A/N: So I got Sherlock on the brain, so sue me. Anyway, another plot bunny that came about perusing some fanfics around here. This one is a tricky one, but one I've handled before in my Bleach universe fics. Call this Sherlock phase in celebration of season three hitting American airwaves on the 19th. *shakes fist at Brits who get to see all the season three before she does*
Warnings
Rated M for the following reasons: Mentions of past non-con, drug abuse, prostitution (of the trading favors for drugs brand), domestic violence, past child abuse. Current depictions of self-harm, graphic non-con, and eventual Lemons of SLASH variety. Contains foul language and violence. If you aren't into the malexmale ship, head on out the other way. This will be Johnlock. Starts off dark and angsty, but eventually becomes serious on the comforting aspect from our doctor.
This uses an OC as the baddie. This guy will not be good in any sense of the word and is a total and complete prick who has the singular purpose to draw Sherlock back into drugs and his control. So don't start to like him, even though he's charming at first. You'll be disappointed if you like him.
A bit of a Sherlock!whump, but where's the fun if we can't Sherlock suffer a little to gain the affections of our dear doctor, huh?
Chapter One
On the Case
Lestrade simply stood back and watched, as usual. There were snorts of disdain from Donavan and Anderson, and he chose to ignore them. He was always fascinated by the way the arrogant bastard worked. John, as usual, struggled to keep up with the detective's racing mind. His brain, it seemed, was working faster than his mouth could keep up because he kept starting and stopping thoughts, leaving John and everyone else in a state of confusion.
Truth be known, the case was not clear to Sherlock, which was why his train of thought kept shifting and changing. He'd put the clues together, but they didn't fit right. Finally he kneeled beside the body with an exasperated sigh.
"Sherlock, what is it? Find something?" asked John.
He pressed his lips together in a thin line. "No. That's the problem. This is…staged."
He stood up, looking around. "Everything in here, it doesn't add up. It's like someone put all these random clues in here just to make it not make sense…" he said. "Nothing….nothing fits. The clues are contradictory, even you must see that!"
John nodded, looking around. "I've gotta admit, I'm no Sherlock, but he's right. The lamp looks like it was broken on purpose, the body has defensive wounds on one hand, but not the other, there's just no consistency…"
"I see I managed to draw the best to my hotel," came a voice from the doorway, and if John hadn't seen it, he wouldn't believe it. Sherlock froze, eyes wide, and turned slowly to face the man who came striding in through the hotel room.
Lestrade frowned. "Who are you? This is a crime scene, you can't just walk in."
"Well, it is my hotel, after all, and when I heard Sherly here had shown up, I was just dying to see him work again," he said with a grin.
He was tall, easily six seven or more, and an easy two fifty with a broad chest and well-muscled frame. A mop of tidy, business cut blonde hair and a thick goatee and moustache. Piercing blue eyes peered from under the heavy brows. And he was staring at Sherlock in a way that John didn't particularly care for, his warning bells all going off at once.
John caught the set of Sherlock's jaw. "Garrett," he said finally. "Go away. I can't think with your thinking in the room. You're worse than Anderson."
He turned his back on him. Garrett (Garrett Turbine, actually, owner and operator of the hotel they were in) smiled. "S'okay Sherly, I'll just stand back and watch."
Sherlock turned and glared at him. "Do not call me that, Garrett."
The man pouted. "Sherly, come on, you can't tell me you forgot about me so easily?"
Sherlock growled in frustration then. "Shut up if you're going to be in here."
Garrett just smiled and leaned against the wall, and John noticed the predatory gaze as he followed him around the room. More than that, Sherlock quit speaking out loud. Finally he huffed in frustration, running his hand through his curly hair.
"Aw, Sherly, gotcha stumped? Must be a tough one, huh?" Garrett said with a grin.
Sherlock fixed him with a withering look. Garrett's smile widened. "Oh, I know, I guess you're missing something, aren't you, sweetie?"
Sherlock frowned and then his eyes widened and he shook his head. "Don't go there, Garrett. Don't you fucking dare."
To say that the room when quiet was an understatement. Generally, John was chastised for cursing by Sherlock. To hear him curse at someone was…strange to say the least.
