A/N this one is a bit longer and its fairly dialogue heavy. If you're reading this chapter then thanks for sticking with it. I'll try to update as regularly as I can.
"Jonathan Blake is a large scale criminal, according to Mycroft he is at the top of a hierarchy of drug dealers such that most, if not all, imported heroin and British synthetic drugs including cocaine and MDMA are essentially controlled by him."
John nodded taking in the information that Sherlock had imparted upon him, thus far there was nothing particularly worrying about what he was being told. John wondered whether Sherlock had mentioned the issue of drugs earlier because of these revelations concerning Jonathan Blake, but John doubted it. Drug dealers exist everywhere; it would not be the case that Sherlock was worried for his own health purely because he was taking on a case involving a high profile drug dealer. Perhaps it was because of this afternoon, but John was inclined to believe it was a one off. Probably related to his exile, as Sherlock had just claimed.
"Mycroft believes, based on information gathered by MI6, that Blake is faking the return of Moriarty, in part, so that he can convince those who owed Moriarty money before he died to pay up. Evidence tells us that Moriarty and Blake were familiar with each other's existence and criminal activities, and that they must have been on at least neutral terms because they were able to co-exist." Sherlock paused to consider what to say next, he knew that it did not matter how he phrased this, John would react emotionally. "Mycroft postulates that Moriarty allowed Jonathan Blake to continue operating as a drug lord, and somewhat of a gangster because of one crucial sentiment both men shared."
"And what was that?" John was anxious to understand the full story, the way that Sherlock had been that evening was unusual; distant and then so incredibly open. Possibly still high. John hated being in the dark in these kinds of situations.
"Well, it seems that both Moriarty and Blake shared a rather obsessive and passionate hatred of a Holmes." Sherlock spoke carefully, as though any word might cause the floor to collapse beneath them.
"…Okay, that does seem to be a trend amongst psychopathic and powerful criminals. So, given that I have never heard of Blake, and it sounds as though you hadn't either until today, I presume that Mycroft is the Holmes that Blake has an obsessive and passionate hatred of?" John was trying his best to sound nonchalant, but he was conscious that Sherlock would pick up every slight emotion that flicked across his eyes or rippled in his face. He was never confident in his guesswork when sat in front of the world's only consulting detective.
"No. Not Mycroft. Sherrinford." Sherlock spoke in a barely audible, yet sinister whisper.
"Who is Sherrinford?" John's brow had furrowed and his voice was genuinely full of an inquisitive confusion. Sherlock, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and squeezed both hands into a fist, upon exhaling he let his hands fall open again. "Sherrinford is my eldest brother." Sherlock spoke evenly but his facial expressions betrayed him, he was no longer holding his stoney, archaic look. John looked intently at him. He looked younger, like a boy.
"Right, okay… I didn't know you had another brother… why have you never mentioned him before?"
There it was, Sherlock thought, that sound of hurt behind John's words. The detective was outstanding at reading and seeing emotions in other people, he was even a fairly good actor when it came to feigning those emotions himself. But he found it very difficult to deal with those emotions in people that he cared about. It didn't matter what he said to John, he wouldn't be able to convey all of the things he wanted to. Already Sherlock was starting to feel anxious, he disliked having to revisit any memory or piece of information that he had tried, but failed, to delete.
"John… I haven't so much as heard Sherrinford's name for nearly twenty years. It's a long, complicated story… he, well we, my family I mean, we don't talk about him. Sherrinford is incarcerated. He has been for almost two decades." Sherlock stumbled over his words. John had only seen him do so once before; in front of the woman.
John too, was lost for words. He had absolutely no idea that Sherlock, his best friend, his best man, had another brother. And yet here was Sherlock, stating that he did indeed have a second brother, but that he was incarcerated and ultimately had been cut off from the Holmes family for twenty years. As ever the biggest concern that John had in all of this was how Sherlock was acting right now. He was obviously stressed thinking about and talking about Sherrinford. Before speaking John made a concerted effort to sound calm, hoping that this would help to keep Sherlock reasonably calm too. "Okay, I understand. What did he do Sherlock? And why would this Jonathan Blake be using Moriarty to get to him?"
