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Habits

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Guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you… Just like old times

Mycroft words rang through his head as he exited the wedding, pulling on his coat and finally allowing the sadness to show on his features. “Just like old times”

Caring is not an advantage.

Sherlock hated how true those words were. Allowing himself to fall in love with John Watson was one of the most idiotic things he could have done.  

You look sad… when you think he can’t see you

Sherlock sat in the cab as the driver drove him back to 221B Baker Street. He didn’t want to go there it was a just a reminder of John.

This is what people do they get married. I warned you. Don’t get involved

Sherlock walked up the stairs as if in a haze. He needed drugs and he needed them now. The brunette walked to his bedroom, dropping to his knees then opening up the floor board which revealed a red box. Sherlock let out a shuttering breath and opened the box that held a syringe with a vial beside it. The drug greeted him like an old friend, the familiar feel of it crawling up through his veins and enveloping him. Sherlock closed his eyes allowing the haze to take over and allowing it to take John with it.

-

I eat my dinner in my bathtub

Then I go to sex clubs

Watching freaky people gettin' it on

Sherlock woke up with a groan and sat up. “John?” he called a couple more times before realizing John didn’t reside at 221B Baker Street any longer. Even after being back from Serbia, he still called for John when he woke from a nightmare only to be met with the sicken silence of the flat. The clock read 7:30pm and the sky had darkened. Briefly Sherlock tried to remember what day it was but he discovered he didn’t really care.

Sherlock sat in the dark for a solid hour before rising to his feet. He couldn’t take the silence anymore. He needed out of this flat everything said John and to top it off he wasn’t even free from John in his mind palace. He needed something… someone?

-

Maybe a gay club wasn’t the best of Sherlock’s ideas but it seemed to be logical. After drinking a various amount of alcohol and taking whatever pill that man gave him, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled to the dance floor. He didn’t dance but he leaned back on whoever was grinding against him, allowing himself to imagine it was John.

Staying in my play pretend

Where the fun ain't got no end

Ooh

Can't go home alone again

Need someone to numb the pain

Ooh

James… Robert… Liam..? Sherlock couldn’t remember who it was dancing against him. He found that dancing with a complete stranger for a couple hours helped the bitter taste of loneness. Every night he’d go out dance, drink and get high before coming back to the flat only to repeat it. But not tonight. Tonight he allowed himself to get into the cab with this man.

“Where to?” The cab asked and Sherlock blinked several times before replying

“221B Baker Street” Sherlock let himself rest against whoever this man was but he looked like John. A little tall but he fit the profile blond, strong and blue eyes.

The next thing he remembers is kissing. The taste of vodka and weed on the other man’s tongue as it explored Sherlock’s throat. Then they were stopped outside his flat and the man gave the driver money as they climbed out of the cab. Sherlock took the man’s hand and lead him up the steep stairs.

Sherlock and John raced through the darken alley, linked by the handcuffs and Sherlock did the logical thing which was take a hold of Johns hand. Sherlock’s pale slender fingers fitting perfectly with John’s calloused tan ones.

 “Shezza which one is it?” The man asked and Sherlock pointed to the door to his flat. Once inside the flat the man had Sherlock against the wall, the kisses heated and lustful. Sherlock let himself be hoisted up before taken to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

-

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe

Sherlock woke up to an empty bed and an ache in his lower body. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to push the longing for John out of his mind. He rose again and went to grab another syringe when he realized it was empty. He needed more; he needed to forget John the only way he knew how, Heroin

Spending your days in a haze didn’t seem ideal to most people and he would much rather be running the streets solving crimes with John but that was over now. He was back to the time before John.

-

I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

Sherlock let out an exhale through his nose as the morphine filled his veins. The haze the drug brought already starting to mess with his vision and the ache in his chest lessening with every passing second. Sherlock in that moment regretted ever giving this up, ever giving up this feeling because if it was anything to go by these past few days? weeks? months? that no one missed him. Of course dealing with Mycroft after he found out would be an extreme pain in his arse but for right now it was worth it.

What Sherlock didn’t expect was the sudden bile rising in his throat. The next thing the consulting detective knew was he was puking in the bathtub while his body shook violently. What he didn’t expect either was the blood in the bathtub and the sharp abdominal pains along with chest pains. Sherlock coughed and puked once more before he suddenly felt extremely tired.  

“Overdose” Sherlock murmured to himself as he slumped against the tub but this wasn’t his tub. This wasn’t his bathroom. Where was he again?

“Shezza you okay mate?” This was the man he slept with; said man put his hand on Sherlocks forehead “you’re cold as ice”

“Overdose” Sherlock tried to say but it came out more as a moan

“Hold on I got a friend that can help” The blond said and called someone. Before he knew it, Sherlock was hooked to an IV laying back in the recliner. From observing the interaction this man that he had slept with again apparently was named Peter.

“Listen he needs a hospital now.” The man stated “He will die if we don’t call an ambulance  

-

The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous unaware of the beautiful and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.

John, I am a ridiculous man redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I’m apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion. Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic los…so know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.

The speech is the only thing that is playing in the mind palace apparently. How inconvenient. When Sherlock opens his eyes, he is welcomed to the sound of a beeping heart monitor and a very concerned looking Mycroft.

Don’t get involved

Sherlock let out a shuttering breath as the words ran through his head again. “Mycroft”

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” The elder Holmes hissed with clenched fists before they relaxed and he went to stand closer to his bed when he saw the look in Sherlock’s eyes “I told you not to get involved Sherlock”