Mycroft swallowed hard, thinking about how difficult this task had become, not only for him but for Sherlock. Siger had always thought his second son was and always would be a failure. This incident with Sherlock was the only proof he needed. Mycroft hated giving him that proof. But he stood to greet his father.

"Hello, Father. I wasn't aware you'd be joining us," Mycroft said without inflection.

"Mycroft was just about to tell me how Sherlock is doing at uni, Siger. Care to join us?" his mother asked trying to keep the mood light.

Siger scoffed. "I don't need to know how the boy is doing. I don't frankly care, as long has he doesn't sully our name by flunking out, I remain indifferent." He delivered this line with indifference as well. His feature remained schooled in a mask of unconcerned aloofness.

Mycroft's jaw worked, and his mother noticed his agitation, and tried to control Siger's remarks. "Siger, Mykie wants to tell us something."

Mycroft twitched at the nickname, but took a deep breath and went into his mentally prepared speech. "I've noticed Sherlock has been acting strangely lately. He's lost weight and he seemed easily agitated and distracted. I wanted to speak to him about it while he was home with us last week, but he avoided me. This morning, he was seen on a CCTV camera, buying and using drugs." He tried to say the last sentence with bravery, but memories of his little brother sitting alone in his dorm, high as a kite, and angry that someone cared enough to barge in, made it difficult.

"Oh my go—my baby." His mother whispered tears in her eyes. Siger's face was unreadable. "Have you talked to him, son?" he said.

"I went by as soon as I was shown the CCTV image. He was under the influence of the drugs, and under the impression that no one would care what he did." Mycroft said quietly.

His mother's tears welled up in her eyes, but didn't fall. Mycroft could still tell she was hurting. Their family did not express emotions well. In fact, to an untrained eye, it would seem none of them had any. But Mycroft and his mother were very upset that Sherlock had fallen so far, and that they hadn't noticed.

Siger, seemed absolutely fine. "What did you say to your brother? Or was he too high to listen to you?"

"I...I made it worse I'm afraid. I tried to tell him that I wanted to help him, but I told him that his actions disgusted me, and after that, I thought it best I left." Mycroft finished lamely. "Oh, Mykie, you didn't mean to hurt him." His mother petted his hand, which was about as affectionate as she ever got. Mycroft appreciated her sympathy, but it was rather useless at this time.

"Well then. What shall we do about this?" She said, trying to get back to practical thinking. "I suggest a rehabilitation clinic, and in fact, my secretary is pulling a list of high-ranking facilities as we speak." Mycroft said, grateful for hard facts and logic. Their family really didn't handle emotion well. Mycroft's phone beeped. In fact, I think that's her now."

He moved to get his phone and open the email to peruse the list with his mother and find a suitable choice, but Siger stopped him. "Oh, don't fret over it, son. I'll take care of everything."

Mycroft didn't like the dangerous, ice-cold edge his father's tone had adopted. But arguing with him would only make things worse. HE reluctantly handed his father the mobile phone, but Siger simply sat it aside and excused himself. He then got into the car and was driven away.


Mycroft never found out his father's exact words to Sherlock. He would later find out that he had been disowned, disinherited, and that his father had beaten on him again. Siger also made sure the school officials found out about Sherlock's drug use and he was kicked out. On the same day, his father had the police pick him up. Sherlock was kept in jail for 30 days, and when he was released, he lived on the street for the better part of a year.

Mycroft tried to keep track of him, and was a bit angry about it all, because he had been led to believe Sherlock dropped out and committed some sort of theft whilst under the influence and landed in jail. Siger had fixed the records available to Mycroft, making it seem as though Sherlock left Oxford willingly and was arrested for theft, not an anonymous tip accusing him of drug use.

After a year on the street, most of which he either deleted, or was a lttle fuzzy on due to the drugs, Sherlock met Lestrade, an up-and-coming Sergeant who gave him a chance to stimulate his brain with something other than the cocaine and other stimulants he was experimenting with. Not long after that, he finally gave in to his mother, Mycroft and Lestrade, and entered a drug rehabilitation facility.

And not too long after that, he met John Watson.


It was for John Watson, and for Lestrade, and for Mrs. Hudson that he not only took that jump, but that he spent months wrestling with sobriety, so that he could go back to them clean and sober. He had been clean for 3 days, and that was proof enough for him that he could go back.

The plane took forever it seemed. Cravings and withdrawal plagued him all the way there. He recited the periodic table in his head, and when that didn't work, he read John's blog, from the very beginning, starting from the Study in Pink, and ending with John remembering the day he fell. And telling the world that he was not a fraud, and that he still didn't believe Sherlock was really gone, but more than that, he ended with "I believe in Sherlock Holmes"

That entry had been over two months ago. The anniversary on Sherlock's "death"

Sherlock went to sleep, trying not to think of his arrival in London. There was too much to think about, too much to take into account, too much to worry about regarding his return. Rather than confront his musings, Sherlock switched off the overhead light, and went to sleep for the first time in days.


Here it is, he thought. most beautiful combination of letters and numbers he ever thought he'd see. All he had to do was go inside. HE still had the key after all. Sure, things might be rough at first, but he'd get past them. HE and John always did. He unlocked the door. He stepped inside. And it smelled like home, more than any other place he'd ever lived including his childhood home. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home. She was usually baking something at this time. He didn't smell cookies, cakes, pies, or anything of the sort. Ergo, no Mrs. Hudson. But John was there…

Sherlock could hear him moving around upstairs, probably making tea. And the telly was blaring. Sherlock took a deep breath. He'd been waiting over a year to return to his…friend, John Watson was his friend. And he was only a staircase away.


Okay, If you think the ending to the flashback was a little abrupt it was supposed to be. This whole time in the present, while It was long and drawn out, Sherlock was strung out, but his getting clean is what brought it to an abrupt close. The events following Sherlock's disgrace from his family and his homelessness, including his encounters with Lestrade, will all be revisited by different characters later in the story. Thanks for reading! Review Review