Warning Fic contains allusions to drug use. Drugs are bad, don't do them!
Ever since Sherlock had returned from the rehabilitation clinic the higher ups had been onto DI Lestrade to make sure the Detective didn't slip back into bad habits. By their reckoning it was bad enough using the Consulting Detective on the difficult cases but it would be career suicide to use the Consulting Detective when he was using. If that wasn't enough Greg had Mycroft kidnapping him every so many weeks or so to inquire about his baby brother's health. So he does what any good friend would do and keeps an eye on the man, after all everyone knows its only time before solving crimes isn't enough to interest the genius that is Sherlock.
Greg isn't the only one looking out for Sherlock, the rest of the yard tries to keep him away from the crimes involving drugs for fear he might have a relapse and run off with the evidence or worse. So when Sherlock reaches the first year mark, and then the second and the third everyone relaxes a little and trusts him more.
However the fear doesn't go away completely. so when Sherlock assists with a double suicide where the victims are discovered to have both managed to off the other and manages to make it through the whole case without calling anyone an idiot Lestrade is suspicious. Pulling Sherlock quietly aside to ask if everything is all right, earns him a blank look from the Detective.
"What do you mean?" Asks Sherlock fiddling with his phone. Greg stares at him unsure how to phrase things delicately.
"Um you seem strangely happier" Explains Greg awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. His words seem to startle the Detective for his eyes widen slightly in surprise. His face flushes slightly, almost guiltily.
"I've started seeing a doctor." Replies Sherlock, his words barely audible. Greg blinks once in surprise then nods.
"Therapy, that explains it." He thinks letting Sherlock go with a smile. "Mycroft will be pleased."
The next few weeks are considerably difficult for all as Sherlock seems worryingly nicer. Greg puts up with it for a while, putting the strangeness down to the therapy and Sherlock getting better, so its not until Anderson returns from holiday without his wife that they start to really worry.
Sherlock is in the middle of making an observation about the glaze of the china, somehow proving that the daughter cannot possibly have committed the murder when Anderson starts. Cutting in to snidely ask Sherlock exactly how many antique auctions he's been to with his boyfriend.
Sally sighs and gives Lestrade a look that seems to say "It was nice while it lasted, the freak being nice. It'll be something for me to tell the grandkids while he's serving life. I think I'll miss Anderson." The rest of the team brace themselves for the cruel onslaught from Sherlock that generally follows on the rare occasions the two men are allowed in the same room as each other. It doesn't come.
They look to see if Sherlock has heard, still half expecting him to ignore the idiotic jib or snap something equally cruel back but he doesn't. Sherlock hovers momentarily over the mangled victim looking violently sick and edgy before giving them an odd look and declaring that he needs to make a call. Lestrade glances over to the space Sherlock has recently vacated and finally notices the needle of a syringe peeking out from underneath the upturned chair. He swears and phones Mycroft.
By the time they've managed to wrap up the murder case it's too late to get the actual drug squad in for an impromptu drugs bust so they make do with volunteers.
Sherlock is in the kitchen making tea when they break in to his flat. He glares at them angrily. "What are you doing here? I sent you a text with the identity of the murderer hours ago" He says tightening the cord of his silk dressing gown. Anderson grins smugly back at the detective. "Its a drugs bust." He says obviously still pleased from earlier. Lestrade looks at Sherlock sadly. "Look its all right Sherlock, we know everything. We'll get you help." He goes to put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder but is shrugged off.
Sherlock glares as he reluctantly watches them take his flat apart piece by piece. "I don't know how you could have managed to get the idea into your thick heads but I'm not taking, don't be stupid." He says huffily. He glances out the window and moans in agitation. "You called him didn't you, you called my brother!"
Mycroft appears moments later, slightly out of breath from the stairs. His flushed face is full of concern and disappointment. "How could you?" Questions Mycroft.
Sherlock sighs in frustration and yells again. "God damn it! for the last time, I'm not on drugs! Now its late and I want to go to bed!" He gets halfway towards the door before Sally stops him.
" You can't go in,we haven't checked in there yet. Who knows what you've got stashed away in there. Could be evidence." She looks at Lestrade who nods his approval, letting her and Dave go in. The door's barely closed before Sally lets out a startled scream.
The rest of the force burst in to the small room, flanked by Mycroft and Sherlock. Heads scramble about looking for the cause of Sally's scream while Sherlock looks on embarrassed. A body lies naked in the middle of Sherlock's bed handcuffed to the headrest with a bemused look on his face. A tanned hand reaches for the covers, pulling them further up over his sleek firm muscular chest.
"Hello I'm John, Sherlock's boyfriend."