MMoM Day 3: High Cost (BBC Sherlock) R
Title: High Cost
Rating: R
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: The high from a case comes with a price.
Word Count: 394
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Thanks: To Daasgrrl for the endless patience this required!
The case had gone extraordinarily well. Ten people had been murdered, but there would not be an eleventh. All thanks to him. Lestrade didn’t seem as appreciative as he should have been. “Job well done. Go home, Sherlock,” he had said, sounding tired. “Sleep. You do know what that is, right?”
Sherlock had scoffed. “All a matter of conditioning. Sleeping wastes time. Time that could be better spent searching for your serial killer.”
“And you found him. Bravo,” Lestrade’s new assistant, said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
Lestrade grabbed Sherlock’s arm and firmly pulled him away from Sally before Sherlock could spit something back at her. “Enough.”
Sherlock pulled his arm free. “Could you have picked someone less useful?”
“She just started last week. Anyway, I’m not doing this with you right now. This case is over.” And he turned and walked away.
Sally gave Sherlock one last murderous look before following Lestrade towards their vehicles.
***
Sherlock was still buzzing with energy an hour later. He entered his small flat, stepping over various experiments scattered around the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, or the last time he had slept. It was the way he’d felt when he used to shoot up on the weekends. He had just replaced one high for another.
He left his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor and stepped into the shower, not yet turning on the water. He forced himself to stand still, to control his breathing, but his body vibrated with the effort. His mind was still racing, looking for clues hidden in the unclean shower tiles, the cheap shampoo, the sliver of bar soap. He spat on his palm and then wrapped his fingers around his cock.
His pace was brutal and fast. He just wanted it over and done with. Wobbly knees. Mind quieting before going blank with pleasure. He hated it. Hated feeling weak and helpless as his body betrayed him. But the alternative would surely drive him mad.
With a cry of disgust, Sherlock came over his fist.
He turned on the water, the high from the case finally gone.
After the shower, Sherlock would eat something, then sleep for at least two days, possibly longer. By then, there should be several voice messages from Lestrade begging for assistance. Then the whole vicious cycle would begin again.
Rating: R
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: The high from a case comes with a price.
Word Count: 394
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Thanks: To Daasgrrl for the endless patience this required!
The case had gone extraordinarily well. Ten people had been murdered, but there would not be an eleventh. All thanks to him. Lestrade didn’t seem as appreciative as he should have been. “Job well done. Go home, Sherlock,” he had said, sounding tired. “Sleep. You do know what that is, right?”
Sherlock had scoffed. “All a matter of conditioning. Sleeping wastes time. Time that could be better spent searching for your serial killer.”
“And you found him. Bravo,” Lestrade’s new assistant, said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
Lestrade grabbed Sherlock’s arm and firmly pulled him away from Sally before Sherlock could spit something back at her. “Enough.”
Sherlock pulled his arm free. “Could you have picked someone less useful?”
“She just started last week. Anyway, I’m not doing this with you right now. This case is over.” And he turned and walked away.
Sally gave Sherlock one last murderous look before following Lestrade towards their vehicles.
***
Sherlock was still buzzing with energy an hour later. He entered his small flat, stepping over various experiments scattered around the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, or the last time he had slept. It was the way he’d felt when he used to shoot up on the weekends. He had just replaced one high for another.
He left his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor and stepped into the shower, not yet turning on the water. He forced himself to stand still, to control his breathing, but his body vibrated with the effort. His mind was still racing, looking for clues hidden in the unclean shower tiles, the cheap shampoo, the sliver of bar soap. He spat on his palm and then wrapped his fingers around his cock.
His pace was brutal and fast. He just wanted it over and done with. Wobbly knees. Mind quieting before going blank with pleasure. He hated it. Hated feeling weak and helpless as his body betrayed him. But the alternative would surely drive him mad.
With a cry of disgust, Sherlock came over his fist.
He turned on the water, the high from the case finally gone.
After the shower, Sherlock would eat something, then sleep for at least two days, possibly longer. By then, there should be several voice messages from Lestrade begging for assistance. Then the whole vicious cycle would begin again.