Hi! Sorry to have pulled a Moffat on you, this was super complicated to write but you deserve better. I had been toying with this idea for a while but didn't know how to make it happen and just yesterday I came up with the perfect solution. As an apology present here's the longest chapter I have ever written for a fic, thank you for your patience.

Note: There is a whole paragraph in italics that doesn't make much sense but it's just what Sherlock's thinking, the important bits are obvious though.

The streets of London are not a good place to live, they are however a very good place to hide especially if you are hiding from the British government. Sherlock had already memorized every street in London by the time he was thirteen and the only thing he had to worry about were the CCTV cameras that had been installed recently. He slept in different places and would never stay in the same block for more than three days, he spent most of his time high in the corner of the back alley where he was living or avoiding CCTV cameras, he knew that his brother would be watching. Money came easy; he would pick pocket the people walking by or-when desperate- used his brother's card, to do this he would walk to the other side of London whilst avoiding the cameras, take the cash and then get a taxi to drop him off at some café, then he would disappear into the crowd. It was obvious to Sherlock that Mycroft knew that it was him taking the money but for some reason the card was never cancelled, Sherlock took it as a sign that his brother was still looking for him and that the card was just another mean to find him.

It had been two months since Mycroft last saw Sherlock, he felt stupid when he heard he had escaped, after all his brother had always been a great actor and could mimic any emotion and therefore he should have noticed something was off but he was so worried that everything slipped past him that day. He had to find Sherlock before their mother started to suspect Mycroft. According to her Sherlock was living in his house, cleaning up and planning to go back to university but he did not want his mother to see him in that state so he sent regular letters updating her on his status. There had been one day in which he had managed to get a glimpse of Sherlock and he looked terrible. Mycroft always thought that if Sherlock ever lost weight he would disappear, this theory was disproved when he realised that he could see Sherlock's bones through the ragged T-shirt he was wearing, he did not catch a glimpse of his face but he knew what it looked like: tired, unkempt, bags under the red-lined eyes. Mycroft had seen it before.

Homeless people, as Sherlock was starting to find out, were terrible conversational partners, most of the things they blabbed about did not make any sense and when it did the talk would bore Sherlock into craving the next hit. It was on the street that Sherlock found out what true boredom was, there was literally nothing to do except finding out useless fact about his fellow addicts and even that became boring very quickly, all he had were the drugs that kept his brain quiet and amused. Nothing ever happened in the street.

Mycroft was now realising that his brother did not want to be found and that the only way to keep track of him was through the photos taken at the ATM machines whenever he used his card, but soon that was gone as well, Sherlock had lost his card to some thug and now he was truly invisible, he was the invisible man with no money "Stupid Sherlock, very stupid" He had ten people checking the CCTV footage twenty-four hours a day and it was worthless, Sherlock had to be hiding in a back alley, maybe he even left London after he lost the card.

They took the card after he lost the fight, if you could call it that, he was too high to even realise that it was indeed a fight and did not even bother to block the punches thrown at him, the next thing he knew he was shoe-less in an alley and the card was gone "Fuck, stupid Sherlock, very stupid" All the money he made –if stealing counts as 'making money- he would spend on drugs and sometimes, very rarely, on food, obviously he became rather good at digging up food from the trashcans without getting too dirty and he got very good at selling useless shit to homeless people. His life did not bother him much, as long as he had heroin to spare and some form of amusement he would be ok, he was still bored though so when he found out his dealer, Jack, had been killed he had conflicting emotions, on the one hand he was annoyed because now he had to find someone else to provide him with the much needed drug but on the other hand he was exited, finally a murder. He remembered how pleased he was with himself after he riddled out Carl's murder –even if the police ignored him- and quickly he set out to find out who the murderer was, as he was digging through the facts he found a new dealer and Jack's murder quickly took the backseat.

Sitting against the wall with his sleeve rolled up he found happiness and peace, as he was preparing the shot his hands trembled with anticipation and a smile could be seen dancing on his lips. It was in the syringe now, it was so close, as it pierced his flesh he laughed; this was so good, no one on that street would deny that and then the liquid started making its way into his veins 'oh fuck' the syringe emptied and he let it fall. The high was coming, looming close and beautiful but there was something wrong, his heart was burning "what the fuck is-" he could not finish, a wave of nausea hit him and the emptied his stomach, his heart was pounding against his chest and he felt the urge to close his eyes and let the world melt away, he was dying, again.