"What, Sherly? Don't tell me, oh my God, really?" Garrett leaned forward and grinned broadly. "No wonder you're off your game, loverboy. You aren't giving yourself powered pep anymore, huh? Could fix it, for a price, you know, like we used to do, Sherly. Maybe a little could go a long way to solving your mystery here…"
"Shut up!" Sherlock was practically vibrating with the tension. "Garrett, fuck you."
With that, he swirled out of the room pushing past the towering man, and John went after him. Garrett caught him on the arm though, and John looked up, giving him the same grin. "He'll do just about anything for a fix, you know that right? God, how many times I fucked him into oblivion for an ounce or two…"
John's eyes went wide as he ripped his arm out of the man's bruising grip and ran from the room. John found him outside the front doors sitting on the sidewalk, knees pulled to his chest and head buried in his arms.
"Sherlock?" he asked, kneeling beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't move away. He looked up at John, eyes cloudy. "Hey, don't worry about him, he's a prick."
Sherlock nodded. "I thought I left that life behind," he said solemnly.
"Where'd you know him from?" John asked, sitting beside him on the cool concrete.
"Uni. Before Lestrade, before you, you know. Before I figured out how to live without the uppers and downers," he said, looking up thoughtfully. "I…I did a lot of things back then. Mycroft cut off the money I could take out of the trust fund because he knew I was using, so I had to get things any way I could. It started so simple, just to get some sleep, you know? Simple, logical. I needed sleep, it helped me sleep. But my brilliant mind couldn't manage to put together that addiction would follow, and then I needed something to wake up in the morning because I was so strung out from the night before. God, John, that was so long ago, and I wasn't ready for him, or anyone from then, to come back around."
John nodded, rubbing his back. "Come on, let Lestrade deal with him. Let's get you home."
-Crime Scene-
With the revelation that the man before him used to provide Sherlock with drugs, Lestrade didn't like the man. Especially in the middle of a case that confused even Sherlock. He glared at him. He really didn't want him on his crime scene now.
"Mr. Turbine, I would really appreciate you not upsetting my consulting detective," he said, and could feel both Donavan and Anderson's eyes on him.
Garrett smiled. "That what he goes by? Freaky boy, back in Uni, you know. No one liked him. I'm guessing that hasn't changed."
"Sherlock has friends, Mr. Turbine, me and Dr. Watson included," Lestrade said coldly.
"Oh, a doctor? No wonder! He write him scripts? Man, he was a fan of the hardcore opiates back in the day. I remember him begging me for a vial of morphine just so he could sleep after being up four days straight. What he got for trying to quit on me. Oh well. Got a good shag in exchanged for that one…" he said, looking thoughtful.
Even Anderson frowned at him. Lestrade was fuming. "Look, Sherlock hasn't used in years, and we'd like to keep it that way, so I suggest you lay off him. He doesn't need it. He never did. Dr. Watson most certainly does not write him prescriptions for narcotics."
Garrett smiled. "Well, Doc Watson's missing out, that's for sure. Sherly will turn a pretty trick when you want him to. Tricked him out a few time to get what he wanted back at Uni…never had any complaints. Even if he did come back a little black and blue…and boy does that pale skin of his bruise easy…but I know at heart he liked it."
Lestrade frowned. "I think you should leave. I don't care if you own the place, but you're in my crime scene."
Garrett smiled broadly. "Ah, you'll see me again. Sherly can't resist me. He'll come crawling back, especially if his doctor doesn't feed his need. I know people like him. He's an addict, through and through, and he'll take the chance if I give it to him. You know that's true, don't you, Greg?"
He turned and left, leaving Lestrade flushed with anger. He turned to look at Donavan and Anderson, and both could see the "I dare you to say a fucking thing" written on the DI's face. Neither would dare. Especially since the whole thing proved one thing, and that was their resident freak might be a hell of a lot more human than they both had ever thought.
-Baker Street-
John stepped out for groceries and came back to a haunting melody of Sherlock on his violin. John wouldn't admit it, but he loved to hear him play. And composing tonight, he saw as he saw him scribble notes on a paper before returning to the playing. Sherlock's phone buzzed, and he ignored it.
"You got a text," John said, unloading the groceries.
"I'm ignoring it," he said and went back to the violin.
"It might be Greg," John said, looking up.
"Nope, its definitely not Greg," he said, scribbling down notes again.
John came up and picked up the phone. There were several texts from an unknown number. He clicked it open and blinked.
Sherly. You know you want to come by, sweetie.
