Jul. 10th, 2012

sharpshooting: (huh)
It would've been an exaggeration to say that John hadn't stopped thinking about Sherlock and the cocaine since he'd found out about it. He was still worried about it, though, and not likely to stop anytime soon-- at least not until he'd found where Sherlock had hidden it and gotten rid of it.

It wasn't made easy by the fact that Sherlock had gone from following him around everywhere like a singleminded and sarcastic guard dog, to disappearing for long stretches of time. Each time Sherlock re-emerged from wherever he'd been (usually the lab, counting on the ratborgs to protect him from John's interference no doubt) John inspected him closely for signs of coming down off a high, but found none. After a few days he determined that Sherlock had squirrelled the drugs away for safekeeping, and it would be up to him to find out where.

He knew better than to try looking when Sherlock was in the room with him, so he waited until he was reasonably sure his flatmate was in the lab, and let himself in. The place was even more of a mess than the day John had arrived; he was almost surprised Sherlock hadn't begun colonizing his space as well, with the amount of crap he had shoved into his own.

He had no idea what Sherlock would consider a good hiding place, so he chose at random, and started with the dresser.

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Dr. John Watson

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