Mycroft was turning in for the night, he was about to turn off his computer when a video suddenly popped up with a message that read 'we found him, send your instructions'. The screen showed an empty street with flickering lights, and then a figure appeared stumbling and then dragging itself through the pavement, it looked up, straight at the camera "Sherlock". He was in trouble, otherwise he would not be showing himself 'send a car immediately and take him to the PROMIS clinic.'

Sherlock woke up just as he was being carried out of the car and into the clinic, he struggled for a minute when he realised where he was but stopped when exhaustion and nausea hit once more, he closed his eyes and let the void swallow him whole.

"He is not allowed to be alone, I want a nurse beside him all the time" Mycroft said towering over the clinic's director "He can be rude and annoying but I am willing to pay extra especially to the poor nurse who will be with him" They were standing just outside Sherlock's bedroom

"Our personnel are qualified to deal with any adverse behaviour" the black haired man said "You do not need to worry"

"You've never dealt with anyone like him before, he can tell everything about you with one look and he will tell you the uncomfortable truths about your life. I am extremely sorry in advance"

"Does he smoke?" Mycroft nodded "will he be allowed to smoke?" Mycroft considered this for a moment.

"Yes he is but the nurse will have the lighter, don't let him have it, understood? Also, no methadone, I want a clean break"

"Of course, now your brother must be waking up now, would you like to see him?"

"Yes thank you" the director opened the door "He's useless" he turned to leave

"You don't want to see him?"

"No" Mycroft walked out of the clinic.

Sherlock awoke to the sound of a woman's heels; he sighed and opened his eyes. The whiteness of the room nearly burnt his retina and made him shut his eyes again, his head was pounding and everything seemed wrong.

"Mr Holmes, glad to see you're awake" He opened his eyes again and saw a blonde nurse bending over his bed "How are we feeling" she said smiling.

Smoker. She was dumped yesterday; her ex-boyfriend owned a motorcycle. She has no kids but longs for a boy, she is happy with her job and her boss wants to sleep with her, probably for the size of her breasts (need data).

"We? Did you overdose as well?" he said with half a smile.

"No" She smiled again.

"Oh well, I'm fine I want to get out of here as soon as possible, when is that by the way?"

"Until you are sober and you brother says you can go" She was trying to be pleasant and Sherlock could see that but he still found her annoying and dull.

"I'm off age you can't keep me here against my will" She smiled once more.

"Your mother signed as well, I'm afraid we can. But don't worry I'll try to make this as easy and comfortable as possible"

"You can't, get out!" Sherlock started to sit up but the nurse gently pushed him back down "Are you deaf?"

"No, but your brother asked for a nurse to stay with you at all times, my name is Arianna, can I call you Sherlock?" Sherlock crossed his arms and looked away "Listen I can be very nice or very nasty, I'm only asking you to do what you are told and make this easy for everyone in this clinic, now, can I call you Sherlock or must I call you Mr Holmes?" Sherlock considered his options, here he had everything he needed and at least they would give him methadone, after he got out he could always leave the country and stay out of Mycroft's reach.

"Sherlock's fine"

"Very well then, try to sleep you'll need it" Sherlock shot her a nasty look as she sat down on the chair beside his bed. Sherlock closed his eyes, realising just then how tired he was, he fell into deep sleep. Arianna sighed knowing that he would be awake in about two hours and stay awake for at least twenty-four hours and he would hate every second of it, she stood up and took the chart, it said he could smoke and she decided that Sherlock was alright and that she would give him her own cigarettes not the crap the hospital bought "I feel very sorry for you" she whispered.

As predicted Sherlock awoke two hours later. He stat up gasping for air, his eyes unfocused and his hair sticking to his forehead with cold sweat, chills ran down his back and the light of the room stung his eyes, he turned to where he knew Arianna was sitting and met with a sympathetic look "I need methadone, now. I haven't had anything in over eight hours"

"I'm sorry Sherlock, your brother said clean break" Arianna saw how Sherlock's eyes went from sharp to fearful in a matter of seconds and then hate soared through them "I hate to do this, I'm sorry"

"I can't..." he trailed off the calmness in his head was turning into a mess very quickly, everything he saw he dissected but could not keep any of the information because something was buzzing somewhere in the building and it was giving him a serious headache, he closed his eyes ready willing everything to go away "Shhh, fuck! I can't, I need. Anything now" He turned to Arianna who smiled.

