A/N: Heey! :) Below is an extremely dark, graphic story that is NOT recommended for the faint of heart. Language warning, violence, drug use, yatta yatta! :D FUN STUFF, BITCHES. When I started this, I didn't know who I was gonna make as the people, but I've decided now that it's Moriarty and Irene(no idea where dafuq that came from). So yah. If you need to put yourself in a negative state of mind, you're in the right fucking place, braj. Read, review, flame, don't care. But I likenzee zee feedbackenzee. ;)
I don't own anything that isn't mine.
Heh.
Funny cause redundant disclaimer is redundant.
And this is erm.. AU, or OOC-ness, or whatever the fuck works.
"Fucking dirty cunt."
Smack.
"Grimy SLUT."
Smack.
"You used up, pathetic, worthless WHORE."
Smack.
"I work to support you, I work to support your child that isn't fucking mine.I tell you you're beautiful when you're nothing but a fat, ugly, junkie piece of SHIT who'd do anything for her fucking fix." He sneered, and pushed me to the ground. I was surprised I had managed to stay standing up for this long.
I just laid on the floor and took it. I was used to it, after all. I'd been here for two years, but it felt like an eternity.
He was stomping on my ribs, now. I could feel the strange, tingling, wet sensation of blood pooling underneath my head. I'd learned to just drown out the words and kinda.. retreat into my own mind, as stupid as that sounds. When I did that, everything around me became less; less sharp, less tangible, less intense. It all just faded. He kicked me, and I rolled onto an old needle he'd left lying around. It jabbed deep into my side, piercing the bruised, sickly skin. I ignored it.
I heard him curse lowly from above me and unzip his jeans. Something warm trickled onto my matted, mousy hair, mingling with dried blood. I still wasn't 'all there', but the smell reached me, even in my far away place. Piss.
He pissed in my hair.
Again.
I sighed inwardly and a silent tear rolled down my cheek. I really hated that; it still bothered me after all this time. I took a shuddering breath and managed to keep myself in a state of relative detachment. Losing it and letting yourself get caught up in the moment was the worst thing one could do in situations like these. I'd learned that the hard way.
Suddenly, he had rolled me onto my stomach and was on top of me, breathing hard and smelling heavily of expensive cologne, alcohol, and stale sweat. I screwed my eyes shut and wished desperately to lose consciousness before he decided to violate me. Just then, he yanked my head up painfully by my hair and bashed my battered face into the wood floor beneath me. That combined with my blood-loss was enough.
The corner of my mouth twitched briefly in response to my good luck.
I felt incredible pain between my legs and rough, ring-laden hands on my ass before everything went black.
I was living with Sherlock. And John, of course. Sherlock and I had been together for a year, so we decided it was time we moved in together. Sure, it may have been a bit soon, but what can I say; Sherlock and I had real chemistry.
Anyway, the John and Sherlock had moved out of 221B Baker St and into a flat large enough for me, Sherlock, John, and one other person(often times Sarah would stay with us for a week or so, or Ms. Hudson would come stay the night when she was lonely).
Times were good. Sherlock was busy with cases, John was busy with his blog and some medical work, I had my job, which, surprisingly, Sherlock didn't mind. We all got along. It really seemed too good to be true. One night, John had brought home some good wine and cognac, 'Gifts from a patient! I hope you two won't make me drink this all on my own.' he'd said. Well, we were all too happy to keep him company while he drank, and maybe have some ourselves. Some turned into a lot. An intoxicated Sherlock decided to go for a midnight stroll; John and I didn't stop him. But when Sherlock came back, he'd brought home something a bit more potent than wine.
"It's just a bit, and it sharpens my mind." He explained to us, all the while preparing a seven percent solution. His favourite. John and I watched in fascination and slight horror as he stuck the syringe in a pale, wiry arm. His face contorted in ecstasy like I had never seen.
I wanted it. I wanted to feel what he was feeling.
So I made my own 'seven percent solution' and mimicked what Sherlock had done as best as I could. Soon, I felt something rushing through my veins, so hot it seemed like ice. My eyes rolled back and I groaned. Sensations everywhere. I felt as though I could feel each oxygen particle caressing my skin, I felt as though I could split those very particles in half with the sheer force of my will. I was invincible. And hot.
