Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock. He belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. He just feeds my imagination.
After 28 days and nights of boredom, Sherlock decided to do something with it.
Boredom overwhelmed him like heavy black depths of oceans. It was like he was lying on the bottom of abysses feeling nothing, sensing nothing and what worst, thinking nothing. Just boredom was all he can grasp just now. It had passed 28 days (and nights) without any interesting case to investigate and solve. It meant a life time for him, who needed constant brain stimulation. He turned to stare to the wallpaper. Six hours have passed, when he had tried to find some meaning from the texture of his wallpaper. What a pointless effort! Boredom is needling the every cell of his body.
Where was John? For a moment he tried to recall. Oh, he has gone to his work. How boring that can be! Even if John would have been there, with him, it wouldn´t have made any difference. John couldn´t blow away his aching boredom as far as he knew. Anyone isn´t so skilled. Expect…Moriarty. That bastard was the only one, who knew how to wake him from the aching nightmares of boredom. The cost of this luxury was just too much to handle to him and to the rest of world.
Sherlock concentrated to his feeling about his body functions, because there isn´t anything else left. The breathing is such a trivial happening! In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out. Over and over again, during whole your life, you are wasting your efforts, energy and time to such a predictable action. In, our, in, out, in, out. Is this a rhythm of life? If it is so, then what worth is life then, when you measure it by this, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out… how predictable! No surprises, no anything to deduce. He can cease to eat, to drink, to sleep, if he just want it, if he has better things to do in his life, like catching a serial killer. It was just a matter of willpower. He has done it more than once, and here he is still, well and without permanent harm. It is safe. What if… what if he can change the foreseeable course of breathing too? Why had he not thought about that before?
Let´s try….
In, out, in, out, out, out, in….in, out, out, out, out. in, in….in, out, out, out, out, in, in, in, in hold it. HOLD IT! In, in, in….hold it.
What if there would not be a exhalation at all? That is something worth to muse. Until…he felt his head began to make dizzy. What a weak body! He had to take another breathe. This didn´t work very well. He should try this harder, but it would last too long. He wanted results faster, NOW! He recognized an old addict self to wake up inside him. He stared to his wall and started to think his problem. At least he has something to think about now.
Hm. He has some medical substitutes in his kitchen… oh, their kitchen… for his experiments. Maybe these drugs can help him to try this a little longer. Of course he understood, that if he didn´t breathe at all, he would die. He had to know such things as a consultative detective. It didn´t occur to his mind, that people usually know such things, because what people usually know or do, is only a little or hardly no interests to him.
He went to the kitchen, which is more like a laboratory of a crazy chemist than a kitchen, where you cook your dinner. Oh, dinners are not his problem. If there are some, he might eat, if he hasn´t anything better to do. If there are none, then he doesn´t eat. It is so simple. But now he looked for a definite drug, which would suit for his purpose. Here it is. He looked at the brown bottle, where were blue capsules in. He pondered just a second. That is not, what he has done for a long time, but this is an emergency. He needed to do something to escape from the abysses of boredom, before they drowned him.
He went back to the living room, to his familiar sofa, and looked dreamingly at the pills. He has mentally promised to himself to not mess with drugs again, specially after John has moved in. He hasn´t forgot the shame of the drug bust in the front of his new flat mate. But to be objective, these are not exactly illegal drugs, but expedients for his experiments. He has got them legally – more or less. So there cannot be anything wrong to try them. Specially one of their subside effect interested him: paralyzing functions of lungs. There are not meant for human medicine, but for chemical laboratory, and for veterinaries, for euthanize animals. In fact… oh, now he remembered, in fact Molly has given them to him. Always so sweet Molly. She has been a little worried about what he is going to do with these pills, but he has answered, that there isn´t absolutely anything, that she should worry about. He uses them just in his laboratory. And no, any living soul would get ever know, where he has got them. Even Molly understood, that it will be so.
He has promised. One moment he hesitated, but then he felt himself irritated. Why did everyone hushed him? What is the point. As if he wasn´t an independent, thoughtful adult, but an irresponsible kid. They all thought so. John, mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, even Lestrade, somehow, although he didn´t show it so clearly, but there it was still, he was worried, too. He was bored, and their concern didn´t help him at all. They couldn´t help him. His enemies gave him something to do, something to think. At least he wasn´t bored, when his enemies kept him busy. But again: where are they now? On a vacation? Even his enemies have betrayed him. So what is the point of this boring existence, if he wasn´t allowed to modify it a little.
He opened the bottle, took one blue capsule, as measuring it. It looked very tempting, like a candy. They are not very strong pills. One cannot do permanent harm. Then without any more thinking, he swallowed it.