Sherlock's Drug
Sherlock was in distress, he had never truly felt this way before and wasn't sure how to deal with such a feeling. As he left John's wedding, early, he had one thing in mind when he was leaving and that was to escape. Not physically, but mentally. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it but he has a few ideas up his sleeve. Hm, sleeve, interesting, one would roll their sleeve up if they were to say, inject themselves with a drug that would reduce consciousness, something Sherlock was familiar with. Sherlock was frantic, he was rushing home, and he caught a cab and ran into the flat as fast as he could so he could escape from the rest of the world. From the wedding, from the almost-murder of John's colleague, and from the fact that he had lost his best friend, his entire life was gone now that John Watson, his blogger and best friend was married. Sure he was happy for the couple, but Sherlock couldn't help but feel a sense of remorse and jealousy towards them. What he wanted and what he wasn't sure that he always wanted, was love. And John brought that to him, John was the reason Sherlock stopped using drugs and began acting somewhat "normal" because the moment that John stepped into his life, he felt a sense of normality with him and a sense of acceptance because John accepted Sherlock for who he was and he never judged him or questioned him or made fun of him, he was always there for him no matter what. But right now, in this very moment, Sherlock had never felt more alone because he had lost he man he loved to someone who was probably a much better companion than he would ever be and that killed him. With the pain and frustration and angst and anger and sadness raging on inside his head, he frantically threw open all of his cupboards in search for a quick fix- something that would numb his consciousness, only for a bit, but long enough to make him forget what he was crying about. After several minutes of destructive searching, he finally found what he was looking for, a tiny vile, laying neatly placed in a small drawer on the side of a table, that was made of glass and had a cork on top of it, stopping the clear liquid in the vile from leaking out. Next to it was a needle and syringe, Sherlock took the syringe and put the needle on it so that they were connected properly, next, he took the vile of the clear liquid and stuck it with the needle so he could pull the liquid from the vile and put it into the syringe properly. Next, he walked over to the sofa because he didn't want to be standing around any hard objects when he performed he act he was about to do. He sat down on the sofa, placed the needle carefully next to him, stripped off his coat, scarf, and suit jacket and rolled his sleeve up on his left arm so that he could have easy access to the veins. Then, he picked the needle back up and positioned it so that it was pointing at the veins in the crease of his left arm, and slowly, he punctured himself, pushing the syringe pump down, and letting the heroine that was contained in the vile, flow throughout his bloodstream, slowly making him lose consciousness and allowing himself to drift off into a dream-like state of mind, taking away any worries, fears, anxieties or pain that he had harbored earlier that day...