Author's note: Spoilers for episode 3x02, "The Sign of Three". There is angst.
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There is always something.
In this case, there is always something left for him. To be honest, he expected to be using it after today.
He could go to Mycroft's, but he doesn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of being right. He remembers the lonely nights before John, when eventually he ended up at his house, and there was this smug smile on the British Government's face because Sherlock Holmes had a heart and he was lonely.
He admits to himself that he will go to Mycroft's. Tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight he is alone.
Just like he is now.
John is happy, and he is glad. His friend deserves it. He deserves the life he always wanted for himself, the wife, children. Mary will give him that. She is a wonderful woman; she helped John after Sherlock faked his death. She will be a good mother.
Sherlock has no illusions. He knows that, at the moment, they are determined to involve him in their lives, maybe even ask him to be the baby's godfather. But this is not for him.
At first, he will visit them often, John will accompany him on cases, but then he will want to spend more time with the child, with his wife. They will see each other less and less, until they only meet once or twice a year to "catch up" as the doctor would put it.
Sherlock has known that this would happen since he found out John was going to marry.
And it still hurts.
It shouldn't, his mind tells him that it shouldn't.
He's always known that it would come to this. John is an adrenaline junkie, but even when he was living with Sherlock, he was always searching for the one, the woman he could marry and start a family with. Sherlock was nothing but a temporary fix.
Ordinary people live ordinary lives, and sometimes extraordinary people have ordinary wishes.
Sherlock forgot it for a while before Moriarty's last stand, and he managed not to remember until he returned and everything was different.
He will become what he was before John. A lone consulting detective, a few "friends" dropping in now and then.
It was the right decision to leave. He doesn't belong at a wedding. He doesn't belong at ordinary feasts. He's different, has always been. He tried tonight to be normal, for John, and he failed. He couldn't give a speech without working out the case. He almost couldn't begin his speech because he kept getting distracted by what he could deduce about the guests.
He fooled John, although he couldn't fool Mary. That is what counts. John has saved him time and time again, and if Sherlock can maintain the fiction that he is human, the doctor will be happy. Loneliness is a small price to pay.
In fact he has always been lonely. He just knows now how it truly feels like. Because for a short time, he wasn't lonely.
He should have known better, his mind insists.
And yet he prefers his World with John Watson in it. No matter how small the part he plays in John's life will become.
And there is still something left for him, something that won't leave him.
Since he has been living alone, and George – no, Greg – hasn't organized a drug's bust, he has had more than enough opportunities to build up another secret stash, for the times when he's bored out of his mind and alone and the thoughts keep swirling around in his brain.
He hasn't used it until now, but on this evening, he can feel the craving cursing through his veins, the old craving to stop thinking and feeling and just be.
It's not like anyone will come for him. Everyone is at the wedding, and Mycroft knows better. Plus, he has always looked down on Sherlock's habit, explaining at one time that "if you feel the need to dim your intellectual capacities, I won't stop you."
There is no one to stop him, and formerly, before Mike Stamford came into the lab accompanied by an ex-army doctor who changed his life, Sherlock would have been relieved. He isn't, now.
But, contrary to the belief of his friends, he has always been able to control his habit. He has never overdosed, he has never been in the danger of losing himself. Ordinary people are, of course, but Sherlock Holmes isn't ordinary.
If he was, he would still be at the wedding.
He walks home, for once unwilling to catch a cab. He has always felt more comfortable at night than at day-time. At night, no one watches. At night, one can by one's self.
It's something else that's left. He can be himself.
Maybe people can only be themselves when they are alone.
He arrives at Baker Street and walks up the 17 steps, convincing himself that he isn't going slower than he used to.
His stash is in his sock drawer. There is no need to put it somewhere else. There is no one who checks his sock drawer these days. He's only seven percent away from freedom.
He takes his time to prepare everything. He is careful; it has been over two years since he last took anything –
If he's honest with himself, and there is no reason not to, closer to four.
The moment he plunges the needle in is pure bliss, the anticipation of not having to think already making it seem that he doesn't, and he breathes in deeply. Feels the cocaine spread through his system.
The whirlwind stops, the thoughts of alone and friend and change drifting away, and he closes his eyes.
Tomorrow, he will remember that alone protects him.
Tonight, he still has this.
Author's note: I had to write something about this episode... Even if it is somewhat short.
I hope you liked it, please review.