those three did not get along at all. It always ended with the threat of Sherlock being arrested and having to spend the night in jail, which would lead to them contacting his elder brother, Mycroft, who would then end up trying to help Sherlock with his drug problem. Mycroft had tried to help Sherlock before, had offered to let him stay with him and to ensure that he had an acceptable job -he was practically almost the British government- but Sherlock -being the stubborn git he was- would always refuse his brothers help.
It was the middle of fall and it was raining -no actually it was pouring- and Sherlock was standing on the corner of High and Main in central London. He had his coat collar turned up -a gift from his brother- and was observing the scene before him. Sherlock decided to move closer to the scene, as he got closer he stuck his hands quickly into his pockets, making sure the pack of unused syringes was unable to be seen -he always tried to make sure to leave them at the most recent place he had stayed so the police wouldn't notice and start to ask questions- once he arrived at the line of police tape he reached out and tapped a light haired man on the shoulder.
"Suicide?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah." The light haired man replied.
"Well you're wrong. It was murder." Sherlock replied calmly, glancing at the body on the pavement and then looking up at the set of flats.
"Murder? How do you know?" Came the other mans reply, his face held a questioning look, as he brought out a small notebook and a pen.
"Yes, murder. I can explain it to you if you just let me get a closer look."
"Well… fine. I'm Lestrade." The man said raising up the police tape. "And you are?"
"Sherlock. What position do you hold?" Sherlock ask stepping under the tape.
"D.I…. in training." Lestrade said as he walked with Sherlock towards the body.
"Oi! Lestrade! What's that git doing here?" Came Anderson's voice, causing Sherlock to stop and face him.
"This "git" has a name and he says it was a murder, not a suicide, and I believe him. So I'm letting him look at the body." Lestrade said as he continued to walk.
"Nice to see you too, Anderson." Sherlock said rolling his eyes and crouching down beside the body. "Can I have a pair of gloves?" he asked looking up at the older man.
"Sure." he mumbled as he pulled a pair out of his jacket pocket, and tossed them at Sherlock. "Just don't move anything too much."
Sherlock shook his head and began to examine the body. "What can you tell me about the victim?" He asked lifting up the victims right wrist.
"Well. Male in his mid twenties, works at the local clinic right down the road and is married." Lestrade said as he flipped through his notebook, "His name is Maurice Hall and his partners name is Alec Scudder."
Sherlock nodded his head as he processed the information, he stood up and moved over to the left side, crouching down to look at the man's wrist. "There is fresh bruising on the wrist" he mumbled moving to look at the neck. "Also around the neck. Have you checked the flat with the open window?" He asked glancing at the flats in front of him.
"I didn't, but they did." Lestrade said gesturing towards Donovan and a few others.
"They clearly missed something." Sherlock said, standing up and walking toward the door of the building. "Can you take me up there?" he added as he entered the stairway that led to the flat in question.
"I guess so. But you're going to have to wear this." The D.I. in training said, throwing a blue pullover at Sherlock. Sherlock removed his coat -tossing it over in the corner, causing the package of syringes to slightly fall out of the pocket- and stepped into the pullover. "Well. Lets go." Sherlock heard Lestrade mumble as they began to walk up the stairs to the flat, they stepped into the flat and Sherlock quickly began to observe.
"Have you spoke to his partner?" Sherlock inquired as he picked a picture frame up off the bedside table.
"Yes. His alibi checks out, he was at the local market at the time." Lestrade said as Sherlock crouched down by the open window, running a gloved hand over the window seal, he stood up and removed his gloves.
"The victim was thrown out the window." He said stepping out of the flat.
"Thrown?" Lestrade said following Sherlock out of the flat.
"Yes, thrown." Sherlock stated unzipping the pullover, "There was clearly a struggle, there are scuff marks on the window seal, most likely from the back of Maurices' shoes. I need to speak to his partner to prove my theory." He said stepping out of the pullover, and laying it over the stair rail.
"Oh, um, yeah, sure. I think he's still outside." Lestrade said stepping out of his pullover.
"Well lets go." Sherlock mumbled walking down the stairs and out the door forgetting to grab his coat, Lestrade followed quickly behind him, as he went to walk out of the building he grabbed Sherlock's coat -causing the pack of syringes to fall out- 'What the?' Lestrade thought as he bent over to pick up the pack of syringes.
"Are you coming?" Sherlock asked, sticking his head around the door frame.
"Yeah. I just thought to grab your coat. It is still raining." Lestrade mumbled, quickly sticking the syringes back into the coat pocket. "Here you go." he said handing Sherlock his coat.
"Thank you." The taller man replied, as he slipped on his coat he could see the questioning and concerned look on the D.I.'s face. Sherlock just shooked his head and followed the older man.
