Chapter 14
Bang! The wind slammed the front door of the house shut waking Sherlock from his intoxicated sleep. His head was pounding from the amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before and the details of his night-time antics were incredibly vague. What time did he fall asleep? What time did he stop remembering? He was lying on the floor in the kitchen, unsure of how he had managed to fall asleep there. He pulled himself up to sit on the closest chair to him. Looking around the room it was clear to see that he was one of the first to wake. The junkies were passed out on the worktops and chairs, resting in the most uncomfortable positions from where they passed out the night before. He scanned the contents of the table longingly before checking his phone, the battery was getting extremely low. Five voicemail messages and seven missed calls from Mycroft. He lifted the phone up to listen to the messages but the phone died just as he did so. It barely mattered. It would just be Mycroft lecturing him on his behaviour. The usual communication shared between the brothers. He staggered over to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water to wake him into a reasonable state. He was shocked to see his face when he looked in the mirror. There was a cut across his right cheekbone as if he had been punched, as well as some white substance just underneath his nose. He stared at his reflection. That can't be coke he thought. He didn't feel withdrawal enough for it to be the drugs. Saying that though, he did feel incredibly rough and he had been very drunk. He was not in any state to notice what he had been doing. He'd been in a fight he didn't even recall having. He splashed the cold water across his face, wiping the remnants of the drug from it. The water stung as it passed the cut on his cheek. He dried off his face and headed out to the living room.
"Pretty sick night, eh?" Jackson said as he entered the room. He was lying on the sofa, his hair casually styled in an cool bed hair look.
"If you say so." Sherlock mumbled in response. "Can't even remember what happened." He was struggling to talk, it was as if any noise made was too loud for his brain to handle.
"You pissed Bennett off. That's what happened. You were doing your weird thing where you told them everything you know. You told him how his girl was having an affair with his brother, so he swung round and punched you."
Sherlock didn't remember that at all. He imagined it to be something that he would do but he must have been too far gone by that stage to save the information. He pondered over whether he should ask Jackson the question that had been playing on his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.
"I had coke all over my face when I woke up." He started. He knew what he wanted the answer to be but all the evidence was strongly against him.
"Oh yeah! I forgot about that! You decided that you weren't going to take it and one of the other junkies laughed it off. He said it wasn't the Sherlock he knew so he pushed it into your face trying to get you to take it."
"And did I?"
"No you just grabbed a pan of the oven and knocked him out with it. It was such a laugh. You were like the evening's entertainment. Everyone was putting bets on who you would start a fight with next." Jackson laughed, he had obviously had a good night even if Sherlock couldn't remember. He breathed a sigh of relief at the fact he hadn't taken the drugs. Maybe he was starting to turn his life around after all. Even his drunk doppelganger didn't want the substance.
He bid his drinking companion farewell about half an hour later and headed out on to the streets to try and hail a cab. He thought his best luck would be to head to the main road. He still had a small amount of cash left from his pickpocketing adventure last night, so he'd see where that money would take him. However in his hungover state he forgot to notice the CCTV cameras. It wasn't long before a black Jaguar pulled up on the road next to him. He turned to run down the road but a man in a suit was stood in front of him. He was unarmed but ex military judging by his stance and muscular build. Sherlock doubted very much that he would be able to get away from such a person. He admitted defeat and climbed into the back of the car. Anthea, Mycroft's assistant, was sat in the back of the car on her phone. They sat in silence on the way back. It was easier than pointlessly starting a conversation with someone he barely knew. She continued to work on her phone the entirety of the way back to Mycroft's flat, obviously feeding back information to her boss. The car pulled up outside the apartment block and he climbed out ready to face the music. The ex military bodyguard also clamoured out of the car and followed him closely behind into the building all the way to the lift.
"I can find my own way to the flat thanks." He said icily to the man stood behind him. The man said nothing but pushed him on the back to keep walking towards the lift. Sherlock glared at him but kept walking.
It felt like the longest walk ever to reach the apartment but soon he reached the door and knocked. He was not yet privileged enough to have a key. He supposed Mycroft didn't want him coming and going as he pleased. It wasn't long before Mycroft came to the door. Anthea had obviously pre-warned him that they had arrived as when he opened the door he was furious. The message 'Get in now' could not be clearer even if it wasn't spoken. Mycroft thanked the bodyguard at the door who left as he shut it with a bit more force than usual.
