Okay so in this chapter I've just done a little of Sherlocks history with drugs and what happened whilst John was gone. I kept it brief so its basically just to fill you in a little, even though this chapters a little longer than any of my other ones. Anyhoo Enjoy!
"Holmes, you're back…Come in" The dealer greeted him in a silky and well-practiced voice, stepping back and silently inviting Sherlock inside. Sherlock nods but doesn't smile and enters the shabby house immediately being hit by the would-be overpowering smell of drugs and the darkened room. Sherlock throws his coat aside, not bothering where it landed and followed the dealer into the house, the rooms slowly growing more crowded. His nerves growing the further he is led into the gloomy room, and the impending feeling of being swallowed back into the cycle of an addict weighing on him. Sherlock received more than a few stares for the main reasons of, he was 'new' and his looks. Once Sherlock took his bulky coat and scarf off it left him in a tight shirt which revealed his slim figure, that mixed with his dark curls and pronounced facial features made him desirable in more ways than money to this crowd. The room they ended in had about 15 people dotted around, most of them high and lounging on the couches or floor. Both a mix of men and woman, most around Sherlocks age though there were a few younger.
One may wonder how someone like Sherlock Holmes ever became known to this group of junkies and dealers. Years back, before Sherlock started taking cases from Scotland Yard, Sherlock had the problem of thinking. No matter what Sherlock did his mind would think non-stop, constantly thoughts would be racing through his mind about everything he saw around him. When a normal man or woman would see such a thing as a business man Sherlock would see a rapidly growing list of information about said man. There was no way he could stop it, no people around him who really cared, no more school which combined with cigarettes use to keep him at least mildly occupied and no way to occupy his raging mind so he turned to drugs. It wasn't hard for Sherlock to slip into the routine, but almost impossible to get out. It went on for years, Sherlock would return to the same dealer, meet the same junkies, spend all his money on drugs. It didn't matter to him what kind, it started off with smoking weed, that slowed his mind and actions down, relaxing him enough so he could rest but then he started to be introduced to cocaine and this of course had the completely different effect on him, it served to make him more hyper and unable to sit still but even though it took his mind off of the constant stream of thoughts which couldn't be paused in any other way.
After years of smoking, snorting and injection himself to nearly death Sherlock found himself in an alleyway in London, high as a kite and lying on the snow damp ground, alone. That was when he met Lestrade. Detective Inspector Lestrade. Lestrade was just walking home after the night shift at the Yard. It had been, to put it bluntly, a shit night; the case had been on-going for almost 2 weeks now, serial killer.
The night was chilly and Lestrade had his coat done up tightly and pulled gloves snugly over his hands to protect them from the bite of the wintery, London air. But something on that cold, winters night caught the Inspectors attention. A mumbling coming from an alleyway by him on his walk home soon turned into a young man out of his head with drugs who had somehow found himself in an alleyway.
Lestrade sighs irritably and slips into the alley, crouching down by the man who seemed not to have noticed him yet. Sherlock had his eyes closed and was waving his hand through the air in a floating motion as though sculpting something through the air whilst mumbling something unrecognizable. Lestrade placed a hand on the mans shoulder and Sherlocks eyes snapped open and for a moment it looked as though he was going to attack him but after a few second a smile breaks onto the Brunettes face and he looks over Lestrade, "What're you doing" Sherlock slurs in a highly amused tone. Sherlocks pupils which were blown wide and his drunk behavior made it blatantly obvious he was high.
Lestrade rolls his eyes and puts an arm around the man lifting him to his feet, "Okay home time I think" He sighs to Sherlock, who at this point is rather confused as to why he was being lifted by this well dressed man though the smile on his face meant he was more amused by the fact. Once he had made sure Sherlock could actually stand Lestrade takes his arm back and looks over the young man.
Really he should charge him for taking illegal drugs and call the police so he could spend a night in the cells but there was two reasons Lestrade wasn't going to do that. 1. He wanted to get home in the next hour and that would happen because he would have to explain everything and leave a statement ect. and 2. Lestrade always took pity on young guys who had gotten caught up in drugs and this young man was lying in an alleyway in the freezing cold, wearing only a shirt and trousers, so wasted on drugs that he probably doesn't even know whats happening.
"Do you know where you live?" Lestrade asks in a tired tone to Sherlock, who is leaning against the wall whilst blinking rapidly, "2…2-1B Baking street" Sherlock says after a very thoughtful and strained look takes over his features. Lestrade sighs and taps his foot. Baker street? It wasnt that far from where they were. It took about 30 minutes for Lestrade to practically drag Sherlock back to his flat, due to the fact that the brunette seemed adamant to stop every few moments to admire or gape at something such as a street light. So half and hour later Lestrade finds himself in the living room of 221B after dumping Sherlock on the sofa which he is now undignifiedly sprawled out on. Lestrade was about to speak again when Sherlock interrupted him.
