Title: Skull –my sort of friend

Summary: A social work student has been assigned to work with Mr S Holmes who has just been realised from re-hab. This is about how the social work student helps shape a detective and then becomes a skull on a mantelpiece (No romance or pairings. Tried not to have a Mary-sue character).

A/N: This story is told through the skulls' point of view before it became just a skull. The character is not created at male or female so that you can make your own mind up about this. I also left the character nameless as it leaves the Skull with some mystery. I hope you enjoy. The character might not be quite right but this was seven years ago before Sherlock meet John Watson.

Profile

Name: Sherlock Holmes

Age: 26

Rehab Centre:

Exit rehab centre:

Assigned case worker: none identified.

History: Mr HOLMES has been a confirmed addict for 7 years. Mr HOLMES has been to rehab twice before and each time being asked to leave the program due to inability to follow rehab rules. Mr HOLMES choice of drug is normally cocaine. Mr HOLMES current residents with his eldest brother Mr M HOLMES in London. Very little at this stage is known about Mr HOLMES due to his lack of engagement with the program.

Mr HOLMES did complete the final 12 week program with NAME rehab centre. However, participated very little within the program.

Mr HOLMES would rarely sleep and play his violin at odd hours during the night, this would anger stuff and the other residents. Mr HOLMES has no insight into social behaviours norms. It has been suggested by the Psychologist that Mr HOLMES is a sociopath. However, as Mr HOLMES will not speak with the Psychologist this has not been able to be confirmed.

Likes: Experiments

Dislikes: Stupide people.

Warnings: Can be extremely rude and enjoys angering people.

Week One

I looked up from the profile of Mr Sherlock Holmes. I felt very nervous. My first day on my placement and I had already been given a case. The field officer, Ms Darleen, explaining that there are so many cases at the moment she did not have a choice. Ms Darleen states that the case was a man that had recently been released from rehab and now must be assigned a drug and Alcohol worker. The Drug and Alcohol worker would aid Mr Holmes get back on his feet, find employment, stay off the drugs and if possible provide counselling or other services if needed. Ms Darleen stated that I just had to meet Sherlock at least once a week; but the look that she gave me stated that she did not believe I would be on the case long.

Another drug and alcohol worker (whose name I had not learned yet) before I left wishing me luck stating that five other workers were currently on stress leave due to their small encounters with the man. I did not find that reassuring at all.

Taking a deep breath I walked up to the building in front of me. I was told that Mr Sherlock Holmes lived with his brother who was apparently very well off. He owned the whole living complex, but resided in one part with his younger brother. I thought that it was nice that at least Sherlock had his brother to look out for him.

I knocked on the door. There was no answer.

I tried again after a few moments.

I waited, taking out my phone to check the time. 10:02am. I had organised with Mr Holmes (Sherlock's brother) that I would be there at 10:00am. I remembered speaking to Mr Holmes over the phone after I could not get through to Sherlock. Mr Holmes was very curt and to the point, not overly rude. He stated to be at his residence tomorrow at 10:00am sharp and Sherlock would be there.

10:08am.

I debated about knocking again for the hundredth time or to just leave. But remembering the face of my filed officer, I did not want to admit defeat just yet. I pulled out my work phone and dialled Mr Holmes number. I brought it up to my ear and waiting. After the third ring the phone picked up.

"Yes."

I swallowed down my nerves, "Good morning, Mr Holmes, it is-"

"Yes, I know who you are, what can I do for you?" Right no pleasantries, right to the point then I thought before answering.

"I have been knocking on the door outside the building, but there has been no answer. Is everything Ok?" I glanced back at the door half expecting it to finally open.

I heard an expatriated sigh, "His they're just not opening the door. Just go inside." With that, he hung up.

"Right, ok then." I muttered to myself feeling slightly put out. I put my phone in my pocket and with a moment's hesitation pushed the door open. The first thing a saw was a small entrance, but then I heard music up the stairs. The violin.

I smiled, thinking about how soft and beautiful it sounded. I made my way up the staircase towards the music. I found myself at the end of a small hallway at the top of the stairs looking at a closed doorway. I knocked on the door, "Hello." I said waiting for the door to open. However, after noting that the music did not stop nor did anyone let me in I twisted the door handle and pushed the white door open. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It smelt like my old science classroom – chemicals and rats. I thought this was a little odd as the rest of the house smelt fresh and clean. Then I noticed the clutter and mess. Books, a persons severed hand, sitting on the bookcase, magazines and chemistry items. I finally saw, who I assumed was Sherlock standing next to the window playing. He was tall, very tall, especially compared to my five foot four self. Dark curly hair, nice clothing (looked expensive) very pale skin. He looked nothing compared to the other clients that I had seen around the center. Though I had a feeling Sherlock was very different to most people.

