Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or any of the Sherlock franchise
Prologue:
I can feel myself falling into the abyss as I insert the needle, the cocaine giving me the breathless feeling I long for.
This is far more comforting than thoughts of him- No, don't go there, conceal, ignore, it's all fine.
I can feel every particle washing over my skin, the tingling in my fingertips grows and wraps around my arms then further throughout my body like a vine seeking purchase on a tree, as though if I were not there they could not survive or withhold themselves.
I try to recall the days so long ago when I did not need this, when I was happy and things were wonderfully imperfect, but it's too late, I'm too far gone. It's too much, too soon, too late.
I'm always too late.
