Sherlock's Mercy

Chapter 1:

"A man and a woman found dead in the woman's home," Sherlock read as he sipped his tea solemnly in the dimly lit living room of his shared flat at 221B Baker St.

"the deceased are linked to large drug circle, left many documents of detailed inside information that may be the key to attacking the pressure points in the drug dealing lords of London's system," he continued to read as he scanned over the text he had just received from Inspector Lestrade.

Sherlock rolled his eyes to an invisible, imaginary Lestrade and texted back,

"Boring."

He waited for a moment, knowing Lestrade was probably desperate for Sherlock's skills, as always, and would try to convince him to contribute his input. Begging and whining it was more like in Sherlock's eyes more than simply asking for help. Sherlock knew Lestrade long enough to deduce that at this point in the conversation; Lestrade may either give up or say something interesting about the case that would intrigue Sherlock enough to help, out of pure curiosity. His cell phone vibrated in his hand, he looked down and read on it a text from his irritatingly informative older brother Mycroft;

"This particular drug cycle is linked to the black lotus, Irene Adler and James Moriarty's people."

Lestrade must be desperate if he was texting his older brother to help convince him. Sherlock frowned, even after three years after James Moriarty killed himself to force Sherlock to fake his own death and even after Sherlock's 'resurrection' so to speak, Moriarty's evil was still very much alive in the world. More frustrating still was Irene Adler's involvement. Even after he saved her life and helped her fake her own death, The Woman who beat him, suddenly decided to come back to life as well and mess with Sherlock once more. Sherlock sighed, "villains will be villains" he thought to himself. He texted back Lestrade saying he'll do it to which Lestrade replied,

"Then you two meet me at 436 Brooke St. 9:00"

Sherlock smiled and returned his cell phone to the front pocket of the blazer he was wearing. Just then, John Watson groggily stomped into the room holding his morning tea. Sherlock didn't have to waste any time with observation, all he needed to see was his tired eyes to deduce he had a rather bad night's sleep.

The cause, Sherlock knew, was most likely due to another nightmare about his days in combat, watching his friends die around him, then to muddle into memories of watching Sherlock's 'suicide'. These nightmares have been getting more frequent and worse over the last two months. A slight shudder ran up Sherlock's spine, causing him to sit suddenly erect. Somehow seeing John so haunted even after three years, haunted Sherlock as well, and he couldn't stand it.

John slumped into the arm chair opposite Sherlock in front of the unlit fireplace. He sighed and mumbled, "Rough night," before sipping his tea. Sherlock glanced at him and nodded understandingly. Sherlock waited for John to finish his tea, knowing the caffeine was well needed for today's new case and Sherlock needed his doctor alert. Finally after what felt like an eternity to Sherlock, John sighed happily and placed his empty tea cup on the coffee table, finished.

Seeing that John was done with his tea; Sherlock shot up from his seat, grabbed his coat and scarf and began to put them on. He glanced at John while doing so and John's happy face turned into a frown. He sighed unhappily as Sherlock waved his cell phone towards him while struggling to put his handgun into his trench coat pocket. John took the non-verbal hint and with a grunt he got up from his chair and grabbed his coat, cell phone and handgun.

Then without saying a word they both walked downstairs, out the door and onto the busy Baker Street. John read over Sherlock's cellphone texts after he was handed it as Sherlock waved down a Cabbie. John now being informed and with a cab waved down, they both got in and were on their way to Brooke St.

While on their way there, Sherlock began to feel uncomfortable. He felt an annoying nagging in his head that he could not figure out. What he was struggling with was trying to remember why that certain address on Brooke St. seemed somewhat familiar to him, like a distant memory, a ghost of his past. John noticed Sherlock's apparent frustration,

"What?" he asked, turning to look at him, "What is it?"

"Not sure at the moment. There's something about this case that's bothering me, something familiar that I can't put my finger on." Sherlock replied, his eyes shut as he rubbed his temples with his fingers. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, then shook his head dismissing the thoughts.

The taxi pulled up to the side of the road in front of a middleclass small home that had police tape framing the property. Inspector Lestrade saw the taxi pull up and he skipped down the house's front steps towards the road to meet them. As Watson paid the driver, Sherlock peered out of the cab window at the house and recognised the place,

"Oh." He whispered to himself as he opened the door and stepped out of the cab. Lestrade strode up to him,

"Here you are again, here to solve another case for me" he joked. Lestrade continued to talk, mostly addressing Watson in casual conversation, but Sherlock wasn't listening. He continued to gaze up at the two story house confused. There was something haunting about it, something dark that was dancing in the back of his memories just out of reach. Suddenly Sherlock became aware that John and Lestrade were staring at him.

"Should we have a look then Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock shook his head, clearing the fog of his mind and nodded,

"Yes, I believe I should." He gestured for the detective inspector to lead the way. The inspector gave an annoyed look at Sherlock then lead them up the steps and into the house. As soon as they stepped inside, the strong smell of marijuana entered their nostrils, along with other strong smells of multiple other drugs. Lestrade led them into the living room and there on the floor were two bodies, a male and a female.

