The Broken Family (addict!sister!reader x sherlock x mycroft)
A/N: Hey, so here it is! New fanfic! What? The request did say âneed the angstâ so here it is, also Iâm a bit sorry for making Sherlock be such a dick in this, also Mycroft is a bit not good and reader as well. Greg on the other hand is love. Tell me if you need a sequel, if youâd want to see where reader goes, or request how it should end. Hopefully this doesnât suck. I worked hard on this one, made three different stories, but this turned out as the winner.
Request: Hey, can I request something? Could you please write a Sherlock x addict reader to turn the tables? I love sister!Reader inserts because Sherlock is usually less empathic with his siblings but it could be a friend!reader or whatever pops in your mind, I just NEED the angst, haha! Thanks in advance!
Warnings: Lots of angst and drugs, emotionally incapable to manage family drama Holmesâ, even the reader.
The call Greg Lestrade had received brought havoc to the Scotland Yard. The detective inspector had not seen his men this active in months and a simple phone call had got all his subordinates on their toes and anxious. The said inspector had tried to find a drug den, the very heart of British paradise for drug addicts, but failed countless of times. This lead they had got though sounded very promising and matched to so many conclusions and other clues the Yard already had so Lestrade had no option but to check the place. He also wanted to see by his own eyes and be the one to finish this case if it was what they were looking for.
Lestrade arrived with numerous police cars as escort to an abandoned building. The sirens had been muted so the cops had an opportunity for an ambush, to catch as many druggies as possible and hopefully a dealer or two. That of course was mostly wishful thinking, but you never knew who would be in there. And that made the cases interesting, risky but very addicting to someone like Greg Lestrade who was desperate to solving cases. He already got questioned by almost everyone when he asked for a consulting detectiveâs help, that was he capable of doing his job, which he was, but to prove it to his colleagues constantly got to his nerves. This was the moment to shine.
The inspector went in with the first row of men, gun at hand, alert for what would be to come to him. He went up stairs with a quick pace, his men right behind him. He could hear his heart beat rise, so familiar and pleasing feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he approached a wide messy room. The floor was filled with empty needles, plastic wraps and joints, companied with dirty clothes and mattresses. On those mattresses there were about seven young people, dozing off, hidden under their blankets, and hopefully all alive. It got depressing in matter of seconds when there would be a deceased kidâs body under the covers and to contact the parents was always something that took a high amount of pleasure points off of the accomplished case.
Lestrade howled the youngsters awake, lowered his gun, seeing the state they were in and informing his men to keep on searching from the other rooms. He waited until all the seven people got up, struggling to their feet, wobbling towards the door. An ambulance had been brought with the police cars as well and was ready to use. The nurses were ready to check on the zombified youngsters as they had been informed how many of them there were. Lestrade could be proud of himself now and he felt rather jolly, the emotion almost already reaching his face that he tried to contain to seem professional when his eyes landed on a figure, a familiar one that ran his blood cold.
âOh, for the love of god.â He sighed, half grunted and knew this would make things much worse.
You were unaware of what was going on. You had no idea what had happened in the world that surrounded you, but then again how could you? You had shut out everything, creating this bubble that kept you in until all you had taken wore off and just then could you see the damage you caused. That of course happened much later from now, but you started to get the hang of it when you woke up to hear someone yelling the loud booming of the voice only became clearer as you came around. You were slightly dizzy, like half asleep but still aware of the surroundings, your eyes droopy and eye sight blurry, but your ears worked well enough for you to figure out what was to happen.
Your ears picked up with the shouting that became clearer and clearer, the loud mumble turning to muffled words and then loud muttering, until you were able to make out words. The first thing you were able to make out was your name, and the sound started getting closer. Your eyes couldnât fix on the figure approaching you, but the blurry figure was something too familiar to you. The voice calling you cleared as well and you became certain who it belonged to.
When your eyesight came back to normal they met the inspectorâs worried but angered eyes and you waved awkwardly back at him, a tired smile on your lips as you innocently greeted the man.
