I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole / Till there's nothing left inside my soul
WHO: sh_consulting and caststwoshadows
WHERE: Sherlock's flat
WHEN: Now
WARNINGS: Small amounts of melodrama, massive amounts of sulkiness and generally terribleness. Mention of drug use?
SUMMARY: Desire pays Sherlock a visit.
FORMAT: Para to set up, then whatever? Action spam?
It hadn't taken anything to procure the cocaine. Or the cigarettes. The latter he had been smoking nearly endlessly, with absolutely no one to stop him and no reason to stop himself. The good stuff, of course, though after Desire's own brand they always went down with a touch of extra bitterness.
No cases. Running in circles for narcissists simply to keep from being bored but it wasn't enough, it was never enough.
The weight of the emptiness of the world was crushing and all consuming, and he wallowed in it.
The cocaine was prepared. On the table. It had been for days. He'd been meaning to use it, craving it, but every time he stepped to it his mind would betray him - project his memory of John at the instant he promised that he wouldn't - and for the briefest of moments the anger would replace the despair and something within arm's reach would end up shattered.
God - he was just. So. Bored.
There was nothing else wrong.
Work. That was all he needed.
Of course.
WHERE: Sherlock's flat
WHEN: Now
WARNINGS: Small amounts of melodrama, massive amounts of sulkiness and generally terribleness. Mention of drug use?
SUMMARY: Desire pays Sherlock a visit.
FORMAT: Para to set up, then whatever? Action spam?
It hadn't taken anything to procure the cocaine. Or the cigarettes. The latter he had been smoking nearly endlessly, with absolutely no one to stop him and no reason to stop himself. The good stuff, of course, though after Desire's own brand they always went down with a touch of extra bitterness.
No cases. Running in circles for narcissists simply to keep from being bored but it wasn't enough, it was never enough.
The weight of the emptiness of the world was crushing and all consuming, and he wallowed in it.
The cocaine was prepared. On the table. It had been for days. He'd been meaning to use it, craving it, but every time he stepped to it his mind would betray him - project his memory of John at the instant he promised that he wouldn't - and for the briefest of moments the anger would replace the despair and something within arm's reach would end up shattered.
God - he was just. So. Bored.
There was nothing else wrong.
Work. That was all he needed.
Of course.