Characters belong to BBC's Sherlock.

The mind of Sherlock Holmes is brilliant and complex. Being the only consulting detective in the world certainly says something, but the thing about ingenious minds… they can break easier in certain areas. Especially being on drugs and that was exactly what he has been doing for the last couple of years.

Drugs that he could no longer control.

Alone in his flat on 221B Baker Street, his mind was beginning to shatter. Laying on the couch, dressed in loose pants and over-sized shirt with a light robe, fear was pulsing through his veins as he was starting to lose control over the drugs for the first time. Staring at the ceiling, fighting the impulses that the drugs began to whisper to him. He ran out of the substance and was beginning to itch for them, but was fighting the cravings. He went to his Mind Palace to clear his thoughts, but would go into places that he locked deeply away, but found himself standing over the edge of the roof of St. Bart's.

"You can just die again," a familiar voice spoke.

Sherlock's head whipped over his right shoulder as the scene began to turn back to his flat, finding himself looking into the eyes of a smiling Moriarty. "Go away," he ordered, dryly, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

This was not what he wanted from his Mind Palace, then again… the lingering drugs were taking over.

"Aww. Don't be like that." Moriarty slowly frowned, his dark gaze upon the detective. "It won't be hard," his voice was low. "Dying, you know. It just happens." He smiled darkly. "You should try it. You might enjoy it. Could be even you new drug." He gave small shrug. "For a short time, of course."

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, not wanting to think about that as he was trying not to worry about his lack of control of his own mind. He tried to think of another person like his best friend or girlfriend, but Moriarty stayed.

"You lied to them," the consulting criminal stated. "All of them. You told that you were no longer on drugs, but now look. You're alone."

Sherlock felt the guilt begin to gnaw at him.

It was true that he lied to John, Molly, his brother, and everyone that he was sober. Now here he was... Laying here trying to gain back control.

"They'll hate you for it," Moriarty continued as began to walk around the flat in a wondering manner. "They will never trust you again. You nearly died last overdose." He pause. "Didn't scare you. No. Didn't scare you at all. You could do it many ways," the criminal faced him again, looking at him with dark energy. "Like doing it again. But you don't have any." He lowered his hand to his side as he gave a pitiful shake of the head. "No. You don't. Used it up two hours ago."

Sherlock was now ignoring him, relieved that he, himself, did not have the damned drug at the moment. The words that stuck with him however, was the part when his friends may never trust him after the coverups.

"You can make your own special concoction. You're a chemist."

Those words made his blood run cold as that got his attention, but tried not to show it.

Moriarty, being part of his mind at the moment, felt it.

"Oh, you heard that that one. I can just see it now," he spread his arms to form a headliner, "'Sherlock Holmes poisons self in flat'." He eagerly smiled at the detective as he ooed. "What will you use? Cyanide? Arsenic?… Ammonia?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock barked as he leapt off the couch and stormed past the mental apparition to the fireplace mantel to think clearer. "I won't be poisoning myself," he coldly growled.

"Then what will you do?" Moriarty quietly asked over the shattering detective's shoulder. "Your time is coming, Sherlock. You know it is. Otherwise you wouldn't have me here. You just need a little push to it. You need help, Sherlock. It's okay. Last time you faked it and planned it out with your friends and brother. This time you're all alone. You're new to this." His voice was mocking.

"I don't want to die," he snapped, not looking at his enemy.

"That's a lie, Sherlock," the man whispered. "I can feel it your mind. I know you wish for it."

"What would the reason be?" He emotionlessly asked.

"The drugs are winning. The drugs are taking over. You're losing control and your mind is weaker than you think. You're breaking, Sherlock. You even lied to your loved ones. Everyone believed you were clean. Even your little girlfriend." He began to step back as his voice grew darker. "Your brilliant mind is cracking like a mirror. So how are you going to do it? Hanging? Falling? No, you've already did that. You have a gun. No pain. Nothing."

Sherlock listened, then a strange sound of glass cracking entered his thoughts, making him turn to the large window on his right and saw the glass beginning to crack. He slowly stepped back in fear as the cracks began to spread like veins over the window.

"Your mind is going to shatter," Moriarty muttered as if bored over the cracking. "You will end up like the window."

The window was now completely covered with jagged cracks, not one spot unscathed.

"Just takes one bullet."

The detective's eyes were wide with cold dread. He didn't want to die. He never wanted to die. Why now? Why like this? Why couldn't he get control of his own mind? Was it just the drugs or was there something else that he was missing? He really was losing control...

"Don't worry," Moriarty soothed. "Just accept it. Your girlfriend's going to be home soon." He then whispered, "Get the gun."

