Summary: Sylvia finds out about the lists. Mycroft is sad and mean! Mentions of an overdose, drug use, alcohol and weed use, suicidal thoughts.
Disclaimer: I know UK visas don't work like this but since in my country you can just buy a house and move here apparently (lmao) I decided to apply the same logic to the UK. Sorry if it takes you out of the story. John works in a hospital with crazy shifts and not a day clinic.
Chapter 7 - Sherlock's Incident
Next week came and I decided to stop taking Mycroft's lifts. He didn't seem to want anything to do with me and I so why should I accept his help? It made me feel bad anyway, having a car sent over just to take me home when I could very well take the tube for just a few stops on the Jubilee line. So, when my next class ended, I made my way outside the theatre to the familiar black car and told the driver I wouldn't be needing a ride anymore.
"Mr. Holmes' orders are to drive you to your flat every thursd-"
"Well you can tell Mr. Holmes to shove his orders up his arse. Or don't tell him anything. I don't care. I'm sorry to have troubled you, have a good evening."
And I walked away, before the driver could protest any further. I felt bad but at the same time I felt justified. He couldn't expect to be rude to me and then continue offering me help. It was contradictory. I held the man's hand and I saw something in his eyes, what I thought was desire, but now realise maybe it was just my wishful thinking. But there was something there, I didn't imagine it like Mycroft said. So he could sod off now, for all I cared.
As I entered the tube my phone buzzed.
Very mature choice of words Miss Sylvia. In the future, I would appreciate it if you would just accept the ride to your flat. It is a much safer alternative than the tube at this time of night, and you would avoid putting yourself at unnecessary risk. MH
Everyone takes the tube sir, and I don't have to accept anything from you.
May I remind you that I am still your employer. It would do you good to obey my orders without protest from now on. MH
I decided not to reply. It was best to just ignore him and I'm sure it would piss him off more than any reply I could come up with. I breathed out and untensed my shoulders. It felt nice to be mean to Mycroft. He was already paying me way too much since I never finished helping him with the books and barely gave him any information on Sherlock so if he decided to fire me, it was for the best. As for a job, I had told everyone from theatre class in our introductions that I was unemployed (because Mycroft's job wasn't really a job) and a girl had mentioned she could get me a job at the supermarket she worked at, since one of her colleagues was going on maternity leave. It was only temporary but I figured it was a start and maybe if I was any good they'd keep me on a part-time basis. I had to be self reliant and stop depending on Mycroft. Thankfully, I hadn't spent all of his money. It had only been 3 months since we met and I had tried to save most of it, only spending on food and utilities and the occasional treat like going to a play or musical. I knew he had access to everything so if he somehow decided he wanted his money back, I wanted to at least have half of it ready to return. I was tired of living in the fear and uncertainty of his ever-changing moods. At least with a job I had simple tasks to accomplish and would be paid fairly for them at the end of the month, well, if you consider minimum wage to be fair. I don't, but I can't complain.
I had made it into the UK with a tourist visa and then I applied for a residency one, having rented a flat from Mrs. Hudson with the money I inherited from my parents. I knew it was a dumb decision but I couldn't live in that dreadful country anymore and I didn't get along with my family anyway, we were all estranged due to old family fights and resentments ever since I was a kid. It had always been my lifelong dream to move to London so I did. I figured in the worst case scenario, I would become a hooker or off myself with drugs after spending all the money. Wonderful outlook on life and planning skills, me.
So, being granted the residency visa, I started my unsuccessful job hunt until I met Mycroft. And I realised I had become dependent on him just as I had been with my parents all my life.
All of this was going through my mind as I entered 221b and ascended the stairs. As I passed Sherlock and John's door, I noticed it was open which was normal for them. There was silence, which was also common for Sherlock when he was in his mind palace but something didn't feel right. I walk in and find him on the floor next to an empty needle. I immediately checked his pulse on his neck and upon finding a beat, put my hand over his nose and 's breathing.I dial 999 and as I start to explain he scoffs and claims he doesn't need help.
"What did you take? I ask him. But he refuses to answer. I do my best to remain calm and speak to the operator. I tell them he's next to an empty needle and conscious but with a weak pulse and mumbling. They tell me they're sending an ambulance over and I help Sherlock towards the couch. He is ice cold so I wrap him in one of his coats hanging on the back of the door and turn back to find a warm blanket from his bedroom.
"Don't move!" I say and when I come back he's dozed off again. I cover him with the blanket and gently slap his face. "Hey, you don't get to sleep genius, you have to tell me what you're thinking about." I softly tell him.
