Chapter 4- Holiday Miracles

I had spent the better part of the evening staring out the window to the street below in a haze of utter listlessness. The flat was unusually quiet and while on any other given day I would have found this to be paradise, on this night it was the harbinger of inevitability. It was the holiday time and while the spits of snow that fell lightly covering the street, cars, and everything with a blanket of blazing white pureness was in its own way beautiful, I couldn't shake the darkness that stirred deep inside me, beckoning me to its inky depths. I pulled on my coat, made sure to have a fair amount of cash in my pocket, and left my identification card and everything else on the table to head to a place where no one cared who you were and the more anonymous the better.

Ms. Hudson decided to spend the season with a friend in the warmer climes of Florida. Like a good tenant I wished her a pleasant journey, but while the driver loaded her bags into the cab I quietly bent to her ear and whispered I expected not to receive a message from her or the British Embassy requesting my presence for another "mishap." She sheepishly grinned and gave me a playful pat on the arm. "Oh Sherlock," she nearly laughed, "You've solved that one and most of his business partners are dead or in jail. I don't think I'll be getting into trouble unless I have one too many mojitos at the bar. Even so, if you come do mind to bring sunscreen dear. It's very sunny there you know." What I meant to be a parting jest to send her on her way had surprisingly spun into a litany of potential problems that she would no doubt worry about during her absence such as my capability of making my own tea, not setting the place ablaze during an experiment, forgetting to lock the door when I went out, and the welfare of some stray cat that had been coming around for weeks now which I never noticed. I couldn't speak for the cat, but I did my best to assure her I would somehow manage my own affairs and she would return to find the place just as she'd left it.

John too abandoned me, but unlike Ms. Hudson his journey was not going to be a pleasant one and it gave me at least some measure of satisfaction to know I wouldn't be the only one suffering. Holidays have a way of making already peculiar people act in even more bizarre ways as though there is something magical about it and they couldn't be bothered to sort their personal business out at any other time of the year. From what I had gathered, he and his sister were at one time close and despite her alcoholism, he remained loyal to her in some sense so when she invited him to her home for a dinner he was wary, but accepted as the good brother he was. The look of sheer dread was etched onto his face as he headed for the train station, yet he wished me well and had the temerity to pause and ask if I would be alright. He knew that Mycroft and I had a similarly difficult relationship although simple overindulgence would seem trivial- he was much too busy nearly getting me killed or engineering socioeconomic unrest and sometimes both simultaneously which made for very tedious family dinners indeed. In fact the very prospect was so dreadful I had months before avoided the whole affair by telling my mother I had planned to travel to Afghanistan as it was safer territory.

I might as well have because I found myself in a place that was likely more deadly despite myself. It only took a scant 20 minutes and £20 to buy a spot on a grubby mattress in a corner of a disused building and a few ounces of relief from my own mind. I had no second thoughts or hesitations as I shirked my arm out of my coat, rolled up my sleeve, and with the precision that comes with practice slid the needle into my vein. I was careful enough to bring my own kit because one could never be sure of the cleanliness of needles found in drug dens. I could feel the drug slowly wind its way up my arm, into my chest, and seep into my brain in a deliciously warm cloud that continued to spread throughout my body in a slow bloom of mild euphoria as though I were weightless. I sighed deeply and sank back into the disgusting mattress stained with the sweat, blood, and vomit of all the desperate souls who came before I looking for peace. None of this bothered me which was the wonder of it all and I sank into a calm and restful sleep.

What I could never make John or anyone else understand was for all the brilliant gift my mind seemed to be, it was like living with an insatiable demon in my head that drove me mad if not properly distracted. If I had a case, one that truly required a careful eye and penchant for logic to solve, my mind was perfectly content and it was the only time I felt ordinary in any sense. I often poked fun at John, Lestrade, and others for their simple minds but in truth I envied them and the way they could just seem to exist without constant stimulation as though they could simply turn it all off with a switch. Even between cases I tried to practice restraint and just swallow the burning fire that consumed me, but sometimes it became too much and I had to resort to other means to the same end. I was well aware that they and everyone else disapproved of my methods, but for me it was less about getting high and more about just being normal if only for a little while.

