Fair warning: drug references/use. This warning shall apply to all future chapters until I state otherwise.
The second time Greg put Sherlock Holmes in handcuffs, it was once again because he showed up at a crime scene. But this time it was different, because Greg had asked him to come and Sherlock was high as a kite.
To be fair, it was a bit difficult to tell the difference. But at that point, Sherlock had been helping with cases for about three months, and Greg had never seen him act quite so manic. He'd gotten out of the cab in front of the house rather unsteadily. Traveling with strange, jerky movements.
He'd given the garden, and the body a cursory glance and then he began shouting, waving his arms vaguely like he was constantly astounded by the fact that he had limbs. His pupils were tiny pinpricks and he had a dazed look on his face.
After allowing him to dismantle the crime scene, Anderson, and most of the team respectively, Greg had pulled him aside.
"Sherlock," he'd hissed, "are you on something?"
"If I were, I'd be an idiot to tell you about it, wouldn't I? I solved your bloody case. That's all you care about."
He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly his fingers were wrapped around Sherlock's surprisingly ropey bicep. He could feel the ripples of muscle even under the layers of Sherlock's coat.
"You're an idiot anyway. Showing up to a crime scene, surrounded by police officers while you're strung out on god knows what—"
"None of them have noticed," Sherlock snapped, trying to pull away. "Let go of me this instant."
Greg did not let go. "Tell me what you're on or I'm going to take you into custody."
It seemed to happen very quickly. Sherlock yanked himself away. Greg lost his grip on Sherlock's arm and got a hold of his jacket instead. And then Sherlock's fist collided with the solid muscle of Greg's abdomen.
The older man doubled over in pain. Sherlock did not run away. He simply stood there, with wide eyes, as if he'd only just become aware of the fact that he'd assaulted a police officer while on an impressive amount of cocaine.
Before anyone else could do something about it, Greg pushed Sherlock up against the wall of the house, cuffed him, and dragged him to the squad car. Sherlock didn't really resist, though he did complain about having to sit in the back. Greg threw him in the drunk-tank to detox and then let him off with a warning.
Not that anybody was surprised Sherlock didn't get into more trouble than that. Sherlock solved crimes like clockwork. He was quick, efficient, and never wrong. It was worth it to look the other way on a few possession charges compared with all the criminals he was putting away.
There weren't any other reasons Greg was being lenient on him. Especially not reasons revolving around the way Greg would occasionally find himself staring at Sherlock's mouth while he was talking... and later have no recollection of anything Sherlock had said. That only happened every once in a while. Nothing to make a big deal about. Except sometimes Sherlock would catch him at it, and he'd smile, and raise his eyebrows, and really—that probably wasn't a good thing. But there wasn't much to be done about it, besides ignore it, and hope it would go away.
And there I go again. Not giving you any smut. Don't worry. The first little hint of it is going up on Saturday :)
Till then, darlings.