Sorry that this chapter didn't come out as quickly as I said. The formatting was an absolute bitch to do and then my eyes did something funny which my eyedrops didn't fix and I could barely see. Beta'd by the lovely gbheart :)
Chapter 1 - Of Chance and Texting
At the time, John had considered the meeting to be pure chance, simply an unprecedented turn of events that hadn't meant to affect him as much as it did but coincidently happened to wreak havoc upon his fairly simple life. Looking back now, he admitted that anything to do with Mycroft Holmes was never simply something as banal as chance.
He had been checking one of the drug rehabilitation clinics close to where he just happened to study medicine. He'd dealt with people with addictions before, including Harry and her subtle love of alcohol, but he had never had anything to do with getting off drugs. Considering that he was well on his way to becoming a doctor, it seemed the logical choice to go and look around and grab some info from the people who actually worked there, rather than Googling it and finding a rather fishy looking website with a pop up porn ad on the side.
So far, the day at the clinic seemed fairly slow and quiet, and a few of the staff took the time out of their day to smile tiredly at him and engage in conversation about their work. Eventually, his luck ran out, and the woman he'd just been talking to for the last 25 minutes had to dash of with a shouted apology.
He stood there lost for a moment, and then decided to take his leave.
That was when Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade walked through the doors.
John, of course, had no idea who they were, although he was quite aware of what a peculiar image they struck. The one on the left was dressed in a smart-looking three-piece suit and was twirling an umbrella, as he almost swaggered into the place. Next to him, his companion looked rather bedraggled: tired eyes, simple clothes, but with a rather nice jacket over the top, and an expression of equal parts exasperation and desperation.
He was about to walk past them, when the swaggering man stopped him by barring his way with the umbrella. "Dr John Watson, I presume," he began smoothly. "The both of us have a proposition to make."
If the umbrella hadn't startled him, then having the man know his name certainly did.
"Uh, future doctor actually. Haven't finished my training yet." He said sheepishly.
The other man, who hadn't yet spoken, took a step forward and stretched out his hand. "My name's Greg, and this is Mycroft Holmes." John decided that he liked this man more, given the fact that he was acting a tad more normal about the entire situation. It was obvious that he considered himself less important than the man named Mycroft.
John smiled at the tired eyes, "I'd give you my name, but you seem to already know it, so I won't bother." They shook hands with small smiles. The humour had dissolved the tension between them, however, Mycroft was watching them with a certain air of superiority that ruined it.
Mycroft abruptly turned around and began walking away. Greg sighed and tilted his head in a manner that suggested that John should follow them. It seemed a stupid thing to do, but he was curious, and so he did.
They walked down an empty pathway, for a full minute, before, for seemingly no reason at all, they finally stopped.
"My younger brother is a slave to his cocaine addiction." Mycroft began, with an air of indifference. "We've already had him at a rehabilitation clinic once, much to his horror, but he has relapsed twice already. By the end of tonight, Lestrade here is likely to find him in one of his numerous hidey holes, still coming down from a high." As blank as Mycroft's expression was, his eyes certainly weren't. His faux coldness towards the situation was one John often adopted, when thinking of Harry. Her addiction was her own, but, nevertheless, he had spent far too many nights puzzling over how to help her.
John shuffled his feet. "I'm not exactly sure how I can help here; I've never dealt with something like that."
Mycroft tutted, "Oh no, you misunderstand me, doctor. This is the last time I'm allowing this to happen, and I intend for you to help him full term."
John gaped. A slick car pulled up beside them, and Mycroft eagerly opened the door to it. "Ah, Anthea," he said almost warmly, before turning back to them. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy, at the moment, but I have full confidence that Greg will explain everything."
They watched the car pull away with lost expressions, Greg's just a little more controlled and expectant.
"Why don't we discuss this over at the pub? It'll be easier."
The pub Greg took him to was the one he frequented often to find his sister. He was glad that, when they walked in, she wasn't on one of the barstools, creating a racket and sloshing beer down her front with an apologetic smile.
Once they sat down, with a pint in hand, Greg gave a weary sigh, before launching into a slightly more thorough explanation.
"Well, like Mycroft said, his younger brother, Sherlock, is on cocaine. It's been tough. You can tell he's trying to stop, but it just isn't working. At one point, he disappeared and we found him on the streets acting the part of a beggar." He seemed to smile with bitter amusement. "He's a brilliant kid – really, he is – it's just that this is taking over him."
Greg opened his mouth to say more but took a sip of beer, instead.
"How do you want me to help, though?" John asked.
Greg sighed mournfully. "We tried rehab a bit, for the first time, and it worked...well, we thought it did. When he relapsed, we forced him into one of those groups you go and talk to weekly. Made one of the workers cry within five minutes, I'm told." Greg broke off for another sip. The atmosphere seemed tense and sad. "He's been clean for a couple months now and has been throwing himself into anything to distract himself. Yesterday we found his… kit," he hissed the word with distaste, "in his room, mostly used. We confiscated it, but he's smart enough to take some of the stuff with him. Rehab obviously isn't the right way to go about this."
