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After a gray and rainy morning, the sun broke through in London just as Sherlock and John were in The Yard solving a sixth grade case. The temperature began to rise, and therefore most of the people gathered began to take off their jackets, jackets, scarves and coats.
The group that was formed in Lestrade's office was studying the files and writing important data on the blackboard, sharing ideas and insults from Sherlock, most of them so busy that no one noticed that a certain group of young officers recently admitted to that block, they were planning a cheeky prank on the consulting detective, which by the way, they didn't like at all.
These guys took Sherlock's coat, took out a small bag with a very suspicious white substance and placed it in one of the pockets of the aforementioned clothes and put the coat back on the rack. One of the men left the room saying that he had to do a drug bust near the block, causing Lestrade, Sally, Anderson and the rest of the room to look at him. The young officer passed through the office with a substance dog and pretended to let it go, earning reprimands from Greg, meanwhile the animal crawled across the room stopping at Sherlock's clothes and throwing itself at the precious coat.
Sherlock let out a cry of anguish and tried to rescue the poor coat from him. The other officers taking part in the prank grabbed his arms and Sherlock winced at the touches of the strangers. Lestrade barked orders, Sally and Anderson laughed. John, for his part, was screaming. Meanwhile Dimmock, who had nothing to do with the joke, grabbed the coat and went through pocket by pocket, what he found in the end left him speechless. He had found the bag full of cocaine.
"Why the hell did you bring a substance dog? He's clean!"
"Protocol sir, the truth of a former drug addict will always be in doubt." The young officer answered.
“I'm clean, and a coat by itself would be a bad place to hide drugs. So let it go!” Sherlock quickly voiced with an air of anxiety.
Dimmock turned around and ignored the distraught detective. “Lestrade, Sherlock is lying. I found a packet of cocaine in one of his pockets."
Lestrade opened both his eyes, he couldn't believe it, John on the other hand advanced towards the Dimmock and grabbed the bag.
"Sherlock, what does this mean?"
“John, no, it's not true, I don't know why it's there, I didn't buy it. I'm clean!"
Before anyone could respond, the agent in charge of the dog interrupted.
“Sir, it would be better to take it to the evidence department. The dog didn't grab her out of the blue." The cruel young officer explained to Lestrade, while the latter looked at him with daggers in his eyes. While it was suspicious that Sherlock had drugs on his hands, Lestrade had known the young detective for years a lot, and he knew very well the signs if he was using.
Greg was conflicted, he fully trusted Sherlock, he loved him like a son for a long time and cared deeply for him, but on the subject of drugs, such a dark stage in the life of the young detective, is another story. So he decided that the fairest way to end this problem is to get out of his doubts, and so he gave the order for the exams to begin, despite Sherlock's look of mild betrayal.
Half an hour had passed since what had happened in Lestrade's office. Sherlock and John waited in the uncomfortable waiting chairs, the young man did not speak from the facts and John did not try to insist although he wanted to, he knew that even the detective found the situation intense, he began to show slight tics like fingers rubbing against each other, the knee right bouncing and flashing fast.
They were brought out of their thoughts when a medium-sized policeman with a folder in his hand approached them.
"Gentlemen, the tests were arranged and the result is cocaine, but the blood tests came out clean. You should know what this deserves, Mr. Holmes." The officer explained.
"I'm clean, I don't sell, I don't even smoke!" The taller man said indignantly and standing up.
"I know that." John replied.
“The only truth in all this is that the cocaine was in the handkerchief and that this is an illegal and counterproductive product, so it slips out of my hands and goes to my superiors. Good afternoon everyone." With that he bid them farewell, as if he wanted to escape from the awkward situation, leaving the boys frowning.
"It's not fair John, I didn't do anything, this is against me." The detective whispered, sitting back down.
Although John showed up at first when he found the drug, he didn't ignore some suspicious looks from a certain group of people.
"I know, nothing gets my mind off the looks the officers get in Greg's office."
"Ummmmm... I need to get my coat and scarf."
"Okay, let's go pick it up." John said gently grabbing his friend's forearm to get closer to Lestrade's office.
"How? I don't even want to run into those idiots." Sherlock said as he stood up. “You believe me right? You believe me when I say I'm clean, right?
"I believe you, I'm serious." John replied.
So both men went in search of Sherlock's clothing.
They had come to the evidence room and asked about the coat and the blue garment, when the policeman in charge brought them to them they were very surprised. What was once a silky soft scarf was now a set of rags. Seeing it, Sherlock gently scooped it up in his hands and hurried to the nearest bathroom with a worried John Watson close behind.
But not even John expected this to hit Sherlock so hard, and he slumped against the wall and cold tiles of the utility room, one hand on his curls, knees drawn up to his chest, scarf close to his heart, and a gentle swaying motion. For the shorter man, he actually only saw one damaged garment like the hundreds of his sweaters his friend used to experiment with, but apparently said friend saw hell.
"Sherlock, it's just a scarf." John said softly bringing with him the younger man's coat.
"No! It's not just a scarf, it's my scarf." Sherlock said anxiously tightening his grip on his curls.
"I know, I know. But you can buy another one." John replied trying to remove the hand of his friend who was furiously pulling on his chocolate curls.
"No! It can't be done." Sherlock said in a whisper that sounded very much like a groan of pain.
"Come on, calm down, please." John said finally removing his hand from his friend's curls and gently holding them together so they would stop trembling.
"Oh, Sherlock" Poor John felt his heart break at the sight of his friend's desperation.
"Look, listen to me." John, on impulse, dropped the hands he was holding and grabbed both sides of his roommate's head, wiping away the falling tears.
The taller man flinched at first, but then he lent himself to the soft touch, he didn't look up, but it was clear that he appreciated the warm gesture.
“I know this is frustrating and unfair, man. Because yes, we know they did…"
At Sherlock's nod, he continued.
"See? I'm not as stupid as you think."
The slight tease made his friend turn up the corner of his mouth, quite an achievement.
"John…" Sherlock's voice trailed off.
"…Hold me…" he completed her sentence as if he was afraid to ask.
Without saying a word, the doctor let go of his friend's head and wrapped his right arm around his lower back and his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders, squeezing him comfortably and warmly, the latter unconsciously laying his head on his shoulder, letting go. a soft murmur.
"Thanks for asking," John confessed.
Sherlock's arms went around John in response.
In the end, the truth came out.
It turns out that Greg Lestrade received a video by email that surprisingly was about the incident in his office, when reviewing it he realized that it was all a plan in very bad taste and for that reason he called the officers who were in said matter. He questioned them and finally punished them.
However, one of the thugs took the consulting detective's scarf as revenge and with his Swiss Army knife began to shred it and then left it next to the coat rack where the coat was.
John and Sherlock on the other hand, got to be in the public restroom for over half an hour, managing to put the distraught detective at ease and learning why the scarf is just as important to him as the coat and then heading towards the apartment that both men had found they shared.
The day after what happened, a gift package arrived for Sherlock from his older brother, on the label of said present it was written “Little brother, it may not be the same garment but the feeling with which I give it to you is.” With barely suppressed desire and an idea of what it was, he proceeded to open the gift and there he found something wonderful that had him jumping for joy for the rest of the day.
While his new gift didn't look much like what he was used to, it was his, his alone.
A blue scarf, his blue scarf.