ShErLoCk oNeSiEs

An Evening Of Addictions (Part 1)

Yo world

This one needs a trigger warning, I guess

Boi usin drugs and shiz

Kids, don't try this at home

Alright carry on with your meaningful lives

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The cold leeched into his veins, a poisonous cancer with a deviously delicious quality. John wasn't home yet. What he didn't know wouldn't kill him.

It was only one shot. It wouldn't kill Sherlock, he had a far higher tolerance for much stronger things. But it gave him such bliss.

Such numb bliss.

Sherlock looked up from his arm and glanced at the clock; John wouldn't be back for at least another five or six hours, and judging by the fact that he had ironed his shirt and used a new cologne that morning, Sherlock came to the conclusion that there was probably yet another damsel that John was trying to rope in.

Could mean John wouldn't be back all night, if he played his cards right. Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if the mystery girl yielded to John's charms.

Out of my head.

The breaths rattled in and out, his heartbeat a distant drumroll of thunder somewhere in the attic of his mind palace. That was where he liked to assume his heart was.

Up in the mental attic, among the dusty cobwebs where no one bother to check.

Don't misunderstand, Sherlock was entirely conscious of his actions, but he tried not to hate himself for it. He tried not to hate himself for the sigh of relief that broke past his physical confines as the magic wand brushed past his pale skin.

He hated that such a cheap bane could taste like such a rich boon.

Today was an evening of addictions. There were two others he had not had that evening. One was just a text away. The other was probably out for the night.

Don't you have any for me?  I'm told I'm dangerous when idle.
-SH

Sherlock tried not to groan out loud. After all, he couldn't expect a goldfish to meet his reasonable expectations of replying within ten seconds of receiving a text.

Eleven seconds later, his phone rang.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Apparently people weren't always disappointing.

"Lestrade," he spoke into his phone, trying to keep the slight drug-induced tremor out of his voice.

"Yeah, no, I'm sorry, Sherlock," came the detective inspector's voice. "London's not up to its usual class of criminal tonight."

Sherlock tutted in sympathy, Giles really did seem sorry. "Can't blame you for trying. I believe you did your best, sad as it is." He winced. That sounded different in his head.

"Well, there is this one guy, but I know you only like murders-"

"I'll make an exception to hear this one."

"Some middle-aged bloke, salt and pepper hair-"

"Stupid expression. Salt and pepper were fine as seasoning."

"-I didn't ask for Your Honour's opinion - no glasses, and apparently he's driving around in a stolen Mercedes with a sixteen year old girl in his backseat. Parents are worried sick."

"You're right, I usually take murders."

"I know."

"But I'm desperate. And bored."