Partial understanding washed over him, and he tipped his own drink back thoughtfully. "Couldn't you just try another clinic? Shouldn't judge them all by one failed attempt."
Greg laughed bitterly again. "You'd have to meet him to understand. He's like his brother – smarter than everyone else around – but even more socially awkward, if you can believe it. He knows too much about people, and that makes him act like a complete smart arse around them. Not only that, but he's usually too proud to accept the help of others."
John frowned, and Greg panicked at the sight of it.
"Please consider this. I know it's too much to ask, especially with a kid like Sherlock, and considering you're finishing up your training soon, so it'll be difficult, but Mycroft really seems to think you're the right kinda guy for this."
"I –"
"Please. All we want is for someone to go there each day – someone with medical experience – and make sure he isn't doing something incredibly stupid. You'll be paid, and you'll get experience, but please, we really need help on this one."
And just like that, John caved in.
They discussed the situation a little longer, but the awkwardness of the whole ordeal eventually overwhelmed them, and they parted, after exchanging details and the promise that, as soon as they found Sherlock, he'd be texted the details.
To say he was confused was an understatement. He knew hardly anything about the man he was supposed to help get over a drug addiction, and it frustrated him. How was he meant to help someone who didn't want help, mostly hated people and most certainly would hate him?
It was madness, but Greg's brutal honesty about the entire situation made his mind up for him.
That and the fact that the pay per week was enough to have made him choke on his drink.
Once he made it back home, he pulled out the little leaflets from the clinic that detailed some of the withdrawal symptoms and set to work on researching cocaine.
John was, by nature, an early riser. While he didn't despise his friends, which he knew had an inability to wake early, he certainly did laugh when they appeared late to class. Only one of his mates rose early in the morning, and that was still half an hour later than him.
That was why, when he woke up at 6am and turned on his side, before blearily checking his phone to see if he had any messages, he was intensely confused to see that there were five new text messages awaiting him.
Three from Greg, which John assumed meant that they had found Sherlock, and two from a private number.
He opened the earliest one with a sense of trepidation. Sent at almost two-am...Christ, he noted with surprise.
(1:46am) (Gregory Lestrade) - Found
Sherlock. He's okay but seems sorta confused.
Dunno why.
(2:01am) Back at his place now. I'll text you
the address for tomorrow.
(2:17am) 221B Baker Street. The landlady is
really nice. I think you'll like her. Mycroft's here
taking care of things now. Guess I'm going.
(3:00am) (Private number) - Good morning,
doctor. I pray I haven't awoken you this fine
morning. However, as it is concerning Sherlock,
it is deemed rather relevant to you now. Later
today, once you have finished your set training,
a car will be sent to collect you and bring you here.
From there, I will introduce you to my brother,
who will undoubtedly insult you. Try to not to take
it personally – it's his most used defence
mechanism. -MH
(3:07am) (Private number) - Hello. Anthea
here. Your mobile texting plan has been increased
to cover the costs of Sherlock texting you. If you
do not wish for this to continue, then simply block
him from your contacts.
Sherlock texting him? As if on cue, his text alert went off.
(6:05am) (Sherlock Holmes) - So you're my
new handler. -SH
For some strange reason, John found himself almost grinning. From what he knew, Sherlock was well educated, which was more than likely to show through his texting; terrible at exerting proper social decorum; and a smart arse to boot. The prospects weren't promising, but, hopefully, if they could get to know each other a little over the phone before actually meeting, then it would be easier.
(6:06am) (John Watson) - Should I bring a collar
and leash?
(6:06am) (Sherlock Holmes) -I am perfectly
capable of keeping myself under control in a social
setting. -SH
He groaned. Fairly impervious to jokes then. Maybe add an emoticon to the end next time? At least he texted quickly.
(6:08am) (John Watson) - We'll see.
(6:09am) Why do you sign everything as "-SH"?
I do have your caller ID.
(6:10am) (Sherlock Holmes) - If I'm ever in a
dire situation, or my phone is being used by
another, then the "-SH" is generally skipped (due
to the severity of the situation or because whoever
has the phone is too much of an idiot to realise that
utilising the English language effectively and adding
my "signature" to the end may rather successfully
impersonate me).
In its own way, it happens to be a sign that
something is wrong. -SH
John stared at the last text for a few moments, rereading it and trying to figure out how the hell to respond to that. It was logical, but why on earth did he feel the need to even have a plan like that?
(6:10am) (John Watson) - That's concerning.
(6:10am) (Sherlock Holmes) - You're neither
my handler nor my mother. I suggest you stop
making it seem like you are. -SH
(6:11am) (John Watson) - You're just going to
be a bunch of happiness and sunshine aren't you?
(6:11am) (Sherlock Holmes) - No, I'm going to
be a withdrawing cocaine addict who intensely
dislikes you. Your sarcasm is rather unwelcome
here. -SH
He stared at the phone in dismay. God, this really was going to be difficult.
(6:12am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Did I wake you
up? -SH
(6:13am) (John Watson) - I was already awake.
