John practically dove for his phone when it began to ring, hitting the answer button before the second ring could even begin.
"Sherlock?" He answered hopefully.
"Sorry mate." Lestrade sighed, John's heart dropped.
"Sherlock was here though." Lestrade added and John felt his spirits sore marginally.
"Is he alright?" John asked quickly, "I've been looking for him everywhere Greg, tell me he's alright!"
Silence.
"Greg?" John whispered, "He is okay, right?"
"I don't think he is." Lestrade sighed, "He seemed wrecked, he practically started sobbing when I mentioned you, saying you hated him."
"I don't!" John shot back vehemently, "I need to see him! I said something I didn't mean that's all!"
"He certainly believes you meant it, he's crushed, he was on his knees." Lestrade sighed, "I tried talking to him but he ran off."
Lestrade's voice was strong and calculated, but there was something he wasn't telling the doctor, John could tell.
"What are you not saying?" John asked with a feeling of dread, "There is something you're not telling me."
"...He's using again."
John almost dropped his phone.
No.
He'd forced Sherlock to that? With three little words he'd pushed Sherlock back to drugs after years of being clean? God he was an awful friend, an awful person really. He must of moaned because Greg was soon trying to calm him.
"It was only one needle mark, if we find him quickly enough the withdrawal shouldn't be too bad."
"Mycroft is looking." John muttered.
"Good, don't worry John we'll bring him home and knock some sense into him."
"I hope so."
-oOo-
Even high Sherlock was no idiot, he knew Mycroft was looking for him. So for the next two weeks he never stayed in one place for long. He'd start the day the same though, wake up, shoot up and then enjoy having his brain buzzing for hours as he wandered through the streets. Sometimes he'd hallucinate scenes from his cases and start chasing criminals that weren't really there. He was aware of this, but even if they were only in his mind they still proved wonderful entertainment and pumped adrenaline through his veins.
Occasionally he'd see John running at his heels or by his side, those were the best. However, once he began to come down at the visions ceased he always found himself cold and alone in some unfamiliar place and it filled him with loneliness and agony until he had another hit.
Pretty soon though he was running low on funds and without his consulting business he had no way of making money. God knew he couldn't go to Mycroft or he'd be locked up in some institution.
He knew he could get away with stealing the cash he needed, or at least something of value to pawn off but unlike the last time he'd been doing this his moral compass stopped him. Every time he he found somebody to pick pocket he'd deduce their story, single father, just lost their job, collecting for charity. Always something to stop him from pinching their wallet or watch.
Damn John for making him so human! No matter how much cocaine he pumped into his blood stream he couldn't become the cold calculating machine he was just a few years ago.
So here he was, huddled under a bridge coming down from his latest high and becoming panicked as he had neither money or anymore drugs. Maybe he could hide the withdrawal symptoms well enough and ask Lestrade for the cash he needed, tell him it was for food or something. No, he'd never believe it, and most likely hand him over to Mycroft.
Lacking any better options he pulled his coat tighter around him and curled up on the ground trying to ignore his aching muscles. He wondered what John was doing right now, maybe making tea. Sherlock's stomach rumbled at the thought, he'd kill for tea, or cocaine, both really. As he'd spent most of his money on drugs he'd been eating less than he had been on the road. Usually he scarfed down a piece of bread or stale biscuits he could sneak from open windows or other, kinder, homeless people.
Darkly he wondered if he'd starve to death, he had little motivation to eat or drink anymore, he knew he was dehydrated. More likely it would either be his lack of liquid or sustenance that would do him in, rather than an over dose. The former detective found he didn't really care one way or the other, if he woke up tomorrow fine, if he didn't, fine again.
He was just about to slip into what would hopefully be another dream about being back at Baker street when he heard footsteps and then people were touching him, trying to wake him. He opened his eyes to find that somebody in a suit was helping him toward a black car, one of Mycroft's cars.
"No!" He yelled, "I am not going to Mycroft! Let me go!"
"Sorry sir, orders from on high." Another man replied as he shoved the thin detective into the car.
Once he was laying on the leather upholstery and the door closed Sherlock stopped fighting. Partly because he knew there was no point but mostly because the inside of the car was warm and it felt as if he'd forgotten what the feeling felt like after years of empty rooms and sleeping under bridges.
He decided it was best to sleep, seeings as he'd only be sedated once he reached Mycroft's house anyway. So he closed his eyes and filled his head with thoughts of home.
-oOo-
Only Sherlock could be so stupid. He was just as bad as Mycroft had dreaded he would be, pale, malnourished with track marks a plenty and sunken eyes surrounded by bruises muscle. He quickly had his people undress and bathe his brother, the water looked like mud by the time they finished but at least Sherlock was clean. If anything it made him look worse because his skin was so white. They dressed him in white flannels and placed him in the room Mycroft had set up not far from his own.
Sherlock stayed in an exhausted sleep for the entire time.
Grabbing his paperwork from his desk the politician settled down in the arm chair by the bed for the evening. He couldn't risk Sherlock waking up alone and making a run for it and he didn't want to restrain him physically yet. If he used the right words perhaps he could convince Sherlock to stay and get clean on his own free will.
A loud groan indicated Sherlock was indeed waking up, Mycroft was pleased to see his pupils were clear, it had been a while since his last hit then. His face twisted with anger when he saw his elder brother, just as he'd expected.
"Let me go." He rasped sitting up and placing a palm to his head.
Dizziness, Mycroft noted, headache, trembling, sore muscles...
"I am not about to let you go running off to destroy yourself." Mycroft replied curtly, "You are going to stay here until I believe you are not a danger to yourself."
"I don't want your help." Sherlock growled, "Why am I dressed in these clothes? They are three sizes too big!"
"Because your other ones were filthy and those clothes are the size that you should be, if he remembered to eat." Mycroft scolded, "How could you be so foolish! Running off like a child!"
Sherlock hissed but said nothing.
"I should call John and tell him you're here." Mycroft added and as expected that got a rise out of his brother.
"No! I don't want him here!"
'I don't want him to see me like this.' was the unspoken message.
"Very well." Sighed Mycroft, he had no problems forbidding John from the premise, it was the doctors fault Sherlock was like this in the first place.
"Glad we agree on something." Sherlock replied bitterly.
"Now Sherlock, if you get clean Lestrade will give you cases again." Mycroft tried, "You are proven innocent now, once you announce you are alive you will have all the cases you could dream of."
He could tell by the look on Sherlock face he was tempted.
"But no more cocaine." Mycroft ordered harshly, it made Sherlock flinched.
"But-"
"You beat it once you can do it again." He replied stiffly getting to his feet, "All the windows are shatter proof glass with deadlocks, the German kind. The door is locked and bolted from the outside and all sharp and or dangerous objects have been removed from the room. I have several security cameras set up as well so don't think of trying to run off again."
"You can read any of the books or watch any of the movies in here and if you want something specific knock on the door and one of my men will bring it to you. But no phone and no internet."
"I'm in the worlds most luxurious prison cell." Sherlock growled gripping the sheets.
"You put yourself here, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, "Do not make me tie you to the bed like last time. That was just as painful for me as it was for you."
"I doubt it."
Sorry this chapter is more filler than everything, I'm half way through the next chapter and it's even making me a bit sad reading it. I dunno how you guys will fare...