I awoke some hours later facing a wall with peeling paint as though the very structure were weeping for what it had become. The broken windows of the building let in an icy chill and I curled up into a tight ball, wondering how it was I hadn't frozen to death in the cold. Outside I could hear the occasional person screaming and the shrill howl of sirens as the police or ambulance sped across the city to save a life or check on one that's ended. Behind me a person heaved a series of ragged, wet coughs indicative of a deep chest infection while others in the room quietly moaned in agony or ecstasy, it was hard to tell. In a full state of consciousness the putrid smell of the mattress assaulted my nose and I reflexively covered it with the collar of my coat yet I continued to lay there, completely dispossessed of any will to move.

Although my mind was alert, my body was still lethargic and I knew it was too soon to attempt another shot least I run the risk of overdose. I wasn't counting on anyone having access to an antidote much less the knowledge or wherewithal to use it to save my life if need be. Hoping that someone would call an ambulance was absolutely out of the question given the goings on. There was a certain code to be followed in such places and chief among them was self-responsibility. Using was your own business and one could risk and lose all they liked so long as it didn't put other addicts in a position they would have to interact with authorities in any manner. If I died it was my fault- full stop.

I could have saved myself all the trouble and just gone back to the flat, but that was problematic for several reasons. My occasional hobby was not exactly a well-kept secret at Scotland Yard and Lestrade had no compunction of making use of that fact to remind me he could make my life very hard indeed if he so chose. Thanks to Lestrade John also knew, although in typical fashion he always wanted to believe I'd gone sober. Perhaps it was just routine for him to conveniently bury his head in the sand given his experience, but while Lestrade and his band of miserable miscreants tore the flat apart in search of what they would never find, I couldn't help but think he was left wondering what he'd done in a past life to deserve yet another junkie in his life to manage.

But in reality, the biggest barrier was Ms. Hudson. During the drugs bust she seemed completely confused and I still can't believe she ever put it all together to see that it was me who was suspected of using. Perhaps she didn't want to. In her mind she likely thought they were looking for drugs that had been planted by someone looking for revenge or maybe even medicines John had accidently brought home from the clinic. This was a woman who had supposedly unknowingly been a bookkeeper for her husband's drug cartel which led me to believe that her confusion was all an act of convenience. Nonetheless, it just wouldn't do to die of overdose in her flat when she disliked the very thought of me smoking in it. That would hardly be leaving it as she had it like I'd promised. Both she and John would be gone for several days and over that time my decomposing body could leave quite a mess that would never be gotten out. At least if I died in this squalid place my body would quickly be removed only to be found in a dumpster or the Thames- an unknown John Doe until perhaps Molly happened to recognize me on the autopsy table should the authorities care enough about what happened to initiate an inquest, but even this possibility was remote because no one cares what comes of junkies.

I remained still for what felt like eternity until perhaps out of a sense of self-loathing I took the chance of a second dose, albeit a smaller one. I just wanted to close my eyes and let the wretchedness surrounding me melt away. I wanted to forget where I was and what I was doing because despite my ambivalence toward myself, I couldn't shake the knowledge that there were people who would be severely disappointed in me if they knew what I was up to. Here I was, alone and nearly frozen lying on a disgusting mat stuffing potentially lethal drugs into my veins on the holidays. It was too pathetic even for me to abide and so I prepared another syringe and popped it off as quickly as I could in the hopes of some serenity. However, in the instant that followed I immediately regretted it.

I knew the familiar feeling of having gone too far and my mind raced against the sluggishness I had ensnared it with because I knew that time was of the essence. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and stabbed at the buttons like a drunken sot as my muscles began to relax so much they had become practically useless. I typed furiously and hoped the recipient would be able to make out the address in spite of the mistakes I couldn't be bothered to correct. Quickly running out of expendable energy, I positioned myself on my side to ease the breathing which had become distressingly difficult as the sinking numbness that first afflicted my fingers crept its way into my chest. My head ached with a sudden rush of blood and I felt desperately nauseous. Reflexively, my mouth opened agape and I gagged, although I hadn't eaten anything in the hours prior. The precious minutes ticked by and with each one, the likelihood of my demise grew exponentially as the warm and peaceful darkness beckoned to me to cease fighting and simply accept its eternal embrace. Before all went black I vaguely heard a scuffle and a disembodied man's voice calmly call my name and I wondered if it was God or the devil who had come for me.

