Five Times Sherlock Cried Alone…and One Time He Cried in Front of Another Person1. He had cried as an infant and as a tiny child, but that didn’t count. All infants cried. Once he gotten to a certain age, however, he no longer allowed himself to cry, especially not in front of anyone. Mycroft didn’t cry. His father didn’t cry, so why should he? The circumstances had to be very precise and significant to aggravate his emotional state in such a way. However, Sherlock had cried five times in his life, which no one would ever know about
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2. When it happened again, he was sixteen. He worked as a kennel technician at a veterinary hospital, just so that he would have access to the cadavers for autopsy
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At least, he tries not to. Occasionally broken fragments of that day--and the night preceding it--break through his conscious control.
It happened when he was twenty. He woke up in a strange place, a coat closet, but not even a familiar coat closet. His mind was hazy, as if he had taken a sedative drug. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle, stiff and painful when he tried to move it. He attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain halted him.
He froze. The pain was coming from a very delicate, very personal area.
That’s when he realized his pants were off.
He almost screamed, but ended up choking on air instead. How?? his mind screamed at him, how did this happen?And then he remembered the bar. He was supposed to be meeting one of his contacts for some information involving plans for a jewel heist. There had been drinks, his contact never came, a strong pair of hands had led him to a cab
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4. When Sherlock was twenty-five, he began to accept inquiries for a private detective. Once he began investigating, he found that he could lose himself in the logic and the intensity of crimes and affairs. On top of the various drugs he indulged in, he began to neglect basic human needs like food and sleep
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THATS SO SAD
When i read about them taking the lighter to the cats ear my jaw literally dropped.
GAH POOR THING.
GAH POOR SHERLOCK.
Gah
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Poor Sherlock.
[/pats]
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At least, he tries not to. Occasionally broken fragments of that day--and the night preceding it--break through his conscious control.
It happened when he was twenty. He woke up in a strange place, a coat closet, but not even a familiar coat closet. His mind was hazy, as if he had taken a sedative drug. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle, stiff and painful when he tried to move it. He attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain halted him.
He froze. The pain was coming from a very delicate, very personal area.
That’s when he realized his pants were off.
He almost screamed, but ended up choking on air instead. How?? his mind screamed at him, how did this happen?And then he remembered the bar. He was supposed to be meeting one of his contacts for some information involving plans for a jewel heist. There had been drinks, his contact never came, a strong pair of hands had led him to a cab ( ... )
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you're writing this sooo well!
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It just gets worse xD
But yes I suppose it is the point of the fic xD
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I can only imagine man.
IF ONLY HE HAD JOHN THEN DDD:
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