Parents

7 • Drugs

Clear.

The colours seem much sharper, and everything seems a lot more focused. I had forgotten how good this was.

I would be able to do it now, I was sure of it.

The case had been bothering me for weeks.
Weeks.

I never take this long on a case. I needed to improve my mind-set, and the countless nicotine patches didn't work (once you get past 9 there really is no difference).

The cigarettes I stole from some Yarder's pocket hadn't done anything either. I couldn't stand it.

I don't know who did it; I've hardly made the connections. What is it about this case? There's something I've missed, or more likely, that it's something the Yarders removed and therefore stunted my entire investigation.

However, I still should've have been able to do it. I know I should've. I just should've.
There was one thing that I hadn't tried. It was because of a promise to John. He had let me off with the cigarettes as he was in an extremely good mood (Hamish had slept through the night for the first time). And that he thought I'd only had one, also knowing that if I hadn't had that I would have done something much worse.

And he made me reiterate the promise I made years ago.

It was just after the first 'drugs bust' that Lestrade had done. "You used to take drugs?" he had asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes. What of it?"

"Like...marijuana?"

He shifted uncomfortably, his background meant that he could have easily have gone down the route of drug addiction and I knew that it was something he hated. His use of the word 'marijuana' alone rather than 'weed' or 'pot' shouted this.
"No."
I would have answered like this to anyone else but John normally, but if it was another subject matter I would have given him a full explanation.
I was avoiding talking about my past with drugs due to his opinion on it. I had wondered why I even cared about his opinion, back then. I didn't yet know that I loved him.
"Cocaine?" His voice was more demanding now and I knew that I wouldn't be able to just avoid his questions.

Regardless of this, however I still wanted to so I walked away and sat at the kitchen table.

"Sherlock? Sherlock. Answer me. Did you take cocaine?" I could hear the ring in his voice that screamed 'Captain John Watson'.

I brought my knees up to my chin on the small chair; he was closer now, his head bent right in front of mine.

"Yes."

"Sherlock." He elongated the 'o' in my name in distress.

"John." I answered shortly.

"How could you? Don't you know what is does? It kills brain cells. I thought that was important to you, even if your health isn't!"

"Of course I knew that. It doesn't have that effect on me, it helps me."

"Helps you? Helps you?" He was getting angry and I didn't understand why. Why would he even care?

"Yes. I can see things more clearly when I take it."

"Wait. Does that mean you'd still take it now? If you were stuck on a case?"

"Maybe. Depends. "

"Never do that again Sherlock."

"Why?"

John's face grew red, his hands were shaking. "Because it's harmful, you might get addicted."

"I got over it before, at least what Mycroft classed as an addiction. I could have quit myself."