Okay, so I'm still really pissed off over the screwed up copy-paste thing, so I freaking downloaded LibreOffice (which looks like shit) off the internet for free because apparently I can just straight up link the file into the docmanager, because of course I have a freaking Mac and doesn't support Pages. Seriosuly, if you're having trouble with uploading because of the copy-paste changes, just download LibreOffice, it's free and actually works...

Anyway, rant aside, here is Sherlock's long-awaited POV. This is also my first attempt at working the newly established canon into a story, specifically Sherlock's parents. Perhaps they'll make an appearance.

WARNING: references to drug use, language, not nice things, etc. etc. (You know the drill by now, it's rated T for a reason)

I will never let them find me.

Not Mycroft, not Lestrade, especially not John.

I don't want to be found. I don't want them to see me like this. But I want it to be over, finally over. I want to be free again, whatever free might mean.

I'd exhausted myself pretending that I could be a normal, semi-functioning member of society. I lived in a world of make believe, thinking that people cared for me when they just used me. They didn't care. If they cared, they would allow me to do what I pleased, they wouldn't try to control me. I would be able to use and still maintain some semblance of a life. If they cared, I wouldn't have to worry about being discovered and forced into some god-awful private facility. If they cared, they would leave me in peace and I wouldn't have to disappear to live out the short remainder of my life how I see fit.

My mind is better this way, though many would disagree, Mycroft included. Everything is clearer when I'm like this.

Of course, there are some unsavory side effects. Sleeping rough isn't the most comfortable, especially during the winter. Crack houses aren't much better, and they carry the risk of me being found by Lestrade or Scotland Yard. I'd learned my lesson the first time around. And the "services" I so often supply in exchange for the drugs are unsavory and illegal, but they work. The vast majority the time I'm too high to care that I was freezing cold and painfully coughing and doing disgusting, deplorable things to people's nether regions for a measly hit. But I can manage.

It didn't matter though. I am finally free from the pressure of everyone else weighing down on me, the pressure to stay sober despite the whispering in my ears. Everyone wants me to stay clean, everybody tries to force me. Lestrade withholds cases. Molly withholds the normally free-flowing supply of body parts and frankly just becomes angry at herself for continuing to love a sociopath. John is just ashamed of me, as is my entire family, Mycroft and my parents included. Dear god, my family, what would they think if they saw me now? What would anyone think?

I am undeniably the family fuck up, even when I was a child unable to keep my mouth shut. I am the loose end that just needed to be chopped off. They will be better of without me, better off without my unending shame.

Everyone always expects to have some sob story, some woeful tale of abusive, cruel parents that hate me. But I don't. My parents are good people, better than myself. I suppose that makes it all the worse when I screw up.

I do care about them. Really, I do. Many would be shocked to find that out. Honestly, I hate making the feel bad, I hate upsetting mummy but I can't help it. I can never avoid the trouble.

And despite how I'd once argued against the point, I'm always the one that upsets her and I hate myself for it. Mycroft is the perfect son, with the posh government job and the legacy degree from Oxford or Cambridge (I couldn't quite remember which though, not in my current state). Sometimes I don't even understand why I'm like this, why I do what I do. Maybe it's the constant boredom that stems from my superior intelligence, maybe it's my fucked up brain. But Mycroft never had these problems, he had always been better than me when we were young. Mycroft is perfect, he will always be perfect. Smarter, better with people, decidedly not a pathetic drug addict currently taking up residence under a bridge.

Perhaps it's just Mycroft's fault in general, maybe it's the inferiority complex he instilled upon me from an early age. He constantly put me down, called me stupid and made fun of me. I actually believed I was an idiot until I met other children. I still am an idiot, compared to him. Just look at my life choices if you'd ignore the intelligence.

He drove me to this. It was his fault to begin with. He left me alone with parents that cared but didn't quite understand. He made me the way I am. He made it so that I felt he need to constantly show off my obviously superior intelligence which in turn made people despise me. He made sure I never had friends, he made sure people hated me, he turned me cold. He pushed me to my breaking point, forced me to use drugs to alleviate the pain of life itself.

Then he had the audacity to make me stop, to kidnap me off the streets where I was perfectly happy on my own. He forced me to go through the withdrawals, to scream and sob until me throat was raw and my muscles burned. Humiliating, all the worse when people saw me that way. When Lestrade was brought in, it was worse.

I will never go through that again. Never.

The cycle will be broken this time, I will not be captured by Mycroft's men and shoved in the back of a black car. Lestrade will not find me passed out in a drug den. I will not go throughly the horrifying and humiliating detox. I will not be forced into rehab. They will never see me like this again. Should I overdose, by accident or purposely, I will not be found. I will die, I will not be resurrected with a jolt to the heart. I will not, and cannot, be saved.

I am already too far gone, unable to be saved. They will not find me, I won't let them. I will never see John again, and that doesn't really matter. The thought would have torn me up before, but I no longer care. He will be fine, he isn't alone anymore. He has Mary, he has a son/daughter on the way. He'll be fine without me, he doesn't need me.

Nobody needs me. Lestrade has is job steady once more, given two whole years to learn how to work cases without me again. Molly has Tom, they'll be happy together. Maybe they'll even have children some day. Mycroft has never cared, not since I was a baby. And my parents, well, they'll learn to deal with it. They will mourn me, surely. Mummy will cry but she'll get over losing her little boy eventually just as I once got over losing my only childhood friend. They had to expect this would happen some day. I'd done this very same thing twice before.

They will mourn because it is expected. But they will move on.

They will never find me because I won't allow it. I will remain free, I will do what I please. Perhaps I'll get a hold of some money, find a new city just to put more distance between myself and those searching for me. Maybe I'll even end up in some new country. Perhaps I'll try Florida again.

They won't find me alive. If anything, they will only find my body. But by then I will be somewhere else entirely.

Well then...hope y'all enjoyed that. Let me know what you think!

Also, 99 FOLLOWERS! You people are crazy...but how 'bout we make it 100 with this chapter :)