(6:13am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Shame, I'll text
earlier next time. -SH
(6:14am) (John Watson) - I will legit buy a collar
and leash before meeting you, if I have to.
(6:15am) (Sherlock Holmes) - I'll growl. -SH
John read the message twice, before deciding that the answer was meant to be humorous, and he actually laughed.
(6:16am) (John Watson) - Imagine explaining to
your bro why I've got animal supplies and you're
growling.
(6:16am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Experiment, of
course. -SH
(6:17am) (John Watson) - Sounds like I've
stumbled on a really bad kinky porno.
(6:17am) (Sherlock Holmes) - I'm under the
impression that this is a bad time to mention that
I own a riding crop. -SH
Mildly concerning.
(6:18am) (John Watson) - I dunno how to
respond to that.
(6:18am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Growl. -SH
John paused a moment, before laughing again. Definitely not the type of conversation most people would be okay with but certainly something he could take. At least there'd be a few days of no withdrawal symptoms, where they could hopefully share a few moments of laughter.
Mental note: Sherlock has a socially awkward/morbid sense of humour. Likely to disappear with withdrawal. Lovely.
(6:20am) (John Watson) - I'll keep that in mind.
If I don't respond to your texts just keep going.
I'm getting ready now, but I'll answer them
all at one point.
(6:20am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Dull. -SH
His stomach grumbled, as he stared at the last text.
(6:20am) (John Watson) - Well then keep
yourself amused by being arrogant. It seems to
suite you.
(6:21am) (Sherlock Holmes) - My entire
outlook on life is arrogant. Best get used to it. -SH
He gave the last text a quick look, before setting his phone back onto the bedside table and coaxing himself out of the warmth of his bed, with the promise of toast and tea.
His phone gave eight beeps, while he was making toast, and another two more, while he buttered it and spread the jam.
(6:22am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Bored. -SH
As a doctor, I expect you to take note that
boredom will likely kill me one day. -SH
Your lack of response certifies that you've
left your mobile. -SH
(6:23am) The flat's empty. I'm fairly sure
they're searching all my possessions to see if I
have any other illicit substances hidden away. -SH
I was hoping I could introduce you to Cranium. -SH
Ignore the unimaginative name. I was nine, when
he was given to me, and the name seemed a pure
stroke of genius at the time.-SH
(6:24am) Would that be too morbid for you? -SH
The skull, not the name. If you find the name
morbid, then I have no hope for our continued
association (or your future in medicine) and
suggest we severe contact now.-SH
(6:25am) I will choose the skull over you if it
comes to that. -SH
Even if you do have a full working skeleton
contained within your body. -SH
(6:26am) (John Watson) - If it comes down
to me and the skull, I'll have to kill myself and
donate the skeleton to win?
(6:26am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Oh good.
Morbidity certainly doesn't scare you away. -SH
He bit into his toast.
(6:28am) (John Watson) - My uni course
details the entire human body and its various inner
workings. A skull is actually a welcome touch of
realism to my studies. Though I am a little concerned
as to how you have a skull.
Also how do I turn my phone on silent?
(6:29am) (Sherlock Holmes) - What? -SH
Didn't he know how to do that?
(6:30am) (John Watson) - Y'know, so that it
doesn't make any sound when I'm in class.
(6:30am) (Sherlock Holmes) -You have a
moderate texting speed which implies familiarity
with the action, however, you don't know how to
change the settings? -SH
(6:31am) (John Watson) - All my friends know
to not text me in class. You're bored, and I want to
read your texts, so I need to know how to set it to
silent.
(6:31am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Fiddle with the
options – you seem intelligent, you'll find it. -SH
Seeing that you're asking to silence your phone
already, I'm assuming our mutual communication is
reading an end. -SH
(6:32am) Hm. -SH
(6:48am) (John Watson) - I did say I was getting
ready.
(6:49am) (Sherlock Holmes) - And currently I
am your incredibly bored patient who is locked inside
his own flat. I really do think that you should amuse
me, rather than follow a curriculum set by professors
who assume themselves smarter than the general
populous. -SH
(6:50am) (John Watson) - But you went to uni.
(6:50am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Yes. I also quit
because they were all morons. Have you figured out
how to silence your mobile yet? -SH
(6:51am) (John Watson) - Yeah. I really do have
to go now. Any last minute requests before I face the
world and my education?
(6:51am) (Sherlock Holmes) - Demand that Mycroft
gives back my possessions. If not for my sake, then for
yours. -SH
(6:52am) (John Watson) - Will do. Gtg now. I'll uh
see you at your flat later I guess.
When Sherlock didn't respond within the minute, he tucked his phone into his pocket, shouldered his bag, gave the room a quick once over, and then finally set of for the little cafe where he'd meet Mike.
AN: This chapter really wasn't meant to be this long. It got away from me near the end and then Sherlock and John would not stop bloody texting. Also how does university work in London? Is it on campus? When is graduation? Things like that. I'd google it but it'd just be so much easier if someone could tell me so I don't blunder with the facts c:
As usual constructive criticism is welcome as well as any ideas/hints.