Sorry! It's been longer than usual since I updated. I have a ton of summer work to do. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the story!
Sherlock stood in his living room, drumming his fingers on the table. He frowned. Why couldn't he solve this? He sighed. Perhaps it was the fact that John and Mary were now living together. John was no longer his flat mate, and that meant that John would no longer be around constantly to help Sherlock think. John's mere presence made him think much more clearly. He stared at his wall, which was covered in papers and documents all pertaining to a woman named Janine Hawkins. His eyes darted quickly from paper to paper, trying to find connections or clues. He was sure she was the one who blackmailed Lady Smallwood.
A few days prior, Lady Smallwood came to the flat of 221b to inquire for Sherlock. She informed him that someone was blackmailing her with her husband's old love letters to an underaged girl, but she didn't know who. All the information Lady Smallwood gave him when she asked for his help a few days ago pointed to Janine's workplace. He shut his eyes and thought in concentration. Now how could he get close to Janine? His heart sunk a little when he found a solution.
Sherlock sighed. "Is there any other way…" he mumbled to himself.
John and Mary lay asleep in bed, with Mary's hand draped across John's torso over the covers. John twitched as his dreams flashed back to his time back in Afghanistan. Someone pounded on the front door of their home, but John and Mary remained asleep. The banging on the front door sounded again, and John jolted awake and sat up in bed. He threw back the covers and walked over to the front door, where someone was still knocking. John opened it to find a woman standing there, who had clearly been crying for some time.
She hiccupped and more tears ran down her face. "I know it's early. Really, I'm sorry."
John stared at her blankly. The fog of being woken up early in the morning still had not left his mind. Mary walked over behind John.
"Is that Kate?" Mary asked.
"Yeah, it's Kate," John replied.
Kate sobbed some more, holding a tissue to her nose.
"Invite her in?" Mary suggested.
"Er, sorry, yes. D'you wanna come in, Kate?" John stepped aside to make way for her. Kate walked into their hallway toward Mary.
"Hey…" Mary said sympathetically.
Mary and Kate sat on the sofa of the living room. Mary gently stroked Kate's arm while she continued to cry.
"It's all right," Mary assured.
John walked over and set two mugs onto the coffee table. "There you go."
"It's Isaac," Mary said to John.
"Ah, your husband."
"Son," Mary corrected.
"Son, yeah."
"He's gone missing again," Kate cried. "Didn't come home last night."
Mary let out a concerned sigh and looked up at John. "The usual."
"He's the drugs one, yeah?" John began to pace back and forth.
"Er, yeah, nicely put, John," Mary said.
"Look, is it Sherlock Holmes you want? Because I've not seen him in ages," John said to Kate.
"About a month," Mary clarified.
"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" asked Kate.
Mary looked at John. "See? That does happen."
Kate continued. "There's a-a place they all go to. Him and his…friends. They all do whatever they do…shoot up, whatever you call it."
"Where is he?" John asked.
"It's a house. It's a dump. I mean, it's practically falling down."
"No, the address. Where, exactly?"
Shortly afterwards, John was dressed and walking down the path to their car parked at the curb. Mary followed him, still in her pajamas.
"Seriously?"
John turned back to her. "Why not? She's not going to the police. Someone's got to get him."
"Why you?"
"I'm being neighborly."
"Since when?"
John chuckled briefly. "Since now. Since this exact minute."
"Why are you being so…." Mary twirled her hands expressively.
"What?"
"I dunno. What's the matter with you?"
"There's nothing the matter with me!" John shouted forcefully. He said quickly," Imagine I said that without shouting."
"I'm trying," Mary replied. She walked briskly to the passenger side of the car. She opened it and shut it, looking at John, daring him to challenge her. John stared at her for a moment, and then got into the car.
John and Mary arrived to the address Kate gave them. John walked to the back to the car and pulled out an item. He walked around the car and tucked the item into his jeans.
Mary laughed and pointed to what he was tucking into his pants. "What is that?"
"It's a tire lever."
"Why?"
John nodded toward the house. "Cause there were loads of smackheads in there, and one of them might need help with a tire. If there's any trouble, just go. I'll be fine." He started to proceed toward the house.
"Er, John, John, John, John," Mary called to him. He stopped and turned back to her. "It is a tiny bit sexy."
