BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Mycroft: His Last Threat

(Maybe we should replace all cigarettes with ice cream)

Request for @ohwnojo

(Most of these lines are straight from the script, all credit to Moffat and Gatiss!)

~

"I feel like you're not as worried as you should be Mycroft. John said he found him pretty messed up," you said sternly, fiddling nervously with the watch on your wrist. You watched your husband, sitting stoically in waiting.

Finally he took a deep breath. "I have seen him messed up before (y/n). If he can walk on his own, then its not as bad as it could be."

"How can you say that like it's such a normal thing-" you were interrupted by the door swinging open and Sherlock's overdramatic eye roll as he spotted Mycroft.

"Well then Sherlock, back on the sauce?" asked Mycroft with a smirk.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"I phoned him," stated John matter of factly.

You stood back from a distance watching, taking in Sherlock's appearance. His clothes were baggy, hair greasy, pronounced circles under his eyes, and you could smell him from where you stood. He glanced over at you momentarily, narrowing his eyes. "Can I help you (y/n)?" he asked sassily, teeth gritted.

Sherlock had always taken a sort of liking to you. You two would discuss cases and research, and he once told you that you didn't annoy him as much as other people and that you could come observe him on a case if you so pleased. You were neurologist, a person who studied brains, and so Sherlock was naturally of interest to you. Mycroft, on the other hand, couldn't understand how you two got along so well.

Now, as Sherlock stood glaring at you, you realized he had never addressed you with such animosity. You had done nothing wrong, you were simply observing, just like he did to everyone else. "Yeah you can help me. Tell me why someone with the complexities and power of your brain decides to shoot themselves up and waste their talent and time?"

He looked taken aback by your outburst momentarily, but then recovered himself. "Tell my why someone with your brain decides to stay with a goon like my brother."

Mycroft stopped him there, before things got worse. "Both of you stop. Now save me some time. Where should we be looking?" he asked.

"We?"

"Mr. Holmes!" called Anderson from upstairs, and you knew all hell was about to break loose.

"For god's sake!" yelled Sherlock, sprinting up the stairs. You, John and Mycroft all shared a look, knowing this was going to be a long night.

Eventually you all made it upstairs. You rounded the corner into the kitchen and Mycroft, of course, started up the conversation again with sarcasm. "Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat," he said, motioning to Anderson and Benji. You watched as Sherlock curled himself up sideways on his armchair, his habits reflecting those of a child. "You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit," scolded Mycroft.

"I do not have a drug habit," he replied, obviously annoyed.

"Oh then what would you call it?" you asked, still sour about him calling you out earlier.

"An enjoyable, recreational activity."

"You think being unconscious, unaware of your surroundings, experiencing hallucinations, and sleeping in a dirty rundown building is enjoyable?"