Wow, this next chapter was really easy. Too easy. Seriously. I keep wondering why it came so easily! (Probably because I've already done all of the hard work and research, and this time was just writing 3 beloved characters.) I mean, it also helps that a little while back I read an awesome fic called "In Confidence" by emma de los nardos, which influenced where I ultimately decided to go with my own prequel Sherlock. We had a few really similar perspectives and ideas. I wholeheartedly recommend it by the way! It's a great read!

To Morgan Pen: ;) I'm glad the chapter ended up flowing naturally. I chopped it to bits a few times!

To UsagiRyu: Yes, whatever they choose to do with Sherlock will surely be interesting! My portrayal of Lestrade is actually based off of a mix between listening to the commentaries on the first season, fanon lore, and canon little tidbits I've found.

To Anon: Thank you for your thoughtful review! Yes, I believe months in a rehab facility may well make someone like Sherlock Holmes worse. I never specified how long he was in rehab, nor which rehab program he had participated in (or what extenuating circumstances there were). Rest assured, he did not spend months locked up bored somewhere.

Edit: Final chapter that shall need translating into British English. Have been dabbling with slang. Tell me if I use it wrong.


Lestrade pulled up a chair near the Holmes brothers and lit up the cigarette, taking a satisfying gasp of it before his gaze settled on the younger. He said nothing, then looked at the elder questioningly.

Mycroft smiled politely at Lestrade, who forced a smile back. Sherlock looked from one to the other of the two men who were to decide his fate.

'Mycroft: had not slept well in several days, marks on his arms from his laptop (large project, viewing and commenting on things personally), recently went to the salon (also indicating some particularly stressful times, must have nice shiny nails during trying times), tie is a bit lop-sided (preoccupied),has been cheating on his diet (seriously, does he ever stick with any of his personal resolutions?), notices Lestrade's marital problems. He is attempting to be on his best game. Not sure which of us he's planning on benefiting.

Lestrade: had washed up and changed his clothes, but not after lunch, before (must have bled on him), pastry crumbs, completely oblivious to Mycroft's scrutiny, actually uncharacteristically also oblivious to my own scrutiny, slept on the sofa (poorly), cut own hair (and no one told him he did a bad job of it), not wearing wedding ring (wife most definitely divorcing him and no longer cares about his state), had a strong drink, two strong drinks with lunch as well (alcoholic much?), rough divorce. Is in a difficult mood.'

Sherlock hid a discomfited sneer after gauging his prospects rather poor.

The D.I. began. "You're in a lot of trouble", he spoke sharply as he frowned at Sherlock. The amateur detective bit back a sarcastic comment and instead opted for cordiality, nodding with as much respect as he could muster. Lestrade seemed to relax ever so slightly. "Cocaine intoxication, intent to distribute a Class A, prescription misuse of a Class B, and resisting arrest. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sherlock made to steeple his fingers but thought the better of it, holding his injured hand over the violin on his lap as he leaned in closer to Lestrade. 'What do I have to say? "I'm sorry Lestrade. I didn't mean to get caught and ruin my career. I didn't mean to be such a cocksure idiot. As you can see from the relation, I was just born that way." No. I have nothing to say. What could I possibly say to rectify this?'

"I have nothing." The younger Holmes looked away.

Lestrade's jaw twinged. "Nothing?! You'd better have an answer for this!"

Sherlock looked away and twitched a brow. "I do have an 'answer'."

"You always have an answer", Lestrade spat. "This had better be good."

"I always have a 'good answer'", Sherlock replied assuredly, still feigning interest in the corner of the room, "but I don't have an excuse. I have nothing to say in my own defence. I do however, apologise. I should not have behaved so shamefully. I'm sorry." Greg frowned. "Tell me what happened."

Sherlock closed his eyes as if bored and rested his head against the cell wall.

The D.I. and Mycroft looked on expectantly.

"Several years ago, when I had my first breakthrough case as an undergrad, it was then I had decided to become a consulting detective. Prior to that, I was aimless, only really trying to avoid being in government, but not knowing what to do with myself. I was interested in chemical research from an early age, had always tested chemicals on myself and others. I figure I would have eventually become a chemist had fate not intervened."

Lestrade watched patiently, but confused. "Okay, so you dabbled a lot in Chemistry."

"As a child, I was diagnosed with ADD inattentive type, as I explained-" Mycroft interrupted. "He was a most disruptive child, as you can imagine. A bit of a terror, really." Sherlock glared. Greg bit back a smirk. "Oh, really?"

"Oh yes. One Christmas dinner, he dr-" Sherlock sprang out of his seat and pointed his violin as if it were a weapon. "So help me Mycroft, one more word."

"Or what? You'll attack?"

"No no. I was more thinking I'd bring up that summer in Berlin."

"A low blow." Mycroft pouted, leaning back in his chair. "Oh just continue your story."