"Yeah, I know," John said nonchalantly.
John walked across to the front door of the house, which had a large sign stuck to it saying: PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT. John banged loudly on the door.
"Hello?" John called out. The door slowly slid open, revealing a scruffy and dirty young man wearing a jacket with the hood pulled over his head standing on the other side.
"What d'you want?" asked the scruffy young man.
"Excuse me." John barged his way in and walked down the hall. The scruffy man peered outside for a moment, and then turned toward John.
"Naah, naah! You can't come in 'ere!"
John continued walking, peering through rooms as he went. "I'm looking for a friend. A very specific friend. I'm not just browsing." Upon reaching the last room in the hallway, John turned around and started walking back again.
"You've gotta go. No one's allowed 'ere."
John stopped a few paces away from the young man and cleared his throat. "Isaac Whitney. You seen him?"
The scruffy man took a flick-knife out from his pocket and snapped it open, holding it towards John.
"I'm asking you if you've seen Isaac Whitney, and now you're showing me a knife. Is it a clue?" John asked impatiently.
The scruffy man gestured with his knife toward the open door behind him.
"Are you doing a mime?"
"Go. Or I'll cut you," the scruffy man warned.
"Ooh, not from there. Let me help." John walked toward the man, stopped close enough so that he could actually stab John fi he wanted to. The scruffy man stared at him, wide-eyed. "Now, concentrate. Isaac Whitney."
"Okay, you asked for it!" But before the scruffy man could start moving the knife to John, John lashed out his left hand, seizing the scruffy man's right arm, and ruthlessly slammed him into the wall. As the scruffy man cried out in pain, John used his right foot to sweep the man's feet from under him. The man slumped to the floor and John stepped back. John bent down and retrieved the knife that fell on the floor. The scruffy man groaned in pain.
"Right. Are you concentrating yet?"
"You broke my arm!"
"No, I sprained it."
"It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy?" He held out his right arm to John. "Feel that!"
John reached out and squeezed the arm. "Yeah, it's a sprain. I'm a doctor, I know how to sprain people." He released the arm while the scruffy man groaned some more. "Now where is Isaac Whitney?"
"I don't know!" John gave him a menacing look. "Maybe upstairs."
"There you go," John said encouragingly, patting the scruffy man's legs. "Wasn't that easy?" John briskly stood up and walked toward the stairs.
"No. It's really sore. You're mental, you are."
John pocketed the flick-knife as he went. "No. Just used to a better class of criminal."
John entered a large room upon reaching the top of the stairs. He looked around for a brief moment. There were several people lying or sitting on mattresses throughout the edge of the room. Most everybody looked totally stoned, unaware of their surroundings or what was going on. John grimaced and slowly walked across the room.
"Isaac? Isaac Whitney?" John stepped over to two people lying side by side on mattresses. "Isaac?" he repeated.
One of the men tiredly raised a hand. The young man gazed blearily up at John, who kneeled down beside Isaac.
"Hello, mate," John greeted. "Sit up for me? Sit up." John laid a supporting hand on Isaac's back.
"Doctor Watson?"
"Yep." John lifted his eyelid, checking Isaac's eyes.
"Where am I?"
"The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me."
"Have you come for me?"
"Do you think I know a lot of people here?"
Isaac laughed hazily.
"Hey, all right?" John asked concernedly.
On the mattress to Isaac's right, another person, wearing ragged and dirty clothing, rolled over and propped himself onto one elbow.
"Ah, hello John."
John raised his head, his eyes widening as he recognized the man leaning on his elbow to be Sherlock.
"Didn't expect to see you here." Sherlock pushed back his hood and squinted his eyes at the light. "Did you come for me too?"
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed.
Isaac stumbled over to the car where Mary was.
"Hello, Isaac!" she greeted cheerily.
"Mrs. Morstan, can I, can I get in, please?" he asked blurrily.
Mary pointed a thumb behind her. "Yes, of course, get in. Where's John?"
Isaac opened the rear car door. "They're having a fight."
"Who is?" Mary asked urgently.
Over at the house, Sherlock and John were having a heated argument. Sherlock angrily punched a door, knocking it off its hinges and sending it crashing down. "For God's sakes, John! I'm on a case!"
John followed Sherlock down the fire escape. "A month, that's all it took. One."