"It's so warm in he-" I opened my eyes and froze. John was straddling Sherlock's lap and was kissing him fiercely. John began licking Sherlock's neck when the detective groaned and looked straight at me.
My eyes shone with mischief, I was The Woman. This was what I did. So I stripped, and joined the party.
The next morning, I woke up laying across John's chest, with my leg draped over Sherlock's hips, and needing more. More of his 'seven percent solution'.
The other two woke shortly after and we all agreed never to speak of it again, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from wanting. The answer to my silent prayers came to me one day in a Westwood suit while I was walking home from the shops.
The sleek, black Rolls Royce slowed down beside me and a well-manicured hand gestured me towards the open window of the car. Me, being the curious woman I am, I walked over and leaned down, a grin on my face and groceries in my arms. A bag of off-white powder was waved in front of my face. My grin turned into a slack-jawed expression of shock.
"I can give you everything you want and more until the end of your days." He smirked his boyish smirk and eyed me with eyes as piercing, if not more so, than Sherlock's.
"What do I have to do?" I asked. I was happy with Sherlock. But something told me I would be happier this way. Happier with more of that wondrous solution.
"Get in the car." The conviction there.. Something in his face made me trust him. I dropped my bags, got in, and shut the door. I didn't look back once. Who needed to look back when you could be looking into a syringe full of liquid power? But I hadn't just taken myself out of my safe haven, no. I had brought my child with me to hell.
I slowly came to. My eyes didn't seem to want to open. But from what I could tell, I was on a soft bed, swathed in silken sheets. I gingerly touched my head and felt linen bandages there, as well as on my side, arm, and face. I winced with each breath I took; my ribs were really aching.
"You're awake." A familiar velvet voice replied, and a familiar hand, calloused from playing violin, gently caressed my head. I wanted to open my eyes, to turn over and see, but I was too sore and my eyes were swollen shut.
"Sher-" I started hoarsely and then cleared my throat. "Sherlock?"
There was no reply.
Then I woke up.
No silken sheets, no soft bed, no bandages. It hurt severely to breathe, forget about moving. My face was stuck to the floor with blood, I smelled like piss and semen, both of which were dried all over me. I couldn't open my eyes, there was still an old needle jabbed in my side, and I was pretty sure my ankle was broken. I was alone.
Could be worse.
But something was nagging at my mind. It was quiet. Too quiet. Benedict should be up by now.
"Oh my god." I murmured, horrified. I ripped my face from the floor, stifling a cry as the scab and dried blood tore at my raw wounds. My ribs cracked and poked at vital organs, my head was throbbing, my ankle was on fire, and I was blind; none of it mattered. My baby boy. My Benedict. I crawled towards the direction of his room, feeling my way along the walls and floors. I reached his room, finally, and called his name gently.
"Benedict? Mommy's here now.. Benny.." I reached the crib and pulled myself up, using the metal bars as best as I could for support. Something was wet. I figured maybe I was bleeding again.
"Benny.." I reached in the crib, and was met with cold skin and wet sheets.
Too cold. Too wet.
A thin layer of old sweat lay over smooth, soft, icy skin. My trembling hands scooped up the child and pressed him to her chest. I felt no heartbeat, heard no breathing. His tiny, frail limbs hung limp and lifeless. But I felt wetness. It was coming from a large hole in his head.
It was the most horrible thing I had ever felt.
"No.." I whispered, tears leaking out from my hideously blackened eyes. "No.. Oh my god. Oh my.. Oh." I slid to the floor, not knowing what would happen next. Everything was gone from me. I was a shell. Simply a body. I clutched my child closer to me, humming Twinkle Twinkle. It had always been his favorite. I leaned my head against the wall, glad now that I couldn't see.
I don't know what I would've done if I could.
A/N: YAAAAY! :D All done. Whew, that was a bitch to write. Hope you enjoyed. I might add chappies later on, or I might leave it as a one shot. What do you think? Rate, review, etc. ^^