â(Y/n) Holmes.â Greg muttered in defeat. He had been a little doubtful that it really was you, since your hair was messy and your clothes nothing like the regular ones you wore. The high quality clothes that you dressed in, very Holmes kind of style, compared to the sweat pants and a big covering hoodie made you look unfamiliar, to you as well.
Greg was now just beside you, his hands on your shoulders, but they left your body just when you had started to feel them on you and he swirled around in frustration and then called for his men. This case would not see the headlines. and he took his phone out. Lestrade made a call that didnât much please you. He knew he needed some help with hiding this said case from seeing the daylight and then there was you, then again it was only for you he had to do this in the first place. To your misfortune and fortune he ended up calling Mycroft.
You didnât get much along with Sherlock. You didnât know why, was it because he was as troubled as you, or that he was so concerned with his own life he couldnât bother himself by adding you to it, not to mention even bothering to ask how you were doing which he did with Mycroft. Then there was Mycroft who seemed like he didnât care about anyone, but it wasnât true. He had always been the one behind the family, concerned of all of you being torn apart and getting separated. He held it together. Or tried to at least. That of course could be one of the reasons Sherlock couldnât stand you. You got along with Mycroft so well and maybe Sherlock just wasnât up for the task as to earn your trust? It didnât matter though, you were old enough to make your own decisions and you had got this far without Sherlockâs care. You could do so for the rest of your life as well.
âI thought itâs better you clean this mess up and do me a favor, yeah? Try to get some sense in this ones head.â Greg glared at you. You had sat down at the end of the stairs right opposite the front door that had been pulled open. You had managed to get down stairs with Gregâs help and the house had been cleared from all the other users, only leaving you with Lestrade inside. The bright daylight cast itâs golden light on the floor in front of you and barely reaching the tip of your shoes. You kept your eyes on the floor for now, resembling of a misbehaved child while their guardian was figuring how to punish you.
âIs that really a good idea?â Greg worriedly furrowed his brows. This alarmed you. For a second you thought of running. If Mycroft would be to sent you to rehab, or worse, tell your parents about what youâve been up to you would rather die. As panic reached your features Greg raised his hand in a supporting and calming gesture, signaling everything was alright. âOkay, what ever you see fit.â Greg said back to Mycroft in a rush, clearly Mycroft had started threatening the inspector and Greg went to assure your older brother that there would be no need for that. He would let Mycroft deal with all this his way, not stopping him even by stating his own opinion.
Finally ending the call that felt like it had lasted for an hour, Lestrade approached you and took a stand a meter in between the two of you, he looked down for a second, his shadow that was cast upon the daylight reached your knees, then tried to reach your eye contact which you avoided with all cost. He let out a sigh, his hands stuffed in his pockets. âYou okay?â He decided to be gentle and even a bit understanding when he approached you, but you couldnât actually say you were thankful of it. You really didnât care what Greg said or thought. You were going to hear a lecture sooner or later anyways so there was no need for him to give you his sympathy if there were any in a sincere way.
âWell this wasnât my first time if thatâs what youâre asking.â You remarked and eyed the wall with narrowed eyes.
âDid your brothers even know about this?â Lestrade dismissed your comment, but you knew it made him think. Of course this would affect him in a distant way. He knew almost your whole family and their secrets and now would be to ad yours to top all your brothers. Most likely not so pleasant but he was just being human and doing his job.
You didnât say anything for a minute. Your expression softened slightly, turning to sadness, but not leaving the wall you tried to find interesting. The dark wallpaper, almost molded green color, just brought even more negative thoughts to your mind and you couldnât help but ask, âWhatâd he say?â
Lestrade shifted uncomfortably and looked away. You turned to look at him, to question him what could be so bad, but your eyes wondered to the door way, over Gregâs shoulder and you saw a tall, lean figure making itâs way to the door. The sunlight blurred the vision for a good while, until the man was right at the door, his raged expression showing. You could feel your body being forced upwards and your scowl was replaced with panic, sadness and hurt. You wanted to flee from your spot right now, hoping for Mycroft to follow behind your other brother, but knew you would need to settle for Sherlock.
