Welcome to Chapter 1 of the sequel to First dance!
Standard disclaimer stands: I don't own a thing.
The persistent knocking on the front door of the house where John and Mary Watson lived for almost a year now woke up the retired army doctor. He rolled around in bed and groaned. He knew it, he knew the peace could not last long.
To be honest he was actually surprised it lasted this long. It's been almost a whole month now since the last case Sherlock accepted. It was a simple one and the consulting detective was disappointed when it turned out to be quite dull. Luckily his personal life was anything but. Just few days prior to the case Sherlock managed to patch things up with his favorite pathologist and they seemed quite content together. John was actually expecting a text to come to Baker Street and accidentally catch them snogging on the sofa in the sitting room. That is if Sherlock even knew how to do that. Hopefully Molly was a good teacher.
But the text he expected never came.
It seemed Sherlock Holmes decided to take a break of solving cases or something similar to that. Either that or he now dragged Molly along with him. John could easily see them discussing things on the crime scene and having dinner afterwards at Angelo's.
One would expect John Watson to be jealous at the thought of being replaced but it suited him just fine. He was still Sherlock's best friend and would always be willing to help the detective but it was nice to be able to enjoy some quiet time with his wife. His pregnant wife.
John grinned at that thought and wanted to snuggle in closer to Mary when the knocking started again.
"Go and let your friend in before he knocks a hole in our front door." Mary muttered and pulled the cover up to her chin.
John sighed, got out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown, before opening the bedroom door, "He's your friend too." He muttered.
"He was your friend first." Mary responded and rolled over in the warm bed. Moving towards John's side of the bed she placed her head on his pillow and deeply inhaled his smell before sighing contently.
That content didn't last long. It was all over when John returned to the bedroom and said their neighbor, Mrs. Kate Whitney, needed their help. So Mary Watson left the comfort of the bed and joined her husband in the sitting room where the older woman waited for them.
"It's Isaac." She explained when Mary joined her on the sofa, "He didn't come home last night and this morning when I went to him room the bed was untouched. He never came home. I tried to call the police but they said I have to wait 24 hours before he can be reported as missing. They said he probably just ran away because that's teenagers do. What kind of person tells that to a worried mother?"
John and Mary glanced at each other. They agreed with the woman, you don't say things like that when someone asks for your help because their child is missing.
"You obviously need Sherlock Holmes' help." John said and Mrs. Whitney looked at him confused.
"Who's help? Is that like a search dog? Should I get something Isaac's so he can follow his trail? Because that may not be necessary, I believe I know where my son is but I can't go there. Not on my own."
Mary bit the inside of her cheek not to laugh. Sherlock was called a lot of things but never a search dog. It wasn't all that wrong of a description though. Give the consulting detective a trail and he will follow it until he finds out who committed a crime he's solving. She'll never tell that to his face though. She'll share it with Molly.
"No." John interrupted her trail of thoughts, "Sherlock is a detective."
"Doesn't matter." Mrs. Whitney said, "I just need someone to go and see if Isaac is where I think he is. It's an old abandoned house where junkies hang out. I can't go there myself."
Mary hugged the older woman who started to sniff and gave her husband a pointed look. John merely nodded, "I'm going to need the address."
Kate Whitney nodded and handed him a piece of paper she took from her pocket, "I knew those friends of his were no good when I first saw them. But my Isaac wouldn't listen."
"We'll get him back home, alright?" Mary was calming the woman while John rushed upstairs to change out of his pajamas, "Do you want to wait here till we-?"
"No, I'll wait home. I'll make some soup for Isaac." She answered, "Thank you."
Mary nodded quietly and watched the woman walk away and enter hew own house two doors down. Mary just turned around to enter the house again when John walked by her and towards the car. Instantly she took the key from the lock on the inside, shut the door, locked them, and followed her husband to the car.
"I'm coming with you." She said opening the passenger side door.
"You can't go, you're pregnant." John tried to reason with his wife but Mary was having none of it.
"Well then you can't go either, because I'm pregnant." She answered and grinned as her John sighed and sat in the car without saying another word. She knew she won.
John stopped on the large deserted parking lot of the house that now served as a drug den. He wasn't certain what it used to be before it was abandoned, a hotel perhaps, or maybe a nursing home. What ever it was it was quite large with big wooden front doors that seemed to resist the elements quite well.
As he walked towards the door he could feel the tire iron with every step he made. It was an impulsive decision, to take the metal rod along for protection, but it made him feel a bit safer. And according to Mary it was a tiny bit sexy. Hopefully he won't encounter someone who will give him too much trouble.
He banged at the large door with a closed fist and could hear the echo from inside but nothing else. No sound of footsteps or someone speaking. No one was coming to let him inside. Perhaps there was no one inside and Mrs. Whitney had the wrong address. But still he felt obligated to check.
