A Universe of Possibilities - Teenlock/Johnlock/Mystrade

Chapter 2- Idiot

What John didn't know, however, was that he wasn't as alone as he thought. He had no idea that, on the opposite side of the city, another boy his age was also experiencing the worst night of his life.

At around the same time that John Watson slipped out his front door with a duffle bag on his shoulder and no particular destination in mind, Sherlock Holmes climbed out of his bedroom window with a small backpack and a very specific plan.

Sneaking out was easy enough for Sherlock, even though his bedroom was on the second floor. Graceful as a feline, he was quite good at jumping from high places, always managing to land on his feet. Heights didn't scare him; in fact, they thrilled him.

Sherlock landed with a soft thud on the grass and crouched there for a moment. He closed his eyes, mapping out the trip in his head before he started it. It was absolutely essential that he be back home by 1:17 in the morning (two hours and seven minutes from now) when Mycroft would wake up and notice him missing.

Sherlock didn't know if older brothers were naturally born with this irritating ability or what, but Mycroft always seemed to sense when Sherlock was "up to no good", even in the middle of the night. It was quite annoying, and extremely inconvenient.

All the same, Sherlock was one step ahead of his brother now. He had done a month's worth of experiments preparing for this night, and had discovered that the average amount of time he could be missing from his bed before Mycroft somehow detected it was two hours and twelve minutes. Sherlock knew that requiring himself to be home five minutes earlier than that would give him a buffer zone.

As the clever boy sat in the grass, mapping out his route, he couldn't help noticing the fierce pounding of his heart and his shortness of breath. I'm feeling afraid, he realized. I'm afraid of breaking the law.

Thankfully, however, the thought was fleeting. Sherlock scoffed at himself, mentally commanding his amygdala to stop this nonsense. This was for science. Emotions had no business here.

Once he finished planning his night practically down to the second, Sherlock Holmes set off to meet his drug dealer.

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Forty-seven minutes later, Sherlock stood outside the agreed-upon meeting place: an abandoned hospital parking lot in the shittiest part of Eastern London. Sherlock had tried to convince the bloke that this was possibly the most obvious meeting place in the history of drug deals, but was sent the response, "Do you want the drugs or not, prick?"

So there he stood, with over £1,000 in his bag, waiting for his guy to show up.

Suddenly, from behind him: "Woah, what the hell?"

He turned to find a tall, thin man with wild blond hair and an unshaven face, who looked to be in his forties. However, the man could've been in his twenties for all Sherlock knew. Drugs tend to age people.

The man was staring at the boy in shock. "Are you....?"

Sherlock nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes now let's get this over with. I don't have all night." He reached his hand out for the bag the man was holding, but he held it back, shaking his head.

"Richie didn't tell me this was for a kid! There's no way I'm doing this."

Wow, a criminal with standards. How boring.

Sherlock immediately threw the bag of money at the man's feet. "I assume this will change your mind."

As soon as the dealer observed the notes within, he loosened his grip on the bag of drugs and Sherlock snatched it. The man let him, preoccupied with counting the money.