So this one is a bit shorter, I hope to update again soon.

I felt myself slipping away.

Letting wave after wave of the drug roll over me.

But I wasn't floating in a peaceful sea of intoxication anymore, the drug no longer sang in my veins, whiting out the darkness that now consumed me.

The pure euphoria could only last so long.

No, I was drowning now. Drowning in an undulating ocean of demons and grime.

Every time the needle pierced my skin it was like I was being dragged under the filthy water again, the monsters digging their claws into me and pulling me deeper and deeper still.

Lungs unable to function. Brain going fuzzy. Body growing limp. Threatening to burst.

Fighting my way back up was the worst, feeling the talons rip and shred my flesh as I pulled away desperately, panicking, thrashing.

Breaking the surface, gasping for air, jaw hooked open.

But it was getting harder.

I wasn't able to fight anymore.

I took too much effort, and I just kept being dragged deeper.

Sometimes it was just easier to stay under the surface, unable to breath, unable to think.

That scared me, quite a lot actually.

Of course it wasn't all bad, there was still those moments of euphoria, of overwhelming clarity after each injection when the waters cleared a bit, turning crystal blue for what seemed like half a second before slipping back to oily black.

But the crash and the fight to get back to some sense of sobriety seemed to outlast anything positive, the water staying black far more often than blue.

Each pleasant high growing shorter as the dosage crept ever upward.

Building up a tolerance.

Dangerous.

Leads to fatal overdoses.

Not that I cared, really.

And because of the tolerance, because of the brevity of those torturously short moments of sparkling clarity, I found myself increasingly unable to resist the temptation during the day.

I started injecting at any hour, whenever I felt I needed it, abandoning all the rules I'd set for myself.

The days I spent drowning and resurfacing far outnumbered the days where I accomplished anything.

I was shutting down, getting sloppy.

Making mistake after mistake.

It was a wonder nobody had found out yet.

They were blind and absent.

One morning, I'd woken up from my fitful sleep late in the afternoon only to realize I'd forgotten to close the doors the night before.

Mrs. Hudson could have barged in at any point, carrying a tray filled with breakfast items in a futile attempt to fatten me up, only to find me passed out on the sofa surrounded by discarded syringes and other illicit paraphernalia.

But she'd been away at her sister's place. I hadn't even know, despite the fact that she'd surely told me or left me a note.

It could have ruined everything.

And Lestrade should have noticed the way I turned down cases, not just because they were ones or twos, not worth my time. I was turning down cases I would have normally jumped over.

I didn't trust myself anymore.

I didn't trust myself to hide the bruises creeping slowly down my arms.

I didn't trust myself not to pass out from exhaustion or low blood sugar or some combination of both.

I didn't trust myself to be sober when he called on me.

So cases were a bust now, not really a loss anyway.

They weren't the same, and giving up on them just meant one less person to be around, one less person who could see what was going on.

Because, frankly, I was kidding myself if I thought Lestrade would still be a part of my life if I stopped taking his cases. He was just another one of many that used me for my mind.

Who could possibly care enough about me to maintain a relationship without any sort of benefit?

Everyone had found benefit from me.

I helped Lestrade build his reputation, I helped him solve cases.

I gave John a chance to get his adrenaline pumping.

Molly got to moon after me all day.

They'd never be able to stand me if they weren't reaping the benefits.

I'd learned that many years ago.

So they wouldn't care if I was gone, they would find new people to serve my role.

Lestrade would actually consult his own police team for a change. It was better that way, no chance of legal trouble.

Molly had Tom, a man who loved her far more than I ever could.

And John. Well, John didn't need me anymore. He didn't need the adrenaline. It was time for him to settle down with a family. He could have his boring married life.

Without them, I am worthless.

And to them, I am nothing. A place filler, ready to be replaced by someone less sociopathic.

I'm simply killing time, waiting for the cocktail of drugs coursing through my veins to kill me and give me relief from this worthlessness.

Please let me know what you think, and any suggestions are more than welcome.