"Explain yourself. Where have you been?" Mycroft said angrily to the boy stood in front of him in the flat.
"You've obviously been following me so you know where I've been. I might as well ask why you've not restarted your diet again. Your obviously getting quite portly again."
"No we're not doing this, Sherlock. Now tell me what you were doing."
"I've got the worst hangover ever Mycroft can we not do this later."
"No we cannot do this later. We're doing it now, I'm not paddy footing around your withdrawal any longer. You were talking drugs last night weren't you."
Sherlock shook his head and started walking off.
"Come back here and face me when I'm talking to you." Mycroft yelled. Sherlock breathed deeply and turned sharply on the spot.
"No I wasn't taking drugs. They were at the party but I didn't take them. Happy?" Sherlock yelled back.
"No I'm not happy. I don't understand why you just can't tell the truth for once."
"I am telling the truth."
"You're jeans are covered in Cocaine. You haven't born home all night. Your previous history doesn't help your current position. Why would I believe a word you're saying?" Mycroft said exasperated.
"I wasn't shooting up in some alleyway if that's what you think, I wouldn't be that careless with the coke to drop it everywhere." He smirked.
"This isn't funny Sherlock!" Mycroft was fuming at his brothers lackadaisical manner.
"Do a drugs test then. Do whatever you want, I'll prove I wasn't high last night. Just obscenely drunk. Speaking of which have you got any more alcohol?" He joked again.
"You're seriously testing my patience now Sherlock. I'd have the right mind to kick you out and make you do this on your own, if I wasn't so concerned about your welfare."
"I don't need your concern." Sherlock said coldly.
"Well that's something you can't help. I'll always care."
Mycroft collapsed onto the sofa resting his face in his hands. He felt like he'd aged twenty years overnight. Sherlock slowly padded over and sat down next to him.
"I swear I didn't take them Mycroft. I promise." His voice was much more calm and had lost the arrogant underline to it. His brother turned his head to look at the teenager with sympathy in his eyes. The change in attitude was enough proof that he was trying to charge.
"Okay I believe you. I just didn't know what to think. You just fly off the handle Sherlock and often become so reckless, I never know what has happened to you." Mycroft said sadly. The younger Holmes didn't respond. Mycroft sighed and touched the cut on his brothers face.
"Ouch" He flinched away.
"You deduced someone too much again. Told them some home truths about a partner judging by the vicious punch that was aimed at the face."
Sherlock nodded.
"You never learn do you." Mycroft smirked and went to get some cream to stop the cut getting infected. He applied it to his brothers face like a loving parent.
"I know you don't really want to talk about it, as it's the reason you went on your drinking binge last night but please will you consider getting some proper help." Mycroft asked nervously. "I'm not going to send you to rehab don't worry. I just want you to have someone to talk to and maybe get you back on the legal medication."
He hesitated waiting for his brothers to fly off the handle once again but nothing happened. Just a slight inclination of his brothers head to acknowledge acceptance of his brother being correct was all he needed.
"Thank you Sherlock. Now you can sleep off your hangover today."
Sherlock took this as his opportunity to leave the room and wander off to bed. Last night's events just proved how erratic his moods could be. He was a reckless person and it was time he grew up and accepted responsibility for his actions. He put his phone on charge and listened to the messages from last night. They were a mixture of Mycroft being exasperated, alongside some angry messages. He deleted them all and put the phone down climbing into bed.
By the time he woke up late that evening his hangover had faded quite significantly. Heading over to the kitchen, he downed a glass of water and picked up one of Mycroft's files that was lying on the counter. It was a case file of a murder of an employee of MI5. From the file, Sherlock could see that he had been a long standing member of the government organisation working in intelligence. He had been assigned to a desk job three years ago after sustaining a significant loss of information out in the field. The man had been killed in his home at 8pm last week and was suspected to be a failed burglary. Sherlock sat down on the floor in the living room and spread the photos from the case file out in front of him. The evidence that had currently been collected pointed to an attempted burglary gone wrong after the criminal had been surprised to find someone in the house and killed them before fleeing the scene. A simple open and shut case. Or was it? There was something Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on. He collected Mycroft's laptop from his office, quickly bypassing the password protected log in. His brother should really be more creative with passwords, he thought. He soon got to work collecting his own information on the case.
