His High-functioning Sociopath (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Epilogue

Two years pass, and everything has changed. Sherlock is now a full-on high-functioning sociopath, showing no sentiment or anything. He's more obnoxious and rude, and doesn't care about himself. During those two years, he became a drug addict, worrying Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, and especially Elizabeth. Elizabeth had ditched everything on what she was doing to stop Moriarty, immediately going back to London. She came into Baker Street when Sherlock was barely conscious from taking heroin.

“Oh William,” she whispers, kneeling at his side next to the sofa. “What have you done?”

“L-Lizzy?” he slurs, trying to look through his blurry sight. “Wha. . .what are you doin' here?”

“Stop this drug addict.” she said, avoiding the question. “Please, don't do this to yourself. You might overdose.”
“No,” he shakes his head slowly, going cross-eyed. “Y-you're just a hallucination. Lizzy isn't actually here, she's somewhere trying to stop something. She left me.” he says, choking up at the last sentence.

“No, William!” she says, cupping his face with her hands. “I'm here, I am real. I didn't leave you, I still love you. I'm just trying to make a future for us by taking the baddie away.”

“Baddie?” he whimpers, moving to hide his face in the pillow he is lying on.

“Hey, no!” Elizabeth panics, moving his face away from the pillow. “You might suffocate yourself.”

“So?” he mumbles. “I have nothing left.”

“You have me.” she said firmly. “You have me, and Mrs Hudson, and Mycroft -”

“Mycroft doesn't care about me.” he spits, glaring in the distance. “If he cares for me, he would have stopped me from the drugs.”

“Mycroft is busy -”

“Yeah, busy.” he scoffs. “Busy ignoring me.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” she says loudly. “You listen to me. I care for you. Mrs Hudson cares for you. Mycroft does care for you. So stop whining, fix yourself up, and please stop this addiction!” she looks down, hiding her tears from him. “You're giving me pain.” she whimpers. Sherlock stares at her for a while, before bringing a hand up to her face, wiping the tears away.

“You are here.” he whispers.

“Stop this addiction.” she commands, wiping the tears away herself. “Stop this, or else I'll never come back.”

That has made Sherlock stop. He made a vow to himself to never hurt Elizabeth's heart, and stop the drugs. It was strange for everyone; Sherlock was high on drugs, and then the next thing you know, he's clean and has a clear mind, solving cases again. Lestrade pulls Sherlock to the side, looking at him confused and concerned.

“Are you all right?” Lestrade asks Sherlock. “One second you're on drugs, and then you're clean, like you didn't take any drugs. Is this some new drug, like you look and act sane, but you're high on something. . .?”

“No, Lestrade.” Sherlock cuts him off, looking at him with a serious look. “I'm not on the drugs anymore, you can even have a drug bust at my place. I got rid of all the drugs.”

“But why?” Lestrade questions him in disbelief. “What made you stop?”

“Someone just knocked some sense into me.” Sherlock shrugs, before walking away, thinking about Elizabeth.

Elizabeth watches Sherlock in the distance, happy that he is clean. She send him a text before she left for Russia.

Doesn't this case look like an open-and-close murder?

EP

***

Sherlock walks with Molly Hooper in the morgue, going to the recent dead body. “How fresh?” he asks her.

“Just in,” Molly answers, “Sixty-seven natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice.”

Sherlock zips the bag up and turns to smile at Molly. “Fine. We'll start with the riding crop.” he said. Sherlock receives a text.

Ooh, kinky.

EP

Sherlock smirks at the text, before putting his phone away. Molly and Sherlock remove the body from the bag and lay it on a table. Molly then went to another room while Sherlock went and got his riding crop. He then starts whipping the body harshly. Molly watches through the other room, wincing at every smack that hits the body.

She enters the room again after applying lipstick, just as he finishes whipping. “So, bad day was it?” Molly tries to joke.

Sherlock doesn't reply to her, thinking about the day. Two years today since Lizzy left, Sherlock thought. Wonder how she's doing.

Sherlock writes in his notebook while talking to Molly. “I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.”

“Listen,” Molly says, trying to get his attention. “I was wondering. . .maybe later. . .when you're finished -”

“Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing any lipstick before.” Sherlock cuts her off, looking at her confused.

“I er, I refreshed it a bit.” Molly lies. Sherlock believes this, only to get another text.

You're still oblivious to normal human nature.

EP

Also, happy two anniversary of being separated.

EP

“Sorry, you were saying?” Sherlock asks, after reading his text messages.

