An avalanche was tumbling through Sherlock's skull as the golden morning rays shone through the boys' stain-speckled white curtains. He rose slowly, his joints popping like corn kernels on a pan. His alarm hadn't gone off, yet there he was, squinting through tired eyes at his messy bedroom, and at his roommate, who was still slumbering rather peacefully.
He made his way to the bathroom, where he promptly knelt to vomit.
To the right of his knee lie the cigarette from the night before. It was a tad crumpled and dented in places, only burned halfway. There was a small black smudge on the wood floor beneath it, presumably a scorch mark. Sherlock groaned when he saw it, reaching out a trembling hand to pick at the flaking, charred wood.
He could cover it over with paint later and the landlady wouldn't know a thing.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholock
Fanfictionpain is beauty. {cover art drawn by me, pieced together and colored by @queen_mycroft, my best friend, son, and grandmother}