"Good morning Sherlock." The playing finally stopped and he looked at me with a piercing blue gaze, if looks could kill, and for a moment I wished that I had just shut up. "I'm your Drug and Alcohol worker or D and A as many people call us."

His gaze flicked over my body for just a second or two before turning and began playing again. "No you're not, you're a student. The first week, the stupid fool that is supposed to be teaching you sent you hear about your own as she was too afraid to come out again – can't handle the fact that her husband is cheating on her with the mailman." I blinked

"What?" I questioned, quite confused.

"Not very good are you. Of course not, only barely passed your subjects- not very intelligent. No partner or current lovers. Fighting with your parents about having moved all the way to London rather than staying in the family business. Though who can blame you there farming is not the most exiting of trades. Though at least they still have your younger brother to take it all on"

I swallowed, "How?"

Was all I got out before he continued, "Though your brother clearly does not want to take it over either. Though despite the arguments that it has caused at home here you are in the big city of London. Staying with three roommates who you despise- all of which are smokers, druggies and lowlifes. Though at least you have the cat across the street you feed every morning. Oh, what a wonderful exciting life you lead."

Ouch

"Of course you can't move out, you don't know anyone and can't afford London on your own while you're still working at the pub at night. Of course you hate it there to with the boss always hitting on you. Pathetic little life."

I took a moment. Clearly this was the little stunt that he had somehow pulled with the others- all of which are now on stress leave or too afraid to step through the door.

The field officers look flashed in front of my eyes. That look that believed I would not be able to handle this man. I took a deep breath before speaking, hoping my voice did not shake as I spoke.

"How did you do that?" I questioned. "Looked it up?" Genuine curiosity

The playing, paused. He turned to look at me again, his eyes scanning my face. I allowed it waiting for a reply. "I observe." He stated after a moment.

"Observe? Like you read people? Like a psychic?" I asked, hoping he would say no.

"Please!" He placed the violin gently down. "People see things all the time, but they never observe! I observe people." He walked over to me and began circling, "Such as I could tell you to grow up on a farm because of your calloused hands."

"How could you tell I didn't want to do it anymore?" I asked.

"Easy, you're here and not at home."

"Fair point, but how could you tell I was fighting with my parents?" I questioned further.

He smirked "Before you knocked on the door you were on the phone with someone else and hung up on them quite angry."

"That could have been anyone."

"Could have but was not." Before I let him go on any further I spoke up.

"But you did get one thing wrong." I said with a sad smile.

"What?" He snapped looking at me pointedly. I knew I was not supposed to speak about myself or disclose personal information to a client. However, I figure he clearly new already and what he didn't he would soon learn. Making an exception to the rule might not be too bad as a once off.

"We were not fighting because I didn't want to stay and work on the farm. We are fighting because my brother died working on the farm due to poor equipment." I took a moment to allow the information to sink in. I expected an apology – this is not what I got.

"Damnit! Always something!" He snapped, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch. "Now leave." He snapped.

"No." I said with a smile.

He looked up at me glaring, "all the other workers left. They didn't last. Either will you." It sounded like a challenge to me.

"I am not them." We looked at each other for a moment. He searched my eyes looking for something. I am not sure what he found, but he finally huffed picking up a book and began reading. At least trying to look like he was reading. "Here." I put down on the office table a small folder. "There is my work number, information about employment and staying clean. We will be meeting once a week. Though if you need more I am happy to arrange more meet ups. Is there a regular day and time we could meet?"

Sherlock did not answer

"Why don't we just say the same time next week. 10:00am Friday. If there are things that you would like to work on with me we can do that each week. Maybe have a think about it?"

I allowed a moment for Sherlock to reply though it was clear this was not going to happen today. "You need to answer your phone, but maybe text would be better? I will text you Friday morning before I head out to check you will be here. Though I don't mind meeting elsewhere."

I walked towards the door, however before I left I spoke up again, "Thank you for today Sherlock. The observation thing…. Well, though it was a little hurtful, was quite amazing." I smiled as his eyes stopped moving on the book, just for a second. "I'll see you next week." I left.