"I'm working."
"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How's that going to look?"
"I'm undercover."
"No you're not!"
Sherlock threw his hands in the air, anger radiating off of him. "Well, I'm not now!"
The two men had finally gotten out of the house, and Mary was waiting for them in the car.
"In. Both of you, quickly," she ordered sternly.
John stepped into the shotgun seat while Sherlock sat next to Isaac. The scruffy man from earlier came hurrying out of the house, cradling his hurt arm. Mary sighed in exasperation at her boys, then turned to look at the new arrival standing in front of the car.
"Please. Can I come? I think I've got a broken arm."
"No. Go away," Mary shooed.
"No, let him," John said.
"Why?" Mary asked.
John leaned out of the window and pointed toward the rear of the car. "Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain."
The scruffy man ran to the side of the car.
"Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?" Mary questioned.
Sherlock shifted to the center of the rear seat to give the scruffy man some room. He quickly got in and looked at Sherlock.
"All right, Shezza?" the scruffy man asked.
"Shezza?" John asked incredulously.
"I was undercover," Sherlock replied tetchily.
"Seriously, Shezza though?" Mary laughed.
Sherlock sighed again.
"We're not going home. We're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly," John declared.
"Why?" Mary asked while Sherlock busily wiped some of the dirt off his face with a handkerchief.
John held his phone to his ear while replying to Mary. "Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar."
Molly worked busily, and she was already finishing her tests on Sherlock's urine sample. Sherlock stood nearby, sulking. On the other side of the lab, the scruffy man sat on a side bench while Mary wrapped a bandage around his arm. Isaac sat nearby, staring at particularly nothing. Molly straightened up and took off her gloves with two loud snaps.
"Well? Is he clean?" John inquired.
Molly threw her gloves down. "Clean?"
Molly turned and walked over to face Sherlock. She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. Despite how much taller Sherlock was than her, he felt fear and shame in himself as he looked down at her. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Molly slapped him hard on the face with her right hand. Mary, the scruffy man, and Isaac looked over at them in surprise. Molly raised her hand to slap him again, just as hard as last time, and for good measure, slapped him once more with her left hand. Sherlock blinked and grimaced.
"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?" She glanced at John and then looked back at Sherlock. "And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry."
Sherlock held his face, not saying anything. John stormed toward him, keeping his voice low. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called. You could have talked to me."
"Please do relax. This is all for a case."
"A ca…What kind of case would need you doing this?"
Sherlock stared at him, looking for an answer. The case was Janine Hawkins, but doing drugs definitely wasn't directly part of the case. It was just distraction for himself. Might as well change the subject. "I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work."
John shook his head. "No. We're not playing this game." He turned and walked away.
"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it."
"Not interested."
"I am." The scruffy man spoke up. Sherlock turned to look at him. "Ow," he said as he looked up at Mary.
"Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain."
"Yeah. Somebody 'it me."
"Who?"
Bill turned his head to look at John. "Eh, just some guy."
"Yeah," John agreed. "Probably just an addict in need of a fix."
Sherlock looked directly at John. "Yes. I think, in a way, it was." John held Sherlock's gaze for a moment, then looked away.
"Is it his shirt?" the scruffy man asked.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, it's the creases, innit?" The scruffy man looked across to John. Sherlock did the same. "The two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new." Sherlock smiled slightly. "Must have dressed in a hurry this morning," the scruffy man continued. "So all your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there and then dress in the clothes you brought with you." Sherlock looked at the scruffy man appreciatively. "You keep your shirts folded ready to pack."
"Not bad," Sherlock said.
"And I further deduce…" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, and he and John exchanged a brief glance. "…you've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."
"No, he's always walked like that," Sherlock corrected. "Remind me, what's your name again?"
"They call me The Wig."
"No they don't."
"Well, they, they call me Wiggy," the scruffy man said awkwardly.
"Nope."
The scruffy man hesitated and looked down. "Bill. Bill Wiggins."
"Nice observational skills, Billy." Sherlock grinned. His phone sounded a text. He fished the phone out form his pocket and checked the message. He looked around the room briefly; his eyes met Molly's angry and disappointed ones. Sorry, he said mentally. "Excuse me for a second." Sherlock quickly left the room.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter and the story so far! Please leave your thoughts in a review.