A/N: Yup, I'm baaaaack already with another one! (grins) This sort of popped out on its own at around midnight, of all times, so I allowed it to come and polished once I was a bit more… coherent. 'Didn't see any point in stalling the publishing.
GOSH! Thank you, THANK YOU, for all of the reviews and listing and hits you've given this collection thus far. I can't believe that this is receiving so much love! (BEAMS) You're making me a insanely happy person.
Awkay… (takes a breath) It's time to launch, no? Two fantastic people requested this and I REALLY wanted to type this. 'Hope this pleases ya!
Getting a Drugged Sherlock Home – 'A Scandal in Belgravia'
Over the years DI Greg Lestrade had known Sherlock Holmes he'd learned a lot of things about the detective. Enough to deduce that it might be a good idea to first go alone into the room where he knew the mad genius to be. What he discovered made his eyes widen a fraction although he'd thought that nothing would surprise him anymore.
Dr. John Watson was cursing rather colorfully under his breath while attempting to haul Sherlock's limp body off the floor. Worry and annoyance danced in the smaller man's eyes as the stubborn doctor attempted to fight the laws of physics. Sherlock's head lulled listlessly with each movement and there was a nearly dreamy look on the passed out detective's face, like the man had been having a nice dream.
Greg's eyebrow bounced up. "Dare I ask?" Nope, he probably didn't want to know.
John cast a all but desperate look towards him. "A little help?" The former soldier went on once he'd taken Sherlock's other side, helping support the very, very heavily dozed genius. "The bloody idiot went and let himself get drugged. We have to get him home before he ends up into even more of a mess."
Greg winced, dread rushing through him. Sure enough, Sherlock was thin but the tall man was also dead weight dragged between the two of them. "Mess, John?"
John gestured vaguely. "There's a unconscious woman over there", the doctor explained rather dryly. "And downstairs you'll find a bunch of Americans." As though feeling his tension the doctor seemed to feel the need to add. "Sherlock didn't do it, I swear. Well, all of it, anyway. She was prepared for intruders." Did the smaller man's hold on the genius just tighten?
Greg blinked twice, trying to process it all. These two are going to be the death of me…! "You mean Adler?" Where was she, anyway?
As it turned out they had no further time to discuss. For Sherlock, who mercifully had his head bent to a definitely uncomfortable but safe position, chose that very moment to throw up. John swore again, the man's voice shivering with barely repressed worry. Greg groaned, mentally swearing that as soon as the detective was feeling better the man would pay for making him do this.
Just then the sounds of the Yard's battalion marching in reached their ears. John's body language was loud and clear. Stiff, leaned so that he was all but shielding Sherlock, eyes alert and prepared. Under different circumstances it might've made Greg smile. (God knows, Sherlock needed someone crazy enough to stand up for him like that.) "Should you…?"
Greg waved his free hand. "I think that they won't be able to cause a lot of destruction in twenty minutes." He glanced towards the still quite lethargic Sherlock, feeling a surprisingly strong pang of concern. "Unlike this one." He glanced around. "A backdoor?"
John scoffed. The doctor's eyes gained a foreign, steely gleam. "A woman like her is going to need five."
On their way out Sherlock threw up twice more. Greg scowled, not quite sure if he'd be able to resist the urge to punch the moron of a genius after making sure that the man wouldn't die on them. It was going to be a very, very long drive to Baker Street.
During the, as predicted, painfully long drive Greg learned at least one version of what took place in Irene Adler's house. Once Sherlock almost woke up, muttering something incoherent. The DI would've been ready to bet a small amount of money that one of the words he heard was "…dull…".
Greg had seen with his own two eyes just how deep the companionship between his insane friends went. But he didn't see the true extend until they'd in some miraculous way managed to haul Sherlock into the flat and safely into the detective's bed. Switching to his doctor mode John hovered around the still knocked out detective, measuring pulse and blood pressure, checking pupils, making sure that the taller man was in a safe position in case the man might end up vomiting again. The doctor's eyes were, however, what revealed the truth. There was a breathtaking amount worry and wrenching guilt in them. The man's hands were unnaturally steady.
Greg offered his friend a sympathy filled look, leaning against the room's doorframe. "It's not your fault, you know? How were you supposed to know that this would turn out to be the one bloody time Sherlock ends up making a gigantic error of judgement."
John took a deep, shuddering breath. "I should've known to expect this. Babysitting him is a full time job." The doctor gritted his teeth. "If he ever risks himself like this again I won't be sparing his nose and teeth."
Greg blinked twice. Then frowned. "What?"
John offered no response. Instead they both jumped slightly with surprise when Sherlock mumbled, the detective's hand flailing like the man had been attempting to chase away a swarm of flies circling around his head. There was a extremely child like, highly irritated pout on the genius' face. "…g'ay, Anderson."
Greg didn't know if he wanted to groan, worry or laugh. "Christ…! What did she give him?"
John sighed with his shoulders slumping, clearly preparing himself for a very long, tedious day and night. "Your guess is as good as mine." The worry wasn't as prominent anymore but it definitely lingered there.
Greg bit his lip not to chuckle when Sherlock made another wave, smacked himself and huffed in annoyance afterwards. "He'll be fine, right?" Because he'd feel like a really, really bad person for finding this all absolutely hilarious if…
John nodded slowly. "His pulse and blood pressure are a lot more stable and he's becoming responsive. By morning he should be back to all his glory."
Greg sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. Of course it'd take far more than getting drugged to bring down the mighty Holmes. "And heaven help us."
At that moment a sound that stunned them both erupted from Sherlock. Eyes still closed and more than halfway unconscious the detective began to giggle in a very bubbly, almost childish way. Greg couldn't even imagine what the genius was dreaming of. Did Sherlock just start… clapping? "… again…!"
"Okay, this is it." Not caring if it made a absolutely horrible friend out of him Greg took his cell phone, taking a set of pictures while the detective's stoned episode continued. "No one is going to believe this."
John's eyebrow arched. The beginning of a smile lingered on the man's lips. "Are you sure that that's a good idea? He'll just find them and delete them."
Greg smirked, checking over the pictures he managed to capture. Priceless. "Oh, I know. But I'll have fun until then." Growing slightly more solemn he gave Sherlock a one more worried glance before focusing on John. "I have to go back to Adler's house. Are you sure that you'll manage with him?"
John sighed. "No. But what choice do I have?"
Greg gave his friend a sympathy filled look and a pat on the shoulder before starting to take his leave. "Call me if you need anything, alright? Either one of you."
"I will. Thank you."
Greg could only admire the soldier's bravery. Or perhaps it was masochism. Just before heading out the DI was almost sure that he heard another giggle, followed by a slightly more clear "Ahoy!". He winced, having a rather clear idea of what might've been going through John's head just then.
Morning couldn't come fast enough.
The second time Sherlock woke up properly he was pleased to discover that his head was functioning at least slightly more properly and that he was even able to take more than five steps without tripping over his own feet. He shook his head and frowned, attempting to piece together what the bloody hell had happened. That was when he saw his coat.
Oh…!
Hold on. He was drugged out cold. He wasn't proud to admit it but that was what happened. So how did he…?
"John?" The name slipped out before he'd even processed it properly. There was no response and he felt a shiver he would've never, ever willingly called that of worry. "John!" Still nothing.
Pushing his still half asleep body to its limit Sherlock fought his way out of the room. His mind was buzzing with all sorts of theories of what might be going on. What he found was none of them.
John, who'd most likely struggled with all his might to remain awake, had fallen asleep sitting on the couch. A small frown on his slightly ashen face and hair a disheveled mess. Right next door, just as his blogger promised. The doctor's eyelids fluttered and for a moment Sherlock wondered if the man was waking up. Apparently not. It was the dreams taking over. John seemed to be sleeping lightly, though, the soldier in him not daring to sink deeper while he was on a mission.
Sherlock stayed there for a few moments, determined that he didn't linger just to make sure that those intense dreams wouldn't turn into nightmares. When John exhaled a calm, deep breath the detective turned and headed back into his room. John would've told him to get more rest, anyway, right?
Sherlock, despite all his talents, was unaware of the smile on his face. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for a few more hours. Who wouldn't rest peacefully with Captain Dr. John Watson guarding them?
Scene completed.
A/N: (grins) I probably enjoyed typing a drugged Sherlock heck a lot more than I should've. (snickers) I hope that you guys enjoyed, too!
PLEASE, leave a note to let me know your thoughts! (gives puppy's eyes) And remember, I'm still VERY open to all the requests you may have as to which deleted scenes I should include. I'll have tons of fun with the requests I've received thus far. (smirks)
Thank you so much for reading this!
Take care!
Sarah: I'm really glad to hear that you enjoyed it. (beams) I just couldn't help picturing that in my head as the aftermath.
'Hope you'll stay tuned for more.
Monumental thank yous for the review!