Sherlock chewed on the corner of his bottom lip for a minute while he considered how to answer this, then he composed himself to deliver his response, when he did begin to speak it was in his trademark quick, concise and deductive voice. "Sherrinford is twelve years older than me. He has a brilliant mind, as you'd expect a Holmes brother to. He is incarcerated because of a huge number of things. Sherrinford was somewhat of a high class gangster. After graduating from Cambridge with a first in Law and Economics Sherrinford found his way into Government as a behind the scenes legal advisor to Thatcher's and Major's governments. Predictably this led to Sherrinford socialising and generally becoming familiar with people of political significance, and, naturally the upper middle classes in general. Sherrinford and a friend from university who was also consulting with the government started a business dealing drugs at social events. Gradually this business expanded, as it did the dealings and inner workings became predictably more violent and illegal. Eventually Sherrinford had established himself as a well-respected man by day and much feared man by night. I remember him fondly though. When he would come to my parent's house when I was younger he would bring interesting presents, books, board games and spend time with me. He was a much more attentive older brother than Mycroft. In the mid nineties a number of high profile scandals went through the newspapers and through government. People of significance, MPs, Barristers, bankers, started to disappear and turn up dead. The media would report these incidents as natural causes, suicides, or if it was particularly tricky to lie they wouldn't report it at all. Private investigations would show that the victims had a drug problem and a series of debts. Somehow Sherrinford was never proven to be directly implicated but it was obvious to a few, knowing people that he was responsible. He had gone from being a suave man behind the scenes in government who controlled the dealings of drugs to the men who run this country, to becoming a murderous gangster. When I was eighteen, Sherrinford came to my parents home. My parents were away on holiday in Rome, but I had returned home from school between finishing my A levels and starting university. Sherrinford was not as calm or attentive as usual, he told me to go and pack a weekend bag and get in his car. I asked him why, where we were going…."
Sherlock seemed to have involuntarily stopped talking at this point. He looked pain stricken as he stared past John into the kitchen. The kitchen was unusually tidy, John had noticed while helping to make tea this afternoon that there were no dismembered animals or body parts in the fridge. It suddenly occurred to him that this was probably because Sherlock did not expect to return to Baker Street. He must have believed that he would land in Eastern Europe this evening and remain there for 6 months. Hence there being no equipment or specimens for experiments which were generally commonplace in this kitchen. The farewell at the airstrip this afternoon felt like years ago.
"Sherlock mate, are you alright? We don't have to do this now, if you don't want"
Sherlock frowned at himself and cleared his throat "when I asked Sherrinford where we were going he pulled a gun on me. He pointed it and he said he didn't want to have to use it but I couldn't ask anymore questions, I just had to be quick and get in the car. I was essentially his hostage for 3 days, although I don't think I was ever in any serious danger. He never demanded a ransom, it was almost as if he just wanted not to be alone for those few days. He opened up, talked a lot about trust and mistakes. And, he introduced me to heroin. One of the obvious downturns in his criminal career was when he began to use the drugs he sold. He told me heroin was wonderful because it slowed down his overactive mind. He guessed that my mind was just as fast and unrelenting, he wasn't wrong. From that night on I have been addicted to that feeling of calm, at least psychologically. Eventually the car was tracked and on our way out of a petrol station five undercover police cars blocked us in, they arrested Sherrinford. It transpires that Mycroft had spearheaded the chase, he was only twenty five, working in Whitehall, the Holmes name had done wonders for him. I loathe the notion of heritage but historically the Holmes family have been one of affluence and influence. Of course Sherrinford, at least from the outside, had become a valued and respected man in the sphere of government. Mycroft's success is at least partially down to how Sherrinford was liked and perceived. Mycroft's intellect and knowledge of Sherrinford meant that he found us faster than anyone else in the UK would have done. He was also merciless, his recommendation was indefinite and isolated incarceration, based on a character profile he offered as a witness who had known Sherrinford for his whole life. Because Sherrinford was never in the public eye, and exposing all of his crimes would have been to expose the debacuhary of some of the most powerful men in the country, a private and obviously illegal trial was conducted without a jury. Sherrinford was found guilty of 8 counts of murder, drug trafficking, kidnap, possession of a firearm and 12 counts of theft."
