I am completely free of my addiction, now.

I did my time in rehab, and now I've been released back into the 'real world' where I can do as I like once again. However, when you've been through a process like that the world is slightly different.

I needed a place to stay, so my brother provided me with a tiny, temporary flat. But I can't stay there forever.

I need a real flat.

The problem there is that I can't afford one on my own, and my brother doesn't really believe I should-doesn't think I'm trustworthy, or capable, or something... So that leaves finding a flatmate.

But honestly... Who would want to share a flat with me?

I won't explain the reasons fully, because this record is me speaking to myself, in my own mind; I'm not crazy, so long as I know that no one else but me is going to reply. I'm just organising thoughts, and cataloguing them.

Usually I would have much better things to do than this-in fact I'd rather be working-but things have been extraordinarily boring, for the time being.

I'm left with this odd, stupidly introspective mood that sometimes strikes me when I walk the streets of London at night, as I've done a lot recently.

My brother pretends he doesn't know I do it. But he's probably got someone watching.

Just in case.

In case I do something he wouldn't like-or in case something goes wrong.

There are quite a few people in this world who don't like me very much. But that's not surprising. There are very few, if any, who do.

I don't have friends.

I have enemies, and my brother is one of them.

But I digress; this is all information I already know. This introspection is really getting to me...

Tonight is rather crisp, as mummy would say. I can see my breath when I pass under streetlights; the stars look sharp, almost as if they could cut you.

And I'm going to hazard a guess and say it's probably going to snow tonight.

The boredom is so intense that it actually hurts. There's an ache in my chest... A sort of hollow that only a case will fill, temporarily. Which is why I need one so badly.

I'm going to delete these unimportant memories later.

I haven't had a case in ages. Lestrade may believe that I am still compromised from my addiction, or perhaps he doesn't want to have the Yard related to anyone who's been labeled a 'druggy.'

I'm sure he'll be back, eventually.

They need me.

I know he'll be back.

Maybe if I offered to be flatmates with someone like Molly Hooper...? She'd agree-I know she would, she's just kind like that-but that would get annoying much too fast...

She'd be much too talkative. Besides, it's not a good idea to be flatmates with coworkers, really.

Not that we're coworkers, but she does work in the morgue, and I do go there fairly often.

It just goes along with being a consulting detective.

So, no Molly...

There is a flat I've had my eye on. It's a nice one, comfortable, and it's owned by a woman who owes me a favour, so I'm sure she'd give me a cut rate, so if I could just find that other person...

But like I said, I doubt anybody would want to share a flat with me.

Even Molly would leave eventually.

People do that, after all.

It's a fact of life.

They leave.

My hands are getting numb. I can't feel my cheeks anymore. But the cold air does wake you up; it hurts a bit if you breathe too deeply. Which is good for me, because I don't need to sleep right now.

I need to be thinking. I have a problem in front of me, and I need to fix it.

Not half as interesting as a murder, but... It's something.

And yet, it's not enough to satisfy, honestly. My mind is scratching itself raw. I'm grabbing at straws and my thoughts are becoming far too repetitive and mundane.

This is about the time where I would previously have decided to shoot up.

But I'm not going to do that.

I'm clean now.

And it's staying that way.

I feel hollo-I feel bored.