âYou have any idea what you have done?â Sherlock fumed, his body swaying as he walked fast next to Lestrade. âI have other problems to tend to and you decide to do this now?â You flinched at Sherlockâs hard words, your head had started aching just now, or you had just realized it, and your whole composure screamed how vulnerable you were as you lowered your head and brought your shoulders closer to each other.
âI was this close solving an important case when I get a call from Mycroft about your little misbehavior.â Sherlock had never looked so scary and angry, not when it was pointed to you and you couldnât even do anything to protect yourself. You could barely stand on your own feet. It was overwhelming and even if you had never been in good terms with Sherlock he had never been this aggressive towards you and it only made you distance yourself further from him in a psychical level.
âWhat if youâd calm down a little?â Lestrade suggested but his eyes never left yours. He had seen your state and knew you were about to break. He could read you well, even if you had heard how much Sherlock looked down on him you knew Greg wasnât stupid. He at least could sense your fear and unstable status unlike Sherlock.
Sherlock turned his head to the inspector in a sharp swish, glaring at the man and hissed, âWhat are you even doing here? Arenât you supposed to be out there, hurrying your men out of here while I have to clean this mess?â And with that Lestrade decided it was better to just scattle and not start an argument. He nodded towards you and left.
âWhy didnât Mycroft come?â You finally dared to talk back, not sure was it a good idea but did it anyway.
âHeâs far too busy for this nonsense.â Sherlock rolled his eyes. âSomething of me giving you a big scare to wake you up.â He muttered.
âWhy did you even come?â You whispered mostly to yourself. Your hands were balled in fists and your head hang low. You knew you were close to the breaking point and couldnât keep yourself together any longer.
âYou think he gave me a choice?â Sherlock mocked. âI know you and Mycroft are best friends, but you do still have some sense in you, at least I hope you do. If he wants something to happen he will make sure it does.â
âYouâre Sherlock Holmes, you couldâve found a way around it! Youâve avoided responsibility before so donât blame me for being here! Iâm sure Mycroft is just pissed that he has to deal with all the shit we cause to the family. And all the crap you make him go through.â You muttered the last part and crossed your arms. You didnât care if you were now acting childish, Sherlock wouldnât scold you for that unlike Mycroft and you were counting on it.
âI am causing trouble?â Sherlock snapped back.
âYes, you!â You groaned.
Sherlock chuckled sarcastically and smiled doubtingly. âIâm not the one with needle marks bruising my skin.â
âNot now.â You corrected. You looked at your brother, both of you glaring at each other like two kids having a stare contest. âIsnât this all too familiar to you?â You asked and tried to get him to see the situation how it was and how it all had happened before, but not this way.
âHey, looks like we arenât that different after all! We could even get high together some time! You probably know and even make better shit that I have ever dreamed of!â Shock took over Sherlock. You had just hit him under the belt but there was no going back now. You had witnessed Sherlock playing before and you would do the same. You could hurt him there where he hurt others by stating the obvious.
He looked back at you, eyes wide and puzzled by your sudden rage. âI guess Mycroft sent you so you could see what he had to deal with when you were using. Oh how the tables turn.â You sassed and tried to keep the tears in. You tried to hide the pain with your sass and hurtful comments, but you had been through an awful night and it had started to come down on you. âI hope Mycroft had come instead of you. If he cares about your wellbeing and comes for you when you need him, why didnât he come for me?â You sobbed.
You looked down, unable to keep the tears away that now rolled down your cheeks and dropped to the floor. âYou both are so stupid.â You cried out with a soft and silent voice. âYou say Mycroft is my best friend, but what kind of friend sends someone as cruel and inhuman person to comfort the other, huh?â You could hear Sherlock take a step closer to you, but you backed away, he called your name softly. âNo!â You snapped. âLeave me alone! I donât ever want to see you or Mycroft! Ever again!â And with that you dashed out, past Sherlock and disappeared to the near woods.
