[CONTAINS SMUT] ‼️18+‼️
WARNINGS: This is a Sherlock book so obviously mentions of drug use
~~~
A simple tune is all it takes. A flood of memories returning to haunt- to plague every thought with regret and/or longing.
For you, a violin composition...
In no way do I condone illegal drug use of any sort (unless for prescribed medicinal use). This is not meant to be some sort of glamorous thing, it isn't romantic, because it can, not only, hurt the user but those around them.
It is a personal choice but do factor in risks. If anyone you know is a user know all procedures for being there for them/helping them such as drug hotlines and emergency numbers.
Stay safe. Be aware. Never feel pressured.
~~~
Panic was settling in the pit of the eldest Holmes. His hands were distracted by the papers in front of him whilst his mind wanders off; Where was Sherlock? And why? Irene, maybe? Was it a case? If so, why was John still here? Did John know?
"Where is Sherlock?" Speaking of John...
"I was just wondering the same thing," Mycroft pushes the files away and stands to see a slightly fuming then suddenly worried John.
"You didn't..."
"And evidently Moriarty is not the cause," Mycroft sighs, the full force of worry setting in. "I'll have as many out there looking,"
"Do you think he's..." John gestures someone smoking.
"Oh, John, if he's been gone this long, it won't be just a smoke," he says.
"You don't think he's-"
"No, John, it's Sherlock..." he looks to the window. "He wouldn't..."
~~~
"Miss Watson, Mr Stan," Lestrade's heavy breaths were seen in the cool winter air.
"Uh, Greg right?" Anna looks to Sebastian who shrugs.
"Yes, yeah," Lestrade took one moment for himself. "Are you two busy?"
Anna looks down at her hot chocolate as Seb glares at her. "Fine, we're not busy,"
"No, I'm sorry if-"
"We're just shopping for Y/n, Rose and Tom's Christmas presents," Seb assures, holding up a few bags. "What can we do for you?"
"Well, I needed to speak with Y/n, it's about Sherlock,"
"Band's live tonight, 8," Anna notes, "you can talk then? We were just-"
Greg's phone chimes, hand fumbling to pick it up. "Hello?" He answers as Anna and Seb watch. "A-alright, yeah, got it," he hangs up and turns back. "Sorry, gotta run, thanks though,"
~~~
"John?" Lestrade huffs and puffs more than he did the first time, both hands on his knees to catch his breath.
"Mycroft was right," beside the blogger was one of the members of Sherlock's homeless network. "She says some of the others saw Sherlock... buying,"
"Why should we believe her?" Lestrade looks to the woman who scoffs.
"He's my employer but he's also a friend," she rolls her eyes, "he's the reason a lot of us aren't starving constantly. We have his back, he has ours,"
"Do you know where he was last seen?"
"No one knows, but it's definitely not the big ones,"
"How are we going to find him now??" John groans, looking around frantically.
"Hey, man," the woman looks to John. "If he's not in a big den then it's a smaller one but someone close to him will know exactly where,"
"Mycroft?"
"If they're close enough and he trusts this Mycroft enough, yeah," she shrugs, walking off.
~~~
Music, rhythmic hits pounding against ears, flashing lights and a center stage with you. Mycroft and John push through the crowd as Lestrade waited patiently in the car, ready to drive off to exactly where you needed.
"Are you sure she'll know?"
"Certain,"
"I'm on my knees while I'm beggin'," you belt out your words, looking in the crowd to see Mycroft. "'Cause I don't want to lose you..." your eyes land on the simple gesture he made.
Left pinky rubbing against the right side of his nose.
Sherlock.
In an instant you drop the mic and jump off stage as Rose catches the mic, frantically trying to figure out what to do. "Keep singing," Anna urges as they watch you run, Rose doing so flawlessly while looking to the Seb and Tom with a shrug.
"We don't know where he is," Mycroft hurries out with you and John.
"He's not in any of the big ones... apparently a smaller one which-"
"I know where he is," your face falls. "I-" taking out your phone from your purse, which you snatched up from the side stage, certain roads would be closed by now. By foot it was.
"Y/n- Y/N!" John yells, looking to Lestrade who gets Mycroft in the car. "Follow her," he gets in as well.
The winter air pumped through your lungs, coat flailing in the wind relentlessly as you run down alley's and taking short cuts. Of course you knew where he was. He promised that this is where he'd be when he wanted to be alone.
Always certain spots but if he had been gone long enough for Mycroft to worry then this was the spot.
His very last spot.
He always said it was the last place he'd be. The last spot you'd have to check to find him. Sherlock knew you worried about him a lot so you needed a list of spots to check but if it was this place then every inch of dread coursing through you had peaked.
"Please don't let it be here," you see the block of abandoned townhouses, the very middle one with a spray painted heart on the door, yellow crown in the center. The Queen of Heart's den. Every spot had it's code name.
Wherever John, Mycroft and Lestrade were now, you couldn't wait.
"Sherlock?!" You yell out, barging down the door and looking around. First the kitchen, then living room, then dining room. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Wood creaks rapidly under your frantic steps to ascend to the next level. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and study room.
Each door was flung open and nothing for the first three rooms. Just rusted beds, dust layers on every surface and ripped curtains covering vandalized windows. Then there it was, the last one down the hall with it's knob locked. Again, those steps sync with your breathing as you rummage the kitchen for something to help break open the door.
One. Two. Three. Each strike against bronze echoes until you finally pry it open.
"Sherlock??"
~~~
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