The man, who was probably around Mycroft's age, lay on his back; his limbs sprawled across the floor. He was holding a gun still in his right hand and there was a single bullet wound in the centre of his forehead. Sherlock instantly deducted a homicide/suicide case. The woman to the man's right lay face down on the ground. Blood pooled around her chest area, clearly from a bullet wound that pierced her heart from behind.

Sherlock knelt down and pulled out a pair of clean latex gloves that he had brought from his trench coat pocket. He began to search the man's coat.

"What did you find out so far?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, not looking up as he looked at the man's fingers to check for powder marks, which there were.

"Nothing much," Lestrade sighed, "Except recorded information of drug dealings, selling and buying, as well as receipts and bills. We know that she; the house owner had kept up on her mortgages, taxes and bills."

"Funny to think of drug dealers keeping up on bills and taxes and those sort of legal stuff," John joked.

Sherlock looked up at him and glared at him coldly, "There is nothing funny about drug dealing," he snapped then continued looking over the body. John was taken aback for a second, by Sherlock's sudden coldness. Usually he would be jumping with glee when he got a new case like this, and it would usually be by this time that he would have made at least two remarks on someone's lack of intelligence.

But as he watched he saw how completely focused and immersed Sherlock was on looking over the body. He was focused a little more than usual and his eyebrows furrowed in what John took as worry or confusion. He had hardly spoken a word to anyone, which was very unlike him. John had a feeling that somehow Sherlock felt personally connected to this case, probably because of his past as an addict.

Sherlock sighed annoyed, finding nothing useful on the man's body. He squinted his eyes and turned to the woman's body. "What's her name?" he asked. Lestrade pulled a notepad from his coat pocket and read:

"Silvia Mooresworth, unmarried, a dropout from Cambridge University chemistry, forty-two years of age and had a eighteen year old daughter who is currently missing. We are searching for her now. We have yet to figure out who this man is."

Sherlock nodded, absorbing the information. Silvia…Why did that name and this place seem so familiar? Sherlock returned his attention to her body. He reached over her body and looked at Lestrade to see if he was allowed to proceed. He nodded grimly, waving his hand in permission. John understood and walked over to assist Sherlock in gently turning the body over onto her back. Upon seeing her face Sherlock dropped his head down in grim acceptance, he rubbed his fingers through his thick dark curls. He sighed sadly as he stared at her familiar face.

It all made sense now, why he recognized her place, her name, and now her face. Sherlock had been here a few times before, many years ago, when he was struggling with his addictions. Now that he had the most important pieces of the puzzle, he was now able to access some of his fragmented memories of those years so long ago. He had preferred going to her than some other drug dealers in the area, because she had been the most kind and understanding. She had acted more like a doctor or pharmacist towards her customers, and would not hesitate to warn them if they are taking a bit too much.

She had warned Sherlock on numerous occasions when his addictions were beginning to spiral out of control. He wasn't sure exactly if she treated everyone else the way she treated him, he had often observed her habit of attempting to flirt or seduce Sherlock, which had never worked. At least he was fairly certain he had no reaction. After all he was terribly high during those days, he had no memory of about half of those years.

Upon seeing her face John shook his head in pity. She had multiple bruises along her jaw and neckline. Looking at the bruises closer, he could see by their colour and puffiness that they were not recent, they probably occurred earlier that week judging by the rate of their healing. Suspecting domestic abuse, he gently rolled one of her arm sleeves up to her elbow and his suspicions were confirmed. She had small bruises on her arm and a large dark bruise around her wrists where someone had grabbed her tightly as she fought against the grip, these too were not fresh. John then got up and examined the dead man's hands and upon seeing his bruised knuckles he knew who had done the abuse to the poor woman.

Although John had no sympathy for drug dealers, he did however deeply care about stopping abuse of this sort. John had a good friend in his childhood whose father abused his mother and him. One day his friend couldn't keep it a secret any longer and told John about everything his father had done. Ever since, John's blood boiled whenever he heard of men in relationships abusing a woman and her children.

John was just about to tell Sherlock about the abusive relationship, he opened his mouth and turned to him when Sherlock suddenly interrupted him, "I agree John, abusive relationship."

John shook his head, staring at his friend in bewilderment. You would think by now, with the years of knowing Sherlock, John would have gotten used to it, but his deductive skills and 'mind reading' never ceased to amaze him.

"OK Sherlock, you know the rules, you need to tell me what you've got." Lestrade nagged from the corner, disrupting the pair from their observations. He stood staring at the two crossing his arms waiting. Sherlock got up with a grunt and turned to the inspector.

"Two dead, a man and a woman. She, Miss Mooresworth was in an abusive relationship with this man here," he pointed to the man on the floor. Sherlock stepped over to Lestrade and stood beside him, and they continued to look over the bodies. Sherlock was in his 'explaining zone' and he began to speak faster than the speed of human thought.

