sherlock holmes was a lot of things, but in terms of taken seriously he was lowest ranking.

29 years old. degree in chem but aspires to be a detective. junkie. manic, sociopathic. lives with his older brother because otherwise he would be sherlock homeless.

the list went on and on.

but somehow he had gotten a detective inspector to notice him. sure, lestrade still thought he was absolutely nuts, but he heard him out- and that was all sherlock needed.

it rubbed just about every detective and officer that worked under lestrade the wrong way. a non-qualified, freelance- consulting detective, and he wasn't even in his goddamn 30's yet.

a control freak with a greed to succeed is what he's been described as, and he couldn't deny it's accuracy.

actually, he saw nothing wrong with it.

—

you were sitting with your brothers in mycroft's living room. just visiting.

sherlock was ranting about the recent case he had solved for scotland yard. passionate. animated. you hadn't seen him like that in a long time- unless he'd been high. but mycroft would just about kill sherlock if he had a secret coke stash in his house, so that was a no.

solving cases just made him feel that alive, like it was a drug of it's own. it reminded you of when sherlock was a teenager, sixteen or so. the first case he had solved. he went to police and told them, but nobody believed him. and months later? they came to the same conclusion.

sherlock probably still felt petty over that.

"and it was the goddamn ex-husband!" sherlock slammed his hand down on the armrest to punctuate his words, bringing you back to reality. "like i told them it was. amateur case, really..." he downplayed.

"i can imagine the looks on their faces, brother mine," mycroft said. you were a bit surprised he was actually listening, if you were honest with yourself.

he must've still felt guilty. an exchanged look between the both of you silently agreed that sherlock needs this, and not to ruin it for him.