"Here" she got her cigarettes out and handed one to Sherlock "I know you meant something at least seven percent stronger but this will have to do" once Arianna lit it for him, Sherlock held the cigarette with shaky fingers "The next forty-eight hour will be hell, forty-eight if you're lucky" Sherlock did not react, his eyes were closed again "You will hallucinate, have nauseas and headaches, probably a fever as well. I'm sorry"

"Please, oh please stop apologising! It's pathetic and it's not doing anything to stop the noise"

"Noise?"

"You wouldn't understand" Arianna seemed offended "No-one does" he added

"What helps with the noise then?"

"Heroin" Sherlock said half smiling "But for now, just turn on the telly, any channel you like" She turned on the news and Sherlock closed his eyes.

Everything was bizarre; the voices coming from the television were starting to mix with other voices inside his head, it sounded much like him and Mycroft arguing over something he could not make out. Bizarre.

Lucas Elliot was found dead this morning... Here we go round the prickly pear prickly pear prickly pear... "Do shut up Mycroft you are not father and nothing gives you the right to... at five o'clock in the morning... this is the fifth public servant found dead this month... "Thanks Myc... Flashlights, eyeglass, shoes, snowmen, garbage... "You have to stop, you cannot be this stupid. It will kill you... Seemingly accidental... "Am I a freak?"... A squared plus B squared equals C squared... Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me... Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too... The detective is sure there is no connection... 6.0022X10ˆ23... Cherry coke, straws, tea, Easter, truffle... This is the way the world ends... Aldous, Arundel, Barnsley, Cesley, Elliot these men were all public servants... connection? ... not with a bang/ but with a whimper... Something is wrong with Mycroft, need further data... Fibonacci 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34...Twinkle, twinkle little star... headphones, earphones, Dark side of the Moon... A,A,B,C,E,H,M,U,H... And Blake-light tragedy... Tragedy, Drama, Drama school, vocals... Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft, what?... Dramatic vocals OUAEI... Ecce Cor Meum...Aldous, Arundel, Barnsley, Cesley, Elliot, who's next? ... "Stupid 'Lock, very stupid"... The next one is H, 11th 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 25th... Like a teddy bear...There seems to be no connection other than the fact that the five of them were working at Whitehall... "I'll meet you in Whitehall"... Mycroft works there... She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, wait what? Stop something, you're missing something, go back!... Holmes... Mycroft's next 28th.

Arianna had been watching Sherlock for the last hour, it was the first time she saw such a calm withdrawing heroin addict. He was sweating and running a small fever, he had to be nauseated and exhausted but too wired to sleep, but he did not move when she leaned in to wipe his sweaty brow, suddenly he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The lights hit his eyes and made the headache return "Mycroft's next" he said.

"What?"

"Someone's going to kill my brother" he was trembling and his voice was being drowned by his heavy breathing "I'm..." he turned away and vomited, his wrecked body shaking all the time. When he sat back up he was pale and red-eyed "Someone's going to kill him in three..." he swallowed hard trying to stop the bile from rising in his throat "days" he turned away again and a greenish liquid spurted out of his mouth.

"When was the last time you ate?" he did not answer "Sherlock?"

"That's unimportant, get my brother in here now!" Suddenly sitting up became too much effort and Sherlock fell back unto the mattress "Please...get...Mycroft" Sherlock shut his eyes but he was not asleep.

Arianna called for the attending on duty and explained him Sherlock's mental state, after glancing at the chart the doctor dismissed it as a side effect of the withdrawal and Arianna, though not convinced, agreed. Sherlock heard the whole exchange and as soon as he heard the doctor leaving he opened his eyes again "Is there anything you can do about the lights?" he said rudely, Arianna nodded and closed the curtains "I'm not going insane, I..." another wave of nausea hit him and he tried to vomit but nothing would come out, it was an empty gagging noise that made his whole body shudder "I need to use the bathroom" Arianna helped him off the bed and into the bathroom, it was harder than any of them had thought, his legs were aching badly and he could barely stand.

Twelve hours passed without sleep for either Arianna or Sherlock, he was cold and hot and achy and in pain, nauseated, tired, shivery and craving heroin with all his might, knowing that just one hit he would be fine once more. There were times when he would babble and nothing would make sense, but suddenly he would be sitting up trying to convince Arianna that someone would kill Mycroft.

"Just hear me out, yeah?" Sherlock said through clattering teeth for the millionth time that night.

"Alright, I'll hear you out if you eat" Sherlock fell back down on the mattress exasperated, annoyed that Arianna could think about peanut butter sandwiches at a time like this "Deal?"