In a rush of words he explained,

"Knowing the dead woman I would say when they started their romantic relationship of drug dealing and starting a family together that he didn't start out this way. She would have never started the relationship in the first place if he had been. I'd say that over the last four years, give or take, their relationship took a turn for the worse, maybe he started using himself, maybe he owed some dangerous people some money but whatever the problem was, it resulted in him becoming abusive," he paused for breath then continued,

"But… getting back to the murder, I would say something happened over the last week. Perhaps she told someone about the abuse, perhaps she was cheating on him or maybe she was stealing their shared drug supply. Long story short, she was hiding something from him and when he found out he was furious. He then stormed into the home while she wasn't expecting him. He took his gun and shot her while she had her back turned to him. Then in fear of being caught he, knowing the police would find the drugs and the paperwork linked to him, he decided his best option was to shoot himself."

John looked at his friend confused, "Wait, what do you mean 'knowing her'…are you saying you knew her?" Guilty, Sherlock nodded his head and looked to the floor.

"Yes. I met her a few times a very long time ago, when I was struggling with…well, you know…" Sherlock trailed off embarrassed and ashamed but then he added,

"But I don't do that sort of thing anymore, those days are far behind me." Lestrade snorted suddenly. He looked at Sherlock snickering with a doubtful look on his face. "Shut up!" Sherlock snapped at the inspector. John just rolled his eyes.

"Did they refuse to give you more drugs and then you shot them?" said a woman's voice that suddenly made Sherlock and John's skin crawl with annoyance.

Everyone turned to see Sargent Sally Donovan leaning in the doorway arms crossed, with the usual displeased look on her face. She walked into the room and smugly looked at Sherlock.

"Ah, Sargent Donovan. Seeing you brings such joy to my heart." Sherlock spat at her sarcastically.

Donovan raised an eyebrow, and shifted her weight, "You, have a heart?" she asked coldly.

"Yes, just not towards you."

"Than what does your heart lean toward?"

"Pumping blood through my veins," Sherlock stated, annoyed at Donovan's presence. John chuckled grinning at Sherlock. Sherlock gave a small grin back, his eyes dancing with laughter. She rolled her eyes and walked across the room into the hallway.

"Is there anything else you want to show me inspector, lists, files, information?" Sherlock asked impatiently. The DI nodded and motioned his hand to follow him as he led them down the hall then downstairs. Once they had gotten to the basement (Cellar), Sherlock's mood brightened greatly. He looked like a boy in a toy store as he waltzed around the drug making laboratory. He started laughing with glee as he played with the laboratory equipment.

"Oh excellent! Ah!... Just beautiful!" he shouted with joy.

John rolled his eyes and whispered to Sherlock in warning,

"Do you really want to look so comfortable in a drug lab in front of the police?"

Lestrade gave him a warning look. Sherlock stopped for a moment, recalibrating his mind to the job at hand. He began to really look around this time. The small basement was dimly lit, except for the one florescent light that lit the large table in a greenish tint. On the table were Bunsen burners, beakers, vials, bottles, and a camping hot plate with a pot on top among other laboratory equipment. It was well organized, considering the purpose of making drugs. There were filing cabinets full of paperwork on one side of the room, across the room on the other side were buckets and bags and boxes of drug making ingredients. Battery acid, pesticides, gasoline, rat poisoning etc. They had it all. Sargent Donovan strode over to the walk in closet and let out a low whistle when she opened the door.

Inside the closet it was full to capacity with large duct tape wrapped bundles of cocaine and marijuana. There were also dozens of cardboard boxes that, when opened, revealed packets of narcotics, crystal meth, speedballs and heroin. When Lestrade saw the sheer amount of drugs they had just discovered his face lit up like a Christmas tree, he gave a hearty whoop! He and Sargent Donovan began patting each other on their backs, laughing. Lestrade grinned as he called in more police cars to pick up and safely transport the stash of drugs to a secure location to be catalogued then destroyed. Victory for the police.

Upon seeing the drugs, Sherlock became very uneasy, in fact he felt sick. Lestrade watched as Sherlock became suddenly withdrawn as he stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. Seeing Sherlock's reaction, John understood as well as the Inspector. He was trying to calm himself while trying to distract his mind from temptation.

"Sherlock?" John asked, he stepped forward and gently touched his arm to try and bring him back into reality. Upon contact, Sherlock suddenly flinched with a slight gasp. John had thought with his drug abuse far behind in his past, that Sherlock could take it, but the bulk of the drugs that lay right before him proved to be too hard for him to take.

"Sherlock, If you have nothing else to tell me, you can leave now," Lestrade offered cautiously, "We will transport all the documents in these file folders to your flat."

John and the inspector waited patiently for his response. Sherlock noticed Sally staring at him with a suspicious look and he took a deep breath and nodded, "Alright. Thank you, we'll be on our way then."

As he and John began to make their way up the stairs, Sherlock stopped and turned to the inspector. "Oh, and Lestrade," he begun while smiling mischievously, "Keep a good eye on Sargent Donovan, I know she likes drugs as much as I used to." And with that, Sherlock and John proceeded up the stairs.

Donovan stood frozen in disbelief. The inspector turned to her with a questioning look. Sally was beside herself,

"I was in college! I only tried it on three different occasions, that's all! I'm not an addict!" she protested. The Detective inspector didn't look like he was buying it. Sally didn't know what to do she screamed after Sherlock, "I'm Not an Addict!"