When I regained consciousness I found myself lying in my own bed which was a relief, although it was short lived when I turned my head to see Mycroft seated in a chair next to me with a very stern look on his face and clutching his umbrella a little too tightly as though he were giving the prospect of beating me senseless with it serious consideration. "There you are." He said lightly, belying the anxious rage that simmered just below the surface. It was as though we were children playing hide and seek. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Until now, yes." I groaned petulantly. My head still hurt somewhat and I felt sick, but what bothered me more was the stinging pain that still ate at my face and chest from being slapped and having my sternum rubbed in an effort to bring me around. I wasn't sure if he was directly responsible, but he would have no doubt enjoyed it.

His jaw tightened as though he were chewing gravel and his eyes narrowed momentarily, but he composed himself before chiding, "Mommie was worried when you didn't come to dinner."

Suddenly all the sickness and pain receded and was replaced by sheer horror. "You didn't tell her, did you?" I gasped. My mother was utterly clueless about many things when it came to me, but my use was one thing I worked hard to keep from her. I wasn't sure exactly why, it just didn't seem right for her to know.

"Of course not." He frowned deeply and tapped his umbrella on the floor in agitation. "Why now of all the times before would I tell her you nearly did yourself in? You know Christmas is her favorite holiday, specious as it is, and it would break her heart."

I remained sullen at his not-so-subtle jab. "What did you tell her then?"

He gave a well-practiced duplicitous smile. "You really should be more careful, Sherlock. Your habit of patronizing seafood shops of questionable cleanliness is bad for your health. Food poisoning can be quite dangerous."

I nodded in appreciation at his cleverness and sheepishly admitted, "I told her I was traveling to Afghanistan."

"I suppose you did as heroin is an opiate derivative and Afghanistan has some of the most extensive poppy fields known to mankind." He replied darkly. He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice to convey the seriousness of the matter. "It was close this time, Sherlock. Too close."

"I sent you the address." I defended weakly. I didn't need him to tell me how close to death I had come, I felt it and by the end had resigned myself to the fact that this time he wouldn't arrive in time to save me as he always had before.

"For all the good it was." He huffed as he rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. "Autocorrect is an unnecessary evil brought upon the world by those too lazy or stupid to properly spell. If I had believed you, I would have gone to 'Wanker, Lemon Dome' rather than Hackney, London where I found you. Both would be equally appalling, I'm sure of it."

I couldn't suppress the giggle that threatened to strangle me at the absurdly awkward way he said 'wanker' but I tried my best to press on. "How did you find me then?" Growing suspicious I furrowed my brow and followed up with, "And how did you arrive so quickly?" Our family home was at least an hour from the old abandoned warehouse yet help arrived in no more than 15 minutes after I had sent him the urgent message….

"None of that is your concern." He scolded as he stood to leave. "The point is crisis was averted and hurrah for a Christmas miracle. So if you are feeling well enough to look after yourself in a responsible manner and we can both be assured there will be no further incidents in the near future…." He paused to cock his head until I realized he was looking for an assurance which I begrudgingly gave with a resigned nod, "Splendid. I've taken the liberty of notifying Mr. Watson of your foodborne illness and he implied he would be on the first train back to London which should be arriving within the hour." He paused to beam brightly and cheerily stated, "Seems his holiday has been just as miserable as yours. You should get on well together, then."

Even though it felt like acid in my mouth, I knew the moment and his action was deserving of recognition on my part. I looked downward as I quietly mumbled, "Merry Christmas, Mycoft."

He gave a small smile which signaled he understood the deeper context. "And to you, brother."