Are you high enough without the mary-jane like me?

Just a heads up for later chapters – there's a reason this is rated higher than Official Recruiter. It won't get too intense for another few chapters, but I rated it T rather than K+ on purpose. Nothing incredibly bad or gory, just thought I'd let you readers know.

Celestial Glowhead – Thank you! This story started out as something very different, then I started listening to my writing playlist while working on it and it morphed into this. Funny how music can inspire me in such a way XD. And yeah, I'd say John's got one heck of a superhero origin story. Again, thank you so much for the kind words!

Sherlock could be pretty hard to deal with sometimes. Scratch that – nearly all the time. John didn't mind questions about his strength and he even let Sherlock have some of his files, but John had to eventually draw the line. Sherlock kept asking John questions all too reminiscent of Williams and the Grant incident. John had asked the detective to stop bothering him, but his friend paid him no heed. The only way John could get his flatmate to stop asking questions was to leave.

So John took a walk. He figured if he was gone for long enough he could come back while Sherlock was either not there or too distracted and he could sneak up to his room without any further questions. That was the plan anyway.

Unfortunately, that plan went a little haywire.

As John walked along the street heading back to 221B he felt hands grab his arm and he was pulled into the nearby alley. His heart leapt into his throat and he ripped his arm out of the man's grip, throwing a punch.

The hit was a little stronger than John had intended. He could be careful when he wanted to, but adjusting his strength to the right levels was still a challenge for him. He was either gentle or inhumanly strong – right now there was no inbetween.

The man flew back, skidding across the ground. John halted, realizing what he'd done. The man grabbed the nearest bin and stumbled to his feet. "What on earth, mate!" He cradled his nose gently and swayed.

John reached forward. "I-I'm sorry. It was just a reflex, I'm sorry."

"That was…impressive." He walked over to John, still touching his bleeding nose tenderly.

John was still wary of the situation, but was beginning to believe that most of it was a misunderstanding. "Yeah, I'm a fighter. Look, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—"

The man waved his hand and shook his head. "Nah, mate, you're good. That's on me. I shouldn't've been so rough. I was just wondering if you could point me towards Baker Street Station."

John nodded and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the station. "Yeah, it's over by—"

Turned the other way, the man saw the opportunity. He reached into his pocket and leapt forward, plunging the needle in hand into John's neck. The doctor let out a cry and the two men fell to the ground. John threw the attacker off of him and the man hit the brick wall – a crack remained in the building.

The man fell to the ground, unmoving. John pulled down his hand and looked at the empty needle. Not good. He looked over at the unconscious attacker. Really not good.

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When Sherlock heard slow and heavy footsteps coming up to the flat, he was a bit relieved as well as intrigued. Typically when John stormed out due to annoyance he was gone for one to two hours. It had been nearly three hours since John had left 221B and Sherlock was curious as to where his flatmate had spent that time.

Then Sherlock realized something was off. The footsteps were not steady. The brief pauses, the doubling up on a single step. Something was wrong.

Sherlock turned around and saw John walk into the flat. John had a dazed look in his eyes and was swaying ever so slightly on his feet. Sherlock immediately hurried over to his friend. "John?" John didn't respond. Sherlock's eyes scanned his flatmate up and down. "Drugged. You've been drugged." John's nod was barely noticeable. "Who was it?" Sherlock led his friend over to the couch. John just about fell onto the piece of furniture.

Sherlock knelt down in front of his friend, looking him in the eye. "John, you need to tell me what happened." John didn't respond. Sherlock shook his head. "Well I can tell that you got into a fight, it happened approximately forty-five minutes ago, and they probably met the full force of your strength, but I can't tell everything." He waved a hand in front of John's face. The doctor didn't even blink. Sherlock was becoming a little unnerved. "John, answer me."

Finally, John spoke. "Didn't mean to…" The doctor's voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Didn't mean to what, John?" Sherlock prompted. "Get in a fight? Get drugged? Use your powers?" John simply shook his head. It took all he had for Sherlock not to roll his eyes. "John, I need you to work with me here. Be a little more specific."

"…Didn't mean to hurt him…"

Sherlock felt his throat close up. "Hurt him? How hurt is he?"

"Wouldn't wake up." John's hands began to shake.

Sherlock grabbed his flatmate's arm. "Hey. John, let's calm down, alright?" John's eyes fluttered closed. "But not that calm." Sherlock tapped his flatmate's cheek. "John, wake up." John squinted at his friend. "John, I need you to talk to me. What happened?"

Footsteps on the stairs caused Sherlock to groan. He could tell exactly who it was. "Sherlock," Lestrade began as he entered the flat, "are you working a mutant case right now?"

Sherlock turned around to face the DI. "John isn't a case, Lestrade," he spat, turning back to his now unconscious friend.

