Sherlock Imagines and Preferences

To Be Alone

The ambulance soon arrived and took you to the morgue. It didn't take long before the coroner found out the cause of death. With pain in his heart, he called your family to give them the news. It seemed unlikely that a young woman with such a good life and great health would die because she overdosed on heroin, but it was the truth. Sherlock collapsed when he received the news. He blamed himself for everything. How did he not see the obvious signs of a drug addiction when it was right in front of him? As he thought back to the moments he shared with you, it all became clear and he managed to see the things that he should've seen a long time ago. Guilt consumed him as he fought to get his life back on track and be a parent to the child you had left behind. He was on his own now.

It feels good, girl, it feels good

It feels good, girl, it feels good

It feels good, girl, it feels good

To be alone with you

He missed kissing you. He missed touching you. He missed your beautiful smile and the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. He missed everything about you and cleaning the flat and storing your stuff in boxes wasn't helping. He would hold a dress you liked in his hands and memories would come flooding back, forcing him to take a break as he broke down. Everything he saw reminded him of you and he just had to get it out of sight if he ever wanted to be able to move on. He wouldn't dare get rid of your stuff, he just couldn't bear to look at it each and every day. Nearly everything that belonged to you had been put in boxes. 

He was about to close the final box when something inside of it stood out. He picked up the small green box he hadn't seen before. He hadn't even realised its existence as he cleaned the flat by himself. His trembling hands took the lid off. Inside of it was more proof of your addiction. The needles filled with the fatal drug stared up at him. His grief prevented him from thinking clearly and he simply couldn't resist. Hoping it would relieve him of his pain, he took the box with him to his chair and put it to the test.

There are questions I can't ask

Now, at last, the worst is over

See the way you hold yourself

Reel against, your body's borders

I know that you hate this place

Not a trace, of me, would argue

Honey, we should run away, oh someday

Our baby and her momma

And the damaged love she made

''Sssh, it's okay now. Daddy is here.'' He soothed, picking his crying child up and resting her in his arms. Ever since you died, nightmares taunted Delilah whenever she'd fall asleep. Sherlock didn't know what they were about, but that wasn't necessary to be able to deduce that it was absolutely terrifying her. He gently rocked her back and forward to lull her back to sleep. It only took a few minutes before her crying died down and she soon fell asleep again. He put her back in her crib, sighing in the process. His arms had been itching all night and there was no way he could resist the urge for a single minute more. He hurried back downstairs and grabbed the green box from underneath his chair.

It had only taken one dose to become addicted to the heroin. It offered him some kind of comfort and numbness which he desperately needed after losing you. He finally understood why you had used it. It numbed the excruciating pain. The hole in his heart would be temporarily filled whenever he was high. It had become his coping mechanism and his addiction. There was no doubt you would've slapped him if you could see him now, not caring that would make you the biggest hypocrite in the world. He was putting his life at risk in order to escape his pain and it slowly dragged him further into an inescapable depression. The hurt he was causing his friends and family, especially his young daughter, never crossed his mind when he was high, not even a single time. He simply shut his eyes and relished in the pain-free moment he so desperately craved.

But I don't know what else that I would do

Than to try to kiss the skin that crawls from you

Than feel your weight in arms I'd never use

It's the god that heroin prays to

It was silent. Completely silent. Sherlock sat in his chair, unmoving. His head was hanging to the side. His eyes were shut and his hand loosely held onto the empty syringe as it draped across the arms of the chair. Silence ruled in the flat until Delilah suddenly started crying, yet another nightmare had scared her. But this time Sherlock didn't jump up to console her, no one did. She screamed her lungs out, begging someone to rescue her from the plaguing nightmares. But there was no one there to keep her safe anymore. Silence soon recaptured the throne and her crying died down. There wasn't a single noise hearable in 221B. Silence would forever rule over the flat.

It feels good, girl, it feels good

It feels good, girl, it feels good

It feels good, girl, it feels good

To be alone with you