"I don't want to eat!" he huffed; if he wanted to get out of there to save Mycroft he needed her help "Alright!" She smiled triumphantly and gave him a quarter of a sandwich and once he had swallowed it whole she said

"Shoot"

"Ok, see the names of the five dead men, yeah?" Sherlock was on his game and for a moment the withdrawal symptoms appeared to have stopped "Aldous, Arundel, Barnsley, Cesley and Elliot, the first letters A, A, B, C, E if we make the letters into numbers it's 1, 1, 2, 3, 5 Fibonacci, are you following?" She nodded; maybe she was not as dumb as Sherlock thought at the beginning "the next number is 8 and the eighth letter is H so now we know that the next dead man's surname is going to start with the letter H, now look at the first vocal after the first letter, O, U, A, E, I, in drama school they teach you about strong and soft vocals O, U and A are strong E and I are soft so they put them that order. So the next man to die is going to start with an H and followed by and O, now you can say that it could be anyone but all the men worked at Whitehall, so does my brother and he is the only one with a window facing the street and in front a building that could be used as a nest, we joked about it once, his window is at the perfect height for a sniper" Arianna was starting to wonder whether Sherlock could breathe through his skin because as far as she was concerned Sherlock had not taken a breath in this whole time.

"Wait, the other deaths looked accidental, this time is a sniper, it doesn't follow the logic and how do you know it's a drama student?" Sherlock smiled, slightly impressed.

"Yes but look at the deaths, it started with carbon monoxide poisoning, then a slip in the shower, then a fall down the stairs, then hit by a car and then a mugging gone wrong. It's increasing in violence and becoming more sophisticated; now the man has moved on to weapons, the first thing you learn to use in all martial arts is your body and then knifes and other pointy objects and then long range weapons so we can assume that the next man will be shot by a sniper. Now about the man being a drama student, as I said the violence in each of the killings is increasing in a very dramatic way, it reminds me a bit of Sleuth, and also all of these ways to kill someone up to the knife are outlined on the play "Stockholm bridges" by Anthony DeRenier, a play that all drama students must read on their last year, however this particular play cannot be found in any library or bookshop because it's exclusive to the drama students. See? Drama student" Arianna was gaping "All I'm asking is for you to turn your back while I use the phone and fall asleep during your night watch" She nodded "Thank you" After that the magic was gone and the symptoms continued to wrack Sherlock's broken body.

They were well past the forty-eight hour mark and Sherlock seemed to be improving, he was becoming desperate because it had been impossible to hold a phone and his brother was going to die next morning at eight o'clock (Fibonacci again)"I need the phone" he said to Arianna

"Let's go for a walk, it will do you good" She winked and led Sherlock out of the room and near the Nurse's station "You need to convince me in front of all these people to let you use the phone, can you do that?" Sherlock half smiled.

"But, but please! I n-n-need to talk to him, please!" She shook her head.

"It's not allowed, I'm sorry" She was impressed at Sherlock's sudden change, he looked as if he was about to cry

"B-b-b he's the love of my life, I-I-will never find anyone like him, please!" He began crying and by that time they had the head nurse's attention "He left me 'cuz of the drugs I just want to tell him that I'm sobering up and that I love him and will he take me back, please"

"I'm terribly sorry-"

"Arianna" came the booming voice of the head nurse "I think we can bend the rules a bit for this man, all he needs is a reason to continue"

"Really? Thank you, thank you" He was lead into the phone booth

"Arianna stay with him, will you?" She nodded sweetly as the head nurse shut the door.

"Nicely done!" Sherlock smiled.

"What can I say" He took the phone and dialled a number "Hi sorry to bother you, but I lost my brother's phone number, he's in you college his name is Sebastian Wilkes and he's majoring in biology, can you help?" the female voice at the other end told him the number "Thank you so much" he hung up and dialled the number.

"Hello?" came the voice at the other end.

"Sebastian, it's Sherlock, you owe me one, remember?"

"Sherlock, where are you, your brother-"

"It doesn't matter I need you to pay me back"

"Ok"

"I need you to get to the PROMIS clinic at..." he looked at Arianna

"They change shifts at midnight" Arianna provided.

"Midnight, on the spot, wait outside and bring a pair of jeans and shirt I'll go to you"

"Sherlock, what are you doing, are you injured?"

"Don't be daft, I'll explain when you get here, thanks" he hung up

When they walked out they met with the head nurse, Sherlock had tears in his eyes "Well? What happened?"

"He'll take me back!" she applauded.