The next two weeks passed in this manner. The wall of Sherlock's bedroom was soon plastered with evidence from the case and arrows directed between certain pieces of information. Mycroft entered the room to find his brother absorbed in a file on his laptop.
"I would appreciate you not stealing my stuff brother dear." He closed the laptop with a snap and took it from his brothers hands.
"You don't understand Mycroft. I'm so close to solving it."
"You don't have to solve it Sherlock. It's already been done." He had allowed this interest to go so far as it was keeping his brother busy and happy but now it was becoming an obsession. He was rambling constantly about what he had found, Mycroft only picking up on a few snippets of information.
"But it just doesn't add up. They say it was an attempted burglary but anyone who was trying to steal from Mr Paul Thompson, would have done their research. He had a top of the range security system and followed a very strict routine of when he left and entered his house. Anyone who was trying to steal would have watched him for a few days and known the perfect opportunity. Then there's the situation of nothing being stolen, but the desk drawer being open. If the man was interrupted he would have already taken something..."
Sherlock stopped and ran his hands through his messy curls. "Oh of course. How did I not see it before? It all links so beautifully."
"See what Sherlock?"
"The desk. Look at the desk." Sherlock ripped a picture off the wall. It was a picture of an open drawer.
"I don't understand Sherlock. It's just an empty drawer. Somebody confirmed he never left anything in it."
"Exactly. Why would this be the only drawer that was opened with none of the others touched? Look hard at the picture. You can see slight fingerprints on the bottom of the drawer. There's a secret compartment in there. The drawer is deep from the outside but shallow on the inside. The information from the case three years ago was hidden inside. Don't you see. He didn't loose the information after all. It was a ploy. A ploy to keep the information for himself and then sell it off to anyone he wanted. But a big job like this he would need an associate. Someone he could trust. Someone who would say that the drawer was empty because he had been in his flat so many times. His brother. It all fits. He works in the same department as him and would be easily suited to work with his brother. Perhaps it was his plan all along. That's why Paul Thompson had two glasses out on the side when CSI looked around. He knew the attacker and invited him in to his home. Paul was getting cold feet. We can see from his file that he'd spoken to his boss about resignation and in his wallet was a large sum of Swedish Krona. He was planning on moving away. But his brother found out and didn't want him backing out of the plan with all the money so he killed him and took the information for himself. I bet if you searched his house thoroughly now you would find the USB of information." Sherlock sped through this information like a bullet train. Speaking so fast, Mycroft wasn't even sure if he had breathed through the speech. He looked at his brother with admiration. He was using that big brain of his and come to an amazing conclusion.
"Well we better go put this information to good use." Mycroft exclaimed. "Grab your coat."
About five minutes later the brothers were in a cab and on the way to MI5 to speak with the man in charge of the case. When they arrived, Mycroft led them through the building and into his office where he summoned the lead investigator. Sherlock rambled off all this information again to the man sat in front of him. The investigators initial speculation was transformed through the speech to shock and realisation as all the odd clues linked back.
"So you guys better get off your arses and follow my information. Seeing as I'm more capable than you're whole squad." He finished obnoxiously. Mycroft hit his brother round the head.
"I'm sorry about my brother. He doesn't have a shut off valve between his head and his mouth. He can be very rude at times." Mycroft apologised glaring at his brother for his rudeness. About ten minutes later the investigator had left the room and the two brothers were ready to leave the office to head back to the flat.
On the way back Sherlock thought about what he had achieved. He absolutely loved solving the case. It gave him a purpose and something he really enjoyed. It even distracted him from the drugs surprisingly. This is what he wanted to do for his career. He would establish himself as someone the police would turn to when they were out of their depths which was always. He'd be the world's first consulting detective.
Nearly 1000 views on this story now! Thank you so much for reading!
Quick shout out to my most supportive reader Lovely Whim! Your reviews are so appreciated!
Please all review, follow and favourite!