The placid mind

C17H21NO4

TW for drugs

{Hi guys, took me a while to write this chapter because I had no inspiration at all. But we're here now and I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)}

~~

At this very moment Sherlock knows exactly what is going on inside his body, because he feels it all so vividly. Increased blood pressure, sweating, palpitations, increased body temperature, tremors, anxiety. But to Sherlock, all this is nothing compared to the euphoric feeling he is experiencing right now. The feeling he could take on anything, even John's wedding. Although that might be a bit of an overstatement.

Everyone thought that it was impossible for Sherlock to find drugs in or around London. But Sherlock, being the good detective he is, eventually found a way. He found Bill. He's an excellent chemist, specialized in drugs. Specifically cocaine. Sherlock never thought he would be laying on his couch at 3 am in the morning, but that was a better alternative to going home.

Still, even the cocaine and Bill's obnoxious chatter does not keep his mind occupied. John does. How much Sherlock hates to admit it, John is the only person that plays a significant part in his life. No one has ever had that impact on him, even Victor. Sherlock shudders at this thought.

"Do not get attached, Sherlock. People are stupid." the voice of Mycroft echoes through his head. He should've listened to him. Even though Sherlock thinks Mycroft is full of shit, he must admit that he was right about this. People are stupid, all of them. Even he was, for getting attached. All this doesn't change the fact that he does not know what to do. Does he go back to Bakerstreet? Does he just suck it up and go to the wedding? Does he tell John how he feels? He's not even sure he knows how he feels. All these questions racing through his head. Time's running out and he's doing nothing about it.

"You don't just need him. You actually love him, even a blind person can see that." Bill said, pulling Sherlock out of his thoughts.

Bill is a surprisingly good observer, but he's still wrong.

"Inaccurate, a blind person can't see anything." Sherlock says while sitting up. His body hurting all over.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're in love with him."

Sherlock thought for a moment. He isn't even sure that he understands the word 'love'. Broad statement.

"All I have is me. I have no fancy love story and will never have one. First of all, no one would ever be that crazy to actually 'love' me. Certainly not John. Second of all, I don't lower myself to such standards. Unimportant. Details. Not good for work."

Bill laughs at this. This left Sherlock clueless, wondering what he said that could provoke laughter. It's not usually something he is good at, making people laugh. He was serious about this matter though, maybe Bill thought it was sarcasm.

"I think you're going to have to dig deep into your mind palace, search for the evidence supporting my statement." Bill said confidently.

"Disproving it."

Sherlock lays back down. His mind palace is an imaginary location in his mind where he stores information and memories. Every room in it has a special purpose. Of course Sherlock had a special room for John Watson. He closes his eyes and enters his mind palace.

~~

John is starting to get nervous. He's been sitting outside of Sherlock's door for a few hours, trying to hear something. Anything at all, the sound of him turning in his bed would even be sufficient. He hasn't heard anything and he's starting to wonder if he's even still in there.

"There's no way he would be able to get out of there, is there?" he whispers to himself. Either way, he should check. He has tried calling his name but had no response so the next best thing is opening the door. That is exactly what he does.

First slightly cracking the door, just enough to get a view of his bed. He feels himself start to panic when he suddenly sees that there's no one in the bed. Maybe his chair?

"Sherlock??" he tries again before opening fully opening the door and walking in. He looks around, trying to observe just like Sherlock does. Empty chair, empty bed, bathroom unoccupied, everything right where it always is. He is certainly not good at this, the only conclusion he makes is that his best friend is indeed not here. John balls his fist and curses to himself. How did he let this happen?

John takes out his phone and starts typing a message to him. He figures calling will not help because he never picks up anyway.

Please come home. I'm worried about you. We can talk about this. -JW

He presses send and then walks towards the window. The window he probably escaped through. It's quite easy to escape actually, John thinks to himself.

He looks up at the sky. All the stars shining bright, it's beautiful. Although, Sherlock would probably disagree. John suddenly feels very small. There's so much out there that we don't know of. Whole solar systems unexplored that will most likely never be explored. Too little time, human lives are fragile. We're all dying together. 4,5 billion years ago this planet formed, the beginning of humankind and all it's ugly mistakes. But it's not just the humans that are dying, the planet is also dying. In 5,5 billion years the sun will run out of hydrogen and we will all certainly die, if not earlier at the rate we're going.

Yet he is still wasting his time here on earth doing nothing useful.