"Bored. I feel bored." he replies in a weak voice.
This is too familiar to me. The substances, the panic, the helplessness, the numbness, the cold skin. But I've never witnessed it on another person. I've never been on the other side, frantically trying to help. It breaks my heart to see him like this and I sit on the couch, holding his head and shoulders up so they can rest on my must look like a tragic renaissance painting, I hopelessly think. I softly stroke his hair and cheek and whisper that I love him and I'm sorry he feels like this. I tell him that it won't last, because soon he'll find a case or an experiment that will make him feel the thrill of the game again. I feel stupid doing this but it's all I can think to do. I try to say what I would want to hear, knowing damn well he probably can't hear anything. As I do this, I open my phone and text Mycroft. I don't think I'd be able to talk without crying.
Sherlock took drugs, ambulance is on the way. He's conscious, we're in his flat waiting.
The phone immediately rings. I pick up slightly hesitant. I feel guilty about having spoken to him so harshly just minutes before. And all I can think of isIf I took his ride I would have been here sooner.
"I'm on my way. What did he take? How is he?" Mycroft asks. Sherlock grumbles an unintelligible insult after hearing Mycroft's voice.
"I don't know, I found him on the floor, there was a needle but he won't tell me what he took. I'm with him, he's nodding off but I'm keeping him talking." I reply frantically.
"Don't touch anything Miss Sylvia, I'll be there in 5 minutes."
Click.
Mycroft arrives before the ambulance. He looks at us both on the couch, me holding Sherlock like a child, and his usual composed demeanour is clouded by a desperate and heart broken look on his face.
"For God's sake Sherlock, what have you done to yourself?
"Fuck off, Mycroft."
Mycroft runs a hand through his hair and kneels down beside the couch to be more level with Sherlock. "Did you make a list?" More grumbling from Sherlock. "Listen to me Sherlock. Did you make a list?"
Sherlock relents and weakly reaches into the pocket of his dressing gown pulling out a crumpled piece of paper that he hands to Mycroft. I feel guilty witnessing such an intimate moment but I don't want to let go of Sherlock until he is warm again and the ambulance gets here. Mycroft takes the paper, reads it and places it in his breast pocket mournfully.
"My God. Why have you done this Sherlock?"
"It's for a case."
"How could a case possibly justify almost overdosing? If Miss Sylvia hadn't found you here you'd be dead!"
"Yes, I'm glad you hurt her feelings so she could come home to me and find me like this."
"What are you talking about?" It's the first time I speak. All the while I won't stop holding Sherlock up and occasionally stroking his hair or chest. I just want him to get warmed up and maybe, if I keep doing it, he'll feel the love coming from me and feel less empty himself. I know it's horrible but it makes me feel useful to have found him. Like I did something important and am serving a purpose in this world. I bend down to hear his mumbling answer:
"It was clear from you face when you found me that something important happened that made you sad before you got here-"
"You made me sad Sherlock. I thought you were dead. You were unconscious on the floor."
"No I wasn't."
"Yes, you were!" I raise my voice in frustration but then continue softer "And cold as ice."
"I was conscious. I saw you come in, I was just squinting."
"You are insane, Sherlock." I sigh and look at Mycroft's shoes. I feel too embarrassed to look at him and it hurts me to see his heart break for his brother, so I spare him a little privacy to look sad in peace.
The paramedics finally arrive, and after a brief examination they concluded Sherlock just needed rest, lots of fluids and detox. Sherlock grumbled through all of it and refused to accompany them into the ambulance, claiming he just wanted to stay in his flat. After a few attempts to dissuade him by me and Mycroft, Sherlock yells:
"I said I want to stay in my FLAT. Now leave me alone and go help the people that are in actual need of you tonight."
The paramedics leave after a brief nod from Mycroft and I declare: "I am not leaving you here alone. You're sleeping with me tonight, young man." I say resolute while getting up like a weary old lady. I walk over to the fireplace to light it and continue my nagging. "You're having soup and brushing your teeth and it's off to bed with you! And we're watching my stories on the telly."
Sherlock chuckles. "Is that supposed to be Mrs. Hudson or my mother?"
"Neither. Now, come on." I gesture for him to get up hoping I can convince him to at least have tea and biscuits to warm himself up.
"I have to go to the loo." Sherlock replies casually.
I eye Mycroft with a concerned look and he glances at Sherlock.
