The Tin Man

((FANFIC)) The Tin Man

Sherlock entered the flat slowly. Just him....just boring old him. He sighed wearily and pulled off his coat weakly.

Deep lines were carved into Sherlock's face from his lack of sleep.
He got no rest ever. But he out on a good show for everyone else hiding what he truly felt. If he did? What would be the good....no one would believe him. Everyone- Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft and even...sometimes John. They always assumed the Negative. Or that he would attack each with his words.

Before he would say a word they would assume. Such as in the case of what he might think about an idea...it was automatically assumed that he didn't care. Which was hardly the case.

Sherlock the machine did have feelings. Even if they were buried deep down inside he did....but no one seemed to care.

His hand shook as he hung the trench coat up on the nail of the flat door.
Looking round the room with dull green-blue eyes, Sherlock landed upon the area on which John's chair had once stood.

"Empty...." he whispered as he sat down in his own. His fingers drummed restlessly as he tried to escape into his thoughts. Sitting down on the couch he closed his eyes. But immediately a rush of thoughts flooded into his mind. His eyes snapped open suddenly with a gasp.

Almost immediately his countenance saddened He missed John. Ever since it had all happened. He rubbed his face and ran his finger tips through his dark curls.

Sherlock sighed and leaned forward hanging his head. Dark curls fell into his eyes as tears cane to his eyes. No one understood what he felt. Loneliness? Yes. But much more. He felt like the Tin Man from the Wizard of OZ. Yes....he was alive...but he had no heart. Or rather the pieces of one that had been broken long ago. No matter what he did...how far down the yellow brick road he went he could never recover his heart. instead he received a clock...tick tock tick tock. Reminding him of the time he had spent with John and how it was over. And of how every beat of his physical heart grew slower.

Sherlock closed his eyes as his hand reached for something under the mantle. With the other hand he rolled up his sleeves.

His fingers curled around the syringe he always kept.
A dark liquid was kept inside the tube. His hands trembled as he brought it in front of his eyes.
What was he doing?! Killing himself? Yes....he was. And he didn't care.

He quickly,before a second thought entered his mind, stabbed it into his wrist. His eyes widened as he injected every drop of the liquid into himself. He felt it enter his body and let out a soft cry.

His body began to numb but Sherlock didn't stop. He injected more and more into his body.

Sherlock's eyes widened which dose....he had been far past overdose....this was insanity. But he was the sociopath! The freak.
Sherlock bit his trembling lip and dropped his head back as he did it again. Gritting his teeth in pain he threw his head back and forth.

He knew what he was doing and burned....but he didn't stop.
his eyes widened again before he started to pass out. His lips parted
Tin....man... he passed out and the syringe dropped onto the floor empty. He had holes in his arms and blood trailed down and onto the arm of the chair.

~Jak Thomas