Sherlock looked out the window of he and John's flat at 221bBaker Street. It was fall, time for school. "The precursor to fall," Sherlock thought as he watched a group of school kids walking along the sidewalk. There were four boys and with just one glance, Sherlock knew each of their futures. "First book in the lead, autocratic, domineering- court judge. The second boy hovers around him trying to glean something from the boy in the lead, follower-government worker. The third boy looking off into the distance-artist, dreamer-drug addict. The fourth boy, brow furrowed, making sure the others don't fall off the curb they are balancing on, protector-soldier-Doctor-…Friend." Sherlock thought these thoughts and many others as the boys disappeared from view.

"Sherlock?" A voice called from behind him. Sherlock knew without looking it was John Watson.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked in a bored monotone voice.

"I'm going out. Do you need anything?" John asked. His voice sounded weary with a hint of worry.

"John, you know what I need. I'm bored. I need a case," Sherlock snapped back, not caring how every harsh syllable cut through John's defenses.

John sighed. "Fine, I'll be back later."

Sherlock waved him off as if he were a bothersome insect. "Whatever, I'm not interested in your mundane little chores."

John rocked back and forth on his heels. "Sherlock, if it wasn't for me doing little mundane chores, we'd starve to death."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic, John."

John opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it. He stood still for a moment, frowning at Sherlock's hunched over posture. Then he turned and left.

Sherlock heard him walk down the stairs, knowing each creak on each step, even before John's foot touched it. Then bang the front door slammed. Sherlock moved in a 45 degree angle, so that he could watch John's departure. Just like clockwork John crossed the street at 45 degree opposite from Sherlock's position at the window. "Two 45 degree angles= a 90 degree angle. The 10 percent must be the break-even point in the middle," Sherlock thought as he watched John disappear from sight.

Downstairs Sherlock could hear Mrs. Hudson nattering around below him. She was singing some sort of tune. "God, the woman has no sense of pitch," Sherlock thought as he made his way to the couch. He hadn't been dressed in two days. Sherlock curled up in a ball trying to evade the chill and the suffocating emptiness of the room around him. It was no use. "The black mood has won again," Sherlock thought as his palms began to itch.

Sherlock then rolled over and stood up. It was time to visit the room at the top of the stairs. It was a dark room. A room that held secrets, a room that caressed Sherlock's mind. A room where Sherlock could calm the internal dialogue that made his thoughts race like a locomotive. It was a room where he could rest. It was a room where Sherlock banished boredom and fear. Before he knew it Sherlock was at the top of the stairs. "I'm almost there," he thought. Then Sherlock opened the door. The smell of mold and dry rot assailed his nostrils. Sherlock ignored it as he crawled over to the fireplace and removed a small red leather Moroccan case.

"You beckon to me," Sherlock whispered in his low dulcet toned voice. He then opened the case with trembling hands. There it was the syringe. Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation as he tied off his arm with a rubber strap. Then he filled the syringe drawing in shaky breaths as he did so. Ignoring the scars on his arm Sherlock found what he was looking for-a vein. Then like Maleficent whispering into Sleeping Beauty's ear, Sherlock heard his own destructive entity whisper. "Sherlock, plunge the needle in."

A tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek as he gave in to his dark side. It no longer hurt to puncture his vein, but Sherlock hissed as the liquid burned through him. One minute Sherlock's neck and back muscles were as tight as a drum, the next they were fluid, relaxed-free. "I can now relax, for the boredom cannot harm me now," Sherlock thought as he curled up on the floor and slept.