Warning: Self Harm

I hope you are all doing alright, hang in there. Writing always helps me. Thank you for reading!

The loud noises of the pub set my teeth on edge. Each idiot raising their voice to be heard over the din, never anything even vaguely intelligent to be heard. Simply for something to do I take a sip of my beer, peering over the top of my glass at Lestrade and John. They had complained and nagged endlessly until this week I agreed to join them for drinks. Now that they each have had several beers, along with the shots John ordered they were practically falling all over each other laughing at the jokes a small brunette was telling them. She had come over three minutes and 29 seconds ago, and she already had them both drooling all over her. She obviously was simply enjoying the attention but had no intention of going home with either of them, or going past the niceties of flirting. Thirty-eight, office job, recently out of a long-term relationship, owner of a terrier, the unimportant dull details keep bombarding me. I wish I could just leave but I would never hear the end of leaving after being out for less than twenty-seven minutes. The beer slowly becomes more appealing and I take a swig of my drink hoping I can dull my senses a bit. I dislike beer, it sits in my stomach and makes me feel heavy and slow, I wish I could have something stronger. It would have to be much stronger to battle this lot of idiots.

I am drawn out of my thoughts when the woman leans on me laughing at some apparently hilarious joke of John's.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" I spit at her, pulling myself out of her reach.

"You'd have to be a freak to not want to touch her" Johns' eyes are slightly unfocused as he stares at her.

My heartbeat picks up as I snap "Well excuse me if I don't enjoy strangers constantly throwing themselves at me as you seem to" My discomfort in the situation brings the words forth quicker than I can stop them.

Finally looking up from the brunette John glowers at me "It's just a bit of fun, your just a machine who cant understand human emotions."

I stare dumbfounded at him. Unable to hear any noise in the pub except John's wheezy laugh as he turned away from me, back to the idiotic girl. I feel cold, and numb, as if on autopilot I stand up grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair and stalk out. I vaguely hear Lestrade call my name but I am already to the door and out into the street. I am six roads away before I can form a thought, my fists clenching around the jacket I forgot to put on, two words repeating through my mind freak, machine, freak, machine, freak, machine…. Everything around me seems to blur, the only noise is the thudding of my own heart. My breath piercing my chest at a rapidly increasing tempo. I clench my teeth the air hissing through them, and billowing out into a cloud in the cold air. What I wouldn't give for a hit right now. Mycroft has paid off everyone within walking distance.

In frustration, I begin walking as quickly as possible back to the flat. Faster, and Faster until I am running hoping the speed will force my breath to slow and work properly.

The panic is spreading through my body and I am gasping for air by the time I reach the flat. Using the railings to pull myself up the stairs the only thought I manage to have is the desperate hope that Mrs. Hudson is soundly asleep by now. I through myself into the flat and drop my coat on the floor. Barely managing to close the door I stumble my way to my bedroom.

My room is the complete opposite of the rest of the apartment. Where the living room is chaos, and the kitchen, according to Mrs. Hudson, was not livable, my room is immaculate. It is uncomfortable. Too many memories. Entering this room always means acknowledging something I wish to be hidden. It is in here I can release my demons. My breathing by this point is beyond my control, my transport malfunctioning. Everything is numb. Everything is cold. Everything is empty and yet too full, I have to let it out.

Filed away at the back of my sock index, is a small metal tea tin. Tossing it onto my bed I rip my shirt off as I walk over, a small dark blue towel in hand kept for just such occasions. Seated on the bed I run my fingers over the tin quickly before popping it open to reveal an assortment of razor blades. If I can't process human emotion, if I can't begin to comprehend what others feel, how they must express their emotions, well then I will deal with mine my own way. If I can't be on their level in that say then I will do it a different way. It's true I wish I didn't have emotions. I wish I could drain them out of my body. My hands which were shaking before are now strong and sure. I carefully select one, noting that several are becoming dull and should be disposed of. My senses tingle in expectation.