Mrs. Hudson did not know what to do. She was not quite sure what was happening. She had seen him relapse before. But something in her told her that this time things were different. He was moodier than the usual but that was normal behavior when it came to Holmes. He was using again. Even that could be explained by his boredom and lack of interest in anything and everything mundane. But what confused her most was the utter change in his demeanor, now silent, and brooding. He had not thrown a tantrum in a long time or had eaten anything for that matter. He kept looking out of the windows quietly, not once mentioning how hateful everything was. He seemed to be waiting for something, someone. He seemed almost fey. She needed to talk to someone about Sherlock. Dr. Watson would have been a great help. But he had moved out several months ago. Such a pity, he seemed to have a positive influence on Sherlock.
Her mind was still engaged with these disturbing thoughts when she heard a knock on her door. She got up swiftly from her sofa, not wanting to keep her visitor waiting, especially when the visitor was usually referred by the police as a psychopath. A disheveled Sherlock barged into her room like a tornado. 'Mrs. Hudson I need a case, I need it now. I will go mad, mad, do you hear me?' he yelled as he paced across the room like a complete lunatic. 'No I also need some, you know, you threw them all away. How could you do this to me?' he rambled on 'I need some right now. Oh God'. He screamed at the wall and kicked the nearest thing, which happened to a handbag. 'Sherlock' Mrs. Hudson cried 'are you all right?' She asked stupidly.
He started to laugh insanely at this point. He so wanted to tell her what was wrong. He wanted to tell her he did not need weed or heroine or cocaine or even a fucking case. He needed one thing only. And no one , not even Mycroft was interested in giving him what he wanted. He was the fucking government himself. If he could not find ONE man, then who could? It was probably because he did not particularly wanted to Sherlock fumed. His brother was not particularly fond of him and more than that he probably was suspicious. Sherlock had never really been close to anyone. Bonding with John seemed very suspicious from the beginning. He can accept that I am not sexual but can't … he did not finish the thought. He did not want to entertain that thought at all.
John John John
That was the only thing he could think of at the moment. He had spent several months lamenting, mourning, regretting. What on earth possessed him to tell John about Moriarty right after coming back from the dead? How on earth did he think John was going to accept the revelation calmly? Did he really believe that? 'We are not a couple' he had said. How he regretted those words. He had spent days praying, wanting, wishing to take those words away. He wanted to apologize to John. But John had been adamant, reluctant to listen to anything he had to say. 'You would outlive God trying to have the last word' John had said. So he had kept his mouth shut. He had died inside each day waiting for him to leave. He had watched silently as he saw his 'friend' pack his things, and eventually leave. He could do nothing to stop him. NOTHING someone yelled in his head. 'I need some' he said quietly to Mrs. Hudson and walked away and disappeared into the London crowd. Far away, away from the prying eyes of the madding crowd, a certain military doctor woke up from a bad dream, sweating profusely. Sherlock is in trouble.
The end ?