"You should go home inspector, I know your wife has been getting increasingly angry with you for staying late at work, even though that is probably because of the fact you have a serial killer at the moment, none the less your wife has been getting awful friendly with her gym instructor, you might want to speak to her about that" Sherlock says whilst trying to keep his eyes open apparently. Lestrade stops in his tracks of looking for and seizing as much illegal drugs from the flat as possible, "What?" He asks in an amazed tone.
Sherlock looks up to him lazily, "I know by the way your hand keeps twitching that you're anxious about something, the way you are dressed and the way you were walking and keep grumbling about having to take me home suggests you're on your way home from work. Where do you work? Scotland Yard. Easy. I know by the way you're dressed and also this" Sherlock holds up his police badge, which he had pickpocketed from him, before dropping it on the floor without a second glance.
"So you're a detective inspector who is coming home late from work and anxious about doing so. Why? Well you will have no problem with working late, as you enjoy your job so if its not you who has the problem who? You're married so your wife, obvious. The reason you're late home is, of course, because of the serial killer loose at the moment. Which may I say is completely obvious to anyone who isn't a complete idiot." Sherlock pauses and gives him a knowing look which is somewhat ruined by the annoyance in Sherlocks eyes.
He continues, "I know your marriage must be rocky because your wedding ring, you're wearing it, yes but the lack of tightness shows you have taken it off a lot, either that or you play with it a lot on your finger, twist it around and such meaning you think about your marriage more than the usual spouse. This tells me you're worried about some aspect of it. It could just be the fact the ring was always a little big for you but that's unlikely because the outside is clean so it shows you keep it clean, meaning you would have replaced a ring which was to big as you look after this one, therefore deem it very important. sentiment" Sherlock rolls his eyes disapprovingly.
"So, you also take your ring off, Why? You're not cheating, no. So its most probably because you and your wife are arguing, or at least have been recently. Now the gym instructor, I know she's cheating on you because of the way you're dressed, rushed, that says you had rushed out this morning after maybe sleeping in? No, you look as though the sleep you had was ample and not as though you had woken up and left the house in less than 30 minutes, so you had an argument, with your wife. Even though you've had enough sleep there are still dark circles under your eyes caused by stress. Not your job even though it is stressful. No. You enjoy it so then your wife it is, as you have no kids. She's mad at you, she says its because you've been choosing work over her but the reason is in fact because she is guilty. why? Because she's cheating. With the gym instructor, simple." Sherlock ends and looks back up to the ceiling in a meaningless gaze as though nothing had happened.
"That…That was amazing" Lestrade utters, going on to ask about how he knows everything he hadn't yet that meeting between the detective inspector and the junkie on that cold winters night in London a lot changed for both involved. Lestrade decided to make another visit to Sherlocks flat and show him the case he and his team were working on at that moment, with the serial killer. Sherlock of course solved it with his usual flare and snarky comments.
The months after that Lestrade made more and more visits to the flat and eventually presented Sherlock with a deal where by if he gets clean he would provide him with cases to keep his mind occupied. Sherlock agreed and went through a very messy and painful stage of withdrawal. From that day on Sherlock never went long enough without a case that he would give into the temptation of a fix, cases and cigarettes of course. That was until he met John. John Hamish Watson, the ex-army doctor who little did he know was going to become the single most important person in his life.
The dealer guides Sherlock to an empty space on one of the worn-out couches and they both take a seat, the lazy chatter and content noises returning to the room as though nothing had ever happened, it was scary how quickly and easily Sherlock blended into the room and its occupants. The dealer flashes Sherlock a toothy grin and chuckles under his breath, "I never thought I'd be seeing you again Mr Holmes" He says in a sleazy voice.
Sherlock looks up at him edgily and nods, not saying anything. The dealer just laughs again and leans back in his seat, putting one arm behind him and around the back of the sofa and spreading his legs out across the seat in a possessive nature, "So what can I do you for Holmes" He asks, a smirk still gracing his untrustworthy and over-aged features. Sherlock swallows hard and looks away from the man, his mind racing, knowing if he does this its going t be like it was all those years ago, falling into the same dark hole which is almost impossible to climb out of. After only a few seconds Sherlock looks back, "I need to forget" He utters simply. The dealer laughs, "Oh I know the perfect thing" He chuckles.
It was far too easy for Sherlock to fall straight back into the same routine he had years ago, get high off as much drugs as you can buy, do things you would never do if you were thinking straight (For Sherlock that being sociability and sex) then stumble home and repeat daily (Well nightly). Though one hidden savior soon stopped Sherlocks actions, he ran out of money and with no big brother dishing it out without even a second glance as to what it might be for and no other way to get due to his life being in tatters Sherlock could no longer afford the drugs, after only a month or so. So Sherlock was forced into withdrawal, alone. That's when the self harming started. It was too much to deal with alone and with his only true friend in the world gone and hating him in the process and not even Mycroft to support him this time he was well and truthfully alone. Lestrade of course extended a hand to him but Sherlock was too bitter to accept his help. You could easily argue what replaced the drugs was far worse, Sherlock was no longer the man he was before,and there was only one thing, one person who would ever change that.
Thats when John showed up on his doorstep.
Right so next chapter we're back to Sherlock and John present day. Please review! Pleeeeeeeeeaaase?