The flat is silent and deserted when Sherlock enters.
Mrs. Hudson is still at the wedding. And Sherlock assumes that she won’t come back until morning.
And John. Well. John will never come back.
Sherlock goes up the stairs. He goes through the lonely flat towards his own room.
Once he’s in it, he leans back against the wall for a while. He closes his eyes.
He feels so tired. Exhausted. Empty.
Sometime he finally takes off his suit. He throws it carelessly into a corner. He won’t need it again.
He puts on his favourite gown and sits down on the bed with a sigh.
He stares at the wall in front of him. He swallows. Clenches his hands.
He wished that the need that haunts him for days now would vanish. But instead it’s stronger than ever. The need for the drugs.
It started when John packed his things to move out.
Sherlock tells himself that it has nothing to do with John. But a part of him knows, that this isn’t the truth. The need for the drugs is there because all the things, which have disappeared with John’s appearance, will come back after John is gone. The haunting memories of the past and the depressive thoughts and the shattering emptiness - it will all come back.
And Sherlock is afraid.
He swallows again and closes his eyes for a moment.
John would be sad and disappointed when he takes the drugs…but John isn’t there anymore. His opinion doesn’t matter anymore, right?
And to hell with everyone else. They don’t care anyway.
Sherlock loses the short fight against himself after a few minutes.
He stands up dazed and takes what he needs out of the hiding place behind his periodic table.
He prepares everything and meanwhile he feels a mixture of excitment, regret, sadness, rage and strange satisfaction.
But when he finally puts the needle with the cocain into his arm, he only feels relief.