AU - Hellhound On My Trail
└ Sherlock made a cross roads deal. But what for?
um how about NO
SOMEONE NEEDS TO FIC THIS NOW
He’d been twenty-seven years old, on his own, addicted to cocaine, and with a family that so obviously didn’t care. That’s what it seemed like to him anyway. Of course from his perch, Mycroft always had his eye on baby brother, but not enough to stop his downward spiral it seemed.
The streets of London weren’t kind to lanky malnourished addicts whose hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages. If only they knew the brilliant mind that hid beneath that mess of greasy curls. Perhaps they’d have been less keen to throw sneers his way. Or perhaps they would anyway, no one would really know. Because, with a drag to his feet and slump to his shoulders, Sherlock Holmes stumbled on an old cross-section of alleys in the backways of London. Trash littered the ground in scattered piles and a deafening silence permeated the area, as if something had blocked it from the traffic just a street over.
Straight in the middle of the section of alleys, the haggard young man collapsed onto his hands and knees, a broken sound escaping him. How soon ago it was that he’d been cocky and bright-eyed and smug about what his brain could do. And now here he was, starved and hopeless and alone.
From thin air, the hollow clicks of heels echoed through the small square, coming to stand in front of Sherlock. With tired eyes, the man looked up, lines showing in his bony face. The woman in front of him stood strong and powerful, a hand on her hip, features sharp and eyes that smoldered. There was an air about her that, were any around, would have people diving for cover. “Looks like someone needs a pick me up.” Her voice had the effect of honey whiskey. Sherlock’s head bowed again, as if his neck were unable to support it any longer, so the woman crouched and lifted his chin with two fingers. “What do you want?” The question was seductive and dangerous and coaxing.
There were tears in Sherlock’s glassy eyes. “For someone to care,” came the broken reply. The smirk that flitted across the woman’s lips resembled a viper.
She leaned in to his ear. “Ten years. Then I come for that tortured little soul. Deal?” The whisper licked at Sherlock’s ear, pulled him. With a desperation that could make a nun weep, he nodded.
After a kiss, the woman disappeared, Sherlock collapsed into a pile on the floor, unable to hold himself up any longer as his limbs continued to shake. It was on this route that not too long later, police officer Gregory Lestrade found an addict with a mind sharper than a knife and got him clean
Sherlock had thought that was his deal
Four years later, he met Marie Hudson, an older woman who had a husband with violent tendencies and a disposition for shouting. A spark of compassion gave Sherlock the fuel to make sure he never laid a hand on her again.
Sherlock thought this was his deal.
Six years after that, Sherlock met John Watson… the most brilliant man that had ever crossed his path. The only one that could possibly ever understand.
One day John had caught him smiling and asked why. Sherlock’s simple reply had been, “Of course it’s you.” John hadn’t understood.
So when Dean asked him what the deal had been, Sherlock merely shook his head.
”It doesn’t matter now. I got what I wanted. I’m ready..”