Lestrade was both concerned and confused. "What? What happened?" He rushed over to Sherlock's side, kneeling to look at the doctor.

"Got in a fight," Sherlock explained, "and got drugged."

"He got in a fight?" Sherlock nodded. "That…hold on." Lestrade stood, staring the consulting detective down. "When I asked you if you were working a mutant case you said 'John isn't a case.' What did you mean?" Sherlock didn't meet Lestrade's eyes and the DI became impatient. "Sherlock!"

"What did you come here for, Inspector?" Sherlock spat.

Lestrade bit his cheek, doing all he could not to yell at the detective. "Someone called 999 saying they found a man unconscious in an alley. Nothing strange about that, right? Could've been some hammered bloke who decided to pass out on the street." Lestrade began to pace angrily. "But when the scene was checked out the guy looked like he'd taken a pretty powerful beating – other officers suspected he'd been attacked by more than one man. But I saw the scene and there was no evidence of there being more than one attacker. So I thought maybe I was just missing something." He held up a finger. "Until I saw the indent in the wall. That man was thrown against that wall with immense force. The paramedics said he has a broken back. So I figured it had to have been one man who was strong enough to cause that – sounded like a mutant to me, so I came here to you." Lestrade stopped, folding his arms. "And here John is, having just been in a fight and you mysteriously refer to him when I ask about a mutant." Lestrade glared at Sherlock. "What are you not telling me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock adjusted John into a more comfortable position and got to his feet. He turned to face Lestrade. "Well it would seem you don't have the deductive skills equivalent to that of a goldfish after all."

Lestrade had no patience for Sherlock's insults. "I did become a detective somehow." He looked over at the unconscious doctor in concern. "So…is he the man we're looking for?"

"It was self defense," Sherlock said quietly. "He was drugged and he was just trying to protect himself."

"I don't doubt you, Sherlock. But it's him? He's…" Lestrade trailed off.

"A mutant?" Sherlock bit his lip. "Yes."

"How? Wait, is it like the case where you two swapped powers with some kids?"

"The same mutant who did that to us then has done this to John now, yes."

"So why not get them to reverse it? You got it all sorted out last time."

"He's dead." The DI fell silent. "He was killed during the telekinetic attack."

Lestrade stared at the detective and Sherlock could almost hear his brain working. Then it clicked. "That was over four months ago. Has John seriously had these powers for nearly five months and neither of you told me?" Sherlock remained silent, answering Lestrade's question. The DI ran a hand over his face. "Sherlock, you can't just leave me in the dark like this!" He shook his head. "That's why he didn't join you on your cases for a while, isn't it?"

"He was scared of hurting someone."

At that the reality of the situation from John's perspective became evident. Lestrade looked over at the doctor who was sleeping on the couch (at least he hoped it was sleep at this point and not just unconsciousness) and frowned. "So what does he have, exactly? Just general…super strength?"

"And bullet proof skin, quick reflexes, and a moderately fast healing rate."

Lestrade's mouth was agape. "And neither of you bothered to tell me?"

"We were a bit preoccupied with how to deal with the situation ourselves;" Sherlock snapped, "the idea of telling anyone else didn't even come to mind."

Lestrade immediately felt bad. "Right." He cleared his throat. "So how have you two been adjusting?"

Sherlock scoffed at Lestrade's change in attitude. "We've been alright." Sherlock sat in his armchair and Lestrade took John's opposite from the detective. "SHIELD's been keeping close tabs on John's capabilities – he's been required to report for testing once a week. He's been getting good at controlling it, but he's still struggling with dialing to certain levels. He can either use it completely or not at all."

"Explains what happened tonight," Lestrade muttered, putting his head in his hands. He sighed, straightening up. "So if the mutant who did this is dead…John's stuck like this."

"For now he is to live with these abilities, yes," Sherlock answered, placing his hands under his chin in his classic thinking pose.

Lestrade muttered some choice words under his breath and looked over at John. "Will he be okay?"

Sherlock looked offended. "Of course he'll be okay. Why wouldn't he be?"

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Agent Vinik came running into the room panting. "Ma'am? Ma'am, Agent Dover got the drug delivered to Doctor Watson."

Agent Walton turned around to look at Vinik. "All of it?" Vinik nodded. "What became of Agent Dover?"

Vinik shook his head. "It's not good, ma'am. Doctor Watson hurt him pretty badly. He's got a broken back and apparently it's severe – the doctors aren't sure if he'll make it."

Agent Walton looked away. "But he was successful?"

"Completely." Agent Walton grinned. "So what do we do now?"

"Wait to see if our prototype takes effect." She turned and began to leave. Agent Vinik ran after her.

"Ma'am, the drug needs to be administered in constant doses or it won't work."

She looked over her shoulder at the agent trailing behind her. "Then we keep dosing him."

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