InsaneJournal

WHO: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
WHAT: Sherlock has always had amazing willpower when he really wanted to. But at the moment, he no longer wants to.
WHEN: October 15th; Mid-afternoon
WHERE: Sherlock & John's flat; Sherlock's room
RATING: PG-13 [for drug use & self loathing thoughts]
STATUS: In Progress

There was a pulse in the back of Sherlock's mind telling him that he had to stay sharp, he had to stay focused, and he had to keep command over his senses long enough to figure out what was happening to the people in this city, find some way to stop it or at least hold it off for the time being. But there was another part of his mind, one that had been itching away at him for some time now but had grown immensely in scope and influence since the day before, that was insisting that anything he did would be all for naught. Like everything this city had since thrown at them, it would either be an impossible challenge with no reachable solution, or it would simply stop with no warning and about as much meaning with what it had started and would leave him just as baffled as he had been during the course of the event. What was the point in endeavouring to find a solution when there was none, or it couldn't be put into practice?

The evening before, for once, he had done as he was told. He had returned to the flat, eaten without compliant or insistence that his work was more vital, and had went to bed without so much as a glance at his current notes on the zombie situation. Sherlock had registered John's worry with every lack of protest and every obedient step that he had taken. But beyond his rather forced attempt to assure him that he would be fine via text, in person, Sherlock hadn't trusted his body to maintain the same sort of composure that words on a screen had offered him. He was anything but all right. And unlike the situation back home, where his mistake had cost people their lives, there was no game that he was forced to carry on here. All that he had now was yet another futile situation and the understanding that his stupidity had cost someone else once again.

When Sherlock had purchased the vials that were hidden in the top drawer of his nightstand, tucked just behind a set of neatly folded handkerchiefs, it had just been a matter of maintaining a situation that he'd held in his mind as being a staple to keeping himself clean. It was easy enough to resist the pull to use if he had to go through all of the efforts of acquiring the substances whenever the urges arose. He wasn't in University anymore. The providers wouldn't come to him. And he had hardly felt like he was beating an addiction if the only reason he was clean was because of something as simple as sheer laziness. So he'd kept it around. Usually just one substance, and he had measured his success by the number of times he had to replace that substance every month...three months...six months. That had varied as the years had crept on. And as Sherlock had extracted the vials of Ketamine from the drawer of his nightstand, he couldn't help but think that this was the first time he'd gotten so close to not having to replace them for a year.

But as the world slipped away from him, Sherlock couldn't really care. In the end, his willpower hadn't failed. He just didn't want to let it hold anymore.