“I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.” Molly blurts out, secretly proud of herself. It takes a lot of courage for Molly to speak to the sociopath. Ever since Elizabeth left, he was hard to talk to, and was not interested in any kind of relationship. Now that it's been two years, Molly thinks it's finally time for Sherlock to move on from Elizabeth. Yes, her and Elizabeth are good friends, but just before Elizabeth left, she had told Molly to look after Sherlock as much as she can.

“Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs.” Sherlock answers, unaware that she had asked him out, and walks away. Molly frowns, disappointed and sad that he didn't know what she meant. She then receives a text from someone.

You tried, that's enough courage.

EP

Molly has a hunch it was from Elizabeth, and smiled in relief, happy that her friend is not mad for asking her boyfriend (maybe ex-boyfriend) out.

Sherlock makes his way to a lab. He stands at the far end with a pipette. He then starts squeezing a liquid into a Petri dish.

Ooh, don't make acid again. You know what happened last time.

EP

Sherlock then gets a flashback to when he and Elizabeth made acid by accident, destroying the table. Molly was shocked and furious, but didn't hold the grudge for long. Ever since then, Molly made sure to keep an eye on one of them.

Mike Stanford walks into the room with another man trailing behind. Sherlock ignores Mike, and looks at the other man. The man has light brownish hair that seems to be greying. He is carrying a cane to help him walk as he limps. He's on the shorter side, nowhere as tall as Sherlock.

“Well, a bit different from my day,” the man was saying.

“You have no idea.” Mike chuckles.

“Mike,” Sherlock calls. “Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.” Sherlock frowns, thinking about his phone signal. It was fine when Elizabeth had sent a message to him, it was strange how it suddenly doesn't have any bars.

“And what's wrong with the landline?” Mike asks Sherlock.

“I prefer to text.” Sherlock answers.

“Sorry, it's in my coat.”

The unknown man puts his hand in his pocket, and reveals his phone. He extends it towards Sherlock. “Er, here. Use mine.”

Sherlock looks at him for a moment, before replying. “Oh, thank you.” Sherlock walks over to them and grabs the phone. Mike then introduces them.

“It's an old friend of mine, John Watson.”

As Sherlock began texting, he asks John a question. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John looks at Sherlock shocked. Mike smiles in the background at his friend's look. “Sorry?” John asks.

“Which was it; Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John hesitates, before answering. “Afghanistan – sorry, how did you know. . .” John trails of as Molly walks into the room, handing Sherlock his coffee.

“Ah, Molly. Coffee. Thank you.” he said, grabbing the coffee from her while handing John back his phone. “What happened to the lipstick?” Sherlock asks her, noticing it was gone.

“It, wasn't working for me.” she answers awkwardly, slightly shocked that he noticed.

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. You're mouth's too. . .small now.” Sherlock gets another text that now has signal.

Really? It's like you want to kiss her or something. Something she wouldn't mind, actually. . .

EP

Sherlock sat down and continues his work, rolling his eyes slightly at Elizabeth's message. “How do you feel about the violin?” he asks John, never removing his gaze from his work. Sherlock gets a mini flashback back to when Elizabeth said he should play his violin more.

“I'm sorry, what?” John asks, snapping Sherlock out of memory lane.

Sherlock answers him without looking up from his work. “I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John looks over at Mike, who is smiling at something John does not know. “Oh, you told him about me?” John asks him.

“Not a word.” Mike smirks.

“Then who said anything about flatmates?” John asks confused.

“I did.” Sherlock answers. “Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap.”

“How did you know about Afghanistan?” John asks him. Sherlock ignores him, grabbing his scarf and belstaff coat.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” Sherlock explains absentmindedly. “We'll meet here tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash.”

Sherlock makes his way to the door, pulling his coat on. John stops him before he can leave. “Is that it?”

“Is that what?” Sherlock asks confused.

“We've only just met and we're gonna look at a flat?”

“Problem?” Sherlock replies. John looks at him in surprise. He looks at Mike, before turning back to Sherlock.

“We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting – I don't even know you're name.”

Sherlock looks at John for a moment, deducing his life. It wasn't hard, ten seconds later he starts to speak. “I know you're an army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan.” Sherlock begins. “I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic. More likely because he walked out on his wife. I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid.”

John stares at him surprised; a man he just literally met, knew his whole life story. “That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?” Sherlock asks him. He then starts walking out the door, only to pause and lean back and say; “The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two-two-one Baker Street.” he winks and add, “Afternoon.”