Sherlock began to shake his head, thinking of Molly, his pathologist and girlfriend. "No. No. I can't I-"

A noose fell from the ceiling in front of him.

He stared at it with horror as he could look right through the hole of the rope to the cracked window.

"You're making this happen, Sherlock. You are causing this," Moriarty's voice grew darker and taunting.

"Then I can stop this." He looked at the man to his side with a sense of power. It was his Mind Palace after all. He could stop this.

"How can you when you know you want it? How can you stop it when you know what is going to happen? Accept it!" He shouted with anger. "You lied to everyone! Now the great Sherlock Holmes is slowly dying from drugs and wont admit it! Think of the aftermath, Sherlock! You drug-adicted liar!"

Molly made her way to the flat with a grocery bag in hand. Unlocking and opening the door, she found Sherlock laying on the couch with his hands together in front of his lips. "I got some milk," she announced with a smile as she was heading towards the kitchen, not expecting him to say much when he's in this state.

"Molly?" A low and baritone voice asked, catching her attention as she opened the fridge.

She placed the milk away, closed the door, and stepped out to the living room, looking at him with a small smile of wonder. "Hmm?"

"I lied. I didn't quit the drugs." He turned his head to her and his eyes were red with tears with a distraught on his narrow face. "I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"What do you mean you didn't quit?" She questioned as she crossed her arms with pain and anger entering her heart, disbelieving his words.

"Molly, I-"

"You've been lying this whole time?" She cried, remembering that her boyfriend kept saying that he was sober and whatnot, but then again he was Sherlock. He had many ways of lying. For six months he was lying?

His hands fell to his sides as he looked at her begging, pain-filled eyes. "Please, Molly. Just listen-"

"When was the last time you took them?" She yelled.

"Mol-"

"When?"

"After you left," he sighed, looking away with his eyes. "The last of what I had."

She roughly shook her head, not looking at him. Anger and disappointment was twisting her heart. That was only two or so hours ago. "When were you planning on telling me? Telling John?" She forced herself to ask, not wanting to hear the answer.

"I wasn't," he whispered.

Molly didn't look at him.

The hurt of lies was too much. Especially when it came to her brilliant boyfriend's health. She didn't want to look at him. It was too painful to look at. Taking a shaky breath as she tried not to cry, she looked at him with pain. "How could you?" She whispered. "How could you lie about that? After when you nearly overdosed the last time." Tears began to burn her eyes. "Remember that? Remember when Mrs. Hudson found you half dead?" She shouted. The memory of getting the call from John about the news still scared her.

Sherlock slowly stood up, taking a heavy breath. "Molly. I know that it's horrible. I will stop this. I will become-"

"How can I trust you?" She shouted on the verge of tears.

He looked at her with puzzlement.

Molly shook her head with negative emotions stirring inside her. Just as her head whipped to the left, she spotted something on the table that caught her eye. Walking up to with curiosity, her heart stopped as she slowly picked up a handgun. "What is this doing here?" She whispered half to herself, hoping that it was not what she feared.

"Molly. I-" Sherlock tried to speak, but his words froze.

She slowly looked at her boyfriend with horror and fear. "You tried to kill yourself?" She asked quietly.

"Contemplating," he quickly corrected.

The woman slowly nodded her head as if accepting his answer, but then slammed the gun on the table. "You thinking about shooting yourself?" She shouted with rage. "How could you- Why would you- You are mad!" She had no words that could describe what she was feeling. It was all too much at once!

"I am losing control of the drugs!" He hollered back, life returning to his pain-filled eyes. "I lost more control than I ever imagined! I am going be get clean. I'm going to stop all of this." He began to calm down as his grey eyes were locked with her own. "I was scared of telling you and the others that I lied. I didn't know what else to do. The drugs were taking over…" His voice faded as he quickly looked away with self-anger. "I began to lose my mind. Thinking things I would never have dared to think before." He looked back at her with pain and heartache in his lovely eyes. "The only reason was I didn't pull that trigger was because I wasn't ready to give up yet. I am going win this fight without the drugs." His eyes began to soften. "Forgive me, Molly. For all the lies about the addiction. I am truly-"

She threw her arms around his neck, burring her face in his chest. "Please get better," she quietly begged as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Please stop this, Sherlock. Your mind is too great to lose and… I would miss you." She closed her eyes tightly as she refused to let go of him, fearing that she was going to lose him forever. "I love you, Sherlock," she whispered.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and held her little body tight. "I will. I promise. I love you, too Molly Hooper." He kissed her forehead. "My Molly Hooper."

I hoped you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.