The doors opened surprisingly easy and without much noise. John actually expected them to squeak loud enough to announce his arrival to anyone who is currently inside. Obviously they were used far often then one would expect from a building that supposed to be deserted.
The entrance hall was large with a spiral staircase on the left leading to the first floor. But before he went upstairs he wanted to check ground floor.
"Isaac?! Isaac Whitney?! Are you here?!" John called as he walked down the wide hallway that led directly from the main entrance to the back side of the house. But the rooms on the both sides were deserted, the doors either opened or completely missing from the hinges.
"Upstairs then." The retired army doctor muttered and returned to the entrance hall before slowly climbing the instable stairs.
Once on the first floor John walked down the short corridor before he entered the large open space. It seemed like the entire first floor was one big room with only several pillars supporting the ceiling from collapsing.
The smell reminded John of the time he spent in Afghanistan, the stench of unwashed bodies and disease. This was no place for anyone, let alone for a fifteen year old boy. He just hoped the kid was here and well, as well as he can be anyway, and that he is alive, so he can return him home to his mother.
"Isaac? I'm looking for Isaac Whitney." He spoke as he passed dozen lost souls lying motionless on the mattresses on the floor. He was thankful Mary agreed to stay in the car for this part. His pregnant wife should never see something like this.
"Isaac?" he asked noticing a youth sitting up, leaned on the wall behind him. The kid groaned in recognition of his name and tried to open his eyes.
John kneeled down on the filthy floor next to an equally filthy mattress and took the boy's face in his hands, "Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"
"Doctor Watson? Where am I?" the kid mumbled a question.
"Somewhere you shouldn't be. Your mother is worried about you." John answered.
"So you came for me?" Isaac was looking a bit better with every second.
"Of course. Do you think I know a lot of people who come to places like these?"
John was helping the kid in his attempt to stand up when he sense a person behind him standing up as well, groaning a bit as he did, and approach them. He reached for the tire iron and was ready to take it out and defend both of them when a deep voice he knew all to well shocked him.
"Oh, hello, John. Here with the car, are you? I could use a ride as well." Sherlock spoke casually; completely unaware his best friend was close to a hissy fit that would match Mary's hormone fueled ones.
"You…" he mumbled under his breath and turned away towards the consulting detective and took Isaac by the elbow, "Let's go. Your transport is waiting."
"John?" Sherlock called after him still standing on the same spot.
John Watson somehow managed to stop himself from shouting and instead growled at him, "Come on!"
Mary was retying her dressing gown and just happened to glance up to see three men approaching the car. And then she did a double take when her brain registered there was one man too many. Isaac was walking in front and behind him John was arguing with Sherlock, of all people.
The consulting detective looked completely different than the way she was used seeing him. Gone was the nice suit and instead he had a tracksuit on, one that hung on his body. And was rather filthy as well.
She opened the door and got out of the car just as Isaac reached it.
"Hi, Mrs. Watson. Can I go inside?"
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." She answered absently; she was too preoccupied with her husband and his best friend arguing.
"I'm not buying this nonsense Sherlock!" John was shouting, "If there really was a case you would have called me! Just admit it Sherlock, you started doing drugs again! You aren't really on a case!"
"Well I'm not now!" Sherlock turned towards John and jelled back, "You ruined everything! I was undercover! I didn't even use my own name!"
"Oh, no? Which name did you use? You're junkie name? Shezza perhaps?"
"Oh, don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock frowned and turned away towards the car, finally noticing Mary standing there, "Hello, Mary."
The blonde woman shook her head, "A case? No case if worth you starting to use drug again and hurt Molly in the process."
"I'm not hurting Molly. I'm clean." He protested but the Watson's obviously didn't believe him.
"You drive." John told Mary as he walked to the passenger's side, "I have a phone call to make."
"Who are you calling?" Sherlock asked as he took a seat in the backseat next to a rather confused looking kid.
"Molly." John told him before he turned towards Mary and explained, "Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar."
They ignored a groan that came from behind them from the larger child in the backseat and drove straight to Saint Bartholomew's hospital. If there was one person that could and would make sure Sherlock returns on the right track, that was Molly Hooper. They were aware how much out of his comfort zone Sherlock went when he first admitted he had certain feelings for the lovely pathologist, first to himself, then to John and Mary, and then eventually to the woman in question.
They were together for a month now, since that nice evening when they managed to reenact the wedding reception for just the two of them, and it would be a shame if all that was destroyed just because Sherlock succumbed to the addiction again.
"Call Kate Whitney, while you're at it." Mary said handing John her phone, "Let her know we found Isaac and will bring him home shortly. Don't mention we're going to the hospital first, it will only upset her."
