Oh, Sherlock

Not With A Bang,

Four months after - to the day

If John saw me now he would be extremely disappointed in me. Mrs. Hudson is being very lenient on the rent, which is lucky because I have no way I can pay her. Well, I could pay her, but then I couldn't pay for my fix. Cocaine, heroin and alcohol mostly. I don't even know how I get the money. I keep getting envelopes full of bank notes in the mail. I don't know who they're from, there's no return address.

Whoever they are, I'm lucky they pay me as much as they do. If I hadn't gotten that money, my dealer might have killed me. I hear a knock at the door and stand. I walk over and open it, letting out a gasp when I see who it is. "Violet..." John says quietly. I run into Sherlock's room, locking the door behind me. I hear John's footsteps come down the hall and stop at the door. He tries the door and the doorknob shakes.

"Go away, John!" I yell through the door, hiding behind the bed.

"Not until you tell me what you've done!" He shouts angrily. I huff, 'Fat chance.'

"If you don't open this door right now I will call the police to open it for you!" He yells. My eyes dart around the room wildly, looking at the leftover needles and the small bag of cocaine on the table.

"No, John! Please no, don't call the police!" I yell desperately.

"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" He shouts.

I slowly get up and walk up to the door, opening it to reveal the mess to John. He scans the room and runs a hand over his face. He picks up a dirty needle off the floor with two fingers and holds it out to me. "Are these yours?" He mutters angrily. "Are they?!" He yells. I nod and he drops it on the floor. "You're almost as bad as Sherlock was," he says.

Anger flows through me and I put my finger in his face, "Don't talk about him that way! Sherlock Holmes was a good man!" I screech.

"Sherlock Holmes was a prick and a drug addict!" He shouts back and smacks my hand away.

I turn away from him and take a deep breath. "You don't mean that," I say and turn back around. "You were his best friend, you were devastated when he died," I whisper, "You still are." He runs his hand over his face.

"I know. I know! You're right. I just got carried away," he says. He looks over me seeing the state I'm in and hugs me. "I know you miss him. But you can't do this to yourself," he says gently and lets go. I nod and wipe my face. John bends down and starts picking up needles off the floor.

"John," I say, "John, what're you doing?" He doesn't stop and looks up at me.

"I am throwing away all of your needles. All of your heroin and all of your cocaine," he says matter-of-factly.

As what he said sinks in, he disappears into the bathroom with a bag of cocaine and heroin. "Wait, John stop! That was expensive!" I shout, running into the bathroom just as he flushes them down the toilet. "John!"

"Wasted money I'm afraid," he says and shrugs, "Can't be helped." He cleans up the entire flat by himself while I yell at him for this and that and by the time he's done I realize what a marvelous job he's done. The flat is completely spotless and I look at John with awe.

"Why would you do all this for me, John? I never did anything for you, not even when Sherlock was alive," I say.

He shrugs his shoulders, "What is a friend for if you can't count on them to clean your flat and flush your drugs down the toilet once in a while?" He says, surprisingly cheerfully. He smiles at me warmly and I hug him tightly, thanking him over and over. I wanted to quit doing drugs but I couldn't do it by myself.

'Would Sherlock have done the same?'