Chapter 2
Daybreak had almost arrived when Sherlock woke in the alleyway . He decided the previous night that he should remain put before he walked himself into more trouble. Well he thought he decided, more like the crash from the drugs forced him to stay where he was before all hell broke loose. Sherlock thought he had slept off the majority of the crash but when he rose to his feet, his body had other ideas. He gripped the wall to stop it spinning and closed his eyes from the bright lights that stung. It was unbearable. It had been almost 12 hours since he last injected the cocaine into his system and his body was letting him know. He fumbled in his pocket until he pulled out the syringe. Yes half full. That would satisfy him until he could get some more at some point that day. He pulled up the sleeve to his hoodie to reveal the puncture marks littering the pale skinny arm. He traced the marks with his thumb in a strange nostalgic way before he plunged the needle into his arm and pushed the drug into his system. The bliss took over him as his body caught up with his mind and the drug induced haze that he has been living in for the past year returned. He pocketed the needle and set off down the alleyway.
He roamed the city for an hour or two, occasionally catching sight of himself in a shop window. The face that looked back at him was unrecognisable of the person he had been last year. The tangled curls of hair were unkempt and messy. They were a distinctive dark contrast to the pale ghostly face of the 19 year old. His cheekbones were painfully obvious and along with his malnourished frame showed a boy who has not eaten properly for a very long time. Then lastly were the tell tale signs of your typical junkie; the dilated pupils, the erratic nature and the dark circles surrounding his eyes telling stories of sleepless nights in the gutter. Sherlock's life could not get worse but for him he didn't care. The drugs were everything.
He decided his best option now was to listen to his cravings and get some more substance. The money he had pickpocketed last night was burning a hole in his pocket crying out to be spent and what better use was there than this, he thought. He had his regular dealer that lingered around Regents Park. A half an hour walk from where he was. It would have to do. He'd rather get the supplies he was used to, he wanted some quality after all. He set off down the street in longing of his destination. Thoughts scampered through his mind of deductions of the walkers by scattered with memories of his younger years. He used to walk these roads with his parents, hand in hand, as a small smiling boy. They were the years when him and Mycroft were as close as could be. It wasn't to last however as Mycroft jetted off to boarding school and university while Sherlock was left on his own. He was never one for attachment since the loss of Redbeard and this split just deepened his belief further. Sentiment was for the loosing side and when he went of to boarding school himself it was to imprint this as a part of him
His thoughts drifted towards Mycroft. The older Holmes had given up hope while he still could on Sherlock. Too may times bailing his baby brother out of trouble; to then be stolen from and unappreciated. He thought he probably was a bit harsh on Mycroft sometimes but it was a necessary means to get what he needed.
That wasn't to say however that Sherlock Holmes was always right. Mycroft did continue to care deeply about his brother and constantly tried to hunt down him in the vast modern jungle of London. The man spent a lot of time searching the boy out to make sure he was safe and attempt to bring home. However if Sherlock didn't want to be found, there wasn't much hope even starting. Sometimes he got lucky though. He'd find his little brother in a worse state than ever and manage to bring him home and get him some much needed sleep and nourishment. That was before Sherlock bolted however and he had to start the whole process again. It was a never ending battle that put constant strain on the older Holmes. Mycroft often wished he had been there to stop this madness from even beginning, blaming himself for Sherlock's fall to self destruction.
It was about 10 months ago when it all started...
Sorry bit of a slow chapter but needed to set the scene!
Please rate and review. Thank you.