A Beautiful Kind of Pain - a Sherlock BBC One-shot

A Beautiful Kind of Pain

It was the end of an era, just like Mrs. Hudson had said. It was the end of old adventures and the beginning of a sad new world for Sherlock Holmes.

It wasn’t fair, he knew, but he also knew that this is what had to happen. Mary was pregnant, and John had to stay and help take care of their child. What else was here to do? And that was bound to be one hell of an adventure for the two in and on itself. He knew they could pull it off; they had taken care of him since he came back from the dead. They would be great at taking care of the little Watson baby.

Setting his violin down, Sherlock folded the sheet music with John and Mary’s song on it, one he himself had composed as a wedding gift. To John and Mary was written in his elegant hand. He looked out at the dancing crowd for a moment, smiling at familiar faces as they looked his way, as he headed towards the exit.

Leaving a wedding early – can you imagine it? Mrs. Hudson’s words went around in his head, but Sherlock knew that he couldn’t stay any longer. He didn’t want to ruin everyone’s good time with his melancholy. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone. So he put on his coat and walked out into the cold London air.

Wrapping his coat snuggly around himself as he walked away from the celebration behind him, he bid a silent farewell to this adventure and started to plan for the next, one that would probably not involve his blogger. This was probably a good thing, however, since it might get him either into a lot of trouble or killed.

~~

Once inside his flat, Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, hanging them up next to the door, which he locked soon after. He looked around with a bit of nostalgia, but quickly shook the feeling off. Now is not the time for this, he reminded himself.

He walked over to the sofa and rummaged through the cushions before finding what he was after – a tiny black pouch full of syringes and vials. He pulled it out and walked into his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

It had been almost a year and a half since Sherlock had last gotten high. He had gotten past the withdrawal symptoms, with the help of John and cigarettes, but now he actually needed the heroin which he now held in his hands.

Not only for emotional release, but for a case, surprisingly enough.

Sherlock pulled off his belt and wrapped it tightly around his bicep as a tourniquet, and then he pulled out a clean syringe and a vial of heroin out of the pouch and stuck the needle into the vial, filling the syringe. He flicked the syringe twice and sighed. It just had to come to this, didn’t it? He thought to himself. He stuck the needle through his skin, wincing as he did so, before finally injecting the heroin into his bloodstream.

The drug took effect immediately. Sherlock feel to his back, groaning at the beautiful pain that ran through his veins. He had forgotten this feeling – agony and bliss wrapped together in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine. But then the memories would kick in, and the pain which had one been beautiful turns into nothing but torture.

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” “No, friends protect people.” “I’ll burn the heart out of you.” “You’ve always been a stupid boy.” “Freak.” “For once, can you pretend to be normal?” “You always want everything to be clever.” “The East Wind is coming, Sherlock.” “Oh, just kill yourself – it’s a lot less effort.”

The voices and the memories echoed in his head for seemed like hours before he finally surrendered to unconsciousness, before the agony subsided to exhaustion, and there was nothing of the beautiful pain but a track mark on his forearm.

~~~

Hey, guys. First off, thanks for reading this. Second, I'm pretty sure I didn't get any of the details right for drug use or the effects of heroin. I've never done drugsso I wouldn't know of these things. I hope it was still okay, though.

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~Irene <3