This paragraph deals with drugs and the use of drugs.
This is the final update today.
Sorry for any mistakes.
There was something different about Sherlock today. Mr. Watson knew it as soon as he entered the house with John but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. At least, that was until Sherlock turned to look at him and met his gaze. Sherlock's eyes said it all; they were heavy lidded and from far off he looked exhausted, but the added extreme dilation of his pupils told Mr. Watson, a doctor, all he needed to know.
"John," Mr. Watson spoke, grabbing Sherlock by the arm and pushing him towards the kitchen, "go to your room. I don't want you to come downstairs until we shout you. Yes?"
John's facial features contorted into a look of confusion but he nodded. His father was being deadly serious and John knew that there was definitely something amiss. Once Mr. Watson was certain that John was out of the way and out of earshot, he turned on Sherlock.
Immediately, he buried his hand into Sherlock's pockets, keeping a tight hold on him so that he couldn't run away and, when he found what he was looking for, he pushed him towards the kitchen table.
"I suggest you sit down and you do it now." Sherlock, knowing that he was beaten, did so. He dropped heavily onto the seat and Mr. Watson leant over the table, placing the little bag of white substance directly in front of him. Mrs. Watson stood in the doorway, blocking his exit, and folded her arms across her chest. "A drug addict is not somebody that I want my son around, Sherlock."
The teen in question flinched slightly. As if the harsh, reprimanding tone Mr. Watson was using with him wasn't bad enough, when he slammed his hand on the table to get his attention as it wandered, Sherlock almost wet himself.
"My John is a highly intelligent boy, Sherlock," Mr. Watson stated, "and the last thing that I want to happen is for him to be influenced by you in this way." He gestured again to the packet. "I will not allow him to lose sight of his dream. Do you understand?" Mr. Watson, not receiving a reply, repeated it with a harsher undertone.
"Yes, sir." Sherlock nodded, averting his eyes.
"Sherlock, you are more than aware that we love you and we care about you. The very last thing that we want to do is terminate your friendship with John." He stated. "But, if you do not give this up," he raised the bag, "I will do just that."
At this, the aspiring detective started. His eyes widened as he raised his head to meet Mr. Watson's gaze.
"Drugs, Sherlock?" Mr. Watson questioned, running his hand over his face as he relaxed his tone. "You're a genius, surely you know what this stuff will do to you. Why would-"
"I'm constantly thinking." Sherlock interrupted him, beginning to tap his fingers agitatedly against the table top. "I can't look at someone, or something, without seeing everything. It's exhausting. I needed a break. And that's exactly what the drugs gave me." Sherlock defended himself.
"Surely there's another way to help you." Mrs. Watson suggested softly. "Something that isn't illegal or harmful?"
Sherlock shrugged in response, seemingly uninterested in coming up with another way to deal with his problems.
"It's either you find something else or I take matters into my own hands and terminate your friendship." Mr. Watson stated firmly. "I do not want you around John until you're clean. The decision is yours."
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