"Well then you better keep doing this good" She signalled Arianna to take him back to his room.

It was half past eleven when Sherlock started preparing everything to leave, he was still shaking and aching all over but at least the vomiting had stopped "How are you getting out?"

"Window"

"It's two floors down!"

"Minor fall" Sherlock said from his bed "I need you to fall asleep now, they'll be checking on us in three minutes" He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, then three minutes later the head nurse came in and quietly checked his vitals, trying not to wake either of them, knowing that they had it rough for the last two days, after she made sure everything was in order she left, closing the door behind her. Sherlock checked his watch 11:45 he opened the window before they set the alarms and put a key in place of the magnetic sensor. At 11:55 they would start changing shifts and roughly at 12:05 everyone would be in place, he had ten minutes to run to the front gate, climb over the fence and get inside the car. At 11:50 he jumped out of the window after a quiet "thanks" he fell on his feet and rolled over trying to minimise the impact on his aching body, he lay on the floor panting with pain and at 11:55 he started running for the gate, he reached it by 12:00 when everything was deserted he started climbing, at exactly 12:05 he heard voices coming his way and he let himself fall once more, he was out! Sebastian made a change of lights and Sherlock ran towards the car.

"You look like hell" Seb said once Sherlock had closed the door "What's happening Sherlock?"

"Drive" Sherlock whispered, catching his breath and laying his head on the seat "I overdosed; my brother put me in here and now I'm getting out to save his sorry arse" Then he proceeded to explain the murders and the clues that lead him to his conclusion.

"You are freaky sometimes" Sherlock chuckled "Where to?"

"Just drop me off anywhere near Whitehall" Sebastian nodded, if Sherlock was anyone else he would have offered to leave him the car but knowing he was an addict he decided against it. He dropped Sherlock off in an alley a block away from the Whitehall offices, Sherlock's original plan was to go straight to the office and shout abuse at the secretary until she let him through but as soon as he stepped out of the car and the cold night bit into his skin he realised that he could not walk just yet and sat down, without realising it he dozed off.

He woke up again to the voice of a policeman telling him to get off his lazy arse and find a job; the sun was shining through the usual London clouds and he jumped up "What time is it?"

"Quarter to eight, you alright? You look a bit shaky"

"Shit!" and with that Sherlock ran off towards the offices leaving a puzzled policeman in his wake.

Sherlock ran all the way to the third floor, he walked quickly through the doors until he reached a pair of wooden doors with two bodyguards standing on each side, a secretary asked him what he wanted "I need to see Mycroft Holmes" he stated towering over the secretary's desk.

"I'm afraid he's busy" Sherlock checked his watch impatiently 7:56. The murderer was obsessive, the shot would be fired at exactly eight "If you would like to leave me your name and wait"

"There is no time!"

Mycroft sat at his desk talking over the phone with the Greek ambassador; he had asked not to be disturbed, the situation was delicate. 7:58.

"Gents" The secretary said turning to the men at the door "Would you mind showing this man out?"

"No! Wait" The men attempted to grab Sherlock by the armpits but he managed to wriggle out of their grasp, he grabbed the secretary's letter opener and held it as a knife.

That's right show your pretty head fucking moron he put the bullet into the gun.

One of the bodyguards charged at Sherlock and he stabbed him in the neck, missing, on purpose, any vital spots but causing the greater amount of pain possible, then he threw him against the other one and stumbled through the door.

Mycroft heard something on the other side of the door but dismissed it quickly. 7:59. Then Sherlock stumbled through the door "Sherl..." His little brother regained composure and threw himself towards him, pushing him to the ground just as the shot was fired and the bullet imbedded itself on the wall behind. Sherlock crawled towards the window and shut the curtains in one fluid motion, then he stood up eyeing his brother with a smirk, just as he was about to speak three bodyguards ran into the room and made their way decidedly towards Sherlock "What do you think you're doing?" the three men stopped cold at the sound of Mycroft's voice "Get out, have a perimeter set around Whitehall and call the police" They nodded and ran back out.

"I'm not useless"

So that's it, the next chapter is up already. I should point out though that the drug experiences are not my own, I just have very sick puppies as friends haha. Also, you might have noticed the various allusions to novels, poems and songs, it is basically Eliot's 'hollow men', Allen Ginsberg's 'Howl', Orwell's '1984', The cure's 'Friday I'm in love' and the Beatles with 'she loves you' I do have to admit that I made up the play 'Stockholm Bridges'.

Thanks for reading