The Beginnings
by Iva1201
A/N: I am deeply sorry to disappoint my HP readers, but this is a BBC Sherlock fanfic. I promise that, as soon as my muse is cooperative again, you will receive new chapters of my ongoing HP fics, too. For now, should you like to, enjoy my new favourite fandom with me, please. (-:
Fellow Sherlock fans welcome to my writing. (-: No slash, I am sorry, friendship only – and nothing mine, sadly.
Enjoy!
ooooo
Sherlock Holmes's Montague Street Flat
23rd September
(four months before meeting John Watson)
It was for the case, Sherlock repeated to himself, eyeing the pills on the table in front of him with slight hesitation. Swallowing one of them would not make him addicted – and he highly doubted that he would enjoy the high provided by the Ecstasy anyway. No, there was no danger in the experiment. None at all – except Mycroft or Lestrade finding out and not understanding that Ecstasy was by no means comparable to his favoured seven percent solution…
Mycroft and Sherlock had an agreement. Sherlock would stay clean and Mycroft would cover the costs of his living, paying his rent, equipment needed for his experiments and provide him with a small stipend to cover his other needs. Sherlock would then, very occasionally, assist him in solving hopefully not too boring governmental cases.
Lestrade and Sherlock had another agreement. Sherlock would stay clean (this condition was non-negotiable) and the Detective Inspector would invite him to consult on his less ordinary cases. There wouldn't be any monetary gain there for Sherlock, unless he ever wanted to join Lestrade's team for real employment – an event both the men didn't want to even consider a real possibility. Sherlock would no doubt drive Lestrade mad if they would see each other daily. No, this solution was much better. Both of them agreed.
Sherlock stared at the pills, considering.
If Mycroft would find out, he would cut down on his stipend and the money for the equipment for his experiments, perhaps even threaten to no longer pay his rent. The last would be an empty threat, his brother wouldn't want him to live in the streets again and be truly tempted. No, it would be the stipend and the equipment money only. He would manage several months without the stipend – and Molly and Mike would no doubt let him use the lab in St. Bart's for his experiments. All things considered, Mycroft finding out was no huge problem.
Lestrade would be worse, Sherlock thought. If the DI would find out, he would cut Sherlock's access to crime scenes, leaving Sherlock bored out of his mind. And while Mycroft not paying his rent or research equipment would be disadvantageous, Lestrade's actions might actually lead to Sherlock's true relapse. Not that Sherlock particularly cared right now – solving the case currently occupying his mind appeared much more appealing to him at the moment. All things considered, it was Lestrade's case he was trying to solve – and Lestrade couldn't protest against his methods to unravel it after being stuck on it for over two weeks.
Right then, the benefits of his action would outweigh the possible consequences on this front, Sherlock thought, satisfied, and Mycroft be damned. He reached his pale slim hand forward and took one of the pills, swallowing it and starting a countdown timer on his mobile phone to determinate how long it took for an average young male (by body weight and height, not by the capacity of the brain, certainly) to get high on Ecstasy and then come down again. The results would ensure one man's freedom or possible imprisonment for taking a life…
ooooo
Mycroft Holmes's office in the Diogenes Club
Later the same day
DI Lestrade was not happy, no, not at all. He looked rather angry – and, if he was able to identify the emotion correctly, quite disappointed, Mycroft Holmes thought, pensively observing the man while he got off the car in front of the Diogenes Club. Sherlock was most likely in a serious trouble then, Mycroft sighed, his hope for a calm and peaceful evening crashing.
"Good evening, Detective Inspector. What has my little brother done now?" Mycroft asked without preamble, offering his counterpart a tumbler of whiskey and gesturing at him to take a seat. Armed with his own glass, Mycroft lowered himself back into his armchair, waiting.
Gregory Lestrade's frown deepened as he accepted the glass and seated himself opposite to Mycroft. Staring into the golden liquid in the tumbler, the man admitted: "Your dear brother is driving me mad again. He arrived to the Yard today, barely sobered up from whatever he had taken, claiming to have solved my latest case for me. I am sorry, Mycroft, but after realising he was just coming down from a high, I threw him out. I hope he won't feel driven to ingest more of whichever drug he favours these days, but I simply cannot work with him like that. When you see him, tell him that he is not to seek me out until he is sure he can stay clean and sober – and I have had enough time to cool down. You can inform him also that it might take a couple of weeks this time; I do not feel generous right now."
Lestrade downed the whiskey in one go then and stood. "You might want to question him if the drug he used this time was Ecstasy. Our suspect claims he was under influence of it in the time his girlfriend was murdered – and apparently cannot remember a thing. I wouldn't put it above your brother to experiment with it on himself. But, no matter how harmless Ecstasy might seem in comparison with the shit he was poisoning himself with in the past, I am not interested in his results if he is to endanger his life or health again like this. I will not have him on my conscience… Have a good day, Mycroft." The Detective Inspector set his tumbler on the table separating them and left the room.
Mycroft Holmes put his glass down as well, his whiskey untouched. Brother dear, he thought, time to teach you a bit responsibility. He pulled out his phone and dialled the number of his assistant. "Please, locate my brother and bring him to me. We have some serious things to discuss."
ooooo
A/N:
This story is trying to answer three questions of mine:
why Sherlock needed a flatmate,
why he had to prove a point to Lestrade,
and, mainly, why Lestrade didn't want to contact him earlier on the cabbie's case.
