Prescription [ BBC Sherlock ]

Chapter 1

  The day was just starting and the streams of sunlight streaked through the window of the flat, hitting the screen of a television that sat with a noticeable coating of dust over it, the couch looking new except for the blanket that had a resting lump hidden underneath it. A groan could be heard as the blanket was folded over by an arm, a head of curls coming into view as the sunlight hit the figure's eyes, making his head throb due to how bright it was. It troubled the male that he was still in pain from the night before, but he had gone to bed much much later than he had expected due to the importance of an experiment that he had been working with over the last few days, and before he was about to sleep, it hit a key point for examination and required immediate attention. The man was married to his work and would have been damned if his own well being would pull him away from the necessity of what needed to be done, discovered, and tampered with. He was loyal to nothing more than what he worked through, was able to do, and he prided himself on what he was able to triumph over the night before, seeing as it would be a turning point at the lab. This was a day that he and Molly were going to be preforming some complex experiments and he had been working on a solution that would allow a specific tampered protein to react with his solution allowing him to test for both the usage of drugs, or poison, perhaps even diseases if it affected the blood in such a way that it would be distinguishable from un-tampered cells.
After a few moments of internalized groaning Sherlock sat himself up on the couch and ran a hand through his hair, the curls tangling along his slender fingers as they were brushed through, causing a slight ache to run over his sensitive scalp, but he gave no reaction to it besides the slight crinkling of his nose. All that he was dressed in was a pair of joggers, dress robe hanging open as he sat up and swung his legs off of the cushions until the collided with the floor and he was able to recover his bearings through the shock that the cold flooring had sent through his system. Of course his morning could not be named as all that bad, for in front of him sat a tray with a tea pot settled on it and an already prepared cup for him which he took little time in reaching for and sipping at, allowing the warm liquid to run down his throat and finally revive some of him which had fallen into a mild dehydration. He was a mess in the mornings and currently matched his flat which had collections of boxes, experiments, files and papers strung through, scattered along the floor and table tops. He hadn't unpacked yet because he had been in search of a flat mate, not that the rent was overly expensive, but he knew that he would need someone there to manage the home when he was not around. Still, Sherlock knew that he would be a very difficult person to find a flat mate for unless they were directly assigned to him, and the chance that that would happen was one in a million, even if he was searching outside of the country.
He was no where near confidence when it came to making 'friends' and developing relationships or connections with anyone, and those that he was related to or forced to work with were no exception, even if they decided that they were Sherlock's friends without his consent. In all honesty the idea of developing feeling and focusing on anything that was not productive to the work that was prepared and laid out for himself was worthless to spend time on, which is why the male spent most of his life at home, at the lab, tacking around London or hidden in the morgue. Sometimes he would even set himself down and hide himself in the back streets of London where only his brother had been able to find him in the past, but there were secrets that not even Mycroft could know about this most intelligent man. Most of his connections were ones that benefited him in the end, none going towards the productivity of others unless it was as an outcome of what he had done and completed which is why Greg was often confused about his working styles, and why he much preferred to work alone than with anyone on his force, especially if Anderson was the next in line to be on forensics when he was consulted. And then there was Molly who was simply his lab connection, allowing him to see the bodies of the deceased and work with them, preform experiments and even take the 'occasional' body part home to work with and study the process of decay, reactions and other intimacies that were hidden only to be discovered by the most complex of minds. Mrs. Hudson was someone that he grew closer to than any of his other 'friends' for the fact that she had his back on most of his cases when his flat was searched or he was in trouble, but of course after all that he did for her he found it almost unreasonable for her to find any reason to refuse his requests even if to the common ear they sounded dangerous or completely mad, and most times, they were.
Sherlock always told others that he preferred to be alone because that is how he represented himself every day that he stepped out of his flat with his unmistakable coat and scarf put together so neatly, the collar upturned to catch the curls that brushed along the back of his neck and cascaded around his gorgeous cheekbones. There was no doubt that anyone who had met or read about Mr. Holmes would be able to identify him from a mile away, if not by the coat he wore then by the obviously expressionless face that he bore every day. His lips were always pressed into a firm line as though he were displeased by something, and the way that he looked disapproving at the world would be able to tell anyone that he thought he was better than every passer-by on the street. He was not a man that was modest in any way, or kind to those that pissed him off, but he was in fact one of the smartest men that walked the streets of London, there was no doubt in his mind at least.
As the male prepared himself for the day he assured that he had some form of clothing on, which included his obviously signature coat and scarf, along with a dark blue shirt and black trousers that seemed to fit on him well. There was nothing that was going to stop him from going into the lab today, after all he had already set up a 'date' with Molly to meet her before the afternoon, but the male was certain that if he left that instant he would be able to make it without calling for a cab, so that is exactly what the male did. As he made his way to the door of his flat, he let out an exasperated sigh, walking down the stairs with a slow hum lingering on his lips, a tune that he had been working on late in the night after his nightmares shocked him out of his sleep and into a state of panic that not even the drugs could induce. The tune was melodic and calming, not as climatic as other pieces that he had written, but it had always depended on the state of mind that he had been in when composing, so this song had a much lighter tune to it in order to send the male into a lighter area of his mind palace, if if even existed. No one knew what troubles that the great detective went through day after day, and most just accepted the fact that they never would given the way that he never interacted with any one or showed any signs to feeling as a normal man would. Occasionally he would dwell on the question as to whether or not he was a man, or something much more. Perhaps a consulting detective should have been a species all on its own.
