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sherlockbbc_fic ([personal profile] sherlockbbc_fic) wrote2015-06-10 03:45 pm

Prompting Part XXXVII

This is the new prompting post for the Sherlock Prompting Meme. Prompts from LJ can still be filled there with links here or filled here in the new overflow post.


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Mycroft is a drug addict, but it's all under control

(Anonymous) 2015-12-28 09:17 am (UTC)(link)
Mycroft has been addicted to prescription drugs for years. He thinks it's different from Sherlock's addiction to street drugs and it's well under control. He just needs his doctor to prescribe him the drugs on a regular basis but as long as he's on it, he's fine.

Someone(could be anyone - even Mrs Hudson?) finds out.

Any pairing welcome. <3

Fill: Mycroft is a drug addict, but it's all under control

(Anonymous) 2016-01-02 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Mycroft stays well under the radar. Even Sherlock fails to pick up on his new-found habit. After all it's a prescription drug and he has all the right paper work to prove that he requires it for a medical reason.

Doctor Nicholson writes the prescription with his good hand and a thin smile and hastily says, "Until next time, Mr Holmes."

He has one of those convenient plastic little containers with days on each lid and put more tablets than necessary in them under the pretense of being a fastidious patient.

Inside the medical cabinet, behind the unforgiving mirror in his bathroom, there lies the container on the stacks of clean towels. Mycroft hesitates, only for a second, and grabs it with a need that he hasn't felt for a long time.

He takes the tablets, gulps down the tab water, and wishes Mummy won't call him tonight. With her plummy and sweet voice laced with poorly hidden concern, asking how Sherlock has been doing.

The tablets melt upon his tongue, leaving a bitter trail down his throat. Sherlock is doing alright, Mummy. He has been sober for a long time. John's there with him all the time. He's a good doctor. He remembers his own assurance and a long remorseful sigh after the call, and the guilt that disappears after he pops more tablets in his mouth.

His phone beeps discreetly when he blinks his eyes open after a while. A text from Anthea. Sherlock's in trouble, it says. And DI Lestrade is trying to take charge of the situation.

Bugger. He's not in the right mind right now. Not now. Not now.

But Anthea knocks on the door. He Mycroft hastily shoves the container back into the cabinet, closes the door and checks his own reflection in the mirror. His blood shot eyes look back.

"Yes, come in," Mycroft says determinedly, knowing what he must do. He will meet Lestrade for a debrief, and find out what Sherlock is up to.


When he arrives at the scene, it's lightly raining. The drizzle calms him down, somehow, but the raindrops feel too cold and caressing on his skin.

"Detective Inspector," He says by way of greeting. It earns him a startled look from Lestrade who has been barking orders to his subordinates, not caring for a second that he's soaked in rain from standing long hours without an umbrella.

"Mycroft? I... You shouldn't have come," Lestrade says defensively.

"Whilst I have great trust in your ability to control Sherlock to an extend," he draws in a breath and continues, "I would appreciate it if you could give me up-to-date report on Sherlock's exact involvement in the case." Somehow, Mycroft doesn't feel worried. He doesn't feel much, other than the sudden blossoming interest in the elegant color of Lestrade's lumpy hair.

Lestrade looks at him curiously for a moment. There are shouts and mutterings in the background. There is a gurney. There is a dead body. Mycroft knows who the murderer is, but it's not his job to tell. After a while, Lestrade only nods, with a certain sort of determination not dejection, and walks towards his car like a well-trained dog. But that's an illusion.

Mycroft gets into the car after Lestrade, welcomed by the warmed dry air inside. He closes his eyes, breathing in through his mouth, chasing away the cold, sticky feeling from outside with a shrug of his shoulders. It's still there, the drug pumping through his veins. An euphoric numbness takes over him one more time. He nearly purrs.

"Mycroft?" There is a tentative touch to his knee. Mycroft jumps. When he opens his eyes, he's faced with knowing, accusing eyes. Brown. Dark. And too kind.

"What are you on now?" Lestrade asks, and it's a question and not a question at the same time. Mycroft swallows, weighing options, thinking about the possible, some definite consequences. He's trying to think but he can only feel the warmth of a big hand just above his knee now and try to process the information about why he's here with this good man in his car, and all his denied needs and desires of the past.

"I am..." Mycroft wants to shout and scream. "I am alright." His voice is too weak in his head. His hands tremble.

"Hey, Mycroft." Lestrade grabs his one hand, hold his wrist when he tries to get away, but with a gentle sort of touch. "Mycroft, look. I don't think it's a good idea to talk about Sherlock's case now. He's still working on it, trying to find out who the murderer is, and..."

"It's the bloody gardener," he snaps, trying to get rid of his hand one more time.

"..what?" But Sherlock..." Lestrade struggles for words for a moment, but doesn't still let him go. "Right," Lestrade eventually says and smiles ruefully. "Only if you were a self-proclaimed consulting detective that did job for free."

Mycroft nearly rolls his eyes, but doesn't. He knows what that makes him look like. He looks like a Holmes with a stark different that set him apart from the rest of the population. Too pale skin. Too bright mind. Too much of everything.

"Is it the same drug Sherlock used to use?" Lestrade shakes him a bit. Mycroft realises that he's nearly fallen asleep.

"No. I've got a prescription," Mycroft says proudly. The childish emotion goes away like a tide.

"What for? Do you have a medical condition?"

Mycroft nearly smiles, then says, "Perhaps." And it's something of an answer enough that Lestrade moves to sit next to him, knocks on the divider and whispers in his husky, tired voice, "Can you drive us back to his place? Please?" For some reason, Robert, his sensible, quiet chauffeur, agrees to it and makes a swift U-turn.

Orange lights pass by. Lestrade still doesn't let go of his wrist. Mycroft quietly says, "I am sorry."

"I will help you," Lestrade says after a beat.

"" Mycroft hears a trace of hope that he doesn't want to admit that he's feeling.

"I will do what I did with Sherlock. It worked. Well, mostly," Lestrade says, chuckles, and ducks his head. "I know I am just a dumb old cop. It took me weeks before I realised that I might need Sherlock's help to catch the murderer. When you could've solved the case with just one glance, even when you are... you are.." Lestrade takes a deep breath and continues, "You are too brilliant to be wasted. Let me help you, Mr Holmes. Mycroft."

It's pouring down with rain now. The car has stopped a moment ago. Mycroft hesitates, only for a second, and with a need that he only felt for a hit from the drug, he grabs Lestrade's hand, and nods.

It's what it all takes.

Re: Fill: Mycroft is a drug addict, but it's all under control

(Anonymous) 2016-01-02 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Ooh, I loved this!

Re: Fill: Mycroft is a drug addict, but it's all under control

(Anonymous) 2016-01-03 12:34 am (UTC)(link)
What a great story! Greg is such a darling.

Re: Fill: Mycroft is a drug addict, but it's all under control

(Anonymous) 2017-06-18 12:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Just lovely!