"Alec. This is Sherlock, he wants to ask you a few questions. Would you care to answer them?" Lestrade said as they neared a tall man of medium build with brown hair and light eyes, Sherlock thought he looked rather like Lestrade but he just threw it off as a coincidence.
"Of course." Alec quavered as he turned to face Sherlock. "As long as it doesn't take long, I still have to tell Maurices' mother of his death."
"It will take just a minute. How long have you and Maurice been married?" Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Almost two years." Alec informed him, unconsciously twisting the ring on his finger.
"Do you know of any past lovers he might have had?"
"Yes."
"Good. Could you tell me his or her name?"
"Clive Durham."
"Thats all I needed. I'm sorry for your loss." Sherlock said turning away from Alec and back to Lestrade. "Clive Durham. Thats who the police need to look for."
"What makes you say that?" Lestrade questioned as he scratched down the name.
"Easy, ex-lover, probably came back to London to look for Maurice after two years to make amends. Figured out where he lived, and decided to try and get him back -not knowing that he was married- he came to the flat and fought with the victim causing them to struggle -explains the fresh bruising on the neck and wrists- during the struggle they managed to make it near the opened window, in which, Durham proceeded to throw Maurice out of it and flee before you arrived. I suggest checking all of the empty flats within the area." Sherlock said as Lestrade quickly wrote things down. "Did you get all of that?" he added, noticing that the other man had stopped writing.
"Yeah, ex-lover, Clive Durham. Check empty flats within the area. Got it. How did you know all of that?"
"I simply observe." Sherlock replied raising the police tape and stepping under it, Lestrade handed his notebook over to Donovan and followed quickly behind Sherlock.
"Hey wait! Can I ask you something?!" he called, causing Sherlock to stop and turn around to face him. "There is no way you could get all of that by just observing." He said as he neared Sherlock.
"Yes there is. For example -just by observing and only knowing you for a total of twenty minutes- I can tell that you are in your mid twenties, possible twentyfive. You have been unhappily married for the past two years, and you and your wife are currently taking a break, hence why your wedding ring is removed. You also smoke, and you are trying to quit -hard to sustain a smoking habit in London- so you're using a nicotine patch, which is currently located on your right arm just above the wrist." Sherlock concluded as, Lestrade crossed his arm across his chest and stared at him, dazed.
"You knew all that by simply observing?" he queried, dropping his arms to his side, "How could you know about the patch?" he added.
"Shot in the dark, actually." Sherlock said smirking, "Anything else you want to know?"
"Umm. Yeah. Can you roll up your sleeves?" Lestrade asked, crossing his arms back across his chest.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, he knew why the detective was asking, he knew that Lestrade had seen the syringes when he picked up his coat. Yet, he agreed to do so and rolled up the left sleeve of his coat and shirt, he held his arm out to where the detective could see. Lestrade leaned forward and looked at Sherlock's arm -just at the bend of his elbow- he could see tiny little pin holes and a bruise that seemed to be there constantly.
"Why?"
"Because." Sherlock mumbled as he rolled his sleeve back down, and turned to walk away.
"Sherlock. Give me a straight answer, or I will have arrest you for drug use." Lestrade stated, placing a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Because, I need the stimulant, my mind is constantly going, and I need something to keep it that way. Opium, cocaine and etcetera keep it that way, murders and suicides do not happen every day." Sherlock confessed, as he began to pace in front of the detective.
"Listen, Sherlock. I understand that your mind is constantly going -deducing this and that, even every little detail of a person- but, is it really a good conclusion to result to doing drugs to ease it? I mean you and I both know that they are ruining that wonderful brain of yours. You need to quit, yeah I've only known you for twenty minutes, and I know nothing about you -hell, I don't even know your last name- yet you know practically my whole life story just by looking at me. I'd say thats a gift, and you might say it's a curse. Frankly I don't care what you consider it, just, I know what drugs eventually do to people and I don't want to see that happen to a genius like you." Lestrade ranted, causing Sherlock to quit pacing just long enough for him to stare at Lestrade. Lestrade watched as Sherlock continued to pace in front of him, clearly processing all of what was just said.
"Fine. I will cease doing drugs, on one condition." hinted Sherlock as he pressed his hand together under his chin.
"And that is?"
"I will stop doing drugs, if you allow me access to all of your crime scenes, now and in the near future. Deal?" Sherlock said with a mischievous look in his eyes.
"Deal." agreed the detective -not even taking time to think over Sherlocks offer- he held out his hand for Sherlock to take.
"Holmes. My last name is Holmes." mumbled Sherlock as he shook quickly shook Lestrades hand and walked off.
"Sherlock Holmes, I'll be keeping an eye on you." called Lestrade. As he watched Sherlock disappear into an alleyway, he couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into.