Sherlock sighs loudly. "I don't have any drugs in the bathroom alright? I just need to take a piss, unless you want to help me with that brother mine, I suggest you leave me alone." He walks towards the bathroom and Mycroft steps closer to me, shoving his hands in his pockets, and says in a lower voice so Sherlock won't hear:
"Miss Sylvia, I am so sorry you had to witness this. I phoned John but he is on a late shift. I can arrange for someone to come here."
"It's okay Mycroft, I'm staying here, I'm not leaving him alone until John comes back. I-"…tears start to sting at my eyes. "He was so cold Mycroft I thought he…I checked his pulse and breathing and called an ambulance right away but they were so slow at talking, doubting everything I was saying." I run a hand through my forehead. "I should have just called you first, you got here quicker than them. But he started talking so I figured it would be alright if they took a while to get here…"
"Miss Sylvia, it's okay, you did the right thing. I'm sorry you had to go through this. My brother he…has done this before, many times."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that too Mycroft." We exchange a look of shared grief and I can see the pain and fear in his eyes. I offer him a small smile like one does to a mourning family member at a funeral.
Suddenly John comes bolting up the stairs, having seen Mycroft's texts and rushing out of the hospital to get here.
"Where is he?" he asks, slightly out of breath.
"In the bathroom, he's fine, the paramedics have already left." I reply.
"What did he take?"
"I don't know, I just found a needle."
He shakes his head from side to side painfully. "Thank God you found him, Sylvia. And I'm sorry I didn't answer Mycroft, I was working- shit!" He winces, already blaming himself too. "Thank you for letting me know."
"It's quite alright John." Mycroft replies tiredly.
"I…I'm sorry I didn't call you too John I was just-" I start to say but he holds up a hand.
"It's okay Sylvia, please, don't worry. You've already done more than enough. You did good to call Mycroft, he can call all the horses for Sherlock."
"I don't need a cavalry, I need A CASE!" Sherlock suddenly replies, bustling into the room, having apparently changed into one of his suits. He looked a bit better and I worried if he had taken something in his room.
John yells at him about being an irresponsible prick and a junkie and how he can't do this to his friends and his brother and Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes, listening to him but replying with sarcastic comments. At this I say, "I'm going downstairs for a smoke." I imagine I should give them some privacy for Mycroft to be able to talk to him as well more freely.
After a few minutes, as I'm finishing my cigarette, the door opens and Mycroft appears behind me.
"It seems he is back to normal already, arguing with John." he declares in a tired tone.
"That's good, maybe it will distract him and entertain him so he won't do this again."
"He always does this."
"Did he…write down what he took on that list?" I ask shyly. Mycroft looks down mournfully. "Sorry, you don't have to talk about it, I get it." I curse myself and my lack of manners.
"Yes, he wrote down the substances he took. He always makes a list when he pulls these stunts so I can know what he took and help him. I made him promise me after the first time." Mycroft reveals in that same tired tone.
"That's good. That's a good promise." I notice the sadness on Mycroft's face. "And how are you?" He raises his eyebrows. "I mean how are you feeling? This is an upsetting situation."
"My feelings are irrelevant." he quips, glancing at his shoes.
"No, they are important and I want to know about them."
"I'm disappointed." He admits.
"In Sherlock?"
"In myself. For failing yet again to predict one of his downward spirals into drug use."
"It's not your fault. You couldn't have predicted it. People who…do these things are always good at lying and hiding so no one knows they'll do it." I pause staring ahead into nothing. "So no one will worry or interrupt them or confront them or try to get them help." as I say each of these things I swing my head side to side as if I'm reciting tired excuses.
Mycroft looks at me. "I realise this might be difficult for you Miss Sylvia given your…history. So you have my deepest gratitude for helping my little brother."
"What history?" Mycroft looks at me and shifts as if he's uncomfortable. "You mean my mental health history?" I add quietly. Now it's my turn to look at my shoes.
"Yes." His tone is impassive. I shudder in embarrassment. I don't know what to say. Images rush through my mind. What exactly does he know? Does he know everything?
"I…I'm sorry you had to see that, whatever it was." I eventually say.
"Miss Sylvia, you've nothing to be ashamed of."
"Is that why you gave me a job? Because you felt sorry for me? Took pity on me?" I surprise myself by asking this but realise it had been on the back of my mind for some time.
"No, Miss Sylvia, I don't take pity on people. I simply needed someone to help look after my little brother and you proved to be a safe candidate."
"Safe?" I repeat suspiciously.
"I took your past into consideration but, I do a background check into everyone that comes close to Sherlock. You proved no threat and therefore were a safe candidate. Being already close to him made it more convenient."