You can't resist. I've got an ounce of China white for your pretty little head. Provided you give some head.
I know your so called doctor doesn't give you what you need. I can provide it…just come on to the penthouse at the hotel. I'll give you everything…as long as you return the favor, sweetie. Got some wonderful bottles of Vicodin that are just screaming for your tongue, just like I am.
Come on, loverboy, you know you miss me.
Answer me, Sherly. Before I get angry with you. You remember what that's like, don't you?
Don't hold me accountable when I see you next, because you've upset me.
John closed the phone and saw that Sherlock hadn't changed at all, still scribbling notes and flittering away on his violin here and there. John sighed and heard his own phone buzz. Lestrade.
Keep an eye on him. The Turbine bloke is an arse. Said some pretty nasty things about Sherlock before he left. I don't think no is in the man's vocabulary. – GL
He's texting Sherlock already, he's ignoring him, but I read them. This guy's a piece of work. I'm texting Mycroft. He's aggressive.-JW John texted back to him then flipped over to text Mycroft.
Just a heads up, a man from Sherlock's Uni days named Garrett Turbine has shown up and is trying to tempt Sherlock back into drug use. He's aggressive and threatening already. – JW
He set the phone on the table, not expecting an answer anytime soon, but instead there was a knock on the door about an hour later.
"Mycroft, you texted him, I suppose," Sherlock said, not looking up from his paper.
John let him in, and saw immediately the stern expression on the elder Holms brother and let him pass.
"Sherlock, why are you speaking with Garrett at all?" Mycroft asked as soon as he stepped into the room.
Sherlock's phone buzzed several times in rapid succession. "I'm not speaking with him, but he seems to think that sending me threatening text messages is going to entice me to come to his penthouse."
Mycroft turned to John with an arched brow. "Um, he was at a crime scene today, he owns that hotel down in Camden. There was a murder and he showed up. I'm guessing he got Sherlock's number off the website."
Mycroft picked up the phone and scrolled through the text messages from the unnamed number. "Sherlock. Do not go to him."
Sherlock huffed. "I don't intend to. The bastard was the reason for everything. I don't even want to think about him and he shows up and now thinks he can force me back into that life again. I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I don't fancy being loaned out for a fuck just to get a dose of coke anymore. I think I'm a little beyond that stage of my life."
Sherlock had still not turned away from the window, where he was staring and still composing off and on as he spoke. "I know, Sherlock, but he was very convincing once."
"I didn't have John then," he responded matter-of-factly. "As long as I have John, I don't need it. You know that. I haven't even thought about using since he's been here."
John practically fainted from having Sherlock admit something like that in front of him. Mycroft nodded. "Do you want me to do anything?" he asked finally.
"I can handle Garrett, Mycroft. He's just playing mind games with me, and he forgets that he shouldn't do that with me when I'm not doped out of my fucking skull. It worked a long time ago, it doesn't work now that my head is clear of that," he said, resolutely plucking out notes again. "I do want a cigarette though, but John won't let me have those either."
"Course not, Sherlock. Not a very good doctor if I let you give yourself lung cancer, now am I?" John said, arching a brow.
Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock, call me if you need to. I don't trust Garrett, especially now that he has money. Just…please…talk to John if you need to, okay? That wasn't a pretty time of your life."
Sherlock snorted and continued with his violin. John shrugged and Mycroft left silently. Good lord the Holms boys and sneaking around quietly seemed to go hand in hand.
John picked up the phone and found a few more texts, each one progressively more angry and aggressive.
Sherly, come on, sweetie, I haven't had a taste of your mouth in so long. Come by. I'll treat you nice. I promise.
I'm getting tired of this, Sherly. The longer you wait to respond, the worse it will be when I get you here. And you will come here, if I have to drag you by your pretty black locks.
Don't blame me when you get hurt.
I can take care of that doctor as well. You wouldn't want him getting hurt in this would you?
Come on, Sherly. I'm not going to beg all night. I'll find you, and I'll give you what you need, even if you don't think you need it anymore.
You remember the last time you ignored me? Keep that in mind, Sherly. That was a long night, wasn't it?
John closed the phone, shaking his head. "He's a persistent bastard, huh?"
Sherlock sighed. "Yes. He's got this idea that he needs to have control over someone else to be happy. He just wants to recapture those days. And I want them gone forever."