John nodded in agreement to his wife; the older woman shouldn't believe their little detour is because there is something wrong with her child when in fact they are going to Barts to deal with a much bigger child. One that obviously needs constant supervision.
Speaking of supervision, John had every intention to talk to Molly as to why she didn't paid more attention to the clear signs Sherlock was using again. He practically lived in her flat according to Mrs. Hudson. He only came to Baker Street for few hours each day and spend very few nights sleeping there, those were probably the nights when Molly was working the night shift.
John was leading the little group down the corridor towards the morgue, Mary and Isaac were trailing behind him, and Sherlock was stomping his feet few steps behind them. He was obviously trying to delay the unavoidable. Something the retired army doctor fully expected. But as long Sherlock didn't try and make a run for it he wasn't going to say anything.
"Oh, Molly. You're here, good." John spoke as he entered the morgue.
"Hello, John." Molly answered and then noticed the three other people that entered behind her friend. She right away walked to Mary, gave her a hug, and then smiled at the teenager that wiggled his fingers at her.
"I need you to perform a drug test." John was dead serious and Molly looked at the kid standing next to Mary in confusion. He was obviously under the influence of something, but the concluded John simply wanted to know what the teenager was using for some reason.
"He doesn't mean Isaac." Mary explained, noticing the look her friend sent the boy.
"Who then?" Molly asked, honestly confused.
John snorted, "Are you seriously going to stand there and claim to be ignorant of Sherlock using drugs again?"
"What?" Molly's eyes widened as she focused on Sherlock who instantly rolled his eyes.
"Stop attacking Molly, John. I'm not using any drugs."
"Yes, I know." John turned towards his friend and snarled, "It's for a case."
"It is for a case." Molly confirmed casually and John shook his head.
"Are you seriously going to cover for him? I just found him in a drug den!" John Watson was pissed and he was making it known, loudly.
"Just because I was in a drug den doesn't mean I was doing drugs." Sherlock pointed out before focusing on Molly, "Can I have a jar? I better go and get you a sample before John gets an aneurysm for nothing."
"Doing drugs isn't nothing, Sherlock!"
"Well, I'm not doing drugs right now. I haven't in years." Sherlock pointed out before adding, "Lestrade was very clear I get to pick between drugs and cases so I went to rehab and been clean since."
"I'll believe it when I see it." John said calmly and Sherlock sighed, took a jar Molly handed to him and went to the restroom.
The silence surrounded the five people in the laboratory as Molly finished the testing and moved so John Watson could double-check her findings. The man was currently standing leaned to the lab bench with his arms crossed over his chest and sending a death glare to a chart on the wall.
"I would never hurt Molly like that." Sherlock was first to break the silence, "She has given me a chance that I didn't deserve considering how I treated her in the past. I would never do something so stupid like start taking drugs again and ruin the best thing that happened to me in a long time."
"I know." John muttered.
"And yet you were willing to believe I went to a drug den and got high." Sherlock pointed out, "Even though Molly herself said I am currently on a case and was in that place for that reason, and for that reason only. She would never cover for me. If I was indeed doing drugs she would have contacted you and Mary, and Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Mycroft. I wouldn't put it pass her to go as far as to call my parents and inform them. And she would most definitely slap me for doing something so stupid. Repeatedly."
"So it's all for a case?" John asked, finally accepting his friend didn't suddenly become an idiot and went back to doing drugs, "What kind of case?"
"A big one. And I could use your help with it tonight." Sherlock's answer was vague.
"Will it be dangerous?" Mary asked concerned for her husband's safety.
"No." Sherlock answered shortly before adding, "I would never get John shot if that's what worries you."
"No, you would just get me drugged." John offered and Molly snickered.
"It was one time!" the consulting detective protested but his friend obviously disagreed.
"It was bloody well more then just one time. Or did you forget that time when you wanted to test-"
"Alright, I drugged you twice. Happy now?"
"No. I will be happy when I get a refund for that Wednesday I can't remember. I had a date that day."
"How do you know you had a date if you can't even remember that day?" Sherlock frowned and John merely rolled his eyes. There was no arguing with an overgrown child.
"So at what time should I expect John back home?" Mary asked.
Sherlock shrugged, "We won't be late. Just have to go to a place to get something."
"Oh good God, that can't end well." John muttered.
"Around nine. Shouldn't take longer." The consulting detective offered a time frame ignoring his friend's comment.
"And that will be it?" Molly suddenly asked, "After today the case is closed?"
"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly and watched his better half, in the lack of more appropriate words he was willing to use to describe what Molly was to him, gave a breath of relief. To be honest he felt the same way.
Some aspects of this case were rather tedious and he couldn't wait until they were out of his life, hopefully forever.
