October 30-31, 1999
Sherlock Holmes had made many mistakes in his life but he never once made a mistake that he had regretted: from dropping out of the Uni to turning to the streets, to stealing and begging, from the petty parlor tricks to the anonymous tips to the Yard to keep from going stir crazy. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had made many mistakes in his life but he regretted none of them.
Not until the day that he became Greg Mansfield. The name isn't all that grand; rather it's boring and perfect for a rough kid on the streets. Greg Mansfield is a blank slate and that is just what Sherlock needed. Greg hadn't gone to the Uni, he wasn't a genius, and he didn't send tips to the incompetent men at the Yard or send cakes to his older brother. No, Greg played guitar for quid in front of a café on Mondays, on Tuesdays he helped unload trucks in the Square and on Wednesday he played parlor tricks in front of a magic shop, Thursday to Friday was a repeat of the days before and the weekend were his days off.
Greg had an easy smile, bouncing eyes and looked killer in leather pants but there was just something that always seemed to hold him back. All his friends said it and even Sherlock noticed it, the nagging sensation in the back of his mind that if he was going to really let go of Sherlock Holmes; he had to dive into Greg Mansfield completely.
Sherlock – Greg – discovered his answer on a Saturday night in the pub. It was white and soft, it looked like sugar, it held no smell but it was bitter and sweet. Where Sherlock would have been wary of any drug, cigarettes and wine were his only sin, Greg allowed his date for the night, Nancy, to place her hand on the back of his neck and guide his face downward.
"It's already in a line, luv." She whispered in his ear, voice like dripping honey. "Just snort a little of this and you'll be flying high." A rolled dollar bill lay next to the lines and Sherlock had two decisions, accept that tonight he was Greg Mansfield or leave.