WARNING: Contains graphic description of murder and drug use. Also a little bit of width drawl. Oh and although so far I have only written two chapters with only a brief D/S element there will be more. A lot more. So please dont read this if your 18 or under. It's going to get NSFW.

Read with caution, Could be triggering :)

Chapter 1

Sherlock had managed a meager 15 minutes of Scotland Yards 'Christmas party' before he felt like throwing something at the majority of people there.

Lestrade had begged Sherlock to come to be shown off like some kind of prize-winning puppy in exchange for some interesting cold-cases that had been filed away in the 'unsolved section' for a number of years. Something that had occurred to Sherlock is that although he enjoyed solving the cold-cases that, in his opinion even a half wit like Donovan could have solved, Lestrade was also getting something out of that end of the deal. He won both ways, and that left a sense of annoyance building up in the bottom of Sherlocks stomach.

He stood in the corner of the room , silently deducing things about everybody in the clustered shoe box sized hall as they chatted obnoxiously. The women standing directly in front of Sherlock, talking to a vaguely recognizable police officer had, for example, had more than eight sexual partners in the last month.

The man she was talking to, however, had only two. Sherlock leaned his head against the wall to steady himself as a vast wave of information clouded his mind. He deduced who was submissive, who was dominant. He picked out a few poor people that where switches and even recognized one man unsure if he was any one of the three.

He looked at his phone. It had been only five minutes ago that he noticed he had only been in that dank smelling hell for quarter of an hour. He had promised Lestrade at least 30 minutes of his time.

Locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket he made his way through the crowd in search of Lestrade and those promised cold-cases.

"Ah Sherlock!" The Inspector said excitedly as he pulled him into a corner as he was about to walk past. Not giving the detective enough time to answer he hurriedly introduced an old women. Probably a benefactor, definitely rich, the detective thought to himself. How boring. Lestrade raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly at Sherlock, signalling for him to shake the womens hand.

He did so, but kept his attention squarely on the grey-haired inspector standing behind her warmly clasping her shoulders. "Those cases" Sherlock said flatly. Lestrade looked at his watch.

"It hasn't exactly been half an hour, has it" He cautioned.

"I'll get an early start then, won't I?" Sherlock shot back through gritted teach. He was so obviously agitated at being forced to stand in the same room with people he regarded as lower than sea life.

"Fine, fine" Lestrade gave in, shaking the woman a little in a form of a goodbye and left the area they had been conversing in and heading towards his office, expecting Sherlock to follow.

On the desk, was three boxes. All three had multiple white-stickers placed over the names where new ones where re-written. The paper was old, and peeling at the side where the original name tag had been. Brilliant Sherlock thought fondly. He loved old cases.

He took the three boxes, one piled on top of the other without saying anything else and hurriedly left the precinct, flagging down a taxi cab and telling him the address. Sherlock had been bored for what seemed like months with the seemingly same, reoccurring cases of jilted lovers, or drug overdoses, the occasional suicide. Lestrade had promised these where a better use of his time. He could only hope he hadn't been lying.

Carelessly throwing notes at the Cab Driver he hurried to the door of 221B, opening it he almost ran up the stairs causing Mrs. Hudson to peek her head out the door to see what the commotion was about. She waved a hand in dismissal and chuckled to herself before shutting the door again and returning to her dinner.

As soon as Sherlock had made his way up the stairs and into the living room, he sat down on a number of other papers already sprawled out over the floor and rummaged through one of the boxes, laying all the information out on the floor. Triple Homicide. Same MO as a number of other murders in the area; The house had been broken into and the throats slit on everybody inside, including the animals. The victims had been taken up into the attic and arranged so that they were kneeling and looking out the window. Each one of their mouths had been spliced open, giving them the appearance of a 'smile'. Happy Family's Sherlock thought to himself as he looked through the other miner details of the case.

Sherlock had soon deduced the unique brand of shoe that the killer wore. Sherlock knew that it could only be brought from two shops in the area, and every single one of the murders -three houses, eleven victims not including pets- had been in the area. The murders were personal, and well thought out but the killer had left behind fingerprints and several of the victims had more than one 'slash mark' on their neck. The killer may have thought out his plan, but that didn't make up for his lack of basic medical knowledge or strength.

Looking through the names of people who had been questioned one name stood out. He had been talked about only one of the murders and had given a statement.

All the other people that had offered their insight on the case when questioned had said that The Carters -the second house to be slaughtered- had kept to themselves. With only two people living in the home there wasn't a lot of noise and people generally regarded them as a little reclusive. A young, christian couple who had been married early and was now trying for a baby.

Kent Lomley, however, told the story of how they where polite and kind. How they said Hello and asked how he was whenever they walked down the street. What kind of idiot could have missed that. Because he had only been questioned once it must have been overlooked if anybody had seen it at all. Morons. Lestrade would find the pair of expensive shoes the idiot had worn to the crime scene and would probably find evidence inside the house. That is, of course if he was still alive. These cases where old.

Sherlock almost screamed out loud at his frustration. Lestrade had said these cases where interesting. That one was gruesome, yes. It had a lot of victims, yes, but it had taken him all of three minutes to solve it.

The detective stood up, his entire body feeling over sensitized. His brain screaming at him to find something interesting, to find something to do. He stalked off to the bathroom and removed the mirror. He carefully removed a small wooden box from behind it. He could already feel himself start to relax at the mere thought of what he was about to do.

He walked to his favorite chair. Taking a seat, he slid his hand along the bottom and pushed a piece of wood near the edge, unlocking the box. The detective opened it, revealing a bag of white powder, a spoon, a lighter and a clean syringe. He ran he fingers over the syringe, removing it from the box along with the bag of powder. Next came the spoon and the lighter. He removed the box from the table setting it down carefully at his feet as if it would break if he made one wrong move. Emptying a little of the bag on to the spoon, he considered something for a moment, before tipping a little more of the contents on to the metal object he was holding firmly in his hand. Using his syringe to collect a little water from the glass that was sitting beside Sherlock - and had been, he thought, for a few months now - he added it to the mixture. Using his lighter to cook his Heroin, Sherlock thought about the decision he was making. He had added a little more on to the spoon than usual but this time he needed it. This time his thoughts were raging inside him making his head physically ache.

When Sherlock was finished, he sucked up the mixture in the syringe, and tied the belt he kept beside his chair round his arm. He slowly pushed the needle into the vein on his arm and slowly, very slowly, sank back into his chair. His arm forget to hold the syringe and slumped to his other side. The detectives mouth opened slightly as his high fully took hold, and a groan escaped his throat in delight.

Note: Hello kind people! ^.^ I have no idea if anybody will actually read this, but if you do let me know. There will be more to come! Its going to getting pretty porny I think. Actually I know it is. This is a BDSM kink fic so if you dont like it, please dont read it. ^.^