Sherlock's POV
I couldn't stop smiling even as I ate dinner, the meeting with Mycroft doing nothing to put a damper on my mood. "What's got you so happy?" I looked up to see Jean raising an eyebrow at me. "Moriarty," I pronounced the name carefully. "What's that?" "I have no idea," I answered truthfully, then peered at her. She seemed strangely silent. She had been thoroughly embarrassed to know Mycroft was my brother, not a 'criminal mastermind', like she'd thought. I wondered if that was what she was thinking about and whether I should ask her. Luckily, she saved me from enquiring. "Sherlock, I need to talk to you about some things," she started and I nodded for her to go ahead. "The gun they found with the cabbie," she spoke slowly. "It was a fake." I nodded again, trying to work out where she was going with this. "Now, I've seen enough today, to know you," she pointed her fork at me. "Are a very knowledgeable man. So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you knew that wasn't a real gun." I didn't say a word, just returned my gaze to my plate. She took my silence as agreement. "So, you followed him, why?"
I shrugged casually. "I wanted to find out how he'd done it," I stated calmly. "And, he was a weak, middle-aged man. I knew I could have handled him easily if required." She nodded. "Fair enough," she conceded. "I didn't shoot him in the head, because I thought, if he were dying, you might be able to get some information out of him, like why he was doing it. Did you?" Ah, yes, I had wondered about that. She had been right in her thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her how reluctant he'd been to give me the name. Because that would mean telling her how I had gotten it from him. I didn't think Jean would be very happy or even remotely okay with knowing I had tortured the man in his dying moments. "Yes, he's the one who gave me the name: Moriarty. His sponsor, apparently, someone who sent money to his kids for a every person he killed." I kept it short.
She nodded again, then took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something. "The drugs-bust," she said and I froze, before quickly composing myself. "You said you were clean." "Yes, what about it?" I asked coldly. She seemed to notice the change in my tone, but ignored it. "Was there a time when you weren't?" She asked directly. I stared back at her blankly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she added quickly. "And I trust you that the flat is clean. But, I've worked with ex-addicts before and there's always a slight danger of a relapse. I'm not saying it'll happen to you, but in case it does, I need to know the details so I can help..." She was rambling, so I cut her off. "Five years ago," I interrupted and she startled. "Five years ago, I started taking drugs to keep myself calm. It slowed down my brain, made it easier for me to ignore the things I noticed, to deal with the lethargy," I continued. "Mycroft was trying to get me into rehab and Lestrade just happened to stumble across me at the same time. He saw my potential and he worked with Mycroft to get me clean. He promised to keep me occupied as much as possible, as long as I never did drugs again. I don't want to do them again," I latched on at the end.
Jean bit her lips, thinking. "Alright," was all she said. "Alright?" I repeated, confused. "Alright," she confirmed. I felt an odd warmth in my chest as I mulled over her words. 'I can help,' she'd said. She was only the second person who wasn't a family member to have offered something like that to me, I realized.
"One more thing." I looked up to see Jean with a twisted smirk. "You were actually going to take that damn pill, weren't you?" I cursed the human tendency to blush. I'd always known my curiosity and overwhelming need to be right would get me in trouble one day, I just didn't think trouble meant my flatmate pestering me about it. "Of course not," I replied. "I was just... biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." She scoffed. "No, you didn't." She didn't even sound incredulous or disbelieving; just certain. "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it?" She went on. "You risk your life to prove you're clever." I might have cringed at how easily she had grasped this. "Why would I do that?" I tried to act indignant. She saw right through it, if the wicked glint in her eyes was anything to go by. "Because, you're an idiot," she informed me, self-assured. I stared at her, dumbfounded. I was an idiot? Really? 'Because, you're an idiot. Oh, don't look like that; practically everyone is.' My own words were coming back to haunt me. Anytime, anywhere, anyone else, this would have bothered me. But, right now, here, eating dim-sums with Jean, I could only smile in delight, that someone, someone, was there who understood me, saw straight through me and didn't even care. No, more than that. Joined in with me.
Reviews, please. And should I continue with the next episodes as well?