Sherlock sat back down, stroking his violin with his uninjured hand. Lestrade sighed in disappointment. "Yes, on with it."

"And I was prescribed Ritalin. Needless to say I found other uses for it. Made much more sense to take in bursts." Mycroft frowned. "When did you start doing that?" Sherlock smiled triumphantly at his brother's lack of knowledge and this caused Mycroft to express scorn. "A long time ago. A little after I started smoking, actually."

Lestrade cleared his throat. "Is there a point to this story?"

"Of course, inspector. My point is that I started early, long before I had begun to focus all of my passion into crime work. I suppose you could say I'm a bit", he paused, "reliant on it at times. And I continued after I begun my career during slow periods. As of this day, I still do not know what to do with myself when I am without work. That's why I turn to stimulants. Before this last one, it had been months since I'd had a good case. I had been doing a stored up supply three times per day."

Mycroft nodded almost imperceptibly. "When did the cocaine start?" Sherlock twitched his mouth, eyebrows furrowed. "Right after my last case. At a party."

"Wait, a party?" Lestrade huffed in disbelief. "You? A party guest?" Sherlock plucked at his violin and held his nose in the air, prideful. "Of course."

The D.I. still seemed sceptical. "So let me get this straight, some people at this party were snorting cocaine just the other night and you idly thought 'hey, why not'?"

The younger Holmes smiled. "Pretty much. Its chemical composition is similar to my prescription, and I was curious as to the differences in effect. What better way than to experience it first hand?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not experiencing it?" Lestrade cut in snidely.

Sherlock's smile hinted at annoyance. Mycroft clasped his hands together. "There's something more to this. How did you end up with all of that cocaine?"

"Well, he bought it didn't he?" Lestrade presumed. "Of course not", Sherlock blurted. "I actually don't remember how it got in my jacket", he admitted with consternation. Mycroft inhaled, realising the truth. "He'd become inebriated."

Lestrade, caught off guard, burst into laughter. "Sherlock? Got drunk? Sherlock, at a party, went on a bender, so much so he doesn't remember what happened? Am I supposed to believe this?"

Sherlock looked away and spoke in an uncharacteristically humble tone of voice. "I thought myself clever enough to win at a drinking game, yet I didn't account for my condition when I began drinking because I was high."

"You hadn't eaten or slept in days at that point, is what you're referring to when you say 'condition'", Mycroft interjected (more for Lestrade's sake). The D.I.'s disbelieving humour faded into pure disbelief, his eyes wide. "Days?"

"Yes. When I came down from a new, more powerful drug than I was used to, I'm assuming my body could no longer sustain consciousness and I blacked out. I awoke in an alley with the bag of cocaine in my jacket pocket. I meant to get rid of it, but boredom, exhaustion and a personal weakness for stimulants overtook my good judgement."

"I believe you, Sherlock." Lestrade gave a reassuring smile through his frown. "You should have come to me." Sherlock finally looked back at Lestrade, mournful. "I wish I had. But I did the next best thing. I got caught." Mycroft let out a weary sigh. "So now the question is, what do we do about this? These were obviously events for which Sherlock is quite regretful of."

Lestrade sprung from his seat. "It's not like he's a child! He knew full well what he was doing. I'm not just going to let him go!"

"Yet, under the circumstances-"

"What 'circumstances'? He's an addict! That's nothing new. Well, for me it's a bit unusual. It's not exactly my division, but for you Sherlock Holmes, I've made an exception."

Sherlock lifted a brow at Lestrade and murmured at his violin, "you should really only limit it to one drink with lunch."

"What was that?" Lestrade nearly tripped over himself at what he thought he'd heard.

"That!" Mycroft stood up. "That, and there's some personal family related circumstances that he cannot bring himself to talk about." Lestrade frowned at Sherlock, who was plucking softly at his violin. Out of the corner of Sherlock's eye, he could tell Lestrade was about to break.

The D.I. groaned. "Sherlock has saved innocent lives. He's helped me without asking for credit or payment many times. For this reason, I am giving him only one chance. And it's under my terms."

Sherlock glanced up from what he was doing. "What are the terms?"

"I'll drop all but medication abuse. No jail time. Just a fine. I want you evaluated for rehab and to successfully complete whatever is given to you."

"No. I can't do-" Mycroft put a hand up and cut his brother off, eyeing him dangerously. "I'll personally ensure that he does so." Sherlock tiredly pouted.

Lestrade walked into Sherlock's cell and leaned into his personal space. "And just so that we're clear, this is a one-off deal. I can and will bust you to the fullest extent of the law if you ever pull anything like this again. Understand?" Sherlock yawned and nodded in response. "That's from being tired, not a response to you. I promise, you will never have to deal with me being intoxicated again. Understood. Thank you." Lestrade rolled his eyes, straightening.

"Get out of here. Get that hand checked out. And don't ever let me regret this."


Stay tuned for next chapter, and as always, review please and thank you!