"I see. Well, I'm sorry I didn't take your ride today. I would've gotten here faster and-"
"No, please, that wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."
"Still, I…you don't have to worry, Mycroft. I'll keep watching over him. But I'm not working for you anymore nor am I taking your bloody cars."
"And why is that?" He asks with a smirk.
"Because it doesn't feel right." I admit.
"How so?" He insists.
"Well, I don't want to have cars sent for me or money put into my account in exchange for just being Sherlock's friend. Plus, I already have a job lined up so I don't need to work for you anymore."
"Miss Sylvia I realise you don't attribute any value to what you do but itisimportant. And I'd like for it to have your full attention. If you start working at the supermarket you will be too exhausted to put up with Sherlock." he replies nonchalantly.
"How do you know-do you have bugs in the theatre?!" I ask slightly irritated.
"I'm not a spy, you know."
"You sure look like one." I cross my arms feigning annoyance. "With your suits and umbrellas, you look like one of the Kingsman."
"I don't look anything like the King's guard."
"No, not the King's guard, the Kingsman, you know? The movies?"
"I don't watch television."
"Well, what do you do in your free time?" There it is, his intense gaze with a hint of something behind it that I can't quite place.
"I don't have free time, Miss Sylvia."
"Very well Mycroft, whatever you say." I reply wearily. "I should go back inside before they kill each other." I turn to leave and he turns with me, his voice making me turn back around.
"Miss Sylvia. Thank you." He looks at me with genuine candour and it almost makes me hug him.
"You don't have to thank me. Have a good evening Mycroft." I reply with a gentle smile.
And just like that, we were friends again.
Sherlock ran wildly through a back alley, me a few steps behind, struggling to keep up. He claimed he needed to go to a drug den and I said there was no way I was going to let him go alone, especially not after the stunt he pulled last week. He scoffed but when I threatened to call Mycroft, he finally relented and let me trail along.
What I didn't know, because he didn't tell me, was that we were actually going to a known drug dealer's house that he wanted to try and deduce, for information about the terrorist cell. He told me to pretend I was his drug buddy and that we wanted to buy a considerable amount of substances for a party. For that, we would need to drink and smoke with them to gain their trust. After a while, I was pretty messed up, not being used to smoking weed in years. I ended up passing out while Sherlock apparently managed to deduce the drug dealer's entire life story, offend him while doing so, wrestle and incapacitate him and several of his men to the ground, before eventually calling the police for a drugs bust. After being dragged away to the station where I learnt all the interesting details from Sherlock's ramblings and DI Lestrade's sighs, we were finally able to go home and get some well needed rest.
As we entered 221b we were greeted by Mycroft sitting on the stairs looking menacingly at us while holding his umbrella.
"Ah, Sherlock, back on the sauce?"
Sherlock sighed. John had bloody phoned him, of course.
"How could you have been so careless? And dragging Miss Sylvia along with you?" Mycroft asks again.
"She wanted to come. She insisted." Sherlock quips.
"And you, why didn't you call me?" Mycroft asks, pointing his piercing gaze at me now.
"If I did he wouldn't have let me come, he would've gone alone"
"So what? You should have let him and alerted me immediately. May I remind you, you are under my employment to report about Sherlock's whereabouts, not to go on back alley adventures with him and getting high as a kite!" He was yelling now. I had never seen Mycroft yell before. I felt guilty using drugs like this after Sherlock's incident but in my defence, it was only weed and alcohol, it wasn't heroin or anything. But, I did pass out, so I definitely didn't have the situation under control as I should have.
"We weren't- we only did that to gain their trust! Sherlock said it was the only way to get them to talk! What did you expect me to do?"
"Your job! I don't expect level headedness from my little brother, but I do expect some from you of all people Miss Sylvia, getting drunk and high after last week's-"
"Maybe if you weren't so stuck up and judgy Sherlock would come to you with these things." I was upset by his yelling and regretted saying what I said the moment I said it.
"Oh, shut up Miss Sylvia!" Mycroft yelled. My mouth fell open.
"Mycroft!" Sherlock interrupted.
Mycroft huffed and started arguing with Sherlock about his carelessness and I took that as my leave to climb up the stairs and finally crash into my bed for a week.
And just like that, we were back to hating each other.
Notes:
I struggled a lot with this chapter but I wanted to add it before the story progresses because I thought it important to mention Sherlock and Sylvia's obvious issues. I'm sorry if the story feels rushed to you, dear reader. Tune in for the next chapter where Sylvia and Mycroft are gonna be forced to spend time together in quite a fancy setting!