The day was oddly beautiful for London, the sun shining brighter than it had in a long time after a lingering season of rain that usually was bestowed upon the grand city. All that was missing was the singing birds and the chorus lines to follow with every step that matched the rhythm of the day. Assuring that he didn't walk in time to the tune that hung in his head, Sherlock walked his way down the pavement, knowing the path that he would already be taking would be allowing for a quick stop to grab himself another cup of tea at this little shop that was near the lab. His walking was quick paced and efficient as it usually was, assuring that anyone who would want to even try to keep up with him would be struggling unless that was set as their main task. He was a man that waited for no one, perhaps not even himself on days which was why he took the stimulants that engaged his thought process to accelerate beyond the capacity of a normal man, or woman, and as he walked down the street, he noticed that in his passion of impatience he had almost overshot his destination, causing him to backtrack his last few steps in order to arrive where he was meant to.
When he stepped inside, he found that there were very few people in the shop, and one of the few was one that he recognized, but it took him a moment to remember the male's name, but only a fraction of that moment for him to be recognized by the familiar male. Stamford waved and clumsily made his way over to Sherlock with a smile plastered on his face, obviously making the detective want to turn away, but he forced a smile and held up his right hand as a nervous laugh escaped his lips and he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sherlock!" Exclaimed Stamford as he wrapped his arm around the male's shoulders, causing him to tense up almost immediately as he let out a small sigh, knowing that it would be rude to turn the male away, but he did pull away as he stood in the line, running a hand through his hair to try and relax himself.
"Ah..yes, Stamford..how..wonderful it is to see you again.." he murmured, trying to hide any hints of sarcasm that would usually be a natural retort, but he assured that it would not be in this case, holding back all of his natural instincts as best he could.
"Yeah, I would think so, aye? How has life been? Are you still able to tell a man his life story just by looking in the creases of his shirt?" He playfully asked as he nudged the male's chest with his arm and let out a small chuckle before crossing his arms behind his back and looking forwards as he stood in line, eyes wider than they would have usually been for some odd reason.
Sherlock took in a sigh before thinking through his response, knowing that he could shoot off every detail that he knew about Stamford just by looking at him, quite possibly embarrassing him in the process, but he decided to take the high road for once and be somewhat polite. "Yes, I am still able, just as I am able to tell that you are not inquiring because you are interested but because it is the polite thing to do in common courtesy, and that you are now a professor at a..mm..I want to say college? Oh, I'm sorry, but I am not too nit picky about the details. And as for me, my talent and abilities have labelled me as a very hard person to find a flat mate for. And also the fact that I am seen as nothing more than some heartless detective may not be adding to my case in a positive fashion." He stated as well as he could without sounding as though he were complaining, but that didn't stop Stamford from placing a hand on his back and letting out a sympathetic chuckle towards the man who was only stating raw fact.
"Awe, Sherlock, I'm certain it's not that at all. I know some who would kill to be in the presence of a man as intelligent as you, even with your..struggling expressiveness. I mean, this is the twenty-first century after all! People will be intrigued!" He announced with a chuckled before patting his back once more and allowing his eyes to wander back to his table, indicating that he was soon going to be leaving the detective to his developments, so he turned his gaze back onto Sherlock for the last time and gave a smile. "Well, I will let you know if I find anything. May I ask where you're working now?" He asked for his final inquiry, almost forcing Sherlock to respond now in order to end the conversation.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before nodding reluctantly and allowing himself to have some form of stress relief in the time that they had been speaking with one another. "I work around London, but I was just headed to work on a few things at the morgue, they have a lab available there, and I use it from time to time, and in fact," he glanced up at the clock and pulled a fake grimace onto his face before settling his eyes back on Stamford and forcing another reluctant smile, "I really must be on my way. I shall speak to you later." He stated before giving a firm nod and getting out of line as he adjusted his coat and made his way out of the shop, and out of that seemingly unpleasant situation for himself.
He made no further stops on his way to the lab, and the moment that he stepped inside he knew that he was being hidden in his workplace, but at least he was no longer in a state of discomfort that found its way into his life only moments ago. As he walked in, he gave a nod to Molly before walking directly to his microscope and sitting down, pulling the formula out of his coat pocket and holding it out to her with a raised brow, an expectant expression settled on his features before he pulled the first slide forwards and proceeded with his work, the encounter almost completely having left his mind.
A few hours had passed and Sherlock had it brought to his attention that Stamford had returned, but this time with another man, one that Sherlock did not know, but he had a clue as to what the encounter that morning had possibly provided him with.
"Sherlock, I have brought a friend of mine. This is John-"
"Do you mind the violin?" He asked the second male, John, the one that had come in with Stamford, the introduction not calling for a cause to look up from his microscope, Sherlock allowing a smirk to play its way onto his lips, knowing the exact reason that they were there, and this was his time to shine.