John sat opposite his friend, frozen in shock. Shit, this brother Sherlock had never mentioned had kidnapped him at gunpoint the last time he had seen him. Sherlock's explanation was a lot of information, but it felt less coherent than what he knew Sherlock would have liked to have been. Although Sherlock had rushed through the facts, John had gotten the gist. He thought about asking Sherlock to elaborate on parts of the story, what had Mycroft said exactly? What did Sherlock's parents think had happened? Is this why Sherlock and Mycroft didn't get on? There were so many things John wanted to ask, but he knew tonight wasn't the night. "Wow, well to be honest Sherlock, I'm not sure what to say to all of that."
"Of course you aren't John. There is nothing appropriate to say, but I hope you can see why I have never mentioned him, why Mycroft has never mentioned him." Sherlock replied
"Yes, yeah I can see exactly why." John nodded, unsure of what to say next.
"But, what relevance does Sherrinford have to Jonathan Blake? Well, obviously a history of drug dealing, violence and probably murder are things both have in common. If Blake hates Sherrinford we can only assume it is because of a sour past encounter. We have no idea what that past encounter is, but if we are to understand Blake, his intentions and calculate what threat he is to me, you, Mary… everyone, then we must ask Sherrinford. Mycroft is sending me a car tomorrow morning at 9AM."
Jesus, John thought his relationship with Harry was difficult, but being a Holmes brother seemed to be infinitely more complicated. "And is that what is making you worry about relapsing? Because you are going to see your brother, and the last time you were with him was the first time you used?"
Sherlock put his hands together, like a steeple under his chin. "I have been using heroin on and off since I was eighteen. I have overdosed almost fatally twice, both accidental. When I was twenty seven until I was thirty two I speedballed, on and off. I overdosed three times, once was accidental. Today was an example of a minor overdose, that's happened maybe 7 or 8 times."
The two men shared a knowing look, John understood what this implied but was so taken aback at Sherlock's stark and unusual honesty that he was struggling to process everything that he was being told. He sat silently until Sherlock spoke again, this time he spoke in his impatient matter of fact tone, "John, whilst I would certainly say that it is probable I will remain clean and mentally collected, I ask you as a doctor, and a friend, to help me to not deteriorate."
"I will always be there to make sure you don't deteriorate. If you become too emotional though, try to talk about it. I know you despise the notion of talking about feelings. But… well its better than shooting up." John was tentative, he didn't want the detective to immediately become defensive, but given this unusual admittance of emotion, he felt he should try to leave the door open. Try to show his friend that he can talk openly, at any time.
Sherlock nodded and stood up "Like I said this afternoon, I am not an addict. I have a psychological addiction to the feeling of overwhelming calm in my thought processes, and an addiction to a heightened thought processes. The work is usually enough. On the rare occasion that I use, the need is fleeting and easily satisfied. I have been in the darkest pits of addiction, and I've been through the turmoil of detox and recovery more than once. Honestly, I'd rather talk to Mrs Hudson for 12 hours a day than go through withdrawal again. If I feel as though it is necessary, don't worry, I will talk to you. Are you staying tonight, or going back to Mary?"
John felt somewhat proud of his friend. He looked at his watch and realised it was 11pm, given how late it was and what information Sherlock had just divulged to him, he thought it probably best to stay in the flat tonight. Just in case Sherlock needed anything, he would never ask for it of course, but John would notice if there was anything Sherlock needed. "It's quite late, I'll stay here if that's okay?" John stood up too.
The taller man nodded, "Of course, I'm not sure whether Mrs Hudson has made your bed up though. You might have to do that yourself. I'm going to have a scotch. It's been a long day, have one with me before you go to bed." It was more of a command than a question.
"Sure that's a good idea, given your come down?"
"It'll be fine." Sherlock affirmed.
John sighed, "Certainly, you pour me a tipple while I go and sort my bed out" John got his phone out of his pocket as he made his way over to the door leading to his old bedroom "I'll just text Mary as well, to say I'm staying". Sherlock waved a hand as he turned around in recognition of John's statement and moved into the kitchen to retrieve the scotch. John went into his old room and was relieved to find the bed was made up. Just as well, he really couldn't be bothered to battle with sheets and a duvet at this time of night. Sherlock was right, it had been a long day and he was tired.
I am going to stay at Baker St. tonight but will be back for breakfast. Too much to explain by text but don't worry, we aren't in imminent danger. See you tomorrow x
John sent